Free Dance with Darkness by Melissa Darnell Page A

sneered at her.
    Dear God, were those fangs in his mouth?
    Blood poured down his victim’s neck above her pale-colored dress. The dark fluid trickled down along the edge of the dress’s v neck collar to pool within her cleavage, darkening the dress along its path. Her coat lay in a dirty puddle near her feet, its crumpled heap of light and dark plaid wool soaking up the winter’s filthy moisture.
    The man dropped his first victim, and Brianna had just enough time to feel a moment’s rush of fear. Then he grabbed Brianna’s throat and thrust her up into the air with one hand so that only the toes of her boots dragged along the graveled lot. The next instant she found herself enclosed within his dark embrace. Blinding pain exploded within the muscles on the side of her neck as his horrible, scowling face bent over her and the stench of something dead and rotting filled her nose.
    The world turned black.
    When Brianna awoke, she was sprawled on a satin canopied bed, her wrists and ankles loosely encased in old fashioned manacles. She ached all over as if she had the flu and was utterly exhausted; even lifting her head to look around was a supreme struggle. She managed this small movement, though, gritting her teeth against the pain burning across the side of her neck while she studied her surroundings.
    Three black walls decorated with antique looking swords formed her new prison. She couldn’t see what the fourth wall behind her head held. On her right, cold night air billowed gauzy white fabric on either side of a set of French doors. The fabric blew towards her like two long, beckoning arms begging her to run towards them. The same wind brushed icy, unseen tendrils over her body, making her shiver with the sudden, horrible realization that all but her bra and bikini-cut panties had been stripped away.
    Her attacker appeared. Appeared was the only way she could describe his entrance. He came through no doors, made no sound to warn of his impending approach. One second Brianna was the only person in the room. The next, he was standing between her and the French doors.
    What the hell...? her mind stumbled over the thought.
    “My name is Kilo, and you cannot escape. At least, not until I am done with you,” he said, his fangs glinting where they curved over his thin lower lip like a snake’s. She half expected him to stick out a forked tongue next and start hissing at her.
    She glared at him, instant hatred boiling in her chest. Refusing to be intimidated into a quick reply, she kept her mouth shut and took her time studying this gothic loving vampire wannabe. He’d certainly studied well for his obsession. Long black hair pulled back into a ponytail with a black ribbon revealed Kilo’s pale white face and cruelly hooked nose. His eyes flashed a pale violet, which had to be fake.
    “Nice contacts, asshole,” she spat out as her teeth began to chatter from the cold.
    “They are not contacts, I assure you,” he murmured with a smile, reaching up to idly finger the lace edges of his white shirt.
    “Your shirt looks like one of those pathetic tuxes from the eighties. Did you have to pay extra for the nerdy ruffles down the front, or did they come free of charge?” she blurted, then winced. Antagonizing this guy wasn’t the way to go. Not if she wanted to make it out of here alive. She clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering against each other. Goose bumps covered every inch of her skin, and the muscles along the tops of her thighs cramped painfully.
    He only smiled and sat down beside her on the bed. As his long nailed fingers reached out to touch her bare body, her stomach rolled and threatened to heave.
    “Get your hands off me!” she hissed out between her teeth. Should she scream? Would someone come to help her if she did? Or would it push him to kill her?
    Despite the venom in her voice, Kilo continued to smile. His hand reached out towards her right breast, then hovered a fraction of an inch over its