She lay for a long moment, listening to her heartbeat. The sound was loud, echoing through her head. She could hear the rush of the blood in her veins, and the sounds of insects outside the house in the fields. Through it all was the persistent knocking. Whoever it was at her front door was not going away anytime soon—unless she was having a bizarre nightmare.

The thought of a nightmare didn’t alarm her, but the idea that the noises she was hearing so easily were outside the walls of the house did. Zacarias had explained, but if she listened, she could hear the murmur of the cattle and they were more than a mile from the house. Coming from the stable was the stamp of horses and even the conversation of two of the men working there. One was very concerned about Ricco.

A strange yelp and more banging on the door convinced her she needed to get up. Experimenting, she tried to lift one arm. She managed about an inch before, sighing, she let it fall onto the mattress. It took some effort, but she rolled over to stare at her ceiling fan slowly turning over her head. More banging on the door and her sluggish mind began to function faster. What if something had happened to Ricco? Maybe that was the reason the workers were discussing him. She should have eavesdropped instead of retreating like a scared baby.

Zacarias was deep in the ground far beyond the everyday running of a ranch, while she was at everyone’s beck and call. It was well and good to give orders, to demand she stay indoors, try to force her to sleep during the day, but there was work to be done and the ranch was used to her taking part—a big part.

Determined now, Marguarita forced her reluctant body into a sitting position. Light spilled through the small crack in the drapes at her window hitting across her face like a slap. Her eyes burned, an instant painful searing that made her stomach churn ominously and brought tears streaming down her face.

Throwing up her arm to protect her eyes, she slipped from the bed, her legs and body trembling with the effort to find her bones. She wanted to slide to the ground. It took more effort to throw cold water on her face and neck, rinsing her eyes, but she felt much better afterward. Still sluggish, her brain and body tuned to another world, but at least she could drag on her clothes without falling on her face.

Her hair was a wild mess and she did her best to tame it as she hurried through the house on bare feet to get to the front door. The problem with Zacarias’s precise instructions regarding the safeguards on the house was, as she had no voice, she couldn’t call out to ask who was outside, therefore she had to open the door to see who was there. She tried to peek through the window, but the sun nearly blinded her.

Sun scorch you right back, man of mine, she declared vehemently in her head, a kind of sick amusement creeping in. Where was the man when she was left to deal with the problems he created? She was going to ask him that as soon as sleeping beauty woke up.

Cautiously she cracked the door open. Lea stood outside, her face swollen, one eye closed, the other drooping, her lip cracked and bloody. Tears streamed down her face. She shook her head when Marguarita yanked the door open and reached for her. Pressing her hands to her mouth, she sobbed.

Marguarita caught her arm. The light was so blinding, her sensitive eyes going as red as Lea’s, burning and tearing the moment the sun hit them. Even her skin prickled, as if shrinking away from the light. She stepped back instinctively, drawing Lea with her. Lea made a sound, halfway between a groan and a sobbing scream. Behind her, a man loomed, his face a triumphant sneer, and he slammed his hand hard into Lea’s back, forcing her forward into the house, propelling her into Marguarita. The two women tumbled to the ground, a tangle of arms and legs, Lea pinning Marguarita to the floor.

The stranger leaped through the door. “Hurry, hurry,” he called to Esteban. His face was twisted into a demonic mask, eyes darting around him in a kind of rolling terror even as he leaped over the two women on the floor and whirled around in an effort to see the entire interior at once. Esteban rushed through after him, slamming the door closed and locking it.

A foul odor permeated the air the moment the two men entered. A mixture of heavy garlic, fear and drugs oozed from their pores, nearly gagging Marguarita.

The stranger reached down and caught Lea by her blond hair and yanked. Lea grabbed his wrists in an effort to relieve the pressure on her scalp, struggling to stand, glaring at her brother, anger mixed with fear.

“Get up, bitch,” the stranger snapped.

