What ravages of Spirit

Conjured this tempestuous rage?

Created you a monster

Broken by the rule of love.

And fate has let you through it.

You do what you have to do.

And I have the sense to recognize

I don't know how to let you go.

Sarah McLachlan: "Do What You Have To Do"

From the album: 'Surfacing'

CHAPTER ONE

"That's the fourth one this month, Greg! You'vegot a description of the vehicle and descriptions of the woman. Now,you're telling me that's not enough for the NYPD to scare up evenone serious lead? I don't have enough stafffor a wild goose chase, we need something concrete!"

Several of the staff glanced toward Deputy DAJoe Maxwell's office. Their boss seldom raised his voice enough to beheard so easily from outside his closed door. Through the frostedglass, the normally laid back and relaxed figure of Greg Hughs couldbe seen pacing in frustration - frustration that was mirrored by thewoman who sat at a desk nearby, staring into space.

In the last month there had been four assaultswith a distinct MO. The month before there had been three. Targetswere invariably men. It would begin at some local bar. Flattered, thevictim would accept a drink that was sent over by an attractivewoman, and anticipate a pleasant evening, hopefully leading to asexual encounter. When the invitation came, the victims would readilyaccede to the woman's request to go to her hotel room, since she was'just in New York for a short business trip'. Arriving there andraiding the room's bar fridge would generally be the last thing themen remembered before waking up in excruciating pain. Four of thevictims awoke missing a kidney. One, missing both, would be ondialysis for the rest of his life, unless a suitable kidney was foundto replace one of the organs he had lost. A couple of other men hadlost an eye. The last one never awoke again, having lost his heart tothe mysterious temptress. Literally.

"Yeah, we've got descriptions Joe, but none of'em match! Look, all we've got is some kind of a dark van seen by astreet bum who was too drunk to even know what make it was. Thedescriptions of the woman are fine and dandy, but they're notconsistent! We're doing our best with the little bits we have! Justwhere do you think we shouldstart, huh?"  After apause the conversation resumed, but with the tone lowered it becamenothing but murmurs to anyone outside the office. Catherine forcedher attention away and tried to re‑focus on breaking down theMartin deposition. The huge stack of dry testimony was about asexciting as watching paint peel.

Another wave of frustration rolled throughCatherine as she tapped her highlighter against her teeth inagitation. This had been going on long enough. Ever since thathorrifying night when she had been abducted by a stalker and herresultant near drowning, Joe had been treating her with kid gloves.Admittedly, the constant stress of the last few weeks due to thatreporter, Spirko, along with Paracelcus' death and Vincent'smysterious illness had been affecting her work. Sick days, missedtime with no explanation, all had been accepted by her normally slavedriving boss without a second's hesitation. The work that Joe hadassigned her since that night was relative fluff, the kind usuallygiven to first year apprentices to get their feet wet. In its time,Catherine grudgingly admitted to herself, it was just what sheneeded, something to keep her occupied but not enough to exert anydemands. Well, Vincent had returned below very early this morning andseemed on the road to recovery.  Thetime had come to get 'back on the horse'.

The abrupt opening of Joe's office door brokeCatherine's reverie. Shaking his head, Greg stepped out and headedfor the elevator hallway. With a burst of resolve, she pushed herchair back and set off in pursuit. Rounding the corner to the alcovehousing the bank of elevators, she spied Greg slouched against thewall, watching the floor numbers change.

"Greg? Could I talk to you for a few minutes?It's about the organ-snatcher case."

Joe Maxwell worried at a rubber band absently ashe leaned back in his ancient wooden swivel chair. Funny how, eventhough he had tried the fancy new ergonomic ones, something about thesolidity of this chair made him always come back to it. Sometimes hefelt as if the long hours put in by its previous occupants had lefttheir mark somehow, lending an impression of helpful presences and avague sensation of encouragement and support. Not that it was helpingwith this particular case that wasn't quite a case ‑ yet.

Poor Greg. If anyone were to be affected on apersonal level by this, it would be him. Ever since he had taken agreen investigator from the DA's office under his wing, Greg had beenone of Joe's few friends who understood and put up with the necessityof long hours of overtime and the unceasing demands of an officeperennially understaffed. Of course, the fact that Greg worked in thesame kind of environment helped. Regardless, although it wasn'tgenerally known, the two were fast friends. Turning down his requestfor help had really hurt. Very few people besides Joe knew thatGreg's younger brother, barely 30, had died while on the waiting listfor a new kidney.

