When he woke, the first thought in Will's mind was that Sarafina was no longer asleep in her bed. She was gone. He was alone.

But then reality set in. He wasn't in the mystical world his mind had created as an escape for him. No, he was in real time. There was pain here, throbbing, burning pain, and bone-chilling cold. He was locked inside a metal box, in a dark cave, in the middle of hostile terrain.

Part of his mind, the fevered part that had confused his dream with something real, wanted to return to the fantasyland of the Gypsies. But most of him was aware that he couldn't do that, not now. He didn't know where the hell his mind was getting the stories it wove for him. They seemed so real it was difficult to believe they were not. But they couldn't be.

He was soaked in sweat. He understood what that suggested. The fever he'd been fighting must have peaked while he'd been sleeping. Normally he didn't dream about Sarafina and her band of Gypsies. He escaped to that realm only under torture.

Hell, his fever, combined with the pain in his foot, must have felt like torture of a sort to have instigated a dream so vivid. And it had added its own new twists, hadn't it? Now he was seeing vampires and making love to a figment of his imagination.

He moved slowly, carefully, testing his body, stretching his arms, his back, working out the kinks. Then he went still as he remembered what he'd been doing when he'd fallen asleep: waiting for his captors to fall asleep first. Because once they had, he had to make an attempt to get the hell out of here.

It might very well be his only chance. He knew damned well the terrorists' newest ploy wasn't going to work. The U.S. government would be happy to learn he was alive when they got that photo, but that didn't mean they would be foolish enough to release a pile of terrorists in exchange for the life of one soldier. Especially one like him, with no family, no ties. Hell, the general public back in the good ol' U.S. of A. would probably never even know about his existence. That was part of the reason he had been chosen for this mission, and he'd known that going in. He had nothing to lose.

He crept to the door, pushed it open as far as it would go, listened with every cell in his body and squinted into the darkness.

The room appeared to be empty, though it was so damned dark it was impossible to be sure. It was dead silent. The entire cave seemed soundless tonight.

He located the bread knife he'd stolen earlier by crawling around his box on all fours until his fingers touched it in the darkness and closed around it. Returning to the chained door, he forced his hand out through the narrow opening. The chain that held the door was looped through a short iron bar on the outside of the door. Two bolts held that bar in place, and they had grooved heads, like screws. Will managed to insert the blunt tip of the knife into the groove, and he twisted it, while holding the nut on the inside with his fingers. It didn't turn easily. When it finally did, the nut turned with it, so he held it more tightly. So tightly that when he finally did get the bolt to turn, the nut scraped the skin off his fingers. It was old, rusty, but he worked on it until he freed it up. In about twenty minutes it was loose enough to remove.

His fingers throbbed, his throat burned, and he was so dizzy he could barely stand, but he'd gone too far to stop now. He set to work on the second bolt.

An hour later, the chain was free. He pocketed his scrap of bread and his lifesaving bread knife, and pushed the door open, cringing at the slight creak of its hinges. He looked around but saw only darkness, broken up by darker shapes, none of them human. Carefully he climbed out of his prison, then closed the door. Taking the bolts from his pockets, he held the bar in place and thrust the bolts back through the holes. By all appearances, his prison was unchanged. Until they tried to open the door to bring him out again-something they might not do for a span of days if they were true to form-they wouldn't know he had escaped.

He'd wrapped his injured foot thickly in the white makeshift bandage, so it was at least cushioned. He had no choice but to put weight on it as he made his way slowly, silently, across the uneven stone floor. He knew approximately where the opening was that led to other parts of the cave. There was only one, so it wasn't a matter of making a choice. He found it, went through it, but had no clue where to go from there. He couldn't see a damn thing. He only knew he wasn't far from the entrance-if he'd been deep in the earth the temperature would have held to a moderate level, never varying much higher or lower. And that hadn't been the case.

He was still for a long moment, wishing silently for a clue-and then he heard something: a whispering, moaning sound. The wind? Yes, it was the wind! God, please, he thought, guide me out of this hell. Slowly he moved toward the sound. Every once in a while he would meet a stone wall. Each time that happened, he had to feel his way along the wall, inching sideways until it fell away, and he could again make forward progress.