Marguarita assumed she was the bitch, considering Lea was already on her feet. Calm settled over her. There could be only one reason these men were here. Esteban carried a satchel, and it was heavy. Charlie Diaz, in his drunken state, had betrayed the De La Cruz family, and by the silly necklace of garlic hanging around Esteban’s neck and the foul garlicky odor pouring off of the stranger, they were planning to kill Zacarias. It was up to her to prevent these men from getting to his resting place.

She took her time, feigning pain as she struggled to her feet. There was a panic button a few feet from her, positioned near the door. If she hit that, her men would come running, armed to the teeth, but they couldn’t get in if she didn’t open the door to them. Swallowing hard—and it wasn’t that difficult to look frightened—she stood, swaying a little, one hand going to her scarred throat, the other searching for the wall as if to hold her up.

The panic button was several feet from her, but at least she had her hand on the wall and they were all buying her fear. Now that they were in the house, they were a little less agitated and a little more cocky.

DS threw Lea against the wall beside Marguarita and swaggered over to stand in front of them, so close his garlicky breath blasted their faces in hot, foul puffs as he spoke. He deliberately invaded their space as a terror tactic. Marguarita found, after facing a vampire and Zacarias, DS just didn’t scare her as much as she thought he might. The realization that these men couldn’t hold a candle to the dangerous beings she had dealt with took her fear down another notch, allowing her to keep her breathing even and steady. Her heart stopped pounding and her mind settled into a quiet, logical machine, working on finding a solution and a backup plan to her present predicament.

Zacarias. She tried again, this time allowing that part of her that sent her spirit soaring free to find him. He came into her fast, a melding of their spirits, strength and courage and total reassurance. There was no panic in him, no thought but destroying the danger to her. He had no thought of himself—only her.

Marguarita hugged that knowledge to herself and it bolstered her courage even more. She wasn’t alone trying to control an impossible situation.

She tried not to overreact as she shoved her hand into her pocket and pulled out her notepad and pen. Hastily, and in what she hoped was a trembling hand, she scribbled her question.

“You know,” DS snapped. “You’re hiding him. We know he’s here.”

Lea moistened her swollen lips. “DS thinks Zacarias is a vampire. He plans to kill him.”

Marguarita frowned, her eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement. She scribbled more on the notepad, taking her time, letting Zacarias assess his enemies through her.

DS slapped her hard, so hard the back of her head connected with the wall. The speed was so shocking and the strike so unexpected, Marguarita found herself disoriented for a moment. Beneath her feet, a wave raised the floor. The walls trembled.

“Don’t you lie to me, you bitch. You’re his guardian. I know he’s here and you’ll lead us to his resting place.”

Call to Julio, Zacarias, and allow the men entry. Marguarita did her best to get the entreaty across to him. She was shaken at the savagery of DS’s reaction and his apparent fanaticism.

Esteban giggled, a high-pitched, almost hysterical sound. He didn’t necessarily believe in vampires, that much was apparent to her, but DS provided his drugs and an unusual, adrenaline-filled lifestyle. He craved the power DS had, and needed the association, feeling like he was in the inner circle. Marguarita wasn’t entirely certain the assessment was hers or Zacarias’s.

I am very weak, sívamet. I will strike when I can kill them. I could alert Julio and Cesaro, but they will have to unravel the safeguards and it is very dangerous. If I aid them, I may not have the strength to strike when needed. I am very close to the darkness, more so than most of my kind and the sun takes a toll on me that is not the same as others.

She couldn’t hear any note of anxiety in his voice, just that matter-of-fact way that he spoke of everything, but she was locked to him tightly, feeling his emotions when even he couldn’t, and his anxiety was all for her.

A Carpathian as close to the darkness as Zacarias suffered the leaden weight of the sun much more than others. The sun was at its highest point. DS had chosen his time well. He must have studied—and believed—all the vampire legends. She let her breath out slowly. Zacarias feared he would have only one chance to strike through her. As it was, she was holding the connection between them, not him. He wasn’t wasting his energy when she was capable and that told her just how dire the consequence of the afternoon sun really was for him.

