The vast complex of underground rooms and corridors beneath his estate allowed him to set his own hours, for at his age, he did not need to find repose immediately upon sunrise. And too often his sleep did not bring rest. Like now.

Enrique was with him, but his servant had stood, silent and unobtrusive, as Mason used his bare fists until blood smeared his knuckles and the wood. Vampires were naturally dominant, demanding the submission and obedience of their human staff and servants. But what he saw in the depths of Jessica’s mind, revealed by Amara’s skilled touch, was sadistic cruelty.

When at last Mason paused, he kept his eyes on the post, his fists clenched. “What did you find out from the Council clerk?”

“The vampire world thinks she’s still at large. No one even has a hint of where she might be. But once she is found, the Council expects her delivered to them immediately for justice.”

“Justice.” His jaw clenched, and this time when he hit the solid oak post, it splintered, a sharp crack before it toppled.

He’d seen the stirrings in her mind when Amara touched her, so when another panic attack loomed, he’d told Amara to suggest something unexpected, but nonthreatening. The sensuous touch of another woman. Though normally he would have enjoyed being on the mental sidelines, he had to pull out, close that link, because he was afraid his rage would spill out and frighten Jess.

There was no such thing as a civilized vampire. He scoffed at the Council members who pretended otherwise. However, there was a difference between the wild animal who accepted his natural savagery and one whose savagery twisted and became something evil.

Such evil had infiltrated Farida’s family, for it was the only comprehensible explanation for their ability to take a beautiful, brave woman, one of their own blood, and stake her out in the desert sun, torment her and then let her broil there. She’d died in agony.

“My lord.” He wondered if Enrique realized he’d just saved the support beam to the room with the quiet prodding. “Should I send word to the Council?”

“No.” Mason uncurled his bloody fingers. Having been buried beneath a few tons of rock before, he didn’t care to repeat the experience. “Not yet. First, we help her recover her mind. Then I will deal with the Council. But no one is ever hurting that girl again.”

Raithe had taught her there were no absolutes. His will was everything, and he could bring things out in her she didn’t even know were there. There were no definitions. She didn’t prefer only men or women, or apple versus chocolate pie. Everything could become a pleasure or a torment, depending on the moment, the need, the desire.

That lesson had been so well learned she couldn’t deny it. The twitchy need in her, the borderline panic about those restraints and her current situation, made it hard to breathe. But here was a distraction, a channel for the panicked energy.

She lifted her chin and straightened in the tub, awkwardly. “I want to kiss you,” she said hoarsely.

“Then your command is my deepest wish, child.” Amara settled her lips on Jess’s, light, affectionate. But the platonic sensuality was fleeting, for Amara’s clever mouth teased Jess’s open to find her tongue, stroke and stimulate it so desire bloomed in her chest, warring with the panic constricting her chest. Jess made a strangled sound as Amara’s fingers curled around the back of her neck, keeping Jess safely upright in the tub.

Closing her eyes, she let herself be taken over by it, with the tini est tinge of despairing hope that it would not be followed by pain or horror. This did seem different. The garden was a transparent shadow, a ghostlike memory, but if she tried, she could imagine it in full, vibrant bloom around them. So many lush tropical flowers, the chatter of monkeys, birds with strange piercing cries. The shadow over her closed lids was a man’s shadow, a man’s hand cradling her face, tilting her head back to capture her lips. He pushed her back to the ground, demanding she surrender everything, give him herself, be his in all ways, and he would fill the aching emptiness inside of her. This was a magical place, the kiss spinning a spell that would keep away everything painful, real and ugly.

She didn’t have to be in the steel room. She could stay here instead, spinning in this fantasy vortex forever, her body lifting to his, wanting to surrender, give to him. Not be afraid of his touch.

Come for me, Jessica.

She imagined him saying those words, a voice inside her mind, male, urgent and yet calm, steady. If he said them, she could let go, could spin free and wild, because there was no choice. The thought swept every inch of her skin, rippling with heated water, his imagined touch, a woman’s hands, the smell of lavender. Amara’s hair curtained her face.

She strained against her bonds, wanting to wrap her arms around something, somebody. As if knowing her need, Amara’s arms encircled her, arched her up against her voluptuous bosom, holding Jess as she shuddered, caught in yearning desolation and loneliness.

In the center of Eden, a serpent blinked at her with Raithe’s eyes. But the arms held her closer, and she brought that male voice back into her head, gave it the words she needed to hear until it all spun away.

Fear no evil, for I am with you . . .

