scraping together with the ferocity of our kiss. His scent and touch are enough to make me dizzy.
“I’m coming for you,” he promises vehemently when we break apart. “I swear I’m coming for you. Just hold on.”
“Don’t let me go. I don’t want to go back,” I plead, tangling my arms around his neck.
“If I could keep you in this dream, I would, but it’s far too dangerous. It would leave your physical-self vulnerable to attack or could sever the link to it permanently and kill you.”
“I don’t want to remember what he did to me,” I say against his neck. “What he has planned for me next.”
Morpheus’s whole frame tenses at my words, arms holding me tighter. He bends, trailing his nose along my hairline.
“You’re ours, lost girl. You don’t belong to anyone else. Remember that.” His growl rumbles in my ear. “Don’t let go of your hope. We will find you. Be strong for me. We’ll make him pay.”
The air grows cold around us, the light fading. I don’t want to leave, but I feel something ripping me backward as if I’m attached to a bungee cord. Blackness pours in tearing me from the safety of Morpheus’ embrace.
Spluttering awake, I shiver at the ice-cold water drenching my skin, droplets sliding down my face.
“No sleeping,” Cupid grates, lowering the empty bucket in his hands. Dressed now in green combats, he looks every inch a solider.
“Why are you doing this?” I moan, shivering, teeth chattering. There’s no sign of the wraith. However I summoned it must have worn off. I can feel ghosts through. Seething, in the places unseen. Their tormented thoughts brushing against mine. The pain of their deaths were slow and torturous.
“Because it’s fun. You deserve everything you get. All you bitches do. You spew your lies of loving someone, then think nothing of abandoning them when it suits you.”
“Who hurt you to hate women so much?”
“Psychoanalyzing me won’t save you.” Cupid’s one-eyed gaze doesn’t leave mine nor does it waver. “It’s time for you to meet an associate of mine.”
My heart climbs into my throat trying to escape with fear.
Leaning over, he unlocks the cuffs chaining my arms to the frame of the bed. My limbs are stiff from the prolonged position, protesting when I move them. A ring of dark purpling bruises circles my delicate wrists from the uncaring metal. Fisting my hair, he drags me upright off the bed. Gripping his wrist, I claw at it with my fingernails gouging as deep as I can. All my effort earns me is a harsh laugh. My knees hit the concrete painfully, it scrapes them as I’m hauled along with no chance to gain my feet.
I feel the urge to run. To escape. Get as far out of there as I can. My brain on overload. Urgently I try digging for the rage. The wicked tornado I’ve taught myself to keep in line and the ability to call out to the wraiths that have haunted me from a small child. It doesn’t come but remains frozen inside me blocked by other emotions jumbling my thoughts.
“No wraith?” Cupid taunts above me grip in my hair like steel. “Maybe you’re just a one trick pony after all.”
I’m towed past cramped, dingy, empty cell after empty cell. An abandon prison, but where? Muffled sobs emanate from the last room along the corridor. Wriggling, twisting, I’m thrown through the door to land heavily on the floor.
“Robin, Robin, Robin, I’m so glad you could join us,” a male voice rasps. “When I pushed you down the stairwell our encounter was so brief but even then, I glimpsed your potential. I wonder, will you be as flawed as my other puppets or my greatest masterpiece?”
Almost against my will, I raise my chin, gaze traveling up the back of muscled legs sheathed in expensive tailored trousers. Lean hips, a slim well-built body, a crisp white shirt splattered with red stains, the arms rolled up to reveal corded forearms. Thick, warm earthy brown curls grace his head. He’s not facing me yet so all I can do is guess at his features. Before him strapped naked to a metal chair, a lovely brunette woman sniffles and snuffles behind the ball gag wedged between her stretched lips. Drool drips from the corners of her mouth mingling with the tears trailing down her pale trembling cheeks.
The Doll Maker holds up a scalpel letting it glint for a moment in the overhead light. With precision and a steady