Marguarita made a show of pressing her pen to the paper again, taking her time, letting her hand shake, while her mind raced. There was not going to be the opportunity to stall these men until sunset. They were as aware as her just what position the sun was in. She was going to have to keep them away from Zacarias. Charlie had betrayed him, but evidently they didn’t know Zacarias’s exact location. She could well imagine. Only those serving inside the house knew where the sleeping chambers were located.

I am telling the truth. Señor De La Cruz left late last night to go to one of his other residences. He does not stay in one place long. She knew that would have a ring of truth. Charlie had to have told them that, which was why they hadn’t waited. It was obvious Lea had been brutally beaten and yet she hadn’t given up Marguarita.

Remembering the ring and the words in the ancient tongue engraved in the antique gold, she plunged her left hand into her skirt pocket. She needed to remove the ring, but Zacarias, being who and what he was, had made it the exact size to snugly fit her finger. It would take a few tugs to slip it off.

She felt his hesitation. He didn’t want to waste the energy.

She already knew they weren’t going to take her word for it and eventually, after a show of being beaten, she would have to give up some location for them to dig in. If they had any brains, they’d look at her throat and know she would never give up his location no matter what they did to her.

His heart jerked. She felt it. That quiet smoldering rage that built like a volcano beneath the earth. You will obey me in this.

Forbid away. Did he really think she would give him up to these insane fanatics?

She handed the note to DS. He read it, cursed, crumpled it up and threw it in her face. His fist hit the wall beside her head.

She felt the ring loosen on her finger and slide off into her pocket. The relief was instantaneous. Zacarias might be angry with her, but he still reached out to protect her as best he could. Even that small push of energy drained him. She could feel his weakness—and his frustration. He remained alert, no longer arguing with her, reading her determination just as easily as she could read his anger and silent promise of retaliation. Strangely, that made her shiver, frightening her more than DS and Esteban. But not enough to allow them to get to Zacarias. She would take the consequences as long as she saved his life.

“Do you think I’m kidding around with you? I can hurt you like you’ve never been hurt.”

Lea reached out and took Marguarita’s hand in silent camaraderie. “I’m sorry. There was no real way to warn you.”

“Shut up,” DS snapped. He shoved Lea toward the large family room. “Get in there. Both of you.”

Esteban snatched up the satchel and followed. His face beaded with sweat, the smell permeating the room making Marguarita want to gag. Both men were terrified, but so high and elated at the thought of driving a stake through Zacarias’s heart that they couldn’t stand still.

“Watch them,” DS snapped.

He prowled through the house, inspecting every nook and cranny, paying attention to the floors, and closets, opening every door. Marguarita kept the house in perfect order. There were no marks on any of the floors indicating furniture had been moved, or trap doors were installed. The floorboards appeared seamless, even when DS moved throw rugs. She tried not to wince when she heard pottery smashing on the floor, or her dishes being thrown as his frustration and anger grew.

Her heart gave a little thud of protest when he stalked back into the room, fury on his face. His eyes locked onto hers as he marched toward her determinedly. Lea gave a small squeal of fear and moved closer to Marguarita as though she might protect her. Marguarita withdrew immediately from Zacarias, not wanting him to witness or feel what was coming. She heard the sharp echo of his protest, but she broke the contact off anyway. He was already upset with her for not disclosing his location, so what did it really matter if she could spare him this?

His face was a twisted mask. “You will tell me what I want to know, you little demon bitch.” Spittle flew from his mouth. His eyes were maniacal.

DS rained blows on Marguarita without mercy, her face, her stomach, every unprotected part of her body until she went to the floor and he kicked her repeatedly. Marguarita was grateful she couldn’t scream. No sound emerged, no matter how much she cried out in pain. She did her best to cover her face and body while the blows continued, curling into the fetal position. The attack continued forever it seemed. She lost track of time, her mind a haze of pain.