This case though, there just wasn't enough to goon. The District Attorney's office was always spread thin, butrecently the problem had gotten worse.  Hisdecision to take Radcliffe out of active investigation had reallyaffected the office's capabilities.  Joe'schair creaked alarmingly as, with a muffled 'humph' of amusement, heleaned further back and propped his feet up on the open desk drawer."Who would'a thunk it" slipped across his thoughts, and it was farfrom the first time. Catherine Chandler, debutante and socialite.When he first saw her sitting so primly outside Moreno's office, hehad made no bones about his feeling that she would be more hindrancethan help. He was never so glad to have been proven wrong.

Yeah, it had taken him quite a bit to warm up tothe girl from the other side of the tracks. Joe remembered sendingevery dirty job he could find her way, thinking to break her andcause her resignation. Hazing? It certainly was. But he had feltjustified ‑ he didn't have the time to hold people's hands.Better she left sooner than later. Instead of leaving however, shedug in her high heels. Grudging respect on his part had given way togenuine liking. Nowadays? Well, genuine liking had been replaced bysomething else, something he didn't want to examine too closely. Lastmonth, discovering her missing and later finding her in the back ofan ambulance wrapped in a blanket, those feelings had been closer tothe surface than he would like and that he was comfortable with.Being the boss definitely had its down side.

A gentle knock on the door made him lower hisfeet and sit up. "Yeah, come on in," Joe responded, as he reached forthe now cold cup of sludge that the government called coffee.

'Speak of the devil' he mused silently as thedoor opened to reveal the object of his recent thoughts. A criticalglance swept over Catherine's features as she entered. Arms full ofthick files, she propped her coffee mug on the corner of his desk andsank into a chair. 'Still not quite up to snuff,' Joe thought. Shelooked great& Cathy always looked great. But to those who knewher, the signs were obvious. She'd lost weight; her already slenderframe now appeared almost fragile. There was a tired, worried pinchto the corner of her eyes. But it wasn't as bad as it had been. Maybethose four days she took off sick had actually helped; she seemed, tohis observant eye (and you didn't get to be someone in his positionwithout being observant) slightly less stiff and preoccupied. Atonce, he was very glad that he had let up on her. God knows, she leda very private life and unless she volunteered he wouldn't press her,but whatever had been going on since the abduction had continued totake a heavy toll.

"I've finished the Martin deposition, Joe. I'vefinished all of them, all the little useless jobs you've put me onlately –"

"Hey, come on! You know as well as I do thatthere are no useless jobs in this office," he interjected in his owndefense.

"I know. Don't think I don't understand whatyou've been doing, and why. Don't think I don't appreciate it either.You've cut me a lot of slack lately, and I'm grateful." Catherinegave an unladylike snort of amusement at Joe's theatrical display ofamazement, hand clutching his chest in a mock heart attack.

"Hey, go easy! The old heart can't take thatkind of shock!"

Catherine grinned at him, her eyes glowing witha trace of that old humor that hadn't been present for too long."Jokes aside, I think it's time I got back into the swing of things.I need something I can sink my teeth into, something I can focus on."Left unspoken was the fact that it would take her attention off ofsomething else.

Joe examined her critically. She did look, andsound, more like the old Cathy. That brittle edge seemed to bedissipating, although traces still lingered. "Well, if you thinkyou're feeling up to it. But don't push it if you're not, I want mybest investigator back in top form." He lowered his head and rummagedthrough one of the stacks of paperwork on the desk. "We need someoneto track down the witness of the Allenby ‑"

"There's a particular case I had in mind."

He looked up from his search for the Allenbyfile. She had that stubborn look on her face&

"I couldn't help overhearing, and I went to talkto Greg after he left." She raised her hand to stop his interruption."Just hear me out. I know you don't think there's enough evidence toeven put this on the books as an official investigation, but I havefew ideas, maybe a place at least to start. I'll look into theskipped witness as well, but I'd really like to do a bit of diggingon this."

'How could you ever say no to her?' Joe thought.Especially when she came up with something he wished he could doanyway. Releasing his breath with a resigned sigh, he responded. "Allright, dig away. Use those mysterious contacts of yours to see whatyou can find. God knows if anyone can scare up something, it's you.But don't blow too much time on it, the Allenby case goes to trial intwo months and without that witness we don't have a leg to stand on,capische? Now get out of here! Get to work, you lazy slacker." Therubber band that Joe had been twiddling was aimed and fired past herat ear level and hit the wall behind her head with an elastic'thwack'. At Catherine's look of astonishment, Joe burst into afull-throated guffaw.

