Something that might have been compassion flickered in the depths of Liliana’s deep green eyes, and was quickly gone. “There is a nightgown and a change of clothing in the wardrobe. If you have need of anything at all, there will be a drone outside your door. Just tell him what you want.”

Elena nodded. A drone? What on earth was that?

“I bid you good night,” Liliana said, and with a last look around the room, she took her leave, quietly closing the door behind her.

Elena stood in the middle of the room. It was a far cry from the dormitory where the sheep were housed. Several landscapes adorned the pale yellow walls. Plush beige carpeting muffled her footsteps. A ceramic pitcher and several glasses sat atop an ornately carved three-drawer chest, along with a hair brush and hand mirror. A flowered quilt covered a large brass bed. A wooden shelf held a number of books written in several different languages, as well as numerous DVDs and CDs for the TV and stereo housed in a small entertainment unit. Curious, she opened the door to the left of the bed and stepped inside, surprised to find a small bathroom. There was no tub, just a commode, sink, and shower. A shelf held several towels.

Returning to the main room, she went to the window and pulled back the heavy drapery. A bright yellow moon shone on the snowcapped mountains in the distance. It was too dark to see anything else, but she stood there for several minutes, staring at the wispy gray clouds drifting across the inky sky.

Where was Drake? Was someone caring for him? How long would it take for those dreadful burns to heal? Was he still a prisoner? Would they let her see him again?

So many questions and no one to answer them.

Suddenly overcome with weariness, she sat on the edge of the bed and removed her shoes, then let down her hair.

There would be time enough for answers tomorrow.

Drake lay on his back on a thick pallet in a cell in the dungeon beneath the Fortress, his arms folded behind his head. It was a dismal place, but preferable to being locked in the tower. A sound of disgust rose in his throat. Trust Rodin to drag out his punishment as long as possible, as if Drake could forget that he was no longer a free man, or that his sire was now making his decisions for him. The thought rankled beyond bearing.

Earlier, Rodin had brought him one of the sheep, but Drake had refused to feed, even though drinking from her would have helped ease his pain and aided in his healing.

It had been a foolish thing to do. He would not heal without feeding, but his anger and his pride had overridden his thirst.

Rodin had glared at him. Though his sire hadn’t spoken a word, it was obvious he knew why Drake had refused to feed, and just as obvious that he recognized the gesture for the useless act of rebellion it was.

Drake swore. How had things gone so wrong, so fast? He had badly underestimated Rodin’s determination to have his own way. Considering the events of the last two days, it was difficult to believe he was his sire’s favorite son, but Drake knew it to be true. The fact that he still lived was proof of it.

He groaned low in his throat as the hunger burned through him. Maybe he should have fed. The pain that wracked him was constant. He could feel his veins shrinking. His fangs ached. His blistered skin throbbed incessantly. But even worse than his physical pain was his need to see Elena, to hold her in his arms, to bury himself in her sweetness.

Closing his eyes, he summoned her image to the forefront of his mind. How had he lived so long without her? She was like the sun, bringing light into the darkness of his life. He thought of the night they had made love, the way she had given herself to him, the joy he had found in her arms. She had been afraid of what he was, yet she had come to him eagerly, giving him all she had, her love pouring over him as warm and bright as summer sunshine. He remembered the taste of her on his tongue, the way her life’s blood had warmed him, turning away the hunger, lighting the darkness of his soul.

What was he to do without her? Where was she now? He tried to find her through the blood link they shared, but he was too weak, the pain too strong, to concentrate.

A cry erupted from his throat, torn from the very depths of his being, a mournful wail that rolled all his pain and loneliness into one long anguished howl that reverberated off the walls and echoed in every room in the Fortress.

And those who loved him heard and wept bitter tears.

Elena woke with an overpowering sense of loss. As much as she might wish otherwise, her brief marriage was over. What was worse, Drake was going to marry someone else. He might insist he didn’t want to wed Katiya, but what man—mortal or vampire—would find such a union distasteful? The vampire was beautiful. Her skin was so clear, it almost glowed. Her hair was thick and rich, her figure perfect. Looking at her had made Elena feel as grubby and undesirable as an old worn-out shoe.

