The moon is my sun,

the night is my day,

Blood is my life,

and you are my prey.

Rhianna woke slowly, and even as she opened her eyes, she thought she must still be dreaming.

She sat up, plumping the pillows behind her. Last night, she had not given any heed to her surroundings.

Now, she gazed around in breathless wonder. Blue-and-white striped wallpaper adorned the walls.

Heavy blue damask drapes covered the windows; a matching counterpane was folded on the foot of the bed. There was a thick rug on the floor, woven in shades of blue.

She was about to get out of bed when she heard a knock at the door.

"Miss Rhianna?"

"Yes, come in."

She drew the covers over her breasts as the door opened and Bevins stepped into the room.

"Lord Rayven instructed me to take you shopping this morning after breakfast."

Rhianna nodded. "Yes, he told me."

"I've brought you something to wear," he said, placing a large parcel on top of the table beside the bed.

"When you are dressed, please come down to breakfast."

"I will, thank you."

"Is there anything you prefer?"

Rhianna shook her head.

"Very well, miss. I shall expect you in, say, half an hour?"

"That will be fine."

"Unless you wish to have breakfast in bed."

"In bed? I'm not sick."

A slight smile flickered over his lips. "Half an hour then, miss," he said, and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

"Breakfast in bed," Rhianna mused, smiling. "Imagine that."

Rising, she opened the box, marveling at the bounty within. The dress was of orange and brown taffeta, with a square neck and long fitted sleeves. A bouquet of yellow silk flowers adorned the bustle. She ran her hands over the undergarments, unable to believe the finery of it all. Everything was edged with delicate lace and tiny pink bows, so pretty she wished she could wear it on the outside. Never had she owned anything so fine in all her life.

She dressed slowly, inspecting each item. She glanced around the room again, wishing for a mirror. At home, a looking glass was considered a luxury beyond their reach, but surely Lord Rayven could afford a hundred mirrors.

Odd, she thought as she made her way down the narrow staircase. But then, rumors of strange doings at Rayven Castle were rampant in town. Some said the place was haunted; others said that they knew of women who had gone there and had never been seen or heard from again. But they were only rumors, and she had never given much credence to idle gossip. After all, people said her father drank too much and that he beat his wife and children, and Rhianna knew that wasn't true. Vincent McLeod might not be the kindest, most affectionate father in the town, but he wasn't a monster, either.

When she reached the main floor, she wandered from room to room. Vaulted ceilings. Dark wood.

Heavy draperies at the windows. Costly paintings and tapestries on the walls. Numerous statues and figurines and carvings made of silver and pewter and wood. Crossed swords above a massive stone fireplace. Expensive rugs imported from exotic places. But not a single mirror. She frowned. There were no clocks in the house, either.

The dining room, like the other rooms in the house, was large and dark and expensively furnished.

A lace cloth covered the long trestle table. A pair of silver candelabra stood in the center of the table.

Long white tapers filled the room with a soft glow. Dark green velvet draperies covered the windows.

There was a painting of a hunting scene on one wall, a painting of a sunset done in bold shades of pink and crimson on another.

There was only one place setting on the table. The plate was china rimmed with gold, the water glass was of fine crystal, the flatware was gold. Stunned by such opulence, she sat down.

Moments later, Bevins entered the room, a covered tray in his hands. As he uncovered it, a variety of rich aromas filled the room. There was sliced ham, poached eggs, fluffy biscuits, pats of butter, a jar of quince jam, a bowl of porridge, fresh strawberries and cream, sliced peaches, a pot of tea.

"I hope this is satisfactory, miss," he said.

"Oh, yes." She had never seen such a variety of food at one time. "Will... will Lord Rayven be joining me for breakfast?"

"No, miss."

She should have been relieved. Instead, she felt a wave of disappointment.

"Will there be anything else, miss?"

"No, thank you."

"Very well, miss. I'll bring the coach round when you're ready to go."

Rhianna nodded, overwhelmed by the richness of her surroundings, the bounty spread before her.

Certain she couldn't eat it all, she sampled everything, and when she sat back twenty minutes later, she was amazed to see there was nothing left. She had eaten every bite.

She spent the rest of the morning at Madame Sofia's. At a loss to know what fabrics and styles to pick for herself, Rhianna gave herself over to the modiste, who, after taking her measurements, sent Rhianna on her way with the promise of three day dresses to be delivered the following afternoon, and the rest within the week, along with all the necessary undergarments, hats, shoes, gloves, and parasols a lady required.

Rhianna's head was spinning by the time they returned to the castle.

Bevins prepared a lavish midday meal, graciously accepted her thanks, then suggested Rhianna take a nap.

Rhianna smiled. A nap in the middle of the day! She had never had that luxury before. But, tempting as it sounded, she wasn't tired.

"Would it be all right if I looked around?"

"Of course, miss. This is your home now. You may explore at your leisure. All the rooms are at your disposal save those in the east tower."

"Thank you, Bevins."

"What time would you like supper, miss?"

"I don't know. What time does Lord Rayven usually dine?"

