The room was dark and silent, but something awakened her. Rachel lay still for a moment, simply listening, collecting her thoughts. It wasn't completely silent. Outside, it was obviously windy. She could hear the soft rush, the battering of the building and the rustle of blown branches. Those were the only sounds, however; there was nothing to signal where she was--nothing except the memories crowding her.

Those memories were horrific, not to mention confusing. They came to her in order this time. Rachel distinctly recalled Fred and Dale arriving with the burn victim and telling her she'd earned the position she'd sought. Then, she recalled her confusion at the burn victim's state and the wild-eyed madman bursting into the room. Rachel had a very clear memory of his ax slamming into her. Yet now she was feeling no pain.

She wanted to believe her feeling of health was because she'd been given some excellent drugs, but she also recalled waking up earlier, meeting the handsome blond man with silver eyes. Etienne. He was the same man who had haunted her dreams while she'd been sick the week before the ax attack. She distinctly recalled waking up and him claiming to be a vampire, then showing her his extendible teeth. Which should only convince her that all her memories were nothing more than a dream. There were no such things as vampires, after all.

Rachel shifted cautiously where she lay, mentally prepared for a burst of pain to rip through her chest from the wound she'd sustained, but there was none. The hospital had obviously given her some pretty strong drugs. No doubt those drugs were leaving her confused as well as warding off the pain she should feel.

Amazing drugs, Rachel decided. She hadn't felt this strong or healthy in years. At least, not since she'd started working the night shift.

Moving carefully to avoid disrupting the IV she could feel trailing out of her arm, Rachel sat up and blinked several times, trying to bring the surrounding dark shapes into better focus. The room seemed large in the blackness, much larger than a hospital room should be.

Rachel was frowning over this when she realized that, from the shadows and shapes she could make out in the darkness, the room very much resembled the bedroom from her dream. A light had been on then, revealing a draped bed and blue decor. She recalled creeping down through an empty house to a basement where that silver-eyed man had risen from a coffin.

Definitely a dream, she decided.

Unable to see herself in the darkness, Rachel ran her hands over her upper body. She wore no clothes, and there was no sign of injury--just as it had been in her dream. Had she been hurt at all? What was dream and what was reality?

"Oh, jeez." Feeling a little panicked, Rachel thrust the blankets aside, hardly noticing as the IV tore from her arm. She paused long enough to feel around for the bedsheet, which she had been lying on top of rather than under. Pulling it from the bed, she fashioned it around herself toga style. Again? She was suffering a definite sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu.

Don't even think like that, Rachel ordered herself firmly, suddenly desperate to find someone, anyone, to verify what had happened. She had a vague recollection of the setup of the room, but since she had already decided it was a dream she remembered, she couldn't go by it. Instead, she crept along the bed toward the wall it should back onto, arms extended.

Once she felt the wall, Rachel eased her way carefully along it in search of a door.

The first thing she found was a piece of furniture. Actually her knee found it--with a crack to her shins. Rachel paused to rub her aching leg before she felt the outline of the item was a chair.

"Nice place for it," she muttered irritably, then forced herself to pause and take a deep breath. She should have turned on the bedside lamp. But, then, she hadn't felt one, or even a bedside table. Of course, her arms had been extended and she'd probably missed it because of that. Every room had bedside tables, didn't they?

Rachel briefly considered returning the way she'd come, but it seemed an awfully long way back. In the end she decided to keep going and eased around the chair to continue forward. Her breath caught at the sudden feel of wood beneath her fingers. Then she found a doorknob and quickly turned it. She thrust the door open. Black yawned before her, more absolute than that of the room in which she stood. After a hesitation, Rachel felt along the wall until she found a switch. She flicked it on.

Light exploded from overhead, forcing her to close her eyes. When she could open them again, Rachel found herself standing in the doorway of a bathroom. A large sauna tub lay directly before her. There was also a toilet and a bidet. The owner of this establishment obviously had European taste, which proved more than anything that she was definitely not in a hospital. Unless it was a hospital in Europe.

Which was a possibility, Rachel supposed. She might be in a special clinic for coma patients. Although the bathroom was larger and more luxurious than the average hospital bathroom, and she didn't think that European clinics--even expensive European clinics--would waste this kind of space on a comatose patient. Besides, Rachel's health insurance wouldn't cover such expensive care, and her family was middle class, hardly able to pay for such extravagant accommodations.

More confused than before, Rachel started to turn away but paused as she glimpsed herself in the mirror. Caught, she eased closer until the vanity counter halted her progress.

She stood for several minutes, staring. She looked good. Darn good. Her hair was shiny and vital--a dark red with its natural wave and not the usual flyaway orange-red that needed a good oil treatment. She hadn't looked this good since she was a teenager. The fast-paced, stress-filled life of University, then the working world had not been kind. Her face was flushed and healthy now, however, hardly the complexion of someone recovering from a chest wound. Nor like the pale undead. A wry smile tugged at her lips. Vampires had no reflection. She was not a vampire.

Not that she had believed she was, Rachel assured herself. She grimaced then admitted, "Okay. For one minute I was afraid those dream memories of a silver-eyed man telling me I'd been 'turned' to save my life were true.

