Nico had gone days feigning sleep - and thereafter waited. He would have waited till the end of time if need be.

He managed to dull his breathing to a steady rise and fall of his chest that gave the impression of having succumbed to an impenetrable slumber or worse - death.

When at last he heard the unfastening of a lock followed directly by the groaning of hinges, his muscles tensed in anticipation of a kill. His beast responded innately with a deep growl of pent fury and his blood heated at the prospect of violence.

The sound of boots dragged toward him, every lagging step rousing a gust of silver. It settled on him like pinpricks of fire and Nico ground his teeth as it burned like a thousand hellacious needles.

Just a little closer - he rolled abruptly into unsuspecting shins, and a body plummeted to the concrete with a satisfying grunt of pain. The creature gave a shrill cry, a sound so heinous it could have easily eroded the finest of steel. Realizing its peril, it crawled frantically to escape him, hands flailing and legs kicking, but with a measured growl of frustration Nico wrenched the sack of stench back and in one final swoop, tossed it onto its spine.

His hand curled threateningly around its throat, hooking his claws into decaying flesh only to be affronted with the putrid ripeness of death. He bared his canines in revulsion, a snarl fraught with violence resonating on his throat.

And Nico realized, with a stab of disappointment, that the creature wasn't a vampire but a ghoul compelled to do the bidding of the undead.

His wolf bristled at the letdown but reveled at the chance to shed blood, nonetheless.

"Where is your master?" Nico hissed furiously, "Tell me now or I'll crush your fucking windpipe!" to emphasize his threat his fingers tightened to the degree of fracturing and the ghoul squirmed, its mouth gaping wide, starved for a breath.

He could just see the creature's misshapen face in the dark as its expression twisted with the pressure of his fingers. "Who is your master?" he demanded, slackening his grip just enough for the creature to mutter a gurgled response - likely choking on its own rot.

"Will...not...disobey." The ghoul rasped.

Nico's rage magnified and red suffused his vision, "Your mistake." And he crushed the creature's larynx with a simple twist of his wrist and shoved the revolting bag-of-bones aside.

He fell back on his haunches and pushed a hand through his hair and repressed a cough as silver burned a wretched path to his lungs. He'd had enough of this damned place.

Glancing at the manacle fastened to his ankle, he recalled countless times of straining that steel, but there was no undoing it without a key.

His gaze swiveled to the ghoul lying inapt and thought, what were the odds that freedom lay in arms length?

He snagged a set of keys from the creature's pockets and began testing each one. When at last the shackle fell free of his ankle his heart soared against his chest with a rekindling of adrenaline and rage.

Pocketing the keys, Nico staggered to his feet, gnashing his canines against the abrasive air. Silver infiltrated every bit of the enclosure.

He lurched toward the doorway, heedful of the bars fraught with the metallic element and braced his weight against the frame as he surveyed the length of corridor. It was scantily lit with candles supported on brackets, illuminating the extent of stone in a flickering light of faint gold.

It had to be an underground crypt. So where was the fucker? He advanced with faltering steps, muttering a curse for his temporary weakness. No matter, the silver would gradually work from his body and his strength would restore. The bastard wouldn't have a chance.

His wolf issued a concurrent snarl as he dodged rodents that littered the stone, and they scurried astray at his feet.

When he ultimately reached the end of the passage he paused to survey the ceiling, spying a tunnel that ascended above ground, but it was a series of stone steps on his left with a declination of darkness that drew his gaze.

Was the vampire's burial chamber further below? With that thought, Nico descended the winding steps into a fixed blackness completely famished of light. As he crept further from the silver-riddled cage, his strength steadily returned, his muscles flexing with his renewed stamina. His senses reeled against the oppressive dark but he could clearly discern the framework of a barred door once he reached the footing.

For a moment, he braced amid the pitch-black, muscles tense, ears straining, but not a sound carried from the other side. The door was sealed from the outside, which meant something was kept locked within. He wanted answers. He wanted blood.

And with that notion reached for the bar and wrenched it loose.

The heavy door swung inward to a lair sheathed in shadows. There was so much of it here - likely spawned from its undead creator, but it blessedly lacked that caustic sting of silver. His eyes took on the sheen of his beast to better survey the outline of what appeared to be a large, canopied bed, the only furniture to occupy the wall-to-wall stone.

His nostrils flared wide with the intake of smells merged on the stifled air but one in particular rang discernibly tang on his senses.

Blood. There was a combination of two in the room, one far more potent, but in striking contrast to the other. He inhaled deeply, deciphering one distinctly for the undead that it was. He installed it to memory certain he'd been cheated of his revenge for it would appear the lair was empty.

Or so he thought -

Nico detected the faintest of sound, the likes to which he'd grown painfully acquainted with, like chains scraping against an icy, cemented floor.

