If she was lucky, someday another man . . . the right man . . . would come along and fill the hole Lukas had left. But deep inside, her heart stubbornly insisted that Lukas Olsson was the only right man for her.
As they reached P Street, the crosswalk flashed with the red-handed “wait” sign, and Elizabeth took another sip of coffee. Steph had a way of shifting conversational directions on a dime, and they were now talking about the new fall television season.
“You’ve got to see it,” Steph enthused about yet another amateur singing hour.
Elizabeth smiled. “I’ll set it to record on my DVR when I get home.”
The light changed to “walk,” and they started forward again. But halfway across P Street, a cool draft of air shivered over Elizabeth’s skin.
And with her next step, the lights went out.
Chapter Three
ELIZABETH FROZE. HER pulse took flight as the darkness, the silence, pressed in all around her. She could see nothing. Hear . . . nothing.
How? How . . . ?
A second ago, she’d been walking across P Street beside Steph in the bright sunshine. Now . . . this. Had she passed out? Was she having a seizure, or a stroke? Good grief, had she . . . died?
No. Not unless her latte had traveled with her. Her Starbucks cup remained clasped warm in her hand.
“Steph?” Her voice cracked with fear.
Out of the corner of her eye, something coalesced from the darkness. Slowly, a landscape began to materialize around her. No, no, it was just her eyes beginning to adjust to a dark that was not, as she’d first thought, complete—the dark of a dangerously stormy day. Or dusk.
All around her stood buildings. Not the buildings that should be here but something entirely different—small houses and large, a general store, a . . . stable? It looked like a ghost town from a bygone era, deserted. Crumbling.
Trees rose among the buildings and houses, as if trying to reclaim forest once stolen by the town. But the trees were winter bare, twisted, some half-disintegrated, as if they, too, had been left to die.
What is this place? A chill skated over her skin, part shock, part true chill, for the air was much cooler here than it had been in . . . the place she belonged. How in the name of all that’s holy did I get here? It smelled different—woodsy in a dry, aged way, and dusty. Dust overlaid with decay.
Clutching her Starbucks cup with both hands, she turned around slowly, her heart trying to break its way out of her chest.
This can’t be happening. “I have to get to class,” she murmured, as if whatever mysterious hand had plucked her out of her life would say, “Oh, sorry. Of course I’ll send you back.”
Is this Heaven?
A sound caught her ear, blasting through the panic pounding at her eardrums. A man’s scream.
Maybe it’s Hell.
Her heart thudded so hard, her entire body began to quake. She felt light-headed, dizzy. Don’t pass out. You can’t pass out.
Another sound broke through, the dull clip-clop of horses. Multiple horses, much closer than the scream. Were the ghosts of this place coming for her? If so, she’d be the one screaming soon.
The warmth seeping into her now-shaking hands reminded her that she still held her latte. Gripping the precious cup, she sipped gingerly, relishing the tasty slide of warmth down her throat. The familiar taste grounded her, if only a little, reminding her of Steph, of their walk, of their discussion . . .
The nineteen missing.
Oh my God. I’m number twenty.
Her face turned to ice. Her head began to pound as one thought broke free of the dozens swirling inside. If Lukas finally came back, he wouldn’t find her. Now she was the one who’d disappeared.
“No,” she breathed, her mind turning to steel. “I’m not staying here.”
There had to be a way back home.
And she had to find it.
Chapter Four
ELIZABETH TOOK ANOTHER bracing sip of her quickly cooling coffee, then started forward. No good could come of standing in the middle of the street, especially with the sound of the horses drawing nearer. Instinct urged her to find a place to hide until she saw what manner of people . . . or creatures . . . rode those horses. But where?
She had no idea what this place was. The streets were laid out just the same as Georgetown’s, but the buildings were all wrong. They appeared not only decrepit but old. As if the buildings she knew had been replaced with their predecessors. Or as if they’d never replaced their predecessors at all.
How is that possible?
As she neared the sidewalk, another thought occurred to her. If she was one of the missing, where were the others? Were they the ones on horseback? Or the ones screaming?
Her stomach quivered.
The sound of the horses grew louder, and she stepped up her pace, running toward the nearest door, praying it offered sanctuary and not greater danger. But when she reached for the knob, she found it locked tight. Glancing at the windows, she shied away. They’d been shattered, leaving deadly, jagged edges like razor-sharp teeth ready to devour anyone foolish enough to try to climb through.
Strikeout. She’d have to hide behind the house instead. But as she retraced her steps to the sidewalk, three horses and their riders turned onto the street. She saw them. Worse, they clearly saw her, for they rode straight toward her, closing the distance fast, the beasts’ hooves kicking up dust in the twilight air.
Her primal self screamed at her to run. Her logical mind scoffed at the notion. She didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of outrunning them. Not only were there three of them, on horseback, but they knew where they were. And she didn’t have a clue.
Sometimes, the best defense was a good offense. Sometimes, it was the only defense. Swallowing hard, she crossed her arms over her chest, careful not to spill her coffee, and waited for their arrival as if they were three young students late to class, and not . . . whatever they really were.
