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Bruises. Someone had gripped her wriststightly. Had he, or they, held her down? Nausea roiled in her belly.

    She moved to the edge of the bed, dangling her bare feet over the side. Her shoes were gone, too. She put a hand to the throbbing ache in the crook of her left arm and felt small crusted scabs. Puncture wounds? She winced, feeling sick, too afraid to contemplate where she suspected she was.

    How? How did I get here?

    She stood, overwhelmed by dizziness for a moment. She braced herself against the wall and licked her dry lips. She had to have water.

    She turned the small brass handle and opened the door as noiselessly as possible. Down the cool, dim hall, she walked cautiously toward a lit room. She heard a man speaking. She paused, breathless. Every nerve seemed to cry out for her to turn back, but she had to have something to drink.

    She moved to the edge of the room and peered in. Hanging above the couch was a horribly graphic picture of a dead naked woman.
Oh, God.
Nausea and dizziness. She gagged silently.

    Have to get out.

    The brown-haired man who was speaking on the phone had his back to her. If he turned, he would see her. Fear roared in her ears.

    Every heartbeat painful, she stood frozen for a moment, then walked silently to the front door. She tried to open it, but it wouldn’t give. The deadbolt had been locked with a key. Her breath came and went in short gasps. Her chest squeezed tight.

    “Hey there, princess. I’m amazed you can stand when you’re a few quarts low.”

    She spun to face the man. Was he the one who’d bitten her?
He’ll pay for it,
she thought, fury mingling with fear. Her eyes darted around the apartment.
Assuming he’s caught.

    His wiry build and narrow eyes gave him a ratlike appearance, and the receding hairline and fleshy lips were mismatched, as though his genes had been too generous with some features and not generous enough with others.

    “Who are you?”

    His smile was pure menace. “I’m your keeper, sweetheart.”

    No way!

    Her legs moved, almost without her thinking. She couldn’t get past him to the door, but she could put some distance between them. She staggered down the hall, stubbing her toes. Once inside a large bedroom, she slammed the door and locked it. Her gaze darted around the room. No phone, no way to call for help, but she had to escape.

    He pounded on the door, and she jumped.

    “Don’t make me come in there after you. You won’t like what happens when I do.”

    Her legs burned and her chest wailed, everything cramping like she’d been running for miles. She stumbled to the far wall to lean against it. She didn’t want to lose consciousness, but felt so weak. This was shock, she realized, from dehydration. From blood loss.

    She grasped the curtains, trying to steady herself, but they crashed down, unable to hold her entire body weight.

    “All right, what the hell?” he bellowed.

    Without the curtains, she could see the door that led to a balcony. How many stories up? Could she climb down?

    She slumped against the wall, trying to catch her breath. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Just breathing was such an effort.

    The sound of a key turning in the lock made her muscles cramp in terror. She had to get away from him, but how?

    She forced herself to stand. If she could get around him, maybe she could get out of the apartment. If he was ventala, that made him at least half human. Was there enough humanity in him for her to influence with her power?

    The door swung open and he stalked in, frowning. “We’re not going to play games all night.” He gripped her arms and bent his face close, fangs hovering above her skin. Another bite would kill her.

    She glared at him.

    He ran his tongue along the side of her throat, making her stomach lurch in revulsion. She raked her nails down his arms. The predatory look in his slitlike eyes froze the breath in her chest, but she didn’t let fear show on her face.

    He pinned her to