Arany stepped closer, his breath a bare whisper against her ear. “In truth, I’m drawn to you. Your scent, so sweet. I can feel the warmth radiate from your skin. Your hearts flutters in your chest like a frightened sparrow’s.” His palm felt cold as he grabbed a handful of her short-cropped hair and pulled her against him. “Tell me you’re not afraid.”

She’d be lying. Selena pushed against his chest. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing –“

A chuckled rumbled from his throat. “I’m well aware of what I’m doing, my dear.” His lips brushed the tender skin at the corner of her mouth as if he were teasing her. Or tasting her.

“I know what you’re doing, too,” she managed, “and it’s against the law without my consent. I don’t give it!”

His eyes glowed, liquid gold reflecting light like a wolf’s. “I no longer ask consent. As for the law, I am the law.”

His lips came down, crushing hers with a force so brutal it hurt. So cold. Fire and ice and fury, the dreams had never been this real. His fingers dug into her shoulder, bruising. Fear gave her strength, but desire for either violence or sex, or both, gave him greater strength. He held her still as his lips forged a trail to her ear.

His mouth touched the sensitive skin of her throat and matching desire rose within her to mock her fear. Her hands clutched at his jacket, fingers digging into wool, into the muscle beneath. His tongue traced the jugular pulsing beneath her flesh. A low moan escaped her. Such yearning; accompanied by the chilling thrill of fear.

Memories. Dark . . . shameful . . . ecstasy.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Stefan, please.”

Roughly, he set her back. “The registrars list me only as Arany. How is it you know my given name?”

“I – I don’t know.” She felt a yielding sensation as his mind brushed against hers like a stranger in a crowd. Then stronger, an invasion. Her body shook with the intensity of it. Boldly, he moved through the chambers of her subconscious, opening doors she’d long since closed, revealing places forgotten or lost.

“Stop fighting me. I must know. Your art captures these scenes from my life with such clarity. What demon gave you this knowledge? Was it Dracula? Did he send you to torment me again?”

“I have no wish to torment. Why would I want to hurt anyone, much less a stranger?” She searched his face. “No, not a stranger. Why are you so familiar to me?”

Arany gathered her in his arms and carried her to a throne-like chair, where he sat, holding her on his lap. Words died in her throat as he brushed the hair back from her face with a tenderness to contradict oh-so-recent events. Was this the gentleness of a man for a woman? Or that of a murderer for his intended victim? She stared at his unusual colored eyes. Maybe he was a killer. Even now he might reach out to throttle the life from her.