"Luisa!" He slipped off the stool, one gnarled hand pressed over his heart as all the color drained from his face. "Luisa, is it really you?"

"Surprised to see me, father dear?" she asked in a voice laced with acid.

"I thought...." He took a step backward, knocking the three-legged stool to the floor. "I thought you were dead."

"Did you? Three hundred years, father," she said. "Three hundred years and you never once came to see how I was."

"But I knew," he sputtered, his face growing even more pale. "Of course I knew."

"Liar!"

"Luisa..."

She advanced on him like an avenging angel. His fear was a palpable thing now, vibrant and alive. It darkened his aura and quickened her hunger. She felt the prick of her fangs against her tongue as his heart began to beat faster.

Ana Luisa stabbed a finger toward the picture on the wall behind him. "What mischief is this?" she demanded, her voice little more than a hiss. "What did she do to you to deserve such a terrible fate?"

"Nothing." Vilnius shook his head. "She's merely a pawn, if you will, a bit of bait to catch..." His eyes narrowed as his voice trailed off. He regarded her for a moment before asking, "How can you be here? I felt you die."

Ana Luisa smiled, but there was no warmth in her eyes and none in her voice. "Did you?"

"I knew the vampire freed you. I felt your body fill with breath, and then, after a time, there was nothing, and I knew you were dead."

"I am dead," she replied, and let him see her fangs.

He stared at her in horror. "Rourke! This time I will kill him!"

"It was not Jason, father, and you are not going to kill anyone ever again."

He stared at her a moment, and then, drawing himself up to his full, impressive height, he lifted his arms overhead and began to summon his power.

When Ana realized what he was doing, she quickly called upon her own power, power made stronger because she had fed well earlier that night, not only on the blood of a mortal in his prime, but on Jason, as well. Her own magic, combined with Jason's ancient blood, flowed through every fiber of her being. She was strong, invincible, and for the first time in her life, she was unafraid of the man who was her father.

"Who is the woman in the painting?" Ana Luisa asked, though she already knew the answer.

"No one of importance."

"Call her forth. After what you put me through, I cannot bear to see her held there."

"You could call her yourself," Vilnius remarked, "if you but knew her name." His initial surprise and fear had receded, replaced by a growing sense of indignation that his only child dared to treat him with such disrespect. "Perhaps you would like to join her?"

The thought of again being trapped behind a wall of glass filled Ana Luisa with a terrible rage. Eyes red, hands curled into claws, she lunged at her father. Nothing but the sight of his blood on her hands could atone for the centuries she had been imprisoned.

But she had underestimated the man who was her father. The instant she touched him, she was flung backward.

A moment later, he was standing over her. "Ungrateful