"Lord Rayven rarely dines at home."

"Oh." She felt a wave of disappointment as she recalled that Lord Rayven had told her she would not see him again. Even though he frightened her, she thought him the most fascinating man she had ever met.

"Seven o'clock, miss?"

"What? Oh, yes, that will be fine. Thank you."

She spent the rest of the day exploring the castle, certain she would never find her way around. So many rooms and stairways and passages.

She bypassed the first story, where, in olden times, the granaries had been located, as well as the boxes and barrels and casks that had held household supplies.

The second floor housed the dwelling and common rooms for the inhabitants of the castle. Bevins's kitchen was here, adjoining a large, well-stocked pantry.

A passageway led to a dormitory where the castle's ladies-in-waiting had once slept. It occurred to Rhianna that her chamber, which was the largest room she had seen, must have been the sleeping quarters for the lord and lady of the castle. Knowing that made her wonder anew where Lord Rayven's chamber was.

She turned down another corridor, glad she had thought to bring a lamp with her, for the hallways were dark. She had never been given to flights of fancy and she wasn't about to start now, although, if one were going to believe in ghosts and goblins, she supposed the castle at Devil Tree Mountain would be the perfect place to start.

She paused now and then, admiring the paintings and rich tapestries that hung on the walls.

The first room she came to was a library filled with more books than could be read in a lifetime. Rhianna ran her fingers over the spines. She lifted a heavy volume from another shelf and opened it, staring in wonder at the fine spidery script. Gilt edged each page. She saw beautiful drawings of cherubs and winged horses.

Turning the pages, she found drawings of wolves and ravens and bats, a skeletal figure in a long black cloak, a dark angel who held a skull in one hand and a silver chalice in the other.

Disturbed by the images, she closed the book and put it back on the shelf.

She entered the great hall next. This room, where the family had once dined, was furnished with a long trestle table and a single high-backed chair made of black wood. Looking closely, she saw that the back of the chair was carved in the shape of a raven with its wings folded. Weapons of every kind imaginable decorated the walls.

A solarium located in the eastern corner of the house was filled with plants gone wild.

Caught up in exploring the wonders of the castle, an hour became two, three.

She spent a few minutes in the music room, running her fingers over the yellowed keys of a small pianoforte. She had often wished she could play, but there had been no time to learn, and no one to teach her. She smiled as she remembered that Lord Rayven had promised her lessons. A rather elegant-looking harp stood in the far corner of the room. She found a violin resting in a dusty case atop an equally dusty table.

On the third floor, she counted twelve rooms that she assumed had once been bedrooms for the master's children and servants. All were empty, the floors covered with a thick layer of dust.

She climbed another flight of stairs and found herself in a round tower room that overlooked the river and the forest beyond.

She went down several narrow, twisting flights of stairs and found herself in a dungeon. Wrinkling her nose against the damp, musty smell, she held her lamp higher and took a few steps inside, her footsteps muffled on the hard-packed earthen floor. Long rows of iron-barred cells lined both sides of the corridor.

Standing there, she felt a sudden sense of evil.

Men had died here. She could almost hear their screams echoing off the gray stone walls, taste their fear as they met violent death...

With a squeal of fright, she turned and ran out of the dungeon. She took the stairs two at a time, her heart pounding as ghostly images rose up in her mind - grotesque images of blood and horror, of men being tortured, of terror and pain beyond bearing.

She was gasping for breath when she reached her room. Inside, she slammed the door, turned the key in the lock. She blew out the candle, then fell across the bed, willing her heart to stop pounding, her pulse to stop racing.

There was nothing evil in the dungeon, nothing to fear. It was only the fact that she had never been away from home before coupled with a vivid imagination that had her running scared. She was lucky to be here, in this place. For the first time in her life, she had a room of her own, food enough to eat, a beautiful dress. And, if Rayven was to be believed, anything else she wanted was hers simply for the asking.

Comforted by that thought, she fell asleep.

Rayven sat in front of the huge fireplace that dominated his bedroom, his elbows braced on the arms of his chair, his chin resting on his folded hands. He stared into the flames, but it was the girl's image that filled his vision. Vivid blue eyes deeper than any ocean. Beautiful blue eyes wide with fear. Pale pink lips.

Skin the color of wild honey. Golden blond hair that reminded him of the sunlight he had not seen in four centuries.

She had cleaned up well, he mused. Perhaps too well. Never before had he brought home one so young or so innocent or so lovely. For a moment, he contemplated sending her away. But only for a moment.

He glanced out the window, judging the time. She would be asleep by now.

He licked his lips as he rose from the chair.

A thought took him to her bedside. For a moment, he stood gazing down at her, bewitched by her beauty, her innocence. She slept on her side, her cheek resting on one hand. Her hair was spread across the pillow like a splash of sunlight, tempting his touch.

Moving slowly, he lifted a lock of her hair. Soft, he mused, so soft. He let the fine strands trickle through his fingers and then, unable to help himself, he stroked her cheek, let his fingertips slide down the length of her slender neck to rest lightly on the pulse throbbing slow and steady in her throat. Heat rushed through his fingertips. Ah, yes, he would have to be extremely careful with this one. She aroused far more than his accursed hunger.

