Feeling as though she were caught in a horrible nightmare, Elena watched the women. They all seemed happy, perfectly content to be locked away in this dreadful place. She overheard snatches of conversation—two girls talking about men they hoped to mate with, one girl whispering to another that she thought she was with child, several other young women talking about which vampires they hoped would come for them that night.
“I’m hoping for Cullin,” a pretty brunette said with a sigh. “He’s so handsome and his bite is so tender.”
“You can have Cullin, Marta. I want Dallin,” a tiny redhead said, a quiver in her voice. “He only takes a little and then he’s gone.”
“Dallin and Elnora, sitting in a tree . . .” Marta chanted, and burst into giggles.
“I don’t care who it is,” remarked another with a toss of her head. “As long as it isn’t Vardin.”
All the women within hearing distance nodded in agreement.
Eventually, boredom had Elena picking up a copy of Jane Eyre. She carried it to an overstuffed chair in the corner and sat down, one leg curled beneath her. She tried to read, but somehow, the fictional problems of Jane and Mr. Rochester paled when compared to the very real problems that beset her. Elena wasn’t being kept in an attic, but in a very real prison. There were similarities, of course. Mr. Rochester couldn’t marry Jane because he already had a wife. Drake couldn’t marry the woman his father had chosen for him for the same reason. He already had a wife. Mr. Rochester’s wife, who was quite insane, perished in a fire. If she had to stay here much longer, Elena thought she, too, might go insane.
With a sigh, she put the book aside. She couldn’t concentrate on the words, couldn’t think of anything but Drake, locked up in a high tower room. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in pain, that he needed her. How long would Rodin keep his son locked up? She pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp as a new thought pushed its way into her mind. There was a hole in the tower roof. Surely Rodin wouldn’t leave Drake up there during the day, helpless to avoid the sun’s light.
Worried for Drake’s welfare, she lost track of time.
She looked up when a woman entered the room. She wasn’t a vampire, but a female version of the men who had guarded the dining room. Elena watched nervously as the woman gazed around the room, then strode purposefully toward her.
“You,” the woman said sharply. “Come with me.”
When Elena didn’t comply immediately, the woman grasped her roughly by the arm and yanked her to her feet.
Elena followed the woman down the corridor and into a small room.
“Undress,” the woman ordered. Reaching into a cupboard, she withdrew a long gray dress. “Put that on.” She dropped a pair of black shoes on top of the dress. “Quickly now.”
When it became evident the woman wasn’t going to give her any privacy, Elena turned her back on her and quickly changed into the gray dress, and as she did so, she was overcome with the feeling that she had just lost her individuality.
Moments later, she was back in the recreation room, indistinguishable from the rest of the sheep.
Drake pressed back against the wall of his prison. It kept him out of the sun’s direct light, but he couldn’t escape the scorching heat. It enveloped him like an invisible shroud, burning through his clothing to the flesh beneath, adding to the pain of the heavy silver leg iron that shackled his ankle to the wall. But for the chains that bound him he could have dissolved into mist and escaped.
He groaned deep in his throat. He could feel his flesh blistering inside and out. Not wanting Elena to see him like this, or to suffer the heat of the day with him, he had called Liliana to take Elena away last night, after she had fallen asleep.
Elena. Where was she now? Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on her whereabouts, but the intense pain clouded his mind, making coherent thought impossible.
He spent several minutes uselessly cursing his sire, then lapsed into silence. He had known Rodin would be angry, but he had never expected anything like this.
The pain intensified his thirst. He felt his fangs run out in response. As the hours passed, pain turned into agony. He felt his body shrinking in on itself, felt his veins constricting. The weight of his clothing became agonizing against his tender flesh.
A hoarse cry tore at his throat as a ray of sun found him and he scuttled to the other side of the tower, his arms covering his head in an effort to escape the withering heat.
Cringing in pain, he summoned Elena’s image. Beautiful Elena, with hair like fine black silk and skin as soft as down. Elena, who cared for him in spite of what he was . . . or had her affection turned to hate now that she knew the truth about him, about his people?
“Elena.” He forced her name through cracked, dry lips.
If he begged, would Rodin let him see her one last time?
The day dragged on. Elena took up the book again, pretending to read. She was aware of the curious gazes of the other women, but they seemed to sense she wished to be left alone, or maybe they were simply leery of a stranger in their midst.
Just when she thought the day would never end, the door opened and Liliana stepped into the room. Without a word, all of the women rose and filed toward the doorway. Elena hung back so that she was the last in line. When she reached Liliana, she stopped.
“Where is Drake?” Elena asked anxiously. “I want to see him.”
“I am sorry. That is not possible just now. Please, go to last meal with the others.”
“I want to see my husband,” Elena said, stressing the last word.
A humorless smile played over the vampire’s lips. “You will see him at Rodin’s pleasure and not before.”
“Why not now? Please, I must see him.”
“If you wish to see Drake again, you will do as you are told.” Without waiting for an answer, the vampire left the room.
Fighting back tears, Elena went into the dining hall and took a seat. Several human girls served the meal. Tonight, a pair of male vampires patrolled the aisles dividing the men from the women.
Elena forced herself to eat, afraid that refusing would keep her from seeing Drake.
The meal was almost over when the door opened and a dozen or so vampires—both male and female—entered the room. Elena stared at them. They were all beautiful. Male or female, they moved from table to table with a languid grace no human could ever match. Most of the men wore black, but not the women. Clad in brightly colored clothing or lounging outfits, they looked like a flock of exotic birds.