I try to tell her. The words almost form, but slip away before they gel. "Danger," I want to say. "Save yourself."

"Why don't you answer me?" Elizabeth asks. "Peter, please!"

She rises and I watch through her eyes as she walks to the bedchamber's outside door. "No!" I imagine myself yelling, but no sound, no thought escapes me. Elizabeth opens the door and Casey Morton screams.

Elizabeth roars and I see Casey's horrified countenance just as my bride does.

"Casey! Move!" Jorge Santos shouts and the blonde jumps to one side. He lifts a massive weapon to his shoulder and aims it at Elizabeth. She stares at the barrel's black muzzle and I recognize the weapon as a rail gun. I try again to warn my bride, but she rushes forward without hearing me.

The gun explodes before her, Jorges Santos flying back from the recoil. Elizabeth screams as the ball rips through her right eye socket. Her mind goes blank.

Cut off from her, I lie motionless in the dark, alone with my thoughts. Grief engulfs me. I attempt to move, to curl into a fetal position, but even that is refused me. I can't blink an eyelid or moan. It is wrong, I think, to be denied the ability to weep.

Time passes or doesn't move at all. It's impossible for me to tell. All I know is the hard slab of the cot beneath me, the weight of my chains. I strain to see anything of my surroundings, but view only darkness. I listen, but hear only the stillness around me. I know Santos will come to kill me. The man could never leave knowing the murderer of his sister still lives.

I struggle to move, concentrate on controlling just one finger-the small one on my right hand. I will it to respond. It trembles and, if I could, I would smile. I will it to move again and it flexes. I turn my attention from finger to finger, slowly bringing each to life. My eyelids resist and then succumb to my desire to blink.

My successes make me hopeful and I try once more to mindspeak. "Elizabeth!" I call. "Elizabeth, please answer me!"

A sob escapes from my lips when I receive no reply. I lie still again, give way to the solitude of my existence.

Something… a wisp of energy… a glimmer of a thought touches me. I concentrate, try to reach out, strain to receive whatever may be out there.

"Elizabeth!" I call again.

A feeble reply brushes my consciousness. "Peter?"

I open my mind to her, attempt to merge with her, like I did before. I recoil from the pain and confusion I find, her anger as she rejects me. "Elizabeth," I mindspeak. "Please."

It takes all my energy to understand her thoughts. "Peter, where have you been?" she asks. "Where are you now?"

"Oh, Elizabeth, you can't believe how happy I am to hear you… I was afraid he killed you."

"Very nearly. He hurt me badly, Peter. Where are you? I need you. I think he and the woman are still near me. Please, Peter."

"Lie still. Don't let them know you're alive," I say. "I'm below, locked in one of the cells. At dinner they tricked me. They served me Dragon's Tear wine."

"Oh, Peter! I warned you."

" You did and you were right. But now we have to stop them."

"I'm healing quickly. It won't be long before I'm much stronger, Peter," she says. "I can hear them now. They're talking about you."

I attempt to raise my arm. It refuses to budge. I force a sigh. It seems control of my thoughts will be easier than command of my body. "Elizabeth, I'm afraid it will be awhile before I can leave my cell." The idea of leaving her alone angers me. I try again to merge with her thoughts. This time she doesn't rebuff me.

Elizabeth emits a mental gasp when I join with her. Together we listen.

"We could use more firepower," Jorge says. "They should be here soon. But for now, we need to rely on ourselves. We don't know where the woman is or how many more things like this are around. We still have to kill DelaSangre. Bring me three more rail guns and I'll load them for us."

Casey Morton grunts her assent.

"They still don't realize what we are," I say. "That has to be to our advantage. Can you open your good eye just a skinch?"

Elizabeth does and together we watch Santos nearby, working in the flickering yellow glow of two lit torches, pouring powder into one of the large guns.

"Peter?" my bride says. "I can do it. I'm growing stronger. In a little while I'll be able to stop them. …"

"No! Not without me." In my cell I try to lift my arm again. It rises a half-inch before my strength fails me. "If they think you're dead, they'll leave you alone and concentrate on searching the house, trying to find the person they imagine you to be. By the time they give that up and come for me, I'll be recovered enough to elude them. Then we can both end this."

"What if they go for you first? I won't be able to help you there. It would be better if I acted sooner, alone."

"I know Santos. We've played chess for months. He always goes on the defensive. He knows I'm locked in a cell. He'll want to find and eliminate you first."

"What if you're wrong?" Elizabeth says. "It is possible you know." Irritated, she twitches her tail.

I feel her movement. "Stay still!" I warn her again.

"Did you see that?" Casey asks Santos.

Jorge, intent on working the ramrod, driving the charge home, says, "Huh?"

"I think the thing's tail moved."

"Casey, it's just an involuntary movement," he says. "We blew half its head off. Nothing would survive that…"

The high-pitched growl of a small outboard motor interrupts their conversation. Santos and Morton both look seaward. Out in the dark, the dogs greet the noise with a chorus of barks and growls. Santos says, "I think the cavalry's arrived."

Casey stares at the water and snorts, "Some cavalry! Four middle-aged men in an inflatable dinghy."

The dog pack's noise turns to bedlam and, in my cell, I can picture them on the beach massing for an attack. Staccato bursts of machine-gun fire cut through their clamor, turning their growls into yelps, their barks into howls.

Santos grins. "With that armament, I think they're help enough."

As the bursts and dog yelps continue, Santos goes on loading the rail guns.

"Why bother?" Casey asks.

Jorge shrugs. "Just in case," he says.

In my cell I wince at each machine-gun blast, worry that all my dogs will be destroyed forever and wonder, if we survive, whether I'll ever be able to replace them. All too soon the gunshots stop and the night becomes quiet again.

"Damn!" I mutter. I clench my fists, open them. I'm able to raise my arms almost to shoulder height, then drop them. Soon, I think. If only I have enough time.

I groan when the first man steps into Elizabeth's view. Tall and thin, grinning, looking like a charter captain in his yachting cap, T-shirt and khaki shorts, Jeremy Tindall approaches Jorge, his hand out, and says, "Mr. Santos, I believe." Three shorter, more muscular men follow behind him, their faces obscured by the shadows.

I pray that Arturo isn't one of the others.

"You should have killed him long ago," Elizabeth mind-speaks.

The other three men emerge into the light and I let out a sigh of relief when I see that all are Asian. Tindall nods toward a gray-haired Chinese man dressed much like him. The man is older than the others and carries a large, black Colt automatic in his right hand. "This is General Chen," Tindall says, "and these"-he points to two fatigue-clad men armed with AK-47 machine guns-"are his assistants."

Santos shakes Tindall's hand, nods to the others, who nod back to him. "Glad you're here. We can use the help."

Casey points at Elizabeth. "It isn't bleeding anymore."

"What the hell is that?" Tindall says. He backs away, as do the others, muttering in Chinese.