Outside the office, the constant thrum ofactivity receded for a second as the masculine laughter emanatingfrom the closed door was joined by a feminine counterpart. The brieflull was quickly supplanted by the more familiar bustle and noise.Somehow though, the atmosphere seemed to have lightened, as if a rayof sunshine had finally broken through a sky too long overcast.

"G'night, Cathy," came Josh's call. Muttering asemi‑articulate response, Catherine didn't even lift her headfrom the file that Greg had handed over to her. A part of her mindregistered the sound of a door closing

"All right, Chandler, what have we got,"Catherine muttered aloud to herself as she unconsciously tended to dowhen concentrating deeply. "Seven assaults, removed organs. OK ‑they take them how? Probably right in the hotel room, since no onehas seen anyone being carried away. Done on the hotel floor mostlikely. Physical exam after the fact shows that the job is roughlydone and sloppy, especially on the first few victims, although laterwork is cleaner. Traces of ketamine in victims, an opium derivativebut not controlled the way Valium or morphine are. Street name'Special K'.  Each victim visited a bar, metan attractive woman, went with her to a hotel room, and remembersnothing afterwards." Flipping through the photographs attached to thefile, Catherine grimaced. "Humph. Leave it to our fellow man toinvent a brand new kind of rape." Long waiting lists for transplantshad created a virtually unknown 'black market' in viable humanorgans. Those who were well off, when faced with preserving their ownlives or the life of a loved one, sometimes discovered that an extrafee could practically guarantee an appropriate donor organ could befound. Not that anyone would admit to such a thing. Pausing a momentto rub her eyes, she continued.

"The woman's description is different everytime, between 5'4" and 5'7", variable hair and eye color. Onepotential witness, drunk in a back alley, saw a blond woman and a manwith a cooler leave one of the scenes and get into a dark van. Theymust either charter a plane to take the organ somewhere or therecipient flies here and the surgery is done locally. Well, that'sthe concrete information, such as it is. So where do I start?"Leaning forward to pull her Day Timer calendar forward, Catherinescribbled under Monday's date:

Ketamine ‑ suppliers?

Hospitals nearby? Transplant surgerycapable?

Shoving the calendar back to its usual spot,Catherine sighed. The past few days of nursing Vincent had takentheir toll and she was tired. Time to head for home. She'd go belowfirst to check on Vincent, maybe take a hot bath before bed tonight.She automatically turned to open the filing cabinet where she kepther purse while at work. Finding it missing sent a quick thrill ofmisgiving through her, until she remembered swinging it onto thecorner of her desk an hour ago after returning from a bathroom break.Vaguely remembering a muffled thump afterwards, she peered over theside to see her purse in a heap on the floor, a compact and lipstickspilling out of a partially unzipped pocket. Leaning over to retrievethe errant handbag, she was surprised to find a crumpled envelopeaddressed to her underneath it. "Must have been underneath andslipped off as well," she thought as she picked up the note.Registering the familiar handwriting, Catherine paled, sat back inher chair with a thump, and with trepidation unsealed the note toscan the contents.

A few seconds later, Catherine swept from theoffice, fear and despair warring in her eyes.

The wild and anguished roaring crashed againstthe rocky walls, the sound washing back in an effect reminiscent ofstorm‑lashed waves against a cliff side. The sound of Vincent'storment echoed through Catherine's heart in much the same manner.Terrible and beautiful, forbidding yet strangely compelling, like thesea itself. Whether through the bond or through an intuitiveunderstanding of the emotions contained within that sound, Catherinecould sense deadly conflict. And somehow, she also sensed Vincent waslosing.

Rounding a bend, Catherine finally saw Fatherleaning heavily against his cane at the mouth of a branching tunnel.As she spoke with him, a part of her felt detached somehow. A part ofher that could not speak, only respond. Respond to the horrible depthof pain, both audible and flowing now from the wellspring of thebond, and echo it with wildness and pain of its own. Words could notconvey this; they couldn't even try. Moving towards the source of thepain she must stop, Catherine felt a tug as Father grasped her.

"Catherine, no. It's too dangerous."

