APPARENTLY, THINGS COULD GET WORSE. EXTREMELY worse. Had she considered yesterday to be hellish? Yesterday had been a walk down a lane filled with daisies. Today she wasn’t sure if she was even still alive.

Sarafina opened sleep-heavy eyes with colossal effort and watched two men make their way around the small room where they’d locked her up. She must still be alive since not even the drugs they’d given her could dull the sharp panic cutting up her throat or the slam of her beating heart. This was her worst nightmare. She was a ball of terror imprisoned in a body too heavy to move.

Alive in a dead body.

She’d been drifting in and out of consciousness for over twenty-four hours. . she guessed. Just when the drugged lethargy began to ease from her muscles, someone came in and shot her back up again. The time had passed as if she lived in a lucid dream, her consciousness scrabbling against the padded container it was locked within.

As the men left the room and shut the door behind them, her eyelids grew heavy again. Sarafina struggled to keep them open, fought to stay conscious, but she was no match for the drugs wending their way through her veins.

When Sarafina woke next, the first thing she noticed was the absence of the heaviness in her limbs. She could move! Her fear was also gone, replaced by an all-consuming rage.

The second thing she noticed was a man sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, his face hidden by shadow. Creepy.

She bolted upright and addressed the most pressing matter at hand. “Where’s my dog? I swear to God if you did anything to Grosset, I will—” “Please, your dog is fine,” came the dulcet voice of Stefan Faucheux, his French accent still audible even though he’d spent most of his life in the United States. He stood and smiled, spreading his manicured hands. “What do you take me for, a monster?” His full lips twisted and he gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Okay, so I’m a monster, but not one that hurts children or animals.” “Where is he?”