Dr. “Vlad” Preston turned to Kristi. “Elizabeth wants to bathe in your blood.”

Kristi could only stare, her brain devoid of rational thought as she tried to make some sense of this. “Elizabeth?” she repeated.

“The name I’ve taken. Of an ancestor. You might have heard of her? Countess Elizabeth of Bathory?”

Instantly Kristi recalled what she’d learned from Dr. Grotto’s class. About the sadistic woman who had killed young girls, innocents who worked for her, and bathed in their blood in an attempt to rejuvenate her own flesh.

Elizabeth rested her head on the tiles and sighed as if she were in ecstasy. “She was right, you know. I’ve seen a difference since I’ve been using her treatment.”

“Blood baths,” Kristi said, scarcely recognizing her own fear-choked voice. From the corner of her eye, she saw Vlad approaching. He gave her wide berth, but closed in. “That’s what happened to the others? To Monique? Dionne?”

“Yes, yes, and Tara and Ariel, those that are good enough.” She sat up then and said, “But I wouldn’t have the lesser. No tainted blood.”

“Karen Lee wasn’t tainted,” Vlad said.

“Not good enough for me, then.” Elizabeth settled back in the water and said, “Let’s do this before I shrivel up like a prune.”

Kristi wasn’t giving that whacked out woman one drop of her blood. As Vlad approached, she reeled, kicking him hard in the shin again. She tried to sprint past him, but he was onto her plan. He threw himself at her and they went down in a heap, wrestling and fighting. He was strong as an ox and heavier, forcing her to the floor.

“Vicious bitch,” he growled, grabbing hold of her bound wrists and forcing them over her head so that she was heaving and sweating beneath him.

Elizabeth stood. “Don’t ruin her! Don’t crush her vessels…I want…”

“I know what you want!” Vlad spat out, but he was staring down at Kristi. To her horror, she felt his erection, stiff and hard, through his black pants. She fought the urge to heave as a smile slid snakelike over his lips and he pushed his groin down a little harder, making certain she knew what was about to happen.

She was going to be raped and drained of blood.

Oh, God, she had to fight. This couldn’t happen!

She tried to squirm, but got nowhere, and within seconds he’d bound her feet again and forced a pill down her throat by holding her nose until she gasped and coughed.

Within minutes the drug, whatever the hell it was, started to take effect again and she was weak as a kitten, her brain disengaged as if she were drunk.

She tried to flail, but her swipes found only air as he cut off the tape surrounding her wrists. While she wanly protested, he hauled her into the warm, almost soothing water.