Reluctantly, Catherine tore herself from thegrip of that terrible call from the cavern interior to focus on theman who slowly had become Father to her as well. Reassuring him withwords, and reminding him that Vincent was her life, that without himthere was nothing, Catherine resumed her interrupted progress.

The cavern had barely enough light to make herfooting only difficult, not dangerous. Turning the corner intodarkness, Catherine could sense movement. Allowing her eyes toadjust, she made out Vincent's form crammed into a small crevice.Closer now, a screeching noise could be heard below the anguishedroars, which seemed to be weakening.  The large but indistinct bodybecame marginally clearer after a few seconds, but still seemed justa dark shadow against black rock. Waves of even darker emotions ‑guilt, anger, despair, soul‑freezing loneliness, crashed uponthe shore of her heart. Some of it felt almost familiar. The rage,yes. Catherine had felt it many times when Vincent was called by thebond to protect her from harm, and in the process not only kill herattackers, but parts of himself as well. She remembered finallyadmitting to Father quite recently that a part of her 'shared thatwith him.' She had not lied, or exaggerated. She shared in his guiltas well. It always followed the rage, to a greater or lesser degree,and although it was not felt with as much clarity, in the last yearshe had become aware of its presence.

As she stood pondering her next actions, Vincentslowly turned and faced the wall. Catherine heard a hollow crack ashe threw his head against the rock. "Get out," Vincent mutteredhoarsely, a note of pleading creeping into his voice. Seeing himshift forward in order to repeat the action, Catherine moved towardhim, her only thought to stop him from injuring himself this way.

"Vincent ‑ no!" she called softly buturgently as she approached. Vincent's head whipped around to faceher.

"Get out of here! This is - no place for you,not now, not here, not - with me. You're not safe!" The words werepunctuated with rough pants as Vincent struggled to regain breath andpresence of mind to speak.

"You can't hurt me. I know this. Let me help,let me get Father and we'll take you back‑"

"No! Icannot go back there. The struggle is too great. Someone could gethurt. Catherine, you must go! I'll return& when I can."

"Don't you mean if you can?" she replied heatedly. Gently she continued,"you're trying to hurt yourself, maybe even kill yourself. I know this. I've told you that sometimes I canfeel you through the bond, when the need is great, when your emotionsare so strong, especially when we're close like now." Throughout hercalm speech, she slowly approached Vincent, who seemed to be tryingto press himself through solid rock to avoid her.

A rough snarl rumbled through the cavern,halting Catherine in her tracks. "Yes. See? I frighten you. Ifrightened you before, in my chamber. You cried out. I felt yourfear. Remember that. The part of me that kills, that hates, is tooclose. You don't want to meet that."

Catherine shuddered as she remembered thatparticular incident. Yes, she had been frightened. And ashamed. Not,however, for the reasons Vincent thought. Again that horriblescreeching sound, like nails on a blackboard, echoed through thesmall chamber. Now that she was closer, she realized the sound wasVincent's claws being drawn harshly over the stone. Compelled by thisvisible sign of his distress, she knew she must be truthful. "Whenyou turned on me – yes, I wasfrightened. But do you want to know exactly what I found frightening?It wasn't you. Not truly. I told Father, just before he was taken byParacelsus, something very personal and very difficult." She noticedthe flinch as she mentioned that name, and felt sorrow at havingadded to his pain. "I told him it was possible I put myself indangerous situations in the unconscious hope that it would summonyou, in the full grip of your rage. And I told him that a part of meresponds to that." At Vincent's harsh growl and jerky negative shakeof his head, she continued more forcefully. "Yes! I know that this is the truth. A part ofme, a part that I never knew before, feels the wildness, the strengthand force. And it doesn't frighten me. It draws me! Those feelingsyou despise in yourself, they strike a chord in me. A part of me&finds them beautiful." Catherine's voice softened. Breaking eyecontact by lifting her gaze upward, she added softly, "I was sure youwould never accept this. That is what frightened me, Vincent. Itfrightens me still."