Finally he saw light, flickering in the distance, illuminating a ragged opening in the cave. He rushed toward it, despite the screaming pain every step ignited in his foot, hope surging in his chest for the first time since he'd escaped the box. But when he reached that opening, he stopped dead, even stopped breathing.

The light came from a small fire in the center of a large room. Around the sides of the room, a dozen or more men lay sleeping, breathing deeply, some of them snoring every once in a while. And just beyond them there was another break, through which he could see stars twinkling in the night sky.

Freedom.

He could smell it, taste it in the air. God, he was so close. Will swallowed hard. Everything in him screamed at him to run for that door, for freedom, but he knew better. He had to think, to use his fever-fogged brain to get himself out of here alive. Licking his parched lips, he looked around at the men on the floor. Most wore robes, others were covered in blankets. But here and there he saw men wearing uniforms. American uniforms. He guessed they had probably taken them from the handful of U.S. troops they'd managed to take out by ambush during the height of the conflict.

Crouching low, Will unwrapped the white cloth from his foot, trying not to make a sound as he did. Then he wrapped it around his head instead, turban-style. He wished to God they hadn't made him shave. To conceal his beardless chin, he let one end of the turban hang down, then drew it up, just under his chin and tucked it in on the other side.

Finally he moved forward. His foot exploded in agony with each step-even more now, without its protective wrap, than before. But he kept going, gritting his teeth and not making a sound. He moved among the sleeping soldiers, made it past the fire, reached the opening.

One of the soldiers muttered in his sleep and rolled over, and Will went so still he thought his muscles would pull away from his bones.

He waited, waited for a shout, a challenge, the back of his neck tingling in anticipation. But nothing came.

Finally, his heart still pounding, he moved forward again. He stepped through the opening. The fresh night air hit his face, and he sucked it in gratefully as he continued limping, laterally now, away from the cave. Finally he had to pause, to try to get his bearings.

He was high on a mountain, and he had no idea which way would lead him to freedom. There were no roads out here, no landmarks. Certainly no lights shining from below to guide the way.

He was thirty yards from the cave, on a stone ledge that dropped off steeply, when a man's voice reached him from behind, speaking in one of the tribal dialects. "Where are you going in the middle of the night? Is something wrong?"

He froze. He didn't turn. He swallowed his fear, told himself not to blow it, not now, not when he was this close. He replied in the man's own tongue. "Did you not hear the gunfire?" he asked. "It was coming from this way." He pointed ahead of him, toward the edge, and downward.

"Gunfire?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it. Maybe the Americans have come back."

The other man sucked in a breath of alarm. Then he said, "But it cannot be the Americans. The border is east of here, not west. And they could only come from that way." He sighed. "I should wake Ahkmed."

"Wait," Will said. "I see something. Down there. Look!"

The man came hurrying closer and ran right past Will to stand in front of him, peering off into the distance, down over the steep precipice into utter darkness. "Where? I don't see anything."

In one smooth, silent motion Will stepped forward, clapped a hand to the man's mouth, put the other to the back of his head and jerked it roughly, fiercely, to the side. The man's neck snapped with a sickening crack, and his body went limp. Lowering him to the ground, Will bent over him, gripped his shoulders, and dragged him into the cover of some nearby boulders.

As quickly as he could, Will stripped the body of everything on it, which included a rifle, some ammo, a large curving blade with a sheath and the robes of the man's tribe. Will put the robes on over the clothes he wore. He intended to use the man's shoes, as well, American-issue Army boots, but they were far too small. His injured foot wouldn't have fit into any shoe, even had it been a few sizes too large, anyway. He did take the socks, putting them both on his good foot. Then he rewrapped his injured one in swaths of the dead man's turban before peering out from the sheltering rocks, sitting very still, looking and listening.

No sounds reached him from the cave. He dragged the body to the edge and tossed it over the side. It fell in near silence, except for the dull, distant thud when it hit bottom. Then Will began making his way down the mountain, heading in the direction he surmised, from the other man's comments, was east.