The sound elicited a growl from his throat and his wolf perched with aggression as he crossed the room to the opposite wall where his eyes fell upon a crumpled - woman.

His brows furrowed as her scent, something incredibly sweet-smelling, filtered his nose, heating his blood in the most alarming, yet stimulating way, like molten.

It stunned him, even more so when his beast roused to that honeyed scent like a moth to a flame. The unwarranted reaction intensified his anger and his jaw grew taut with tension.

He inched toward the crumpled heap and realized as a feminine gasp rendered the air, that she was awake.

"Come forward, woman." Nico growled, his fists curling.

She did not heed his command but rather pressed deeper into the darkness.

He ground his teeth. With his patience wearing thin and his anger doubling into rage, Nico leaned down on his haunches and seized the visible length of chain, entwined it about his forearm, and wrenched.

He immediately realized his error as a soft, feminine body coasted directly between his thighs, and his gaze clashed with an indescribable pair of beautiful blue eyes and a face armored in pale beauty.

Her loveliness momentarily rendered him stunned, permitting her to scramble back into the darkness with a soft cry, and oddly enough it struck an unpleasant chord in him.

That foreign reaction irritated him further. He'd never responded in such a way to a female, apart from one, who'd never been his to begin with. Why this female - because she smelled of something incredibly sweet? He shoved the unseemly thoughts to a dark and remote place, but his wolf objected nastily with a snarl, provoking him all the more.

Why should his wolf respond to a human female? And if he had said those words aloud they would have dripped with disdain. He despised humans for reasons that threatened to do him under. But try as he might, he couldn't spurn that honeyed scent.

So she smelled damned good. It made little difference to him.

His face darkened with a scowl. You forget why you're here, Roux. His thoughts turned elsewhere. Was this woman of some value to the vampire? He tilted his head, craning his neck as he inhaled deeply of the honeyed air, and there - he caught a trace of evil coursing through her veins.

The vampire had marked her - but hadn't turned her? She was of some value but to what extent would the vampire go to retrieve her? Was she his intended mate? Judging by the barred door and chain about her waist, she appeared unwilling. She reeked of the vampire but the evil that masked her did little to quell that sweetened essence belonging solely to her.

Well, if he couldn't find the bastard, he'd lure the bastard to him.

With that final thought, Nico reached once more for that length of chain, curling it around his forearm and jerked the woman back into the enclosure of his thighs.

This time, she came out fighting like a hellcat, nails drawn, hands flailing, but he easily captured her wrists in the vise of one threatening grip, securing her in the cage of his thighs. He felt her strength rapidly waning and her body lagging against him and realized, practically depleted of strength, she appeared on the verge of collapsing.

Nico held firm to delicate bone so fragile that he could have easily snapped if it he so desired, and with that thought, he loosened his grip.

"Who are you?" he demanded gruffly.

Though he imagined she could see little of him in the dark, nothing but a hulking shape of a man, he could see every pale, alluring feature of her through the tapestry sheen of his beast.

A shock of white-blonde hair tumbled over frail shoulders like spun silk, tangling about her waist. Her alabaster complexion, likely to elicit envy even in the moon, coaxed his touch. Her face was a lovely countenance of high cheekbones, a pert nose, and a mouth shaped like a cupid's bow forged purely of sin - ripe for kissing.

Nico stiffened. Had the silver gone straight to his head? She was human, and clearly of some worth to the vampire. Hate her.

His grip tightened a fraction about that delicate bone, prompting a feminine gasp.

He was struck dumbfounded by the beauty of those cornflower blues as they were pools of the utmost terror, but they glinted faintly of fight and he had to bite back a grin. Her body may have failed her, but her will was far stronger. That was an admirable trait, no matter its host.

His gaze traveled over her once more and as if aware of his intense scrutiny her struggles began anew, disturbing the chain at her waist. This drew his attention and he released her briefly only to hook a hand in that length of iron. He lifted it, in search of the lock, and was slightly taken aback by the weight of it.

All that shackle bearing down upon feminine hips, likely bruising, tenderizing.

The thought coerced something guttural from his throat, consequently terrifying her all the more as she thrashed against his ministrations of working the lock free.

When it finally gave way, dropping to the floor in a heap of chain, he jerked her into the crux of his arms rather than the cage of his thighs. Her body trembled as it impacted with his and he reeled her flush against him, which sent her into another fit of flailing.

With his patience stretched taut like a rubber band ready to snap, Nico fisted a wealth of that white-blonde hair, just tight enough to quell her struggles.

A small, feminine gasp fanned his chin - promptly warming his blood.

He gritted his canines, "It would be in your best interest to not fight me."

