I was not me.

I was him.

The monster.

I could feel his anticipation within me as I stood directly behind her, watching her, smelling her. I tried to scream, to warn her to run. I drew in air; it died in my throat. I tried to reach with my hands, to shove her, make her realize she was in danger; they weren’t my hands that appeared before me. They were male arms, male hands, not young, not gentle. Inside, I felt as though I’d combust; no matter how hard I struggled, I was imprisoned in his body; my pleas, my screams were nothing more than ghosts. They didn’t exist, and she’d never hear them.

I now felt what the monster felt; adrenaline raged within me, a mixture of sexual headiness and dark, ravaging hunger. Every thump of her heart reverberated inside me; with every beat I imagined the hot rush of her blood pulsing into my throat. My excitement grew; my patience ran out. She turned. Her eyes widened.

Her scream died in my mouth.

With one hand I yanked her cell from her hand and threw it into the fountain; with the other I tore off her T-shirt, her bra, and tossed them aside, all while holding her still with my fangs locked into her bottom jaw. I, not the monster, even knowing she’d never hear me, tried to scream, to warn, but nothing happened. His actions were now mine, as if I were the one controlling the actions. I sobbed hysterically, wanting to at least escape what I knew was about to happen; I could do neither. I could do nothing but accept, be his fucking puppet. With both hands free now, he palmed her breasts; heavy, soft, scraping his thumbs over her nipples. It made his cock throb. As I stared so close into her widened, horror-stricken, pain-filled eyes, I knew she was paralyzed. He’d known exactly where to inject his fangs to keep her quiet; to keep her still. Yet mentally, she was all there. She knew what was happening. Just like I did. Both of us were victims. Both of us could do nothing to escape.

In the next instant, his fangs retracted from her jaw, her head fell to the side, and he plunged his teeth into her heart; ripped into her chest cavity, tearing at her flesh, seeking the organ he craved. He was like a ravaged wolf. He found it and sank his fangs deep into its center. She didn’t scream; she didn’t move. He’d paralyzed her, but her heart still thumped erratically, and with every wild beat, her warm blood pumped just as fiercely into his mouth, his throat, like an ejaculation. It was a sexual rush as well as a frenzied, necessary feed. It got him off, and, as he drained her blood, he came, hard, fast. Nausea crashed over me.

Then, it slowed; her life left her with each slow beat, until it was over. When he lifted his head, I looked down at her ripped, bloodied flesh, her bare breasts, her pale skin, and her wide, lifeless eyes. He lifted her as though she were nothing more than a rag doll and tossed her limp body into the fountain. Her head hit the pineapple statue with a hard crack, then slid into the water. Facedown, she saw no more. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and walked away.

As if a bolt had rushed my body, I shot up.

Phin knelt beside my bed, staring at me, his hand on my shoulder.

“Why’d you wake me?” I asked suddenly, angered, adrenaline still pumping. “I could have followed him!” I glanced down and was glad my towel was still intact.

“What’d you see this time?” he asked. “What, Riley?”

I told him. I told him everything. He watched me closely the whole time, not once taking his eyes off mine. “Jesus, Phin—it’s … horrible. I can’t even describe what it feels like to be there and be … helpless. To feel his disgusting desires within me.” Anger raged within me, and I looked at him hard. “I want to kill that prick, Phin. I want to kill him myself. I want him out of me!”

Phin grazed my jaw with his knuckle. “I know,” he said softly. “I can’t promise we’ll let you kill him alone, but we’ll get him. We’ll kill him, Riley. Collectively.” He looked at me. “Swear to God, we will.”

My gaze was locked on his, so much like Eli’s. For a split second, I wanted Eli so badly, it hurt. I missed him. “Phin, the monster’s out of control. I’ve never felt such rage, hatred—such sickness. It’s like something out of a horror movie.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, then peered at him again. “How did you know?” I asked. “What was happening?”

He tapped my temple. “I could hear it. Hear it, but not see it.”

I nodded. “Thanks. Luc and Nyx aren’t back yet?”

Phin rose. “No, but they’re on their way. Why don’t you get some sleep? Some real sleep?”

“Yeah, good idea,” I said, and rose. “Thanks again. For staying with me. I hope I didn’t do anything weird.”

Phin smiled. “Nothing weirder than usual.”

“Asshole.”

Phin laughed and left the room. I changed into a pair of loose boxers and a black cami. Then I brushed my teeth, pulled my damp hair into a ponytail, and crept back to bed.

I shouldn’t have.