The men slowed their mounts to a walk as they reached her, fanning out around her as they pulled up, eyeing her with smiles and speculation that made her skin crawl. At least it was nice to know her instincts . . . the ones that had told her to run . . . had probably been correct. If only she’d stood a chance of getting away.
Taking a studiously nonchalant sip of her coffee with a badly shaking hand, she studied them, trying to hide just how scared she really was. Two of the men were dressed alike in what appeared, in the low light, to be tan pants and long-sleeved black shirts with tight cuffs and billowing sleeves, reminding her of pirate garb from some old movie. Adding to that image were the swords strapped to their waists. But other than their garb and weapons, those two looked nothing alike. One had skin as black as night, his hair hanging long around a face pierced in more than a dozen places—through the eyebrows, the nose, the lip. A face devoid of softness, devoid of humanity. The other’s skin appeared pale as moonlight though most was hidden beneath a full, bushy, black beard.
The third rider . . . holy cow. His hair glowed. Glowed like a black opal. He appeared considerably younger than the other two, maybe no more than early twenties, and he, at least, watched her with something approaching sympathy. Which meant she probably needed it.
Oh, she was in trouble.
“You’re a pretty one,” the dark-skinned swordsmen said, then suddenly . . . literally . . . disappeared off his horse. Before her jaw could drop, he reappeared an arm’s length in front of her.
Elizabeth jumped back with a squeak, nearly dropping her latte. Her entire body began to quake.
The man threw his head back with a look of such pleasure that she wondered what kind of drug he was on. Or what he was imagining doing to her. Her breath lodged in her throat, and she started to back away. The nicker of a horse at her back reminded her there were three of them, and she was going nowhere.
“I
think I’ll claim you for my own, pretty one,” the male in front of her said, his head straightening, dark lashes sweeping up to reveal . . .
The Starbucks finally slipped through her fingers, but she barely noticed, barely heard the splat or felt the splash of liquid against her pant legs as she stared at his eyes . . . dark eyes now centered with a perfect white circle, a white pupil.
Her shock apparently pleased him, for he grinned, revealing long, sharp incisors. Fangs.
Her breath left her altogether. “Who are you?” she gasped, her voice quavering like a twelve-year-old boy’s in the presence of a twelve-year-old girl. “What is this place?”
The man’s smile widened, his look of pleasure deepening, his fangs growing longer still.
“I’m your new master, pretty one. And this place? Washington, V.C. Vamp City.”
Chapter Five
“VAMP . . . ?” ELIZABETH STARED at the man with the white-pupiled eyes. And the fangs. “As in vampire?” Her voice shot up, nearly to a squeak.
This isn’t happening. Vampires aren’t real. Everyone knows they’re not real.
Suddenly, an arm snaked around her from behind, pinning her back against a hard chest. The brush of beard against her hair told her which of the other two had her.
Elizabeth struggled against his iron hold, his arm pressing so hard against her shoulders she gasped with pain. “You’re hurting me.” But he didn’t seem to care.
The pierced man’s white-pupiled eyes lit with fury. “Mine,” he snarled.
“I say she isn’t,” the man at her back growled. “But I’m willing to share. Let me take the first bite.”
Bite? Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face and was almost glad for the arm restraining her because without it, she feared her knees were going to fail her.
The hoofbeats of another horse caught her attention.
“Hold!” The voice, not the youth’s, called from a short distance. A voice that sounded wonderfully, achingly familiar, as if she’d conjured it up in this desperate moment.
A tiny flare of hope had her head snapping up as the fourth horseman approached, deep in the twilight shadows. All she could make out was a form big enough and broad-shouldered enough to be Lukas’s. As he drew closer, she could tell the hair was a little longer, in need of a haircut. Logic told her it wasn’t he, it couldn’t be. Her agitated mind was merely attempting to overlay his image on the male who approached, the image of a savior. A hero.
It wasn’t Lukas.
But as he drew closer, and she finally saw the strong jaw and high cheekbones of the face that had haunted her for two years, her knees gave way.
“Lukas,” she gasped.
How was this possible?
He was dressed in a black shirt and tan pants, the same as the other pair, two swords strapped to his back, their hilts rising from behind his shoulders like wings.
The man she loved pulled his horse to a stop beside the male with the pierced face and stared at her with an expression she’d never seen, his mouth hard, his eyes at once cool as frost and angry as hell.
Her heart began to shatter.
“I’ve been searching for you, Elizabeth,” he snapped.
Her eyes narrowed with confusion. “What? Here?”
“No way,” the male at her back exclaimed, tightening his hold on her until she cried out with the pain shooting through her chest and shoulders. “You’re not claiming her, Lukas. She came in on the sunbeam, and don’t try to deny it—she’s got Starbucks. She didn’t get that in Vamp City.”
“She was my slave in the real world,” Lukas said smoothly. Slave? “I expected her to find her way to me before this.”
“She’s not your slave.”
“She knows my name, doesn’t she?” His expression was so hard. Cold blue eyes pinned her. “Are you mine?”
She stared at him, her heart thundering. Yes, she’d been his. The old Lukas’s. She did not know this man.