"Silly girl," she chided. But she also lifted her lips into a snarl so that her teeth showed. They were normal, and Rachel could have sobbed with relief. "Thank you, God," she breathed.

Sucking in a fortifying breath, she unwrapped the sheet she wore for the final test. She found her upper chest and the mounds of her breasts smooth and unblemished. Shoot. Not that she wanted to be wounded, but it would have been better for disproving the validity of her dreams.

It was then that Rachel also realized the sheet she wore was the same pale blue as she'd dreamt. A moment of panic swamped her, but she forced herself to control it.

"Okay. Stay calm," she ordered. "There is a perfectly sensible, sane explanation for all this. You just have to find it."

Reassured a little by the sound of her own voice, Rachel turned away from her reflection. Peering back into the bedroom, she surveyed the furnishings now visible in the light. Her heart sank. It was indeed the room from her dream.

Her gaze went to the IV stand. The bag was mostly empty, but as before there was a drop or two of red liquid remaining. Blood.

"Oh, jeez." Rachel shifted from one foot to the other, then walked to the other door and out of the bedroom. She had to know what lay beyond. Surely not the hall from her dream?

"Damn," she breathed as the door opened onto just that--the long, empty hall she remembered so well. This was getting spooky. Taking a deep breath, she tried for rational thought. Okay, so the hallway and even the bedroom had been in her dream. That was simple enough to explain. Perhaps she hadn't been totally comatose when she'd been transferred here. Perhaps she'd been semiconscious, or feverish or something, and awake enough to see and remember the hall and the bedroom.

Ignoring any flaws in that reasoning, Rachel stepped out into the hall and walked to the landing. In what she had thought was a dream, the entry below had been dark and empty. It was still empty, but no longer dark. Light spilled out of one of the adjacent rooms, and she could hear the faint rumble of voices.

After a hesitation, Rachel moved down the stairs. She squeezed her toes into the hardwood with each step, an effort to prove to herself that this time she wasn't merely dreaming.

"You told her it was a dream?"

Rachel slowed as that question came clearly to her ears. A woman's strident voice continued, "Etienne! What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that she needed to rest, and that this was the easiest way to calm her," a male voice answered in slightly defensive tones. "She was a bit freaked out, Mother."

"Understandably so," came another voice, similar to that of the dream man who had claimed to be her host, but deeper, more solemn somehow, despite its present amusement. "Especially since she caught you sleeping in that coffin of yours."

"Oh, Etienne!" the woman exclaimed. "Surely you don't still have that nasty old thing?"

"I don't normally sleep in it"--he was now definitely defensive--"but I've had some of my best ideas resting in that coffin, Mother. Besides, she was sleeping in my bed."

"Well, surely you have other beds here, son. You have finally gotten around to furnishing the spare rooms, haven't you?"

Etienne's answer wasn't really audible from where Rachel stood. Realizing she had stopped, she eased herself forward to stand outside the door. Then she hesitated, waiting until the woman spoke again before peeking around the door frame at the room's occupants.

"Well, you are going to have a lot of explaining to do when she comes in here, Etienne. And now that you've already lied to her, she may not trust anything you say." The woman sounded annoyed. She also looked perturbed, Rachel saw, as she gaped at the speaker. The woman was beautiful, incredibly beautiful, the kind of woman other women hated to be seen around. She was also the living image of the woman Rachel had seen on the monitor downstairs. Long wavy hair, large silver eyes, a pouty mouth.

Mother, the man named Etienne had called her? Rachel shook her head in denial. This woman looked to be in her late twenties. Thirty at the most. She was definitely not the blond man's mother. Mother had to be a nickname, perhaps chosen because she was a worrier and a fusser.

"I know."

Rachel glanced to the speaker, Etienne. The woman had addressed him as son. Impossible. Her gaze roamed over his perfect face and tawny hair. He was the man from her dreams--sexy, blond, and strong. If her dream had been reality, he had carried her up two flights of stairs as if she weighed nothing. Yes, he was definitely strong.

"And she has negative notions of what we are, of course," Etienne continued.

"Of course she does," the second man said. He was a darker-haired version of Etienne, though the two men appeared the same age. "Most people do."

"How negative?" The woman sounded wary.

"I believe the phrase she used was 'bloodsucking demons,'" Etienne said.

"Oh, dear." The woman sighed.

"And she thinks our faces contort like on Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

The dark-haired man grimaced. "Nasty show. Gave us all a bad name."

"You've seen it, Bastien?" Etienne sounded surprised.

"No, but I've heard of it. There are a couple of fans at the office. Have you seen it?"

"Yes. It's quite entertaining, really. And Buffy is an interesting little package."

"Can we get back to the subject at hand?" the woman asked--a bit archly. "Etienne, how are you going to explain?"

"I'll just tell her it was the only way to save her. Which it was. I couldn't let her die after she saved my life."

The woman harrumphed, then turned to Bastien. "Did you handle the hospital officials?"

"I didn't have to," the man announced. "We went unseen. We're just lucky they decided Pudge made off with her."

