* * * *
William's body twitched.
Evil. The word screamed through his mind, but not a sound passed from his lips.
He could feel the presence. Feel its darkness.
So close.
* * * *
She was at the cabin. She could see the sparkling wood. She could smell the crisp scent of a winter fire.
Everything was just as she remembered. The table that her father had made the summer of her sixteenth birthday sat in the corner. Her mother's painting hung over the mantle.
A cheerful fire burned, the flames dancing.
She walked toward the fire, wanting to feel its warmth. Needing so desperately to banish the cold that was sweeping through her.
She looked around, surprised to find herself alone. She'd thought for certain that Mark would be there. Or Sharon.
She felt something wet and sticky touch her bare foot. She glanced down, frowning. Was that water? It seemed to be flowing straight out of the fire.
How could water come from fire?
She bent down, touching the liquid with one fingertip. She held up her hand, straining to see in the flickering fire light.
Her fingertip was red—blood red.
She gasped and jumped back, trying to escape from the cool touch of the blood. The pool seemed to follow her, moving like a snake on the floor.
The sound of laughter, light and mocking, froze Savannah.
«I've been waiting for you.” The words were soft, purring, lightly accented.
Her gaze flew frantically around the room. “Who's there?” She strained to see in the shadows.
«Don't you know?” He whispered. “Don't you know who I am?»
Her heart pounded. “No. No, I don't know you.»
«Of course you do, my dear.” He laughed again, softly. “You know me very well. Better than any lovers I've ever had. After all, you've shared a kill with me.»
«What?” Her feet were becoming soaked in the blood.
«You were here with me. I could feel you. You were here while I fed.” His voice drifted from the shadows, seeming to surround her.
What was he talking about?
Mark. Her memory returned in a blinding rush. Mark had died. He'd died here, in the cabin. She'd seen it. She'd—
«That's right,” he purred. “Your dear sweet brother. I'm afraid I had to drain him dry.»
A cool touch drifted across the back of her arm. Savannah jerked forward, a scream rising in her throat. She turned quickly, hoping to see the face of the killer who stalked her.
No one was there.
His words continued to whisper from the darkness. “But you know what I did, don't you, Savannah? You were there that night. I felt you. I felt your fear. Your anger.»
Her hair was lifted gently. A cool breeze blew against the nape of her neck. Savannah trembled.
«Your fear made me strong.” The voice was louder now, closer. “It made me hungry.»
The flames of the fire raged, snapping out from the fireplace like greedy hands. Savannah felt the heat burn across her skin. Then, in a flash, the fire died.
The room was plunged into darkness.
Something brushed against her leg. Savannah bit her lip, choking back a scream. She knew it wasn't real. The cabin. The voice. None of it was real. It was just another dream. Another nightmare.
His hand grabbed hers, locking tightly around her wrist, crushing the skin and bones in a powerful grip.
It just felt so damn real!
«Tell me, Savannah.” His breath whispered across her face. “Did you enjoy it? Did you enjoy watching them die? Did you enjoy it as much as I did?»
She tried to jerk away, but he held her fast. She kicked him, once, twice, but he just laughed at her. “Let me go!»
«Never.” He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the skin on the back of her hand. She could feel the edge of his teeth against her. The sharp edge of his teeth. His fangs.
«Who are you?” She whispered.
«Don't you know?” He turned her hand over, and his teeth scraped against her palm.
Savannah gasped at the sudden flash of pain. The skin split open in two long, narrow slits, and blood oozed onto her palm.
It didn't make any sense. Dreams weren't supposed to hurt. Why did she feel the pain? Why? Why couldn't she just wake up?
She shook her head frantically. “This isn't real. It's just a dream.»
His eyes began to glow. An eerie red glow. She couldn't see his face. Or his body. Just his eyes.
«Oh, it's more than a dream. Much more.»
It was hell. Being trapped with him, having him touch her, was pure hell for Savannah. Wake up, she ordered herself. Wake up!
«You're not going anywhere, my dear.” He licked the blood on her palm. She shuddered. “I have plans for you…»
She had to wake up. She had to!
The red glow of his eyes burned down on her.
True terror burst in her heart. She couldn't get away from him. She couldn't wake up. She was trapped, alone—
«That's it, fear me. Give me that fear. It feels so good…»
«Savannah!” William shouted her name. “Savannah!»
A snarl escaped from her captor, and he shoved her away.
Savannah slipped, falling down into the pool of blood. She still couldn't see anything. She couldn't see William. Or the killer. “William! William, where are you?»
«He can't help you,” a deep voice snarled from above her. “He'll only destroy you.»
«No!” She scrambled to her feet. “William! Where are you?»
«Savannah! Don't be afraid.” His warm voice drifted to her. “I won't let him hurt you.” He sounded closer.
She took a deep breath. She didn't understand what was happening. How had William gotten into her dream?
Fire burst once again from the smoking logs, sending light flashing into the room.
William stood in the doorway, rage etched on his face. And, by the fire, another man stood, a man as tall as William and with midnight hair. His arm was thrown over his face, as if to protect him from the fire.
The stranger turned toward William, placing his back before Savannah.
William stiffened when he saw the man's face.
«So, we finally meet again.” A low laugh, vicious and cruel, slipped past his lips. “Hello, brother.»
Savannah gasped. No, it couldn't be—
* * * *
«No!” Savannah awoke, screaming. Her heart pounded furiously, the sound echoing like a drum in her ears.
The cabin was gone. She was back in her hotel room.
Had it all just been a dream? A horrible nightmare?
She lifted her hand, trying to brush the hair back from her eyes.