Maria forced herself to move. She fled down the stairs. When she reached the impressive marbled foyer at the bottom, she looked up to see Raphael calmly descending the steps. Giving herself no time to think, she ran again. Turning right, she powered her bare legs down another hallway. The house was a rabbit’s warren, endless hallways twisting and turning and leading to nothing but more never-ending passages. She was lost, but at least she could no longer hear Raphael behind her. Hearing the low hum of voices from beyond two tall ornate wooden doors, Maria felt the first flicker of hope swell in her chest.
She burst through the doors, turning and slamming them shut behind her. Maria was breathless, her chest aching from exhaustion and the adrenaline surging through her veins. Backing away from the doors, her eyes fixed on the doorknob, keeping watch in case Raphael followed, Maria barely heard the sound of a chair leg scraping on the wooden floor behind her.
She froze. Pulse racing, Maria slowly turned around. Her eyes widened. Around a large dining table sat four men . . . four men who all had their eyes locked on her. Maria stepped back, and back and back until her shoulders slammed into one of the doors behind her. She scanned the table. A man with bright red hair was smirking her way, drinking a large glass of red wine. The man beside him, a blond man with gray eyes, curled his lip in disgust when his gaze dropped to her bare legs. Maria tried to pull down the hem of the shirt she still wore, aware she had nothing on underneath. Her eyes next found a man with long brown hair that fell below his shoulders, eyes as dark as midnight. He was licking his lips as he drank her in, his head tilting as he studied her every inch. Finally, her eyes fell on a man with black hair and ice-blue eyes. Maria almost cried out loud in horror as she watched him cut his wrist with the bladed ring on the tip of his thumb. Blood sprouted from the vein, and he dipped another of his fingers in the blood, as if it were paint, and smudged it onto his lips, sucking at the wound and swallowing the blood down. His lips curled back and revealed pointed teeth . . . teeth of a vampire.
Maria scrambled against the door, as if she could disappear through the hard planes. What is this place? Who and what are these men?
Another man with dark hair and blue eyes came through one of the other two doors leading to the room. He wore a strange collar around his neck. He stopped dead when he saw Maria. She watched him close his eyes and take a deep breath, as though he were fighting for control.
“Well, what do we have here?” The red-haired man got to his feet, the first to speak. He kept his wine in his hand. He wore a green dress shirt that was open to the middle of his chest, and black slacks. The shirt matched the color of his startling eyes. He took a step forward. Maria’s nails tried to find purchase on the door. It was no use. They scraped against the solid wood, digging into it. “It seems Little Red Riding Hood has lost her way and found herself in the wolf’s den.”
One by one the men got to their feet. But Maria felt no sense of good coming from this room. Instead the air was thick with malintent, shrouded in darkness. The looks and the hungry eyes made only one promise—death and pain . . . They are just like Raphael.
As if he’d heard Maria’s thought, the man with the collar around his neck opened his eyes, blatant hunger in his disturbing gaze, and charged in her direction. Maria held her breath, unable to move, paralyzed by the stark fear spiking her blood. She tried to breathe, to find some strength to make her feet move. But just as she knew it was fruitless, the man dropped to his knees, the cords in his neck protruding as he threw his head back and roared out a pained scream.
Maria scurried away to the safety of the flocked red-wallpapered wall, then she looked up. Her heart jump-started to life when she saw a blond man with gentle curls framing his face watching her in utter dismay. But that wasn’t what made her almost cry in relief. That belonged to the shirt and collar he wore. The collar that brought her more comfort than anything else in the world.
That of a priest.
“Please . . .” she begged as she met his bright-blue eyes. “Help me, Father . . . help me.”
The door to her right burst open, and Raphael stormed through. Maria watched him take in the man on the floor. Raphael’s face flamed with rage. His head whipped to her cowering by the wall, and he moved to where she stood, blocking her with his body.