PROLOGUE

I AWOKE WITH blood on my hands. I smelled it and felt the warmth trickle down my fingers and settle at the center of my palms. Obviously, it was still fresh. The realization turned my spine to stone. I couldn’t sit up; I could barely breathe.

Never before had Richard left blood on our hands. He had always taken great care to wash away any trace of a kill. He was a meticulous person by nature, the type who never left so much as a dresser drawer slightly open or a towel unfolded.

I had no doubts as to why he had left the blood. It was part of his revenge. He wanted to drive home his act and have me confront it from the moment I had returned. I sat up slowly, my heart aching with anticipation. All was quiet; all was still.

I wiped my hands on the blanket and, with fingers trembling, reached over to snap on the lamp on the nightstand. Richard had not only turned off the lights before his kill, but he had also drawn the drapes so that no moonlight would spill through the windows. I knew he had wanted Michael to think it was still me, to think it was my hands crushing him and squeezing the life out of him. I knew the way Richard thought and how exquisite he could be when it came to tormenting his prey. Of course he thought he had much more reason to behave that way this time.

I could hear his laughter inside me: a long hollow peal of laughter reverberating down into the depths of whatever soul we still possessed.

“No,” I whispered without turning back to look beside me on the bed. “Please, no.”

I took a deep breath and turned to witness Michael’s shattered face. I recognized him only by the wave of his blond hair. It still lay softly over the top of his forehead, only now his spilled blood ran through the strands. His beautiful face, a face I had compared to Richard’s in its classic handsomeness, had been battered until the nose bone collapsed and the cheekbones caved in. His mouth was open, the lower lip stretched below his lower teeth so the gums showed.

I tried to deny this gruesome sight, closing my eyes, but when I opened them, his corpse was still there, the bleeding coming to an end as his life trickled out and away. I dared not look under the covers at his naked torso. I knew how vicious Richard could be and how he enjoyed attacking other men in their sex.

Despite Richard’s efforts to prevent me from doing so, I cried. On this bed Michael and I had pledged our love endlessly. Endlessly we wove our illusions and dreams into magical moments I had not thought possible for someone like me. No one had made me feel more feminine, more beautiful, more alive than Michael. He made me want to be a woman and from the start I knew how that threatened Richard. My mistake was I did not do enough to hide my feelings.

I caught my breath and sat up. For a moment when I looked into the mirror above the dresser, I thought I saw Richard’s reflection gazing back instead of my own. I hated him more at this moment than I thought possible. He must have seen that enmity in my eyes, for his image faded quickly.

I rose from the bed and went to the bathroom. I wouldn’t let him escape, I thought. He cannot retreat into the deepest depths of our being. Not now, not ever again. I snapped on the light and stared into the mirror, bringing my face close and gazing intently into my eyes, looking behind them until I was sure I saw Richard looking out. I willed him to look out, forced him to hold his gaze on mine.

“You’ve gone too far this time,” I said. “You had no right and I will not forgive you.”

He looked skeptical, which only angered me more.

“Look out at the world through my eyes for the last time, for you will never see the light of day again,” I promised.

He dared smile back.

“I swear,” I said in a cold whisper. “I take an oath on our mother, on our entire race, never to permit you to hunt again, to live again. I’ll drown you in me.”

And then, to emphasize my determination, I closed my eyes tightly and willed him to sleep. He fought, clamored, chastised and swore, but in the end, he succumbed and when I opened my eyes again, he was gone. I studied my face to be sure.

Then I turned and looked back at Michael’s broken body and our broken love.

Why hadn’t I done this before, before Richard had had a chance to act? It was my fault, my fault!

“I’m sorry, my love,” I said. “But there is little more that I can do now but deny my very essence. And I will. I died when he killed you, and he killed himself.”

I glared back in the mirror, and then I dressed and left Michael’s apartment to prepare myself to go to the police and make my confession.