Vincent's rumbling growls fell silent. "So. Thepoison spreads," he said quietly, despairingly. A roar, torn from anabused throat, rushed out to fill the chamber. He flung himselfagainst the innocent rock, clawing frantically as if trying to dighis way into it. Turning with a swirl of rough mane, he facedCatherine again. "The monster affects you now. You, who I mustprotect from it! You will not listen ‑"

"There is no poison! These feelings are insideall of us‑"

"Quiet!"Vincent snarled roughly. Turning around again and again, he stumbledalong the rocky wall to the farthest point from her he could reach.Bending over as if in mortal pain, he covered his ears with hishands. "Never listen, never never," he mumbled to himself. AtCatherine's step towards him he straightened, pinning her with adirect glare, enlarged pupils reflecting flashes of light like acornered animal. From the savage chaos in his mind speech was forced,ground out through gleaming fangs. "None of you. Understand. None ofyou. Truly listen. There are things inside me – inhuman things!Know this!" Bracinghimself back against the wall, he felt anger ebb before numb despair."Please, listen to me now. Understand. All my life here, living withpeople. Normal people! What I feel, inside me, it's notthe same. I know this.I tried! I tried so hard! Not to frighten people, to act like them.Be human. My fault, that you don't know. I have said and said, partsof me are not human. You think I lie? Or make it up? To avoid you,avoid sharing - with you? No! I would frighten you! You can'tunderstand. Never..." As if giving up after a long fruitlessstruggle, he sagged further against the wall. Slowly he slid down torest against the stone, knees up and back braced, face concealedbehind a curtain of tangled mane. "Never. Now, go. Please. Yourpresence& hurts."

Cautiously, Catherine approached the huddledfigure of her beloved. Sinking to her knees beside him, she reachedout to take his great head in her hands and turn his face toward her.She remembered, far back in the very beginning of their timetogether, him looking at her through his ragged bangs just as he didnow. Fear and trepidation ruled his eyes, which flickered from sideto side, fearful of what they might see. 'Full circle,' she thoughtabsently as his eyes finally stilled and met hers. "Vincent, the lasttime you ordered me away, I told you I loved you and then left. Notthis time, my love. I'm not leaving. Not like that again. Not ever.We can see this through, together. And this time I'll amend mymistake. I love you." Following her words, she tipped his head up andleaning forward, brought her lips into contact with his.

Vincent's harsh indrawn moan of denial partedhis lips slightly and she immediately pressed the advantage. This waswhat they most craved, they most needed. Tilting her head, shedeepened her soft kiss of love into a melting kiss of passion. Shefelt him stiffen in shock, but she couldn't bring herself to moveaway. Finally, after over two years of endless longing, she felt thekiss of her beloved and would not relinquish it. And he was so sweet,his unique lips slowly warming, coming alive under hers. She couldfeel herself relaxing toward him, and there – yes! ‑ hislarge hands tentatively stroking into her hair, sliding across to hershoulders. Those hands that had just moments ago so brutally tried todrive themselves into solid rock now whispered softly down her back.A far-off part of her, small as it was, which could still focus onsomething other than the long and desperately desired touch of hishands and velvet mouth, was aware of a strange rumbling noise fromvery close. Those hypnotic hands slid hesitantly back up to hershoulders and gave a soft tug, pulling her forward to fall across hischest.

Catherine unconsciously adjusted her body sotheir hips touched, her breasts pressed firmly against his hardchest. Her hands crept upward to bury themselves as they had alwayswanted in the abundance that was Vincent's glory, his beautiful thickmane. As she strained closer, closer, the rumbling noise resolveditself into an exciting vibration centered in Vincent's midsection, asensation felt as much as heard, which spread over her, into her.Throughout this their lips experimented, seeking to find just theright fit, the perfect moist sliding sensation.

Sinking into a warm bed of sensuous pleasure,Vincent felt Catherine's tongue, soft and honeyed, drift across andbetween his sharp fangs to twine with his. A shaft of desire sointense it almost hurt sped through his torso, coming to rest warmlyin his groin. His heart thundered, as if trying to escape theconfines of his chest in order to beat within hers. Through theirbond, muted by the incredible sensations bombarding him, he couldsense her joy. A wave of primal possessiveness swept through him.This woman was his, his choice, confirmed by the bond's existence.She was his mate, body and soul. Echoing through the bond he couldfeel her subconscious affirmation of his claim, and a mirror claim ofher own for him. Two thoughts as one, stating only "Mine! Yes –always. Forever!" Dimly, in the back of his mind, something screamedat him to stop, he had gone far enough, it wasn't time, she wasn'tfor him now, too much! With a soft growl, he shook off that desperateinner voice. The fire in his blood spoke of more desirous things andhe was lost in the swirling currents of scent that arose from hisCatherine.