“There you are, sweet girl. We have you.” Amara’s voice. Jess reoriented herself as the woman eased her back into the water, stroking her hair. “You’re so lovely. Thank you.”

It took her a few seconds to realize why the woman was giving her thanks, but then Jess awkwardly managed a shrug, which reminded her of the manacles. “Please take these off.”

“Only Lord Mason can take them off. It will be all right.” Amara gave her a sympathetic but implacable look. “Let’s finish getting you cleaned up, out of this tub, and we’ll walk around the grounds. You need to know where everything is. And we’ll feed you.” The shift from arousing lover to motherly nurse was smoothly done, Jess reflected. Too smoothly for her raw emotions and embarrassed, vibrating body. “Did he teach you to manipulate people like this? You’re good at it.” Amara, removing a towel from a cabinet, stopped and turned. “Excuse me?” The woman’s tone was actually frosty. Intriguing. Raithe’s servants had been like salespeople, handling negative reaction with sugarcoated words and blinding, fake smiles. “You heard me.”

Amara tossed back a wave of sable tresses. Any man would want to bury his face in them. Long, beautiful hair, perfect face, unscarred body. Elegant and self-assured, reveling in a lifestyle Jessica had abhorred. She hated her.

“Yes, I did hear you,” Amara said evenly. “My lord Mason has taught me a great deal about pleasuring myself and others, in ways that have enhanced my life, and my love for Enrique. But manipulation means twisting someone for your own benefit, not theirs.

Everything done here will be for you, Jessica. For your benefit.”

It’s for your benefit Jack must die. It is a lesson you must learn. For your benefit, and that of those you love . . .

“Sure,” Jess said, and turned her face away. You lying bitch.

Amara slid her hand under Jess’s arm. “Let’s find you something to wear.” Jess complied, using Amara’s help to stand. The weakness she’d expected to be experiencing from the earlier seizure was already gone, an unsettling reminder that she, too, had a third-mark’s strength, though it was likely somewhat less than Amara’s, being newer and her body not properly nourished. After being near death for so long, going from one extreme of the spectrum to the other was jarring. But that center fulcrum, being a vampire’s property, had remained the same, as if she were the hands of a clock, spinning around, thinking that time was passing, even as one end of those hands stayed anchored in the same place.

She wondered how often Amara had had to fight for her life. Had she ever been denied food for a week and then been shoved into a kennel with two starving Rottweilers as dinner party entertainment, the three of them in a fight to the death for a hunk of raw, rotted meat?

When Amara bent to retrieve the sponge and straightened, her face was inches from Jess’s. Jess remembered the dog she’d pinned, how she’d hammered desperate fists into his windpipe until she crushed it, while he clawed skin from her naked body. As the life died out of his brown eyes, she’d known he was the lucky one. The other dog had cowered back, her dominance established, and waited for his share until she wolfed down her part of the meat. He’d been so hungry his eyes never left it. The blood dripping from her mouth was a contrast to the saliva dripping from his.

The brief glimmer of uncertainty in Amara’s eyes was the only opening she needed. Slamming her forehead against the woman’s temple, Jess forced her to stumble, and then threw her shoulder into hers. Amara’s feet shot out from under her. She fell face forward into the tub, her rib cage striking the edge hard enough to break some bones.

Most accidents happen in the bathroom, after all . . .

Jess fell on top of the woman’s upper body, forcing her head under the water. Bracing her feet at one end of the tub, Jess caught her fingers in one of the Jacuzzi’s jet portals near her bound wrist to brace herself, hold Amara down. She used the woman’s body to stay above the water. If she hadn’t dazed the servant, she would have been thrown off, but as it was, Amara was still disoriented. Hitting someone in the head with her own made both opponents see stars, but Jessica had the upper hand. She fought through the dizziness to keep it.

When Amara went limp, unconscious from the blow and oxygen deprivation, Jess wallowed off her and struggled up to her knees, making it to her feet. If Mason wasn’t tuned into them right now, she might have a window of opportunity to . . . what? Her ankles were locked together. She couldn’t do more than hop. That didn’t matter. The point wasn’t escape; it was resistance.

Torture me, you bastard, but don’t you dare try to trick me with kindness through one of your whores.

She sat down on the tub edge, used the fortunately placed wall behind it to lever her feet out of the tub. Amara was third-marked.

Only a heart strike could kill her, so Jess was unconcerned about her drowning. Instead, she made it to her feet, wet, dripping, naked and impassive as Enrique burst into the room.