He waved her to exit, and she did so, her hands shaking as she opened the door. The other vamps didn't so much as acknowledge her as she stepped from the car. Her greeter motioned her to follow, and she obeyed, her mind on Damian and nothing else. He led her into a small, grey elevator that plunged quickly to the depths beneath the mountain.
The underground world was well built and bright with whitewashed walls lining corridors wide enough for two people to walk side by side. Her apprehension grew as the vamp led her down a maze of hallways through scores of other vamps and past multiple doorways. He reached a set of double doors. He opened one, and she entered. The study beyond was a replica of the one in Virginia, down to the Gothic hood on the fireplace.
Damian was nowhere to be seen. Czerno rose from a desk as she entered. The large man in black with lopsided shoulders and an executioner's hood pressed himself into a corner. The man with verdant eyes stood beside him, watching her. The Black God approached her, and she stepped back.
"I did what you asked. You said you'd free him," she said.
At Czerno's chilled smile, she knew he had no intention of freeing either of them. Panic swelled within her.
"Welcome home, love," he said.
She whirled, but the vamp that had led her into the underground lair blocked the doorway. She sucked in a breath, struggling to calm herself.
"Czerno, free him! You have me!"
"I'd rather kill two birds with one stone," he said. "Two, take her."
"No!" she breathed. "Please no! I'll do whatever you want! Please, just let him go."
"We'll talk later, love," Czerno assured her. "You'll have all the time in the world to beg me, on your knees and on your back."
His gaze swept over her in cold admiration as he spoke. The executioner from the corner emerged from the shadows and took her arms.
"Let him go! Please!" she shouted as he pulled her from the room.
Hysteria gripped her, and she fought him until he slung her over his shoulder. Tears blinded her.
"Damian!"
Sofia. His voice was weak, as if he were far away. She strained against the man again.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobbed.
The man in the executioner uniform dumped her onto a familiar surgical table in a room that stank of blood.
She screamed and launched off of it. He slammed the door closed, subduing her hysterical strikes with unexpected gentleness until she lay strapped to the cold table, weeping. When spent, she lay still, willing sleep or death to take her. Neither did. She closed her eyes to the ceiling. Eventually, she ran out of tears and lay spent on the table, mind on Damian.