“You’re going to kill her,” Esteban yelled, rushing DS.

“Good. The bitch deserves it.” DS yanked his arm away from Esteban and delivered another hard kick to her hip.

“She doesn’t know or she would have told you.”

“She knows. They protect their masters. They’re like dogs, guarding them, with no minds of their own.” He continued to rain down punches and kicks, striking anywhere he could, legs, hips, arms and back, even her head.

Esteban grabbed DS again, pulling him away from her. “She won’t be able to lead us to the resting place and no one else knows. By the time we tear up the floor, the sun will have set.”

DS shoved Esteban away from him with enough force to send him staggering. DS wiped his hand over his face as if clearing his mind. The wild look in his eyes receded. He spit at Marguarita and paced across the floor. There was only the sound of his ragged breathing as he worked to get himself under control. Eventually he dug out a silver vial and dumped white powder on the small table in the corner of the room.

Esteban’s eyes lit up. He started over but DS waved him away. “Watch them.”

“They aren’t going anywhere,” Esteban whined. He licked his lips.

Lea slid down the wall, her movements very careful as she positioned herself beside Marguarita. She leaned toward Marguarita, placed her lips against her ear and whispered as softly as she could, “Are you okay?”

Marguarita couldn’t catch her breath. There were so many places on her body that hurt and her ribs burned, robbing her of all air. Tears swam in her eyes, obscuring her vision, or maybe it was blood. She could taste it in her mouth. Her lip was swollen and painful. She curled a little tighter in response, praying DS would stay away from her.

Lea put her hand on Marguarita’s arm in a gesture of comfort, tears streaming down her face. She looked pleadingly at her brother. His eyes were on the white powder DS was carefully chopping into straight lines on the table. He crept closer, licking his lips repeatedly, his hands shaking in excitement and need. Lea closed her eyes in disgust.

“DS, I need it, come on,” Esteban pleaded, his voice shaking.

DS swung around, swearing. “You act like a bitch in heat, you want it so bad, crawl to me, on your hands and knees. Show your high and mighty sister what a bitch dog you are.”

“Don’t, Esteban,” Lea pleaded in a whisper. “Look what he’s doing to you.”

Esteban didn’t turn around. He had eyes for only the white powder. Deliberately, DS took his silver straw and sniffed an entire line up his nose. He threw his head back and howled, as if he was a wolf, howling at the moon. “Damn, that’s good shit.”

Esteban stumbled forward, and immediately DS’s expression changed from rapture to pure contempt. He slapped Esteban and shoved him. “Get away from me, you bitch dog. You want it, you gotta earn it. Crawl across the room on your knees in front of your fuckin’ sister.”

A sob escaped Lea as Esteban slowly sank to his hands and knees and crawled in front of DS who watched with triumphant, gleaming eyes, his twisted face infused with glee. Laughing, he spat at Esteban, the spit hitting his cheek and slowly dribbling down to his chin.

DS kicked at him when Esteban tried to wipe his face clean. “Leave it. It may remind you who’s in charge. Don’t interfere again.” He turned his back and sniffed another line of the powder.

Esteban crouched on the floor at his feet, looking at him with desperation. He made a single sound of pleading in the back of his throat and tried to slide up to DS.

“Get back. You haven’t begged properly yet. Sit up and beg. Come on, little doggie. Sit up and wag your tail like a good little pet.”

Marguarita shifted, the subtlest of movements. When she’d fallen, she made certain to fall near the end table where a knife was kept taped beneath the small drawer. She let her hand creep very slowly up the wood, not wanting to draw DS’s attention. He was focused on tormenting Esteban and seemed, for the moment, to have forgotten her.

It hurt to move. Everything hurt, just the act of lifting her arm was painful, as if there were minor cracks in her bone. She was certain the damage was all severe bruising, but that small, subtle movement still sent white lightning streaking through her body.