The scent of her! In all those forbidden, stolenembraces of their love he had always found a way to brush his faceagainst her hair, to sweep his cheek across its silken softness,releasing the intoxicating scent that was Catherine. That alluringnatural perfume which distinguished her from any other, that scent bywhich he would still know her if he were struck blind and deaf. Thescent that had always tugged at and fought his control, begged him tospend more time, to linger in its heady spell. It engulfed hissenses. The world faded until all it contained was his Catherine, thefeel of her under his hands, warm and receptive.

Catherine too was lost, enchanted. Control ofthe kiss she had initiated was wrested away, with her willingacquiescence. The harsh looking bristles on his nose and chin rubbedagainst her by turns, unexpectedly soft. His callused hands on hershoulders had begun to move as well, in a soft kneading motion thatsent trickles of delight down her spine, lighting fires within.Starbursts of sensation seemed to explode through her body, answeringthe rumbling vibration that shook through her, finding its silentecho within. The feel of his strong body so long forbidden, the muskywarm scent of him, his breath, his very being was inhaled into everycell. It felt as if a part of him, wild and joyous, was entering hersoul and curling up to stay, warm, loved, contented.

Eyes snapping open, Catherine returned toherself suddenly. The kneading motion on her shoulders was quiteobvious now, the sharp points of his claws beginning to dig in a bit.The erotic contact was resulting in occasional sharp, almost painful,needle pricks. 'He can't hurt me,' she thought absently as shere-immersed herself in his kiss, the feel of his mane in her hands,gathered and released to slip like liquid gold through her fingers.Drifting downwards, her hand passed over the solidity of his chestunder hers and her lips slid from his to begin trailing a line ofsucking, moist kisses down the side of his throat. The rumblingbeneath her hands, surrounding her, within her, grew in intensity.Catherine's lips stilled slowly. The motion of his hands on her wasbecoming stronger yet, pressure increasing to a point just pastpain.

Turning to glance up at his face, Catherinecaught her breath. He wore an expression she had never seen beforefully, one which she had only caught the occasional hint of; anunfocused, glazed look reminiscent of the night she had potted roseson her balcony, when he had licked and kissed blood from a thornscratch on her hand. She nearly jumped as one of his kneading clawsscraped against the top of her shoulder blades, puncturing throughthe fabric of her jacket. "Vincent," she breathed softly. "Gentlynow, love..."

Dimly, Vincent heard Catherine speak to him. Shefelt so right under his hands! As she lifted her head, another waveof that intoxicating, drugging scent rose to embrace his senses. Inher desire to see his face she had tilted her head back, exposing herivory throat, so beautiful and delicate. His mouth dropped open asthe sight struck him like a blow. An overwhelming imperative swampedhim, hammered at him to take that lovely neck in his fangs and hold,hold her firm. Her words were incomprehensible, swept away by theforce of that instinctive demand.

Catherine could see that her gentle entreatieswere having no effect. 'I can't push him away,' she thought with atouch of desperation, visions of his previous experience with LisaCampbell passing like a curse. With a sharp gasp, she flinched as theclaw on his right thumb scored across her collarbone. Shaking himlightly, she tried to make him aware of her once again. At hermovement, Vincent's claws tightened and the soft rumble grew harsher,more insistent. Reluctantly she spoke again, more forcefully."Vincent!"

Catherine's eyes widened as in the dim light shesaw the glint of his fully exposed fangs. That secret, hidden part ofher that loved the wildness leapt as she felt the tumultuous, rushingdesire from him, the dominance. In a swift movement, he bent his headto her exposed throat and she felt those deadly sharp fangs connectand begin to exert pressure. "Vincent, please be careful. Vincent!"Beginning to be truly frightened, Catherine attempted to twist herhead away. Reflexively, he tightened his grip further. Catherine felthis sharp claws puncture through her jacket and blouse, driving intoher flesh.

"Vincent!"she screamed in desperation. Instantly the grip of teeth and clawsdisappeared. The sudden loss of his hold caused her to overbalance,and she toppled backwards to the ground. Opening her eyes, she couldsee Vincent staring at her, blinking in an attempt to come back tohimself.

Raising his hands in front of him, Vincent'seyes widened with horror as he beheld the blood, her blood,Catherine's blood! dripping down them. Throwing hishead back, he screamed his anguish and horror at the uncaringceiling. With all his strength, he threw his head back once againagainst the unforgiving rock.

A red wetness spread darkly into golden hair ashe slid down to collapse on the cold stone floor.