When he reached the bottom, he just walked. He used the rifle as a staff, and walked despite the pain of his foot and the raging fever. He wondered if it would be better to make use of the large blade, leave the foot behind before it killed him. But he was afraid to stop long enough to do it and worried that he would never get going again if he did.

So he walked. The sun rose, and with its first touch, it burned away the night's cold. He welcomed its warmth for a short time; then he cursed it, as it blazed relentlessly down on him. The mountain was far behind him. He'd made his way from it, down into the desert, and the farther he walked, the hotter it became. He was dehydrated already from lack of water, illness and fever. The way the sun blasted him now, he thought he would soon be reduced to a man-shaped pile of dust. But the sun did serve one useful purpose. It allowed him to gauge his direction.

At least it did until it was directly overhead and he was frying like bacon in a pan. He tried to keep moving, keep on course, just plodding, putting one foot in front of the other. He had no idea how long he managed to keep going, or how much distance he had covered, when he finally fell facedown in the sand.

He lay there, clinging to consciousness with everything in him, knowing that if he passed out there, he would die there. The vultures would pick his bones clean. He tried to get up, and, failing that, he tried to crawl.

And then he passed out.

When he opened his eyes, he was lying beside Sarafina, watching as she stirred slowly awake. She looked pale, Will thought. Her face tight, there were dark rings beneath her beautiful eyes.

She sat up, looking around her, frowning at the beam of sunlight that slanted through an open spot in the tent flap. She got up and went to it, pushed it open and peered at the sky. "Already so late. The day is nearly done, and I've slept it away yet again."

Sighing, lowering her head and the flap at the same time, she turned, reaching for the dress she'd left hanging from a nail in the wall, then thinking better of it, and taking, instead, the green velvet robe and pulling it on over the white nightgown she wore. She thought of the nightgown as a shift. It was more like an elaborate slip, with lots of lace and embroidery.

She smoothed her untamable curls with her hands, glancing back at the bed just once and smiling gently as she remembered her dream of the night before. "My beloved spirit," she whispered. "I wonder if he'll come to me again tonight."

"I'm here. I'm here right now," Will told her, but she didn't hear him. She only turned again, parted the tent flap, stepping outside this time, down the folding steps of her wagon, until her bare feet touched the ground. Will floated along, as if attached to her somehow. She was looking around the camp, noting the smoldering, charred remains of yet another wagon-tent and frowning as Andre came up to her. Will bristled. He hated the man.

"Fina, we've been so worried. Are you better now?"

She frowned at him. "Better?"

"We could only assume you were ill. Why else would you sleep the entire day?"

She shrugged. "I was up very late tending to Belinda. I was only tired. I'm not ill."

She would have walked on, but he caught her chin, lifting her face to his as if he would kiss her, but instead he only studied her closely. "You do not look well, Sarafina. I think you are ill and only denying it."

"I wouldn't lie to you, Andre." She moved closer, as if to press her mouth to his, but he turned away quickly.

Will saw the flash of pain in Sarafina's eyes, even as Andre said, "Just in case, love. I wouldn't wish to share this illness with you."

"I told you, I'm not ill!" She stepped quickly, moving past him, toward the fire that burned and danced in the middle of the encampment. "What of Belinda?'' she asked the man who caught up and fell into step beside her.

"We buried her this morning, with most of her possessions. We burned the rest with her wagon. I wanted to wake you, but Gervaise commanded we let you rest. He, too, believes you to be ill."

"I keep telling you, I'm fine. What of Melina? How is she this evening?"

Andre shook his head slowly. "She's in mourning. We did manage to get her to eat some dinner, but very little. Speaking of which..." He picked up his pace, hurrying ahead of her to the fire and fetching a cloth-covered bowl that rested on a rock beside the flames. Bringing it back to Sarafina, he motioned her to take a seat on a nearby log, and when she did, he set the very warm bowl in her lap. "You should eat. You haven't had a thing since last evening's meal, and you look pale and faint."