Lea’s eyelashes fluttered. She frowned at Marguarita and slowly shook her head, fearing repercussions, but, although she clearly didn’t understand what Marguarita’s hand was doing sliding so stealthily up the leg of the end table, she valiantly shifted her body just enough to block DS’s view should he look. Her eyes went wide when Marguarita’s fist came away from under the table with the knife. The blade was four inches long and honed to a razor-sharp edge, tucked inside a smooth leather sheath. Marguarita shoved the knife as deep into the pocket of her skirt as she possibly could.

Her eyes met Lea’s. She supposed she looked as bad as her friend. She could tell her eye was swelling, and her mouth hurt. She touched her tongue to her split lip and winced. She had deliberately provoked DS. He would be suspicious if she suddenly gave up Zacarias without a fight. She needed to provide him with an authentic reason to be afraid. She figured if Lea could survive his beating, so could she. He’d been a little more enthusiastic than she’d counted on.

She felt the sudden stirring in her mind, a pouring of ice into her body. She shivered, but hastily reached out to meet Zacarias halfway, trying to take the burden of energy from him.

What are you doing? His voice was very calm—too calm. She felt the edge even though she couldn’t hear it.

Dios. She had not expected him to connect with her so soon. She couldn’t hide the pain of her bruises from him. He had to be feeling every blow to her body. Seeing inside him and feeling his emotions, she knew it was far worse for him to lie helpless beneath the ground while she was in danger. It was the worst possible situation for a dominant, protective male such as Zacarias. He was trapped. Their enemies had chosen the perfect time to strike, when his body was leaden and he was unable to do anything but stay connected to Marguarita as DS and Esteban did what they wanted to her.

I think the longer I can stall them, the closer we’ll get to the sun setting and that will allow you much more strength. It was a logical plan, the best she had. Stall and stall again. Use everything she could think of. Turn them against one another. Whatever it took.

Marguarita sighed. You know I can’t do that, she said as gently as possible.

Zacarias didn’t respond. She felt his smoldering rage, buried deep, threatening to erupt, but he didn’t bother to argue. Like her, he was wound tight through her mind, and he could read her determination.

He didn’t have to understand. Marguarita sighed again and tried not to let his disapproval hurt her. This was her decision to make—not his—her life to risk. There was no doubt in her mind that he would risk his life for hers without even considering any other alternative.

She could almost see him snapping his teeth like a hungry wolf, impatient with what he considered her defiance. There was no reasoning with him. He was set in his way, certain he was right, and she wouldn’t—couldn’t—give in to him. He made her nervous with that quiet promise of retaliation she sensed, that absolute iron will she knew she wouldn’t get around, but he had come up against that side of her that was just as determined and just as certain she was justified.

Zacarias, you were able to darken the sky and emerge before sunset to save Ricco. It was close, but it was still before you should have been able to do so. And when I found you that morning. . . She hated bringing that morning up. He had chosen an honorable death and she had interfered. He had been righteously angry with her. You should have been dead already, completely incinerated, the sun had been out for a little while. I think you’re more resistant to it than you believe. If I stall them and my plan doesn’t work, and they get to your resting place, then you’ll be that much stronger.

She sighed. There was no getting through a brick wall. We’ll have to agree to disagree.

She shivered, blinking back tears when she made the mistake of biting down on her swollen lip. You’re making this worse for me.

She needed him to retreat, to allow her to concentrate on misleading DS and Esteban. It took courage and Zacarias could sap her courage faster than anyone. Marguarita felt Zacarias’s instant, instinctive rejection of her evaluation.

Lea gripped her wrist, distracting her. Her gaze jumped to Esteban as he went up on his knees, his arms curled in the classic begging position.

“Tongue out, faithful Fido,” DS laughed. He went back a third time, taking most of the powder.

Esteban cried out and flung himself forward, shoving his face onto the table in desperation. A single sound emerged from Lea, a low keening moan. She buried her face in her hands, unable to watch her brother humiliate himself for the drug.

