"Conrad, be calm," she said slowly.

His eyes glowed a deeper red. "Show—yourself!" Could he possibly be responding to her words? Or did he merely have some kind of vampire's sense that he wasn't alone?

With a low growl, he backed against the wall as he worked on the manacles. Finally he looped his bound hands under his feet to bring them forward. Seeming to relish the chance to fight, he intently scanned the room for an enemy, for a kill.

As Néomi hovered about him, waving her hand in front of his face, his eyes darted wildly, his head jerking right, then left. Frowning, she brandished her forefinger, stabbing his eye, passing straight through it.

He didn't blink.

She floated backward as if pushed. He can't see me. Heavy disappointment settled over her.

Beautiful female? Just the ramblings of a madman. She'd seized on the words no matter how unlikely they were because she'd been desperate.

The elation of the night had set her up for the bitterest disappointment. She gave one last frantic wave at his eyes—

He snapped his teeth, the sound like a bear trap; she reacted with a startled cry and raised her hands, shoving him away, sending him like a cannonball into the high-backed chair. When the chair slammed into the opposite wall, it collapsed from the impact, exploding into a cloud of splinters, tufts of upholstery filler, and plaster.

Battling to be freed from the shambles, he yelled in a foreign language, what had to be oaths. Yet he appeared to like the violence—or at least to be accustomed to it.

"Conrad... wait!" she managed to bite out. Where are the brothers? With their syringes? Yes, the three men were in and out, but they were never gone long.

Once he made it to his feet, he began tearing through the room, banging on the walls with his chained hands, knocking holes in the brittle plaster.