She smiled up at him. Her eyes were warm with gratitude, and when she smiled like that, really meaning it, she was the most beautiful creature Will had ever seen. It took too little to make her beam like the sun. Just the slightest consideration from this unworthy man she thought she loved and she became luminous.

She looked at the stew, and her stomach rumbled in hunger as she removed the cloth and picked up the spoon. "Oh, Andre, it was so thoughtful of you to save this for me. Thank you." She took a bite, then another.

"It wasn't me, though it ought to have been."

"No?" She ate more. Her appetite seemed ravenous.

"Hmm, perhaps I should keep my counsel and let you give the credit to me." He smiled at her, stroked her hair as she scooped bite after bite into her mouth. "Actually it was your sister who saved the stew for you."

Sarafina stopped with the spoon halfway to her mouth. Will felt his heart jump in his chest "My sister?"

"Gervaise has commanded she make peace with you," Andre said. "I think she wishes to try."

Sarafina stared down into the bowl. Only a small bit of gravy and a potato wedge remained. She dropped the spoon she was holding. "My sister means me harm," she said softly.

Andre frowned at her. "Nonsense."

"No, it's true. I was told-I was warned not to trust her."

"Warned? By whom?"

"I don't know...a spirit. He...it came to me last night, and it told me not to trust her. That she would betray me." She blinked her eyes slowly.

Oh, God, the stew, Will thought.

"She put something into the food, Andre. I feel... so..."

She got to her feet, pressing a hand to her head, stumbling. Andre was beside her immediately, holding her shoulders to support her. Frightened, she lifted her head, looking around the camp. "Where is everyone? Why is the camp so empty?"

"They went to hunt the vampire," Andre explained. "I stayed behind to take care of you."

"You alone?" she whispered, collapsing against him, but still staring up, trustingly, into his eyes.

"No. I-and your sister." He smiled gently at her, stroked her hair away from her face. "Foolish Sarafina. It's Katerina I love. It's always been her. Now she'll have all that belonged to you, including your status in the tribe. She alone will be Shuvani. The most respected woman in the clan. And as her husband, I will be chief when Gervaise is gone."

"You...love Katerina?"

"I was going to marry you only to ensure my status. Everyone knows you're more gifted than she. Wealthier, more talented."

"But-"

"We'll comfort one another in our grief for a time. It will seem only natural when we come together."

"But, Andre, I love you."

"Go to sleep, Sarafina. May you never wake again."

Will's rage against the man rose up inside him, but it was an impotent force. He couldn't direct it. He couldn't harm the man, though he howled and cursed him, even swung his fists at him. There was nothing- nothing-he could do to save Sarafina.

She slumped backward, and Andre scooped her up into his arms. Then Katerina came forward from the lengthening shadows, smiling. She picked up an unlit torch, and ignited it from the central fire. "This way," she said. "Bring her."

Will followed. God, he had to stop this somehow. But how? What could he do? Sarafina had seen him, heard his warnings. Even taken them to heart, though she'd tried to deny it. He knew that now. But she hadn't known about Andre's betrayal. If only he could have warned her about that. And now he was helpless, able to do nothing more than watch as Andre carried her deeper into the forest and, finally, through the mouth of a small cave.

Will did not want to go inside that cave. Everything in him rebelled against the notion. He vaguely remembered having only just escaped a cave, a larger one, but a cave all the same.

Still, he bucked up and followed them in. Deeper and deeper they went, until he heard a trickle of water and saw the flicker of Katerina's torchlight in the distance. As they rounded a curve, he saw an underground stream, meandering through the depths of this underworld.

"There, on that boulder," Katerina said. "Lay her there."

Andre did so.

Katerina thrust the torch into a chink in the wall, then leaned over her sister, tugging the green velvet robe off her, nearly tumbling Sarafina's limp body to the floor in the process. "This was our mother's robe. How the little whelp ever got her hands on it is beyond me." She took the robe away, dropping it to the floor, only to bend over Sarafina again. This time chains rang in the silence, echoing from the stone walls. They seemed to be embedded in the very granite, and Katerina affixed their manacled ends around her sister's wrists, then stepped aside to let Andre insert the bolts that would hold them closed. Fina's arms were held apart. She would be unable to reach one wrist with the other hand to free it.