He could feel the terror radiating through her body, which he realized was incredibly soft, every small inch of her, as it lay flushed against the hard length of him.

And then the softest of plea, fashioned solely of loveliness, weighed noticeably with immeasurable pain, whispered, "Please, don't hurt me."

Then she went slack in his arms.

***************

He came to her more frequently, all the crueler, his bloodlust insatiably magnified, with eyes reflecting piercingly of a red sheen that bespoke of a ravenous thirst.

It mattered not that she fought him every time, in fact, he relished in it as he scraped his fangs over her fluttering pulse, that hot, stagnant breath rousing bile from her throat, all the while dragging his talons over the ridges of her spine.

And then he would drink his fill. He would feed until sated, the partaking always brutal and incredibly painful, draining her to the verge of unconsciousness - only to wrench her back to hell as he forced her to take of his own blood.

He would sustain her just enough, setting her back on the fences of cognizance simply to inflict more torment and agonizing pain. But never did he turn her.

His vile, wretched blood burned a rupturing path down her throat like foul-tasting petroleum set ablaze. It scorched all the way to her belly, setting her vitals aflame, igniting every fiber and cell, threatening to do her under in a sea of flames. Her body writhed and arched in crippling agony, and she clawed at her skin as if to rid her body of that liquid fire.

When at last the pain steadily dissipated would her body go slack with exhaustion, only to fall prey to his revolting touch.

He would stroke her jaw, the curve of her shoulder, the swell of her breast - his fangs perched just beyond the cruel, thin slits of his mouth.

'No one can save you now, my pet. You belong to me, to do with as I please.'

Leonie awoke with a strangled cry, arms flailing as she instinctively scrambled up against a - headboard?

Confusion wrestled with the fog of her brain as her eyes strained against the shadows that layered the room and for a time she merely sat riveted amid a - bed?

Her heart slammed wildly against her breast as she splayed her hands wide on the mattress, her blood pounding through her veins as she listened to the quiet of the musty-smelling room.

Nothing but an uneasy silence fell on her ears.

Where was she? How did she come to be here - wherever here was? Was this a cruel trick of Valentine's? Did he taunt her with the pretense of freedom?

As these thoughts rattled through her befuddled brain it jarred her heart into overdrive with a disabling fear. Her sharpened exhalations passed through her raw throat like a jagged blade rather than fleeting breaths. And for a time she could do no more than simply sit frozen with terror-stricken uncertainty.

She shifted and though her body protested unbearably of sore muscles, scrapes and bruises, she realized with a soaring of heart, there was no chain!

Her eyes widened to saucers in the dark - was she truly free? But how? And why?

Adrenaline erupted in her veins at the likelihood of freedom. She didn't know where she was or how she came to be here - but something forewarned her that now was as good a time as any to escape.

With her heart accelerating tenfold, she scooted to the edge of the bed, grimacing at every twinge of pain that lanced through her as she threw her feet to the coarse carpet. She paused, her ears straining, her breathing magnified, but not a sound penetrated the dark.

And so, very carefully, she stood - and swayed almost immediately on unsteady legs. Her hands lashed out and seized what felt like a nightstand, the lamp atop it rattling with her off-kilter footing.

She straightened, inhaled deeply of the stale air, and stepped. Her ears all but reverberated with the frantic rhythm of her heart as she crept tentatively towards what she suspected to be a door. She could just see the outline of thick drapes, likely coated in layers of dust, suspended over a window. And judging by the amount of darkness that disguised the room, nightfall likely lay beyond that door.

Her heart turned over with a flickering of fear. Did Valentine loom outside that threshold? That frightening thought gave her pause and her feet halted over the coarse carpet, and she gaped apprehensively at her escape.

But then - a subtle noise, like the repositioning of weight in a chair, rang sharp on her ears. And only then did she realize, with a horrified gasp, that she was not alone.

Terror propelled her toward the door with a smothered cry, and just when she thought her legs would buckle from sheer lack of strength and fear, did a band of muscle hook around her waist, hauling her back against a wall of -

Leonie's eyes widened as an alarmingly new realization struck her. The wall at her back was anything but an icy block of protruding bone.

No. Barrel-chested warmth rested at her spine.

She thrashed against that iron-band fastened around her waist with this newfound fear. Her captor then muttered an intangible curse, spun around and dropped her unceremoniously to the mattress.

Springs bore into her spine as she bounced atop the stiff bedding. She then attempted to roll off the side but a strong, callused hand seized her arm, thwarting her flight.

"Enough!" commanded a deep, hoarse voice assembled solely of serrated edges and a palpable rage.

Light suddenly flooded the room as he switched on the lamp.

Leonie blinked against the intrusion, but once her eyes focused she sucked in a sharp breath and paled beneath an unsettling pair of lucid, green eyes suffused with a steel-gray.

