She knew him! The voice was familiar. She just had to think, to place it. Why was he introducing her? To whom? She forced her gaze to the blackness beyond the shifting veil of smoke and fog but saw nothing. She sensed that there were more than one person hiding in the shadows, as if there were onlookers, an audience.

Her blood ran cold as death.

Audience! Dear God, that was it!

This was part of some macabre show!

Sweet Jesus, she had to get out and get out now. He was so close. So familiar, yet her mind couldn’t grasp his name. She felt him stand behind her and a hand slid onto her bare shoulder.

She experienced a tingle.

Oh, how sick!

Strong fingers trailed along her skin.

What was this? A seduction? Onstage with who knew how many people staring on? Or maybe he was just the first of many…. Kristi’s guts revolted at the thought and she tried to cringe, to draw away.

“Sister Kristi joins us tonight willingly,” he said with conviction.

Willingly? What?

Couldn’t they see that everything he was saying was a lie, that she was a prisoner in her own paralyzed body?

Of course not, Kristi. Remember: they want to believe.

“She is ready to make the final, ultimate sacrifice.”

Her mind flew to all kinds of torture, of rape, of death. Ultimate? As in final? Jesus, was he going to “sacrifice” her right here? Slit her throat like a sacrificial lamb? She struggled with all her might.

To no avail.

His fingers moved sensually against her skin and she felt her body responding. Oh, God, this was so sick, so damned sick! He had the gall to touch her breasts, to watch her nipples respond and she knew in that second, if given the chance, she would kill him. Despite the desire starting to pulse through her body. She would. She would kill the sick bastard!

He was leaning downward now, his breath ruffling her hair as his hands slid lower and harder.

If she could kick. Could bite. Could spit in his face. Who was he? Who?

She felt her head rotate a bit, almost of its own accord, and in that moment her eyes met his, and she stared into the dark eyes of Dr. Dominic Grotto.

Grotto…

Kristi fought to scream and flail, to hit or recoil, but she remained motionless.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Sorry? For what? Let me go, you miserable son of a bitch!

He leaned closer, his breath as hot as all the fires of hell, his lips curling back to show off his fangs, bright and glistening in the thin red light.

She screamed, but no sound passed her lips as he bit into her flesh. Her skin was punctured by the awful fangs and then…oh, God…then, her blood pumped to the surface.

And he began to feed.

CHAPTER 27