She was the most beautiful thing Eddie had ever seen.

But he wasn't so startled by her beauty that his self-preservation instincts were swept away. She was clearly one of The Master's kept women. A Mistress (in the dispenser-of-pain-and-discipline sense of the word). She was beginning to edge back toward the open bathroom door. Eddie closed the gap between them before she could slip away, clamped a fistful of glistening black hair with one hand, and used the other to lay the blade of the knife against her throat. The kitten dropped to the floor.

His mouth pressed against her ear. "Listen to me, girl," he whispered. "I don't want to hurt you. I know I probably look like a maniac, but that's only because I've had a really bad day." More like a really bad six months, but who was counting? "Help me hide and we won't have any problems."

She struggled in his grip, and he wound his hand tighter in her hair, eliciting a small cry of pain. He felt bad about it, but he didn't really have a choice. "Christ, what's wrong with you?" His voice was a more insistent whisper. "I'm the one with the knife, little missy, so knock it off."

He felt something rubbing against his ankle and looked down to see the kitten staring up at them. "p.i.s.s off, furball."

The girl went rigid in his grip and hissed at him again. Eddie's gaze went back to the kitten, which was still watching him with those creepy yellow eyes. A plan began to formulate in his head. He saw instantly it was his only hope, albeit a thin one. He released the girl and picked up the kitten, placing the knife at its puny neck. The girl whirled around and gaped at him in horror.

Eddie tensed for a moment as he heard voices in the hallway, getting closer by the moment, and he briefly

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believed his desperate run to freedom had reached the endgame stage. The voices grew louder. They were right outside the door. Then they were moving away down the hallway, growing dimmer.

Eddie released the breath he'd been holding.

"Okay," he said, still keeping his voice low. "Here's the deal. I don't mean you or the kitty harm. I only want out of here. Help me hide out awhile, maybe even find a way to get me out of this place, and you won't have to call PETA on me." But now a measure of menace entered his voice. "Then again, f.u.c.k me over and furball gets skewered." He turned the kitten's face toward her. "Got it?"

Her eyes narrowed, became thin slits of rage, but she nodded.

"Good."

Eddie looked around the room. It was dominated by a large four-poster bed with a heavy canopy of lavender velvet. In a corner next to it was a full-length oval mirror on a swivel stand. There was a chest of drawers and a vanity. He supposed he could hide under the bed, but the thought made him feel claustrophobic. He peeked inside the bathroom. He saw a Jacuzzi, a shower stall, and a lot of ornate fixtures.

He stepped all the way into the bathroom, peeked around the door, and saw a closet large enough to house an immigrant family. Eddie returned to the bedroom, glanced around one more time, and this time glimpsed the coiled cat-o'-nine-tails on the bedspread. The girl followed his gaze, smiled when she saw what he was looking at, and raised a lascivious eyebrow at him.

Eddie shuddered. "Think again. I got drawn in that way

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last time, didn't I? One minute you're playing a kinky game, the next you're trussed up on a rack with clamps on your privates."

The girl shrugged.

"Look, I know you're one of them, but my gut tells me there's a tiny uncorrupted corner of your soul. I think maybe your heart's not as black and twisted as the other sick f.u.c.kers here. You know why I think that?"

The girl shook her head, a hint of a smirk appearing at one corner of her mouth.

But Eddie was undaunted. "Because you care whether this thing lives or dies. Hey, I still only trust you about as far as I can bowl you, but I think there's a chance I'll be okay as long as I've got your little friend." He sighed. "And, f.u.c.k it, I'm about out of other options. I'll hide in your closet for a bit. I guess they'll be looking for me soon, but I'm willing to bet you could convince them I'm not here. Am I right?"

The girl appeared to think about it a moment, then nodded.

"Great." Eddie edged toward the bathroom. "Now you think about what I told you. Come up with a way to get me out of here. We can talk about it-" Eddie frowned. "s.h.i.t. Do you have paper and something to write with?"

She nodded again.

"Good." He stepped into the bathroom. "Say good night to kitty? He gazed again into her cold, calculating eyes. "And keep thinking about what might happen if you double-cross me. Think about kitty guts spilling on the floor."

The kitten meowed softly.

The girl stared a plea at him.

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"Don't worry," Eddie said, strangely compelled to offer rea.s.surance. "He'll be fine. Good night, now."

He walked into the closet and pulled the door shut. A row of long dresses hung from a rail. He slipped behind them, feeling their silky smoothness brush his bare torso. Then he arranged himself in a dark corner of the floor, held the kitten close, and cooed at it.

It watched him with its strangely luminescent eyes.

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Shane Wallace liked to think of himself as a guy's guy. The kind of hearty slab of macho att.i.tude lesser men aspired to be like. An object of envy. A stud whose mere presence in a room got the ladies purring with desire. His days as a star running back at his high school were a decade in the past, but his body still looked cut from granite. Female heads turned wherever he went, a phenomenon that might have been an ego-booster had his ego ever been in need of boosting.

Such was not the case.