"What about the hospital paperwork on Etienne's corpse?"

"I took that before we left, while Etienne was turning the girl. All I had to do this morning was help the EMTs forget his name, and take the paperwork they had. Oh, and get the paperwork on Etienne's car from the police station."

"Is that all?" the woman asked.

Bastien shrugged at her amusement. "It could have been worse, Mother."

The woman made a face, then turned back to Etienne. "You really have to deal with this Pudge fellow."

"I know." The blond man sounded unhappy. "If you have any ideas, I'd be happy to hear them."

The woman's expression relented somewhat. She patted his knee in a both soothing and affectionate gesture. "Well, I shall think about it. We all will. We'll come up with something."

"Yes," Bastien agreed. "And Lucern will get here later. Between the four of us, we should be able to figure out a solution."

"When is he coming?" Etienne asked.

"A little later. He's working on galleys for his latest masterpiece but promised to come after dinner."

"Which means about midnight," the woman grumped. "In the meantime, I think we should offer our guest a drink."

Rachel ducked quickly out of sight, but she caught a glimpse of the startled expression on Etienne's face as she did. Her heart thumped near her throat. None of them had looked her way, but somehow she must have given away her presence.

"She's been standing outside the door for several minutes," Rachel heard Bastien announce.

"No, she hasn't," Etienne replied.

He suddenly stepped out into the hall, surprising her. Rachel's first instinct was to run. Unfortunately, her body apparently didn't agree. It seemed to be frozen to the spot.

"You are up." He paused a foot away and stared at her.

Rachel stared back, a squeak slipping from her lips.

"Why didn't I sense her approach?" He looked behind him, obviously asking one of his companions.

The question managed to free Rachel's frozen limbs somewhat, enough so that she was able to ease along the wall until she bumped into a table. There, she stopped and smiled nervously as the man glanced back at her. Crossing her fingers, she prayed he wouldn't notice she had moved.

"Didn't you?" The woman's voice floated out from the other room. "How interesting."

Her apparent fascination only increased Rachel's nervousness, and it seemed to annoy Etienne. He turned and scowled back at her. The moment he was no longer looking, Rachel eased around the hall table and sidled toward the front door. She paused again when he muttered something under his breath.

He'd turned and seen she was almost at the door, and he frowned. Gruffly he informed her, "It isn't a good idea to go outside."

Rachel scowled. Anger overcame her panic. "Why? Because you've turned me into a bloodsucking demon, and the light of day will kill me?" she sneered. She didn't really believe any of this was happening... but, at the same time she had an irrational fear that it just might.

"It's nighttime," he pointed out gently. "But it's also uncommonly cold for late summer. Too cold to be gadding about in nothing but a sheet."

Reminded of her lack of proper clothing, Rachel gasped. She made a run for the stairs, half fearing her host would give chase, but much to her relief she made the upper hall unpursued. Still, she didn't slow her steps but ran straight back to the bedroom where she'd woken and rushed inside, slamming the door behind her.

Inside, Rachel simply stood, breathing heavily, her eyes darting around in search of something with which to barricade the door. Unfortunately, there didn't appear to be any options. She briefly considered dragging the dresser over from against the opposite wall, but then she decided that if she had the strength to drag it over, he probably had more than enough to push the door open, barricade and all. What she really needed was a way to lock herself in. But, of course, there wasn't any.

Giving up on the idea, she forced herself to move away from the door in search of a weapon. Rachel didn't know where she was or who those people were, but they had taken her from the hospital, messed with police files, and at least one of them thought he was a vampire. Self-defense seemed an important consideration.

Etienne frowned up the stairs. Rachel didn't appear to be taking this very well. She'd rather resembled a scared rabbit fleeing to its hole, a reaction from her that he hadn't expected. Redheads were usually feisty. Of course, she wasn't sobbing hysterically or anything annoying like that.

"She isn't frightened so much as confused and embarrassed," his mother said.

Etienne tossed an irritated glance her way, and she joined him in the hallway. He hated it when she read his thoughts. He also didn't much care for the fact that she could obviously read Rachel's. He himself couldn't.

"I'll have to find her something to wear and explain the situation to her," he said absently. "I have some joggers that might do for now."

"She'll hardly wish to wear your joggers," Marguerite said dryly. "She needs her own clothes. Something familiar to make her feel more in control. Bastien?" She turned to peer back at Etienne's brother. "You brought her purse when we left the hospital, didn't you?"

"Yes." He joined them in the hall. "I left it in the kitchen."

Marguerite nodded. "Go fetch her keys then, and we shall go retrieve some proper clothing for the girl."

Etienne felt himself relax. His mother's suggestion would give him a little more time alone with Rachel, hopefully enough to at least explain things. It would be less difficult than with his mother and Bastien there.

When Bastien returned with the keys, Etienne ushered his mother and brother out of his home. Then he turned to survey the stairs.

Rachel. Rachel Garrett. He straightened his shoulders and headed up to explain the situation to her. He was sure once she realized it had been the only way to save her life--and once he had extolled the benefits of this new life he had given her--she would be grateful for what he had done.