Did she detect a note of hope in his voice? "Yes."
"Do you dream, Sarah?"
"Of course. Everyone dreams."
"Not everyone," he murmured. "Tell me of your dreams."
"Is that why you brought me here?" she asked, her voice tinged with sarcasm. "To listen to my dreams?"
"Tell me."
She tried to look away, but she couldn't draw her gaze from his.
"Tell me." It was a command.
"Mostly I dream about you," she said. "About..." She shrugged. "About the other night."
"Is that all?"
"No. Sometimes I have nightmares, horrible nightmares."
He didn't move, but she had the feeling he was leaning toward her. "Tell me," he said again.
"They don't make any sense. The girl in the dreams is me. I see what she sees, I hear what she hears. But she's not me."
She stared up at him, hoping he could help, hoping he would assure her that she wasn't going crazy. "Sometimes I speak French." She lifted one hand and let it fall in a gesture of helplessness. "I don't know how to speak French. But in my dreams I know the words, what they mean. And there's" - she swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry - "there's blood and death and you, all mixed up together. And last night" - her fingernails dug into her palms - "last night I dreamed that I had been buried alive. And you came to save me."
"Sarah." His voice was a harsh rasp, filled with agony. And he knew, knew without doubt, that it was Sara Jayne sitting before him.
"What does it all mean?" she asked.
He turned away, not wanting her to see the yearning, the hunger, that he knew must surely be plain on his face. "Are you sure you want to know?"
"Am I going mad?" she asked anxiously. "Is that what it means?"
"No."
"Why did you bring me here? What do you want from me?"
"I was going to offer you a choice."
"What kind of choice?"
"I was going to ask if you would be mine willingly, and if you said no, I was going to offer you the choice of being my slave or my equal."
She couldn't help it - she laughed. His slave or his equal? Who did he think he was? And then she felt the power of his gaze, and the laughter died in her throat.
"You're not kidding, are you?"
"No."
"How did you start that fire?"
He lifted one black brow. "An odd question at such a moment."
"How did we travel here so fast?"
"I have many talents," he said with a shrug.
"Are you a magician of some kind?" She shrank away from the word sorcerer, it conjured up too many dark images.
"Do you believe in reincarnation?"
"Don't tell me you think you're Harry Houdini?"
"Answer me!"
"No, I don't believe in reincarnation. Or ghosts. Or werewolves."
He crossed the room, parted the drapes, and stared out into the night. He should end this now, he thought, one way or the other. As he had so long ago, he told himself to let her go, to exit her life and never return. But, as with his other Sara, he could not do it. He could not cut himself off from the only woman who had ever loved him. Selfish to the end, he mused, determined to have what he wanted at all costs.
He stood there for a long time, absorbing the sounds of the night, A drunk was lying in a gutter less than a mile away, snoring loudly. He heard the near-silent sweep of an owl's wings as it hunted in the night. In the distance, he could hear people talking, fighting, loving.
He drewadeep breath, and Sarah's scent filled his nostrils. Her perfume. The soap she had bathed with. The fragrance of her hair. The sharp odor of fear. The intoxicating scent of the blood flowing warm and sweet through her veins.
He clenched his hands at his sides. Sara Jayne, remember me, cara, come to me.
"Sara Jayne." A shiver went through Sarah as she repeated the name. "She's the girl in my dreams."
"I know."
"How could you?"
"Because they're her dreams you're having, her nightmares."
"You mean she really exists?"
"She did."
"Did?" A coldness seemed to fill the room as she waited for his explanation.
"She was born in England in 1865. She had hair the color of yours, but her eyes were blue, like the sky on a summer day. She grew up in an orphanage. For a time, she was a prima ballerina in the Paris Opera. She gave up a brilliant career and all hopes of a family for