Muttering an oath, he withdrew his hand.

She stirred on the bed as he sat down beside her.

"Sleep, sweet Rhianna," he murmured. "Dream your young girl's dreams." He brushed a lock of hair away from her neck, placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. "Rest well. You have nothing to fear."

Slowly, he bent his head toward her, his tongue stroking the warmth of her skin. She moaned softly as his teeth grazed her throat.

"Sleep, little one," he murmured. "You have nothing to fear. It's only a dream..."

In the morning, Rhianna woke feeling hungry and oddly lethargic after a good night's sleep. Recalling that she had missed supper, she decided that accounted for her hunger as well as her lassitude.

Sitting up, she felt faintly dizzy. "Too much sleep and not enough food," she muttered as she slid her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up.

She looked at the bellpull, hesitant to summon Bevins, wondering if she would ever get used to the idea of having someone ready to fulfill her every desire.

"No time like the present to start getting used to it," she reasoned, and tugged on the cord.

Minutes later, Bevins knocked on the door.

"Come in."

"Good morning, miss." His gaze moved over her, and Rhianna thought she saw a look of pity in his eyes, but it was quickly gone, and she decided she had been mistaken.

"Could I... that is, I'd like a bath, please."

"Right away, miss. The water is heating." He left the room, only to reappear a moment later, a tray in his hands. "I thought you might like to take breakfast in your room this morning."

"Why, yes, I would, thank you."

"Is there anything else, miss?"

Rhianna shook her head, wondering if he was some kind of mind reader.

"Your bath will be ready shortly, miss."

"Thank you, Bevins." She paused, frowning. "How did you get in here?"

"Through the door, of course."

"But I... It was locked, wasn't it?" She glanced at the door. "I'm certain I locked it last night."

"You must be mistaken."

Rhianna shook her head. "No, I'm sure it was locked when I went to bed."

"Will there be anything else, miss?"

"No, thank you."

Feeling somewhat dazed, Rhianna carried the tray to bed. She'd been tired last night. Maybe she hadn't locked the door. With a shake of her head, she put the thought from her mind.

Making herself comfortable, she ate a leisurely breakfast, took a long soak in the tub, then spent an hour trying on her new clothes, wishing there was a mirror in the house so she could see how she looked.

Later that day, she asked Bevins if he would find one for her.

"I'm sorry, miss," Bevins said, his expression impassive, "his lordship refuses to have them in the house."

Rhianna frowned. "But why?"

"I'm sorry, miss. I'm afraid that's something you must discuss with Lord Rayven."

"How can I, when I never see him?"

"I am sorry, miss. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Lord Rayven said you would teach me to play the pianoforte and to read."

"I should be pleased to help you, miss."

Rhianna smiled at him. "Thank you, Bevins. I should like to begin this afternoon, if you don't mind."

"It will be my pleasure, miss. Shall we meet in the library at three?"

In the weeks that followed, Rhianna's days fell into a pleasant routine.

She spent her mornings wandering about the grounds when the weather permitted; if it was raining, she struggled with a bit of fine needlework. Like all girls, she had learned early how to sew a seam or mend a tear, but she'd never had the time to sit and do what her mother called "fancy work."

She ate a late dinner, took a nap, and then spent the rest of the afternoon under Bevins's tutelage. He taught her to play the pianoforte; he taught her to read, and to write. She almost squealed with delight the first time she wrote her name without any help. Rhianna McLeod. Miss Rhianna McLeod. R. McLeod.

She wrote it over and over again, thinking how grand it looked, how wonderful it was to be able to write her own name. After supper, she spent a quiet hour going over her lessons, and then she retired for the night.

One evening before going to bed, she told Bevins she wished she could plant a garden; the next day, she found a variety of seeds and seedlings on a bench in the side yard.

As the days passed, she came to realize that Bevins was quite a remarkable man. There were no other servants in the castle. Bevins was cook, butler, valet, and housekeeper, all rolled into one. In addition, he did the shopping and the laundry, looked after the grounds, and tended the horses.

He never intruded on her privacy, yet he was always there when needed. Truly, a most amazing man, she mused.

She had been at the castle several weeks when the nightmares began - dark dreams filled with a sense of impending doom, horrid dreams filled with death and hideous fangs stained with blood. Other nights, she awoke feeling cherished and desired, her heart beating fast as she recalled a phantom hand gently stroking her cheek, the touch strangely erotic. And always, after such dreams, she woke up feeling tired and hungry.

She voiced her concern to Bevins, wondering if she needed to see a doctor, but he assured her that she was perfectly fine, that it was only the change in diet and atmosphere causing her distress, and that she would soon adapt. There was pity in his eyes when he said this, and he refused to meet her gaze.

"Is something wrong?" she had asked. "Something you're not telling me?"

"I'm being as honest with you as I can, miss."

"Will I ever see Lord Rayven again?"

"I don't know, miss. I hope not," he had replied, and left the room.

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