Marguarita pulled her notepad out of her other pocket and carefully scribbled a message to Lea. It could not fall into DS or Esteban’s hands.

Marguarita snuck a quick peek at DS, who was laughing hysterically at Esteban. She continued, writing as fast as she could, her body covering the movements.

She slid the paper across the floor faceup under Lea’s hand, so she could read it. Lea peered through her fingers at the note. Her eyes went wide and she nodded. Before Marguarita could take back the paper, she crumbled it into her fist and brought it to her mouth. Marguarita smiled at her. They were locked forever in that moment of complete camaraderie and understanding. She could count on Lea. They were in it together. Live or die.

DS’s maniacal laughter cut off abruptly. Marguarita felt every muscle tense as his gaze settled on the two women.

“What are you lying on the floor for? Get your asses up. If you want this bitch to live through the next five minutes, tell me where he is.” He stalked across the room and dragged Lea to her feet, shoving his gun against her left eye.

Marguarita struggled to stand, making a show of pulling herself up the wall, gasping and clutching her ribs. She looked around her for help, and then caved when he pressed the muzzle tight against Lea’s eye.

Marguarita indicated the kitchen with her chin, her gaze sliding away from his in a cowed manner. DS stepped close to her, catching her arm, jerking her close to him. The smell of the drug oozed from his pores making her want to gag. She cowered away from him, throwing up her other arm as a shield as if to protect her battered face.

He gripped her tighter, his fingers digging into her skin, wanting to leave bruises, wanting her to feel his strength. Realization of how gently Zacarias touched her flooded her mind, bringing her a warmth she hugged to herself. Zacarias’s strength was ten times what this man’s was, yet once he’d learned that humans were indeed quite different from Carpathians, his care of her had always been uppermost in his mind. Even when he was a little rough during sex, marking her body, he took the time to ease any soreness after he’d learned her body’s responses.

DS was a man who enjoyed inflicting pain and humiliation on others. DS was the monster Zacarias thought himself to be. Zacarias would never prolong suffering for the sake of watching it. He dispensed justice. He eradicated evil, but he didn’t enjoy his job. He simply did it to the best of his ability.

“Esteban, get your ass up off the floor.”

For the first time, Marguarita allowed herself to look at Lea’s brother. DS had knocked the remaining powder from the table onto the floor. Esteban was busily trying to get every speck. His face, when he looked up, was speckled with white. Her heart went out to Lea who made a soft sound of pain.

DS heard her and laughed, enjoying himself even more. “Yeah, Lea, look at him. Your big brother, that’s all that matters to him. Not you. You follow him all around the world. You know what he does? He smuggles weapons for me. He traffics women. Children. Whatever I ask. He’d sell his soul for that drug. And this one . . .” He shook Marguarita like a rag doll. “She serves the devil. You really need to have better judgment.”

Marguarita’s heart jumped. She hadn’t known Zacarias was still in her mind, quiet and careful, a presence watching, but she should have. Once she was in danger, whether she was holding the bridge between them or not, he wouldn’t leave her alone. He was that kind of man. Her mind worked quickly to grasp what he was saying.

Lea was in desperate trouble, maybe more than Marguarita was. DS was fanatical about vampires, but this wasn’t all about Zacarias. DS had sought out Esteban for a reason, had controlled him out of anger. This was about Lea.

Marguarita was appalled. I am not going to put her in danger.

There was a brief moment of warmth slipping through the ice in her mind. Silly woman. You want her to run to the door and open it for Cesaro and his men. I am telling you he will not kill her. That should ease your mind, not make you feel guilty. You truly are a little illogical lunatic.

She knew he was trying to distract her from fear. Fear paralyzed anyone, and with DS dragging her into the kitchen, her heart pounded, accelerating out of control. She could taste the coppery flavor of her own blood in her mouth. This plan had to work. Zacarias had made her feel a little better. At least he wasn’t raging at her, making things worse.

