This initiation—which she’d thought had been a bit of a joke—had taken a dangerous, unseen turn. She remembered vaguely agreeing to be part of the “show.” She’d drunk the fake “blood” in the martini glass and yeah, she’d thought all the vampire stuff her newfound friends were into was kind of cool, but she hadn’t taken any of their talk seriously. She’d just thought they’d been screwing with her head, seeing how far she would go….

But within minutes of downing the drink, she’d felt weird. More than drunk, and really out of it. Belatedly, she’d realized the martini had been doctored with a potent drug and she’d started to black out.

Until now.

How much time had elapsed?

Minutes?

Hours?

She had no idea.

A nightmare?

A bad trip?

She hoped to God so. Because if this was real, then she really was situated on a couch, on a stage, wearing nothing, her long hair twisted upon her head, her limbs unmoving. It was as if she were playing a part in some eerie, twisted drama, one that, she was certain, didn’t have a happy ending.

She heard another whisper of anticipation.

The red light began to pulse softly, in counterpoint to her own terrified heartbeat. She imagined she could see the whites of dozens of eyes staring at her from the darkness.

God help me.

Gritting her teeth, she willed her limbs to move, but there was no response. None.

She tried to scream, to yell, to tell someone to stop this madness! Her voice made only the tiniest of mewling noises.

Fear sizzled through her.

Couldn’t someone stop this? Someone in the audience? Couldn’t they see her terror? Realize the joke had gone too far? Silently she beseeched them with her eyes. Slowly, the stage became illuminated by a few well-placed bulbs that created a soft, fuzzy glow punctuated by the flickering red lamp.

Wisps of mist slid across the stage floor.

A rustle of expectancy seemed to sweep through the unseen audience. What was going to happen to her? Did they know? Was it a rite they’d witnessed before, perhaps passed themselves? Or was it something worse, something too horrible to contemplate?

She was doomed.

No! Fight, Rylee, fight! Don’t give up. Do not!

Again she strained to move, and again her muscles wouldn’t obey. Vainly she attempted to lift one arm, her head, a leg, any damned thing, to no avail.

Then she heard him.

The hairs on her nape raised in fear as cold as the Northern Sea. She knew in an instant she was no longer alone on the stage. From the corner of one terrified eye she saw movement. It was a dark figure, a tall, broad-shouldered man, walking through the oozing, creeping mist.

Her throat turned to sand.

Panic squeezed her heart.