Shane Wallace wasn't just about surface s.h.i.t, though. Sure, he liked his chicks hot, but he wasn't a shallow b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He was really a deep kind of guy. Sensitive but stoic, the way a real man should be-like Mel Gibson in the movies. A guy you could count on. He was a strong shoulder to cry on for the girls, a dependable drinking buddy to

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his male friends. He was the kind of guy you wanted on your side when life was f.u.c.king you in the a.s.s. He often thought he would make a good movie hero. h.e.l.l, he had the looks, was quick with the one-liners, popular with the ladies, and he was-in his not even remotely humble opinion-definitely heroic.

So he was having a great deal of difficulty reconciling this deeply held self-image with his current predicament-hiding behind a tree and squatting bare-a.s.sed with his pants down around his ankles while people around him screamed and called out his name. Well, there was only one person calling his name, and he was pretty sure that voice belonged to Karen. It had that familiar grating quality about it.

That lying s.l.u.t.

"f.u.c.k," he breathed.

Incredible.

A guy gets his guts ripped out by a girl he really does kinda care about, an experience without parallel in his past, and the b.i.t.c.h doesn't even have the grace to allow him to do his business in peace. The indignity of it all made him fume.

Why would a foxy number like Karen b.u.mp uglies with a doof like Chad Robbins?

It offended his sense of order in the universe.

Basic rule of existence No. 1: Hot chicks don't f.u.c.k nerds.

With the obvious exception of software billionaires.

Besides, girls didn't cheat on Shane Wallace. Ever. Karen's transgression was utterly without precedent in the long and varied history of his s.e.xual conquests. Sure, he'd

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fooled around on every babe he'd ever boned, but that was different. Guys were allowed. They were slaves to what his old buddy Steve Wade, the captain of the SHS football team, used to call the "random j.i.s.m-dispensation imperative." Guys, in other words, were impelled by biology to spread their seed far and wide.

Girls had no such excuse.

Therefore, cheating was okay for guys but not for girls.

What could be more obvious?

A girl like Karen, well, you just couldn't respect her, could you?

He glanced down at his still half-engorged member and experienced a rare flash of shame. Well, it just wouldn't do to be caught flogging the dolphin by that pack of estrogen carriers. He got to his feet and pulled his pants up, pulling the zipper taut over his wilting erection. Resentment promptly displaced embarra.s.sment.

It was their fault this was happening.

Karen's friends were just too hot. He'd spent the bulk of the vacation and the long trip back thinking about what he would like to do to them. Oh, he thought they were ignorant, politically correct b.i.t.c.hes, but he longed to bone one of them. Or both. That was the image that had pushed him over the edge, a vivid fantasy of being double-teamed by the blond b.i.t.c.h and her black friend. He'd spent the last hour of the ride staring at Dream's bare shoulders and slender neck, exposed as they were in the orange tank top. Then Dream had her little meltdown and he'd unexpectedly been presented the opportunity to release some spare sperm.

Feigning more emotional trauma at Chad's revelation

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than he really felt, he'd ventured into the woods, wandering a little farther out than necessary, just to ensure he wouldn't be caught in the act. He figured he needed maybe five minutes, then the deed would be done. Things were going great for a couple of minutes. He was imagining the black b.i.t.c.h going down on him while Dream rubbed her sizable t.i.ts in his face. Then all h.e.l.l broke loose.

Somebody-a woman, from the sound of it-was in a world of hurt somewhere deeper in the woods. There'd only been the one scream from that direction, and there was something ominous about that. There'd also been a flurry of movement in the vicinity, a wild rustling of leaves and branches-the sound of something enormous stomping about. Its location was hard to pinpoint-not that he felt particularly compelled to find it anyway, especially since whatever was making the G.o.dd.a.m.n racket had probably done something unspeakable to elicit the scream he'd heard.

Shane frowned, realizing this was the kind of sound a movie hero would investigate without hesitation-and without any apparent thought given to personal safety.

He thought about inbred backwoods psychos with hunting knives.

Okay, f.u.c.k the hero s.h.i.t.

It was high time he was gone from this creepy-a.s.s place. The decision made, he moved in the direction of the street, his mind already hard at work conjuring up a good story to cover up his cowardice.

From the sound of things, that wouldn't be too hard. There was a lot of noise emanating from a place directly

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ahead of him. Karen screaming again. The shrill c.u.n.t. Christ, but breaking up with her was long overdue. She was a good-looking broad, but maybe he was done with his Asian phase.

Maybe he'd get himself a blond girlfriend next.

A flaky little b.i.t.c.h like Dream.

Or maybe even Dream herself.

Sure, why not-she was vulnerable enough now.

Shane was so lost in self-absorption and s.e.xual obsession that he didn't really hear the sound of snapping branches until the creature emerged from the shadows and stood before him. It was huge, maybe eight feet tall, and covered with matted, s.h.a.ggy fur.

Dog, he thought, genetic mutant big-a.s.s dog.

But, no, there was something decidedly lupine about this creature. ...