“You left me.” The words came out unbidden, as raw as the pain in her heart.
For a swift second, she thought she saw that pain mirrored in his eyes, but a moment later, he stared at her once more through hard, blue crystals.
“Are you mine?”
“Yes!”
“Yes, master,” he snapped.
This was not the man she knew. Yet at the very first sight of him, her heart had begun, very slowly, to unfurl, to blossom, and it continued to do so.
Her heart was an idiot.
“I saw her first,” the pierced male grumbled. “I should at least get a taste of her.”
Lukas swung down off his horse far slower than the bearded man had, his movements deliberate, threatening. And she didn’t think the show was for her.
“Release her.” Lukas’s gaze pinned the man at her back. “No one touches what is mine.”
In the blink of an eye, the arm across her shoulders disappeared. In the blink of another, Lukas was beside her, his hand gripping her upper arm. Too fast. Either she was suffering some kind of head trauma, or they were moving too damned fast.
Her head felt suddenly full of helium, and she began to sway. Lukas swept her up as if she weighed nothing, and she grabbed at her purse as it slipped off her shoulder. He strode to his horse, deposited her on its back, and swung up behind her.
As his arm slipped around her waist, as he pulled her back against the chest she’d once loved so much, she finally found herself in the one place she’d longed to be for two years. Once more in Lukas’s arms.
But instead of the joyous reunion she’d imagined, she was shaking with shock. And fear. Lukas Olsson was not the man she’d thought he was.
She wasn’t certain he was a man at all.
Chapter Six
“BACK TO OUR search,” Lukas commanded, as if he was the leader of this bunch. “We don’t want to be anywhere near this block if the sunbeam breaks through again.”
The two males who’d threatened her mounted, and the four horsemen started down the road, Lukas in front, Elizabeth snug against his chest.
She was so confused, her mind a tangle of conflicting emotions. She was furious, and hurt, and terrified. And yet her heart refused to be silent as it rejoiced that she’d found Lukas at last. Part of her wanted to turn around and kiss him senseless; another part wanted to punch him in the mouth. And the biggest part wanted to leap off the horse and run like crazy.
The arm pinning her ensured she did none of those things. All she could do was pray that the man she’d fallen in love with—the kind, loving Lukas who’d been so good to her—hadn’t been a complete lie, that he was still in there somewhere. Whatever soft feelings he might have once felt toward her might be her only chance of survival.
“Do you really think we’re going to find the sorceress all the way out here?” Pierced-face grumbled. “We’re in fucking nowhere Georgetown. No one’s lived here in decades.”
So they really were in Georgetown? In what dimension?
“Which would make it the perfect place to hide,” the bearded one countered. “We’ve already flushed a dozen runaways out of hiding. We could still get lucky.” The lurid tone in his voice sent another chill down Elizabeth’s spine.
They took a right on . . . M Street? It would be M Street if this really were Georgetown. The streets were definitely laid out the same, but the buildings weren’t right. Not at all. What happened to the colorful row houses that were the hallmark of Georgetown?
She stared around in consternation. What was this place?
They rode another block before Lukas pulled up. He dismounted, then turned to her, his back to his companions. As his gaze caught hers, emotion flared in those once-beloved blue eyes—anger and dismay, and something more. Something softer. Something that gave her hope that the man she’d loved wasn’t entirely gone.
Her breath turned shall
ow.
Breaking eye contact, he pulled her off the horse and set her on her feet beside him. “Give me your purse.” When she did, he stuffed it into one of his saddlebags.
“Spread out,” Lukas commanded. The two older males each headed for a different deserted, crumbling house along the street. The kid with the glowing hair accompanied the pierced one. Lukas took her wrist as if she were a difficult student in need of a chat with the principal and led her across the street toward what appeared to have been some kind of general store.
Once upon a time, he’d have taken her hand, lacing his cool fingers between hers. The thought flared with new meaning, with fresh understanding. He’d always been cool to the touch—his hands, his face, even his body, though he’d always assured her he didn’t feel cold.
No wonder he’d only ever come to her after dark. Vampires couldn’t handle sunlight.
Dear God.
Memories continued to cascade through her mind—the way he was always gone by morning. Always. The marks on her neck. . .
Her fingers rose, her flesh going cold, as she remembered how she’d often . . . always? . . . awakened with a couple of red spots on the side of her neck when she was dating him. They usually faded by noon, then reappeared the next morning. She’d never figured out what they were. Then Lukas had disappeared and, with him, the spots.
Bite marks?
How could any of this be real?
Lukas tried to open the door, but it was locked. Without a moment’s hesitation, he lifted a foot and kicked in the door as if it were made of cardboard. He ushered her into a room that, in the dim light, did appear to have once been a store though the goods had long since been removed.
None too gently, Lukas pulled her around the corner and pushed her back against the wall, staring down at her with a look as different from the one he’d given her on the street as a look could be. The coldness, the hardness, fell away like a mask. The longing in his expression almost brought tears to her eyes, and suddenly he was kissing her as if it had been hours since he’d last seen her and not two years, as if they’d met one another at the theater and not this . . . this godforsaken place.
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