She stumbled several times, each tiny delay a second she counted in Zacarias’s favor. She pointed very reluctantly to the root cellar door with a trembling hand. The moment DS dropped her arm, she hastily pulled out her notepad.

DS wrenched the satchel from Esteban’s hands. “He’ll be dead when I drive a stake through his heart, cut off his head and fill his mouth with garlic.”

“You can’t believe Zacarias De La Cruz is sleeping under the ground,” Lea burst out. “You’re insane to think that.”

Marguarita touched her wrist and urgently shook her head, but Lea continued, her voice filled with contempt.

“He’s a man, flesh and blood, just like us. I’ve seen him. He’s far too elegant to ever have slept in dirt. He didn’t have fangs and I sat at a table with him drinking tea and eating cake.”

DS reacted immediately, savagely, swinging out with the heavy satchel, slamming the bag into Lea’s stomach, doubling her over. Lea fell into the wall, hitting the back of her head hard. She slid to the floor. DS kicked her hip and spat. He grabbed Marguarita by her long hair and dragged her to the door of the cellar.

“You first, bitch, just in case this is a trap.”

Is she dead? Could you tell? Frantically, as she opened the cellar door, she called out to Zacarias. She should have tried harder to stop Lea from taunting DS. Lea didn’t seem to realize that she was the trigger.

She felt Zacarias moving in her and for a moment her vision was strange. She held her breath as DS yanked her back around and nearly shoved her down the stairs. She caught the wall, switching on the light. The stairs were narrow and steep. Only one person at a time could go down them.

Relief swept over her. She let out her breath and began the descent into the root cellar. She took each stair cautiously, trying to count out ten seconds between each step, aware of the sun’s position as she never had been before. There was still far too much time before it sank and allowed Zacarias his freedom.

“Esteban, bring your sister down here. If she refuses to walk, drag her down by her feet.”

Esteban laughed. “You’re one mean son of a bitch, Dan.”

“I told you never to call me that,” DS snapped.

Furious, he shoved Marguarita between the shoulder blades, sending her flying. She landed hard, facedown in the dirt, the wind knocked out of her. DS stepped over her and looked around with satisfaction. The floor was all dirt. The place was cool and dark, a perfect environment for vampires. He glanced at his watch before toeing Marguarita.

“Get over there, against the wall, away from the stairs.”

She scrambled to get out of his reach, wincing when Lea screamed. She was proud of her friend for not pleading with Esteban. It was evident that he was lost to them, in the grip of the drug and deep under DS’s influence. Lea sank down beside her and they held hands, the folds of Marguarita’s skirt hiding that small act of camaraderie.

“What will happen when they don’t find anything,” Lea whispered fearfully.

Marguarita shrugged a little helplessly. She tasted dread in her mouth. She would have to act to save Zacarias. She would never give him up. She hadn’t betrayed him to the vampire and she wouldn’t to such a foul creature as DS.

Both men began to shovel dirt as fast as they could. The soil was rather loose on the top and easy at first, but as they went deeper it became more difficult, packed tight, hard, almost like cement.

“Do you see, Esteban? This is his resting place or it wouldn’t be like this.” Excitement permeated DS’s voice.

“It’s damned difficult,” Esteban complained.

“Just keep digging.”

Marguarita had never known any of their soil to be so hard and she could only surmise that Zacarias had used his energy to change the composition.

Don’t. You’ll need your strength just in case I fail, she reprimanded.

The cryptic reply didn’t help her anxiety very much. An hour and a half crept by. Both men had long ago shed their shirts, sweating and swearing. The earth yawned open like a beckoning monster, the gaping hole a good six feet in depth.

DS wiped the sweat from his face and glared at Marguarita, his face once again a mask of fury. “You lied to me.”

Esteban screamed, the sound high-pitched and frightened. He pointed toward the hole, backing away.