She’s strong and fast. Faster than I am. Stronger? I’m not sure. She caught me off guard and tossed me into that wall like a rag doll. I’ve fought centuries-old vampires and won.

Not this time, though. The first round goes to Sandra. I realize now I cannot let my guard down for a moment with this one. Not if I want to survive.

I watch her, in front of the fireplace, her back to me, her posture relaxed. She raises her hands and runs her fingers through her hair. She stands with one hip slightly thrust forward, a model’s stance that draws one’s eyes to the curves of her body. It’s a cultivated pose. She knows I’m watching.

The siren is back.

I PASS A HAND OVER MY FACE TO GATHER MY WITS, clear my head before moving to stand beside her at the fireplace. She does not acknowledge my presence. She’s grown still. She’s staring into the fire, eyes dreamy and unfocused, head tilted, her thoughts obviously turned inward. She seems to be listening. To what or to whom, I have no idea.

“Sandra?”

The sound of my voice brings her back. It’s subtle. Her shoulders straighten a bit, her eyes brighten. She half turns toward me, an eyebrow arched, as if trying to remember who I am or why I’m here.

The ambiguity passes quickly.

“Anna.” She gestures toward one of the chairs placed on either side of a large coffee table. “Please, sit down. We have business to discuss.”

No indication, no mention of what transpired between us. She gathers the long folds of the gown and eases herself into a chair, waiting for me to do the same.

“I want to know about the dress,” I say, still standing.

She looks up at me with a hint of impatience drawing the corners of her mouth into a small frown. “I told you. I found it upstairs.”

“Not possible. It was my gown, and I know where I left it. It was not in this house.”

She waves a hand. “God. What difference does it make where you left it? It may not be the same dress.”

“It’s the same. It was an original.” I hesitate a moment, wondering if I should say anything else. When the expression on her face darkens into irritation, it trips my own. “I know it because Avery told me it was. The night he gave it to me.”

“And you believed everything he told you. How did that work out for you?”

Her fingers begin to move restlessly, picking at the dress, pinching the silk, plucking at the neckline. It’s as if they are acting to relieve the agitation I see building again in her eyes. She’s fighting to control—what? Herself? Me? I’m having a hard time recognizing the woman who bewitched me in Culebra’s bar with the sound of her voice, the warmth of her smile. Suddenly, I feel foolish. Why am I standing here dressed to seduce or be seduced by a woman who doesn’t seem capable of either?

I feel her watching me. When I meet her eyes, the frantic movements have stopped. Her expression is once again calm, detached. Then, as if having conjured up my last thought, she rises from the chair.

“We can do whatever you want, Anna,” she says, her voice rough as new wine. She slips the straps of the gown off her shoulders, and it falls in a silken puddle to her feet. “All you have to do is ask.”

DRAW A QUICK, SHARP BREATH. HER BODY IS MORE beautiful than I imagined. Reflected light from the fireplace bathes her in a golden, flickering aura. It catches highlights in her hair and throws them back like quick, bright sparks. She’s slim where she should be, trim waist, sculpted hips and thighs, and lush where she should be, perfect breasts, firm, round ass. She has no pubic hair, no body hair at all. In spite of the woman’s body, it gives her an air of innocence, of vulnerability. I want to cover her nakedness. Ask her to slip the gown back on. To protect her.

Sandra lets me look at her, drink her in. She knows I have no choice, that I can’t look away. She fills my mind, whirlwinds my senses.

In the next instant, everything changes.

Now I’m panting with desire. My blood races, my skin heats up with such intense passion, I’m on fire, from within and without. The vampire is dangerously close to taking what it wants. The human Anna, the Anna whose common sense is screaming to get out of here, is slipping away. I no longer want to protect Sandra. I want nothing more than to cover her nakedness with my own. To explore her depths with fingers and tongue. Taste her. Find her pleasure points and make her cry out with the same aching need possessing me.

“What are you waiting for, Anna?” She opens her arms, inviting me closer. “You want me. I feel it.”

I do. More than I’ve wanted anyone since—

Her eyes burn into mine. Her eyes but different. Familiar. Threatening.

“It would have been so good, Anna. I waited so long for a worthy companion. I reveled in finding you, in showing you what could be. I loved you. I loved you.”

Her voice. Her voice but different. The words spoken with anger, disappointment, unbearable sadness.

My god.

I take a step back, mind reeling. Sandra’s face, Sandra’s face, is devoid of expression. Only her eyes are different. They’re his eyes, sparked with life. They’re his words. His last words.

Avery.

I MAKE NO CONSCIOUS DECISION TO FLEE. ONE moment, I’m staring into Sandra’s face, into Avery’s wide, unforgiving eyes and the next, I’m racing out the front door, into the night, away from the apparition.

I know in my head what I saw wasn’t real. My heart, though, is sending adrenaline pumping and thundering the message to get away. The animal fights for self-preservation. I’m in my car and spinning out of the driveway, tires screaming in protest, and miles down the road before rational thought returns.

With it comes the shaking. It starts with my hands, jerking on the wheel, then my body spasms with such a visceral physical reaction that I have to pull over. I stumble to the side of the road and retch until my ribs throb with the effort. I vomit blood, black, thick, burning my throat like acid.

I fed from Lance last night, but blood is absorbed directly into my system. There’s no detour through a digestive tract like food in a human. Where this blood is coming from, I don’t know.

I don’t care. I’m too sick too care. Too weak from the exertion. I fall to my knees, clutching my stomach, head falling forward to the pavement, and pray that this sickness will pass.

From far away, like sound muffled by water, I hear the approach of a motorcycle, the deep, guttural roar of a Harley. Fear that it might be Sandra brings me staggering to my feet. I get back behind the wheel of the Jag and slide down until I’m hidden, waiting for the bike to pass.

It does.

I sit up and stare at the figure riding away from me.

Long, black hair flows from underneath a helmet. A broad, masculine back hunches over the handlebars.

A stranger.

Not Sandra.

Relief, then a deep feeling of futility washes over me. What did I do? Did I think Sandra would not have recognized my car at the side of the road? Was slinking down in the seat supposed to protect me?

I lean my head against the steering wheel. I have to get control of myself. I don’t know what happened back at that house—at Avery’s house—but I do know I’ll never let it happen again. I’ll never go back.

I also know that Sandra’s hold over me is broken. Whatever magic she possesses, I won’t give the bitch a second chance at me.

My heart has stopped its wild pounding. My body no longer jerks and quakes. It’s time to go home.

I’VE NEVER BEEN SO HAPPY TO BE HOME. IT’S EARLY, only ten o’clock but I head right upstairs. I brush my teeth until my gums bleed, and then I rinse until I can no longer taste the blood. I strip off my clothes and climb into bed. I lie there, covers pulled up to my chin, trying to make sense out of the day. How could things have gotten so crazy? What happened to me at Avery’s? How did Sandra make it happen?