With every hour that passed, she became weaker, drifting in and out of sleep, feeling near delirious from the thirst and hunger for anything, be it blood or human food. The state she was in, she would bite into anything that came close enough to her mouth.

Portia clenched her jaw shut, desperately trying to ward off the need to sink her fangs into something. Before her eyes, the room began to swim, the furniture in it seemingly moving on its own, tilting to one side and then the other. The gas fire in the old fireplace flared as if mocking her, its heat intensifying. She knew then that her mind was playing tricks on her and that she was beginning to hallucinate from starvation. If she were human, starvation wouldn’t set in for a long time, but her hybrid body demanded more fuel to burn than a human body.

Her father would win after all. Desperate to survive, she would bite any man her father presented to her. It would seal her fate. She would become part of a group of fanatics, imprisoned by their lunatic ideology and their crazy notion of ruling this world.

Portia pulled hard on her restraints, her shoulders and arms feeling virtually numb from the long hours they’d been in this position, stretched out over her head. The silver clanged against the heavy steel beam it was attached to, and now that she was getting weaker, she felt the effects of the silver even through the bandages on her wrists that were meant to protect her skin.

Heat started pouring through the protective cloth, and she felt the start of a burning sensation. She shifted her position, trying to minimize the contact with the silver.

A loud thud from downstairs jolted her. Then a shout. More shouts.

Were her hallucinations getting worse?

Portia lifted her head, trying to focus her eyes, but everything was fuzzy. The door toward the hallway seemed crooked, the dresser opposite the bed seemed to move on its own. Dizziness overwhelmed her, forcing her to drop her head back onto the pillow. More noise pounded in her head, mocking her like drums beating down the time until the midnight ceremony that would seal her fate.

Glass shattered nearby. Vibrations rippled through the house.

Then she felt it, the presence that was comforting and soothing. She sighed contently, allowing herself to drift deeper into her dream. There in her world of fantasy, Zane was by her side, the man who loved her, who looked at her like she meant the world to him.

“Portia!”

His voice was so close, so strong. He would save her from this madness and wipe away the memories of the last two days and nights. In her dream, they were back at his cabin in Tahoe, making love in front of the fireplace.

“Oh, baby girl, what has he done to you?”

Zane’s question didn’t fit into her dream. No, she didn’t want to be reminded of her situation; she wanted to relive happy times.

Her head thrashed from side to side as she tried to shake off the intrusion into her dream. “No!”

A strong hand captured her face.

Her eyes flew open. Her vision was blurry. Somebody was there. A face she recognized but knew couldn’t be real.

“No,” she breathed.

“Baby girl, look at me.”

Portia watched his lips move, his breath ghosting over her skin as he did so, and inhaled his words and his scent. Blinking her eyes, she pushed through the fog that surrounded her.

Shock made her catapult from her prone position, but the restraints jerked her back. “Zane!” Was she still dreaming?

“I came for you.”

As the words sank in, her mind sobered. He was real, all right. But it was no reason to rejoice. He’d come for her. What was it he’d said the last time she’d seen him? That he’d kill her like he’d kill her father.

Panicked, she scrambled backwards, and for the first time she truly saw him. Zane was dressed entirely in black. He wore a long sleeved figure hugging t-shirt and black jeans. Over it, his leather jacket was open. She glimpsed an array of weapons in its inside pockets. Weapons to kill a vampire—or a hybrid.

Portia opened her mouth, wanting to scream, not for help, but out of desperation, but Zane clamped his hand over her mouth.

“I’m sorry, baby girl.”

Tears brimmed at her eyes. Why was he still calling her this? How could he be so cruel when she already knew he’d come to kill her?

***

Portia looked frightened. Frightened of him. She’d been about to scream, but Zane couldn’t allow that.

His colleagues were attacking from outside on the ground floor on the other side of the large Victorian mansion to draw Müller and his cohorts to that side of the house, so he’d been able to slip in through  a window on the second floor and search for Portia. He couldn’t risk her alerting her father.