Scooping up the green robe like a prize, Katerina gave one last look at her sister, drugged and helpless. "Burn in hell with your demon friend," she whispered. Then she spat on her and ran from the cave, with her lapdog, Andre, right behind her.

Will stood over the beautiful Sarafina, tears burning in his eyes. He tried to free her, but his hands moved through the chains. He tried to rouse her, to speak to her, but she was unmovable. He tried everything he knew to help her, and he failed.

Sometime later-Will had no idea how long, and he wondered if he had again drifted with her into sleep-she opened her eyes. She blinked in the torchlit darkness and tried to take stock. Her back was arched over the boulder, her head lower than her chest. She was chilled to the marrow, but she lifted her head and tried to see in the darkness. Will experienced every thought, every feeling, that she did. She heard the trickle of water that echoed endlessly. She tried to sit up, and only then did she feel the tug and hear the clatter of the chains at her wrists.

Fear jolted her fully awake, and she tugged at the chains but only succeeded in hurting her wrists.

"I'm sorry," Will told her. "I'm here. I'm with you. I won't leave you, but I'm afraid I can't help you. I'm so sorry."

She went very still, as if listening. "My spirit? My beloved spirit, are you here?"

"I'm here!" he shouted.

"You have to help me. Spirit, help me!"

He felt tears burning in his eyes as he whispered, "I can't. I'm sorry, I can't."

Suddenly she realized there was a dark presence standing over her. A shadow had emerged from the very darkness, keeping well away from the light painted by the torch a few yards away.

She gasped as a hand, cold and hard, came to her face, fingertips tracing the line of her jaw even as she turned her head aside.

"Your sister has betrayed you, Sarafina. But I never will," a voice said.

Will knew that voice. The vampire.

"Who are you? What do you want of me?''

"I mean you no harm. In fact, I come to save you."

Liar, Will thought.

"Then loose these chains from my wrists and help me find my way back to my family."

"Not just yet. First, there are things you must know. I will free you when you've heard them all."

"Free me now, and I'll stay and listen."

"You'll bolt."

She almost began to cry. Will could feel the tears brimming in her eyes, the fear bubbling in her chest. But he could also feel the supreme control she exercised over those things. She thought she could fool the beast, pretend not to fear it and gain some kind of an advantage. "At least grant me some light," she said, forcing her voice not to tremble, "so that I can see you."

The vampire grunted, then moved around her, until he stood in the pool of light. She looked at him, and so did Will.

He was big, oversize really. Heavy, but not fat. His build reminded Will of that of a professional wrestler. He was exceedingly pale, but with eyes and hair as dark as those of a Rom. He looked back at Sarafina, and she realized at last that she wore very little. Only her white shift.

"Tell me these secrets of yours and then let me go," she commanded, but her voice was shaking in spite of her efforts not to let it. His size alone was enough to terrify anyone.

The vampire nodded. "First I will tell you what you already know. You grow weaker all the time. You have spells of dizziness. Sometimes you faint. You sleep more and more, especially by day. And you are often cold, no matter how warm the sun may be or how many blankets you wrap around you."

She blinked in surprise. "How do you know these things?" she asked. "How can you know them?"

"Because it is always the way with The Chosen."

"The Chosen?"

"That is what we call those few, rare mortals who share some inexplicable bond with us. Only they can become as we are. We always know them, watch over them, protect them if we can. That is why I've followed your band. To protect you, because you are one of The Chosen."

She blinked very slowly. "What are you, exactly?"

"My name is Bartrone," he said. "I am a vampire."

She moved reflexively, and Will knew she would have made some protective magical sign if she could have moved her arms. But all she managed was a spasmlike tug on the chains.

"Please, do not be afraid. You're dying, Sarafina. Your mortal life is slipping away. The symptoms you've been feeling are proof enough of that. The Chosen always die young. You can let it go on and die alone, or you can let me share my gift with you and become what I am. Become...my friend and companion."

No, Will thought. Never!