If only she could leave this place now! How long would Rodin insist on keeping her here? What if—horrible thought—he made her attend the wedding? She would rather die than watch Katiya become Drake’s bride. How was she going to face the future, knowing he was sharing his life with another woman, fathering a child with someone else? No matter how long she lived, she would never forget him.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Elena sat up and stared at the wall. If Rodin sent her away, where would she go? Surely not back to her uncle. Drake had said if the time came when she no longer wanted to be his wife, he would give her Wolfram Castle and the means to support herself for the rest of her life. But he was in no position to do that now, so where did that leave her?

Rising, she went into the bathroom and washed her hands and face while she considered her options.

Whether Drake approved or not, she had little choice but to return to Wolfram Castle when and if she left here. She had nowhere else to go. Maybe she could demand that Rodin provide her with enough money to live on until she could find a job. After all, it was his fault she was now a divorced woman with no visible means of support.

She paused as she dried her hands. Did she really want to go back to the castle when Jenica was buried in the garden? What was she going to do about Jenica? Drake had promised to find her cousin’s murderer, but that wasn’t going to happen now. And what about her uncle? She would be helpless without Drake to protect her.

Going to the window, she pulled back the curtain and stared outside, a gasp rising in her throat. The view in daylight was spectacular. The Fortress, situated on a mountain peak, overlooked a deep green valley bisected by a narrow ribbon of blue water. Several small cottages dotted the valley floor. How sad for the men and women who were kept here to live in view of such a beautiful place and never be able to see it, never be allowed to go outside to enjoy it.

Turning away from the window, she removed her nightgown, then went to the small wardrobe beside the bed. Opening the double doors, she found a simple green cotton dress with a round neck, long sleeves, and a bell-shaped skirt hanging beside her lavender silk. There was also a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved pink sweater.

Dress or pants? Pants or dress? Deciding the jeans made her feel less vulnerable, she quickly pulled them on and slid the sweater over her head. Liliana had also thoughtfully provided a pair of white sandals. Like the jeans and sweater, they fit perfectly.

Summoning her courage, Elena unlocked the door and stepped into the corridor. A man—a very big man with massive shoulders—stood beside her door. He didn’t speak, didn’t smile, just stood there like a statue, his gray eyes curiously empty. Was he the drone Liliana had mentioned?

Elena hesitated, then turned and started walking down the hall. Liliana had said she could roam at will. Being curious about the Fortress, she intended to do just that.

She hadn’t gone far when she realized the Hulk was following her. To protect her? Or to keep her from stumbling into something she shouldn’t?

No matter, she thought, she was going exploring.

The room to the right of hers was a library, larger than any she had ever seen before. Floor-to-ceiling shelves, each filled with books, lined every wall. Several sofas and comfortable-looking chairs occupied the center of the room, along with several low tables. She wandered from shelf to shelf, perusing the titles, noting that there were books in a multitude of languages. She took one from the shelf and thumbed through it. It was in a language she didn’t recognize, but thought might be Russian. The pages were edged in gold leaf; the drawings that accompanied the words were breathtaking.

After carefully returning the volume to the shelf, she left the library.

There were two rooms across the hall. The first held numerous works of art. Some were framed and mounted on the walls; other canvases were on easels. Glass shelves held figurines and statues made of blown glass, pewter, onyx, and marble. Picking up a statue of an old woman carved from wood, Elena ran her hand over the smooth oak, marveling at the intricate detail even as she wondered whether the works of art had been created by the vampires.

The next door opened onto a music room. She stood there a moment, her gaze moving from the piano in the far corner to the harp, violins, cellos, flutes, triangles, and drums scattered around the room. Several music stands held pages of sheet music. Did vampires dance? And sing? And play musical instruments?

The room at the far end of the corridor was the Council chamber. There were no pleasant memories in that room and she didn’t go inside.

The man continued to follow her as she went in search of the dining room, which she knew was somewhere downstairs. She didn’t know if she was too early or too late, but she had the place all to herself. Going into the kitchen, she helped herself to a scone from a covered tray and washed it down with a cup of lukewarm tea. Plucking another scone from the tray, she nibbled on it as she left the dining room.

Behind the next door, she found a laundry room furnished with several washers and dryers, as well as a sink and a long counter. A quick glance, and she moved on.

Remembering that there were no windows in the lower levels, she plucked a fat candle from a wall sconce to light her way before descending the stairs to the dormitories and the day rooms. A lantern hanging from the ceiling provided faint illumination on this floor. She frowned, wondering who the light was for. The drones, perhaps?