She froze. The lamp was off. She hadn’t noticed at first, because the moonlight streaming in through the wide window was bright enough to light the room, but the glass shade was dark, its jewel tones muted.

The small trickle of unease turned to a flood.

She curled her hands into fists, wishing she still held the tablet. It would have made her feel better, even though it wouldn’t make much of a weapon. But it was on the table next to the darkened lamp, too far away for her to reach quickly.

Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it, and a copper taste filled her mouth. She realized dimly she must have bitten her tongue, or her cheek, but she couldn’t feel it. There was no room for pain, not with her brain screaming get out, get out now so loudly it drowned everything else out.

She stared at the door, open to the short run of stairs that led to the second floor. Her phone was still in the bathroom, perched on the edge of the sink where she could reach it from the tub, a lifeline too far away to be useful. If she could get there, and lock the door behind her, she’d be safe.

From what or whom, she didn’t know. But she was suddenly terrifyingly certain that someone was in this room with her, and the longer she sat there trying to figure out what to do, the more danger she was in.

She didn’t give herself time to think it through. One second she was sitting on the chaise, starting at the out of reach tablet, and the next she was running for the door. But she’d forgotten about the throw on the floor, and her bare toes got tangled in the knitting. She didn’t fall, but she staggered, costing her precious seconds, and just as she reached the open door, hard hands yanked her back.

She opened her mouth to scream, but the sound was cut off when something slapped over her mouth. She clawed at it, the distinctive smell of leather filling her nostrils as hard fingers bit into her cheeks. Her hair was yanked back, hard and high, and pain screamed through her scalp. She automatically went to her toes to ease the pressure, practically dancing en pointe as he dragged her back into the room. She stopped dragging at the hand over her mouth and flung her hands back, fingers curled into claws, and aimed where she thought his head would be.

She met nothing but air, but there was harsh breathing in her right ear, so she adjusted course, aiming for the sound. She made contact, but instead of skin or hair met a thick, slick cloth. Her nails skidded across it harmlessly, and before she could try again, she was flung face down across the chaise.