"No. No, you're a demon, a killer. You murder the innocent. I'll never be like you!"

"Hardly innocent," Bartrone said softly. "Your precious Belinda had grown tired of caring for her aging mother. She was poisoning her."

Sarafina went very still there in the darkness. "P-poisoning?"

"Had you not noticed the old woman's health beginning to fail?"

"Yes, but..."

"I've only removed the dregs from your band, Sarafina. Those who dearly needed killing, though I should have seen your sister for what she was and taken her long ago. I'm sorry I allowed her to betray you this way."

"What way?"

He lowered his head. "Please-do not pretend you don't know. You know about her and Andre. You must know."

She looked away from him, tears pooling in her eyes as her mind replayed her final conversation with the man she'd thought she would wed. Will ached for her.

"He planned to marry you only because you were the wealthier of the two, and because he knew your gifts far surpassed those of your sister. Yet by night, he and Katerina slip into the forest, where they copulate on the ground or standing up against the trees, or on hands and knees, like animals. I've watched them. I've seen it all."

"You lie," she whispered, though she could barely speak. Will knew she believed every word the monster said.

"It doesn't matter. You can't go back there."

"I can. I must Let me go." Again she jerked and tugged at the chains.

The vampire leaned over her, stared into her eyes as he lowered his body atop hers and clasped her wrists with his hands. "You can't go back. My life has become unbearably lonely. You'll only die, Sarafina, unless you accept the gift. And I'm afraid I have no inclination to give you a choice in the matter."

Releasing her hands, he cupped her face, turned her head to one side and moved her hair out of the way. Will attacked him, but his blows were like air. Holding her that way, the vampire pressed his mouth to Sarafina's throat, and bit down hard, without mercy. His fangs stabbed deep into her neck-Will felt the pain she felt-and then the creature suckled her there, drinking her very lifeblood as she slowly faded into him.

She felt as if she were hovering outside her body. Looking down at the monster feeding so hungrily at her throat. Then she shifted her gaze to Will's, and he realized she could see him. She was panting, her chest rising and falling, and his was, too, as the two of them gazed down at the vampire feeding from the woman. It was erotic and exquisite and arousing. It shouldn't have been. It should have been horrifying, but somehow, it wasn't.

Then the creature lifted his head away, staring down at her still, pale face.

Has he killed me, then? Sarafina directed the question to Will, looking right at him as she spoke. Are you the spirit who has come for me, to take me to the other side?

I'm not a spirit, he told her. I'm real. I'm a man, and I love you.

She looked down at her body from the place where she hovered. Her eyes were wide and vacant. Her skin was whiter than it had ever been. I will never love anyone again. Anyway, it doesn't matter now. I think I am dead

The vampire drew a dagger from a sheath at his side and pressed the very tip of the blade to his own throat. Sarafina watched, amazed at the action, and mesmerized when he drew it away and ruby-red welled up in the puncture wound.

The vampire bent again, cradling her lifeless head, pressing her mouth to his neck.

Suddenly Sarafina was sucked back into her body in one rapid flash that ended with the impact of a fist to the heart. She tasted the first droplet on her tongue, and every nerve ending came to quivering, hungering life. Will felt it. He felt it all. She closed her lips around the wound and sucked the blood from it, feeling stronger with every swallow.

Finally the vampire held Sarafina's forehead with his palm and jerked himself away from her hungry mouth.

"Now," he whispered, breathless, panting, his eyes ablaze, "you rest, here with me. Later, you can visit your clan and see them with clear eyes for the first time."

She looked at the cave around her. "It looks different. I can see every color dancing in the flames of the torch! And I can hear it. The flames have a song all their own."

"Everything is different now," Bartrone said. "You are immortal. You need never die."

"You sound different, too, and you look-by Devel, my senses are heightened to a thousand times what they were before. It's almost unbearable."

"You'll grow used to it in time. You'll have plenty of time. But now you must rest. And when you wake, you will be stronger, and I will explain things to you. You're like me, now, Sarafina. You're a vampire."

"I'm...a vampire...."

"Now sleep," he whispered. "Sleep."

She slept.