For a moment, I cranked my acute hearing to wide-open. Sounds came at me in a whispered rush, as if a faucet had been turned on high: people talking all over the city, phones ringing, laughter, dogs barking, horns blasting, music playing, people screwing, moaning, crying, fighting, TV’s flipping ninety thousand channels at a time. Sweat gathered at my forehead and dripped down my temples. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, grasped the bedsheets in my fists, and breathed—in and out; in and out. Slowly, rhythmically, easily. I chose one sound, dug one single sound out of a million—a priest, praying—and honed in. It seemed the safest. It seemed the wisest. The priest’s voice, deep, even, consoling, filled my ears, and all the other sounds of the city fell away. I had no idea what he said; he spoke mostly in Latin, and every once in a while he’d say an English amen. It soothed me, so much that my body relaxed, the throbbing in my head eased, and my breathing returned to normal. I don’t know why, but I felt safe. It struck me that I hadn’t been to church in years.

I listened for Nyx and Luc to come back, listened to an occasional giggle from Josie, the familiar chuckle of my brother, and the low hum of CSI: Miami on the TV. My lids grew heavy, I grew tired, the noises became more distant, and before I knew it, I’d drifted again.

I found myself wandering the corridors of an enormous castle, one of ancient stone, wooden rafters, antique tapestries. A gray cat sat perched upon a window seat, napping, its purrs thrumming within me. No one was about—not at first. Soon, though, I heard laughter, and I followed the sound to a distant chamber, upstairs. A chill coursed through me, and when I glanced down at myself I saw why. I wore nothing more than a garnet silk robe, a pair of black spiked boots that laced in the back and rose to my thighs, my hair curled and piled loosely on my head. A garnet silk choker graced my throat. Why was I dressed like this? Where was I?

I continued on, but the more I sought the others, the farther away the voices seemed to get. Then, I was lost, deep in the bowels of the castle, where lights were dimmer, shadows stretched long, and the chill set into my bones. I pulled the edges of the robe closer together, but the robe was tight, barely fitting. Finally, I saw a light flickering beneath a closed door, and I pressed my cheek to the aged wood. There was warmth inside.

“Come in,” a familiar voice called from inside. “I’ve something to show you.”

As though I had no control of my actions, my palms flattened against the door and I pushed. It swung on creaky hinges, and, as I peered inside, I saw, standing beside a roaring fire, Victorian Arcos. He was dressed in head-to-toe black Armani, right down to his leather boots. His hair remained long, pulled loosely in a queue. My body tensed immediately with fear; I backed out and closed the door.

“Don’t run,” he said.

Victorian stood behind me, in the corridor. His breath brushed the shell of my ear. “Turn around.”

As if it were someone else, my body turned to face him. I had no control. With my back to the door, I stared up into his beauty, breathless, speechless. “Eli spared your life. Why? What did you two discuss?”

“Ah, yes. Eligius had no choice but to spare my life. And I will leave it to him to explain why. Things are much more complicated than you or he can even imagine. Now, enough of this chatter. I cherish these times with you, and I don’t want any other interference.” He looked deeply into my eyes. “I know you want me to touch you, Riley,” he said, his exotic accent washing over me as he abruptly ended any further questions. They’re on my tongue, but I’m unable to speak. “Just as badly as I want you to touch me.” He lifted a knuckle and grazed first my jaw, then dragged it down the column of my throat, catching the material of my robe and pushing it off my shoulder. “Your body art fascinates me,” he said. As he leaned close to inspect my inked skin, his breath brushed, whispered, enticed. “Just as you fascinate me,” he continued, his brown eyes locked on mine as his hand, skimming my shoulder, lowered to the sash tying the silky material together. He pulled the sash slowly, until the loose knot fell free and the robe gaped open, revealing a clear path of skin between my breasts, all the way to the small triangle of silk that was my panties. Victorian’s eyes grew darker.

“You can’t continue to torment me like this, in my subconscious,” I said, my gaze holding his. “You may be able to control me, but it’s not really me you’re getting your way with, is it? It’s not really me you’re touching, or me you’re getting off on. I’m being forced, with no say-so, no control. You might as well have a fucking blow-up doll, Victorian.”

For a moment, his eyes rolled back, the look of pure satisfaction on his face. He then looked at me. “Just the way you say my name—the way Victorian falls from your tongue and past your lips makes me hard,” he whispered against my ear, pressing his body closer to mine. “Feel for yourself, Riley.” With the back of his knuckles, he trailed the exposed skin of my abdomen, letting it linger against the silk of my panties. I wanted him so badly to stop; I thought I’d come if he moved a fraction lower. I hated him for it.