The man, holding firm to her arm, had a wealth of jet-black hair swept back in an unkempt manner from his forehead, with either side shaved close to his scalp. His face, constructed solely of chiseled, masculine planes held steadfast to an icy, impenetrable resolve. He bore a strong jaw shadowed with a few weeks worth of stubble. His nose was perfectly symmetrical and his mouth, she noticed, was set in a hard, grim line.

His very presence absolutely absorbed every bit of the oxygen in the room. He was massive. His shoulders, which were broad and twice the size of most men, obstructed her visual path to the door. His chest was an impressive expanse of solid brawn, every sinewy muscle framed in the black t-shirt clinging to that upper toned portion, which gave way to massive thighs donned in black jeans.

But perhaps the most intimidating feature was the beginning of a tribal tattoo engraved into the left side of his neck, which disappeared beneath the collar of his t-shirt only to resurface at his muscled bicep, which then reached for his elbow.

She felt the strength in those fingers fastened warmly about her arm and suppressed a tremor, realizing he could easily hurt her if he so deemed fit, and judging by his stony expression appeared quite on the verge of doing just that.

Who was this formidable stranger? And how had he managed to free her from Valentine?

"Who are you?" he demanded of her, forcing her to flinch from the brunt of his roughened tone.

Her mouth parted, feeling suddenly parched, "Leonie." She managed hoarsely.

Those steel-green eyes narrowed, studying her more intensely, and she held his gaze despite the desire to avert hers elsewhere.

"Who are you to him?" he spoke as if through clenched teeth and that simply hinted at a curbed rage.

This man radiated fury and danger. His cold demeanor, the icy sheen of those steel-green eyes, and his iron-grip, implied that he was not to be trifled with. He was absolutely frightening.

Recalling his question, she replied, "No one."

His eyes narrowed skeptically at her answer.

She had to be exceptionally careful in what she disclosed to this menacing stranger. What if this man intended her harm? What if he knew about her? What if he intended to use her just as Valentine had done? She'd made a mistake once and that had landed her in the hands of her worst nightmare. She would not dare make that mistake twice.

Those masculine fingers tightened threateningly, "Do not lie to me."

Her eyes widened as they clashed with steel-green, "I am not lying."

"Tell me his name." he demanded harshly.

Who was this stranger to Valentine? Valentine was a centuries-old vampire who was unbelievably powerful in ways that made him indestructible. Could this tempered, tattooed bad-ass destroy him?

"Valentine." Her voice nearly trembled as she muttered his name.

Again, those steel-green eyes narrowed perceptively as if weighing her response. "Does he have a last name?"

She shook her head.

"Are you his mate?" he growled through gnashed teeth, and then added, "You reek of him."

She didn't know whether he intended it as an insult, but felt a stab of anger nevertheless and snapped haughtily, "And you simply reek."

The moment the words left her mouth, she tensed, but rather than strike her as she fully anticipated, he merely surveyed her with a discernible glint of - humor?

But it was fleeting, quickly replaced with a hardened gleam.

He released her abruptly and gathered to his full height, which alarmed her all the more for he stood several inches over six-foot. The man was huge. And compared to her measly five-foot-five frame, she imagined she didn't stand a chance up against that tall-glass of brawn.

"Who are you?" she asked softly, her eyes wavering to the door.

He pinned her with those unsettling eyes and for a moment she thought he wouldn't answer. "Nico."

Nico. She thought. What an unusual name.

"Is that short for something?" she asked out of sheer curiosity.

Again, those steel-green eyes held her gaze and this time he ignored her question and began to pace a grove in the coarse carpet.

She swallowed and glanced for the first time around the room.

They were in a motel. The room was poorly ventilated and stale-smelling. The carpet she recalled having been coarse beneath her feet was of a faded blue. The wallpaper lining the walls was stained yellow from the mildewed air with a rickety ceiling fan suspended above her. To the left of her was a doorway that led to a bathroom. And she noticed alarmingly that there was only one queen-sized bed.

"What do you want?" she demanded fearfully. "What do you plan to do with me?"

He stopped pacing and fixed her with that intense gaze, "If you are of some value, the vampire will come for you, and when he does - the bastard is mine."

Leonie's heart fluttered at the fury bristling just beneath that flat sheen of murder, "You're mistaken. I was just his next meal. He will not come." She lied.

Those steel-green eyes narrowed as though detecting the tangible lie. His expression then darkened and he took a step toward her.

Her body stiffened as she instinctively pressed against the headboard as he came to tower above her. "A vampire does not give his blood willingly to a human unless he intends to claim her. You think I cannot smell his blood in you?" he snarled, "And until the fucker comes to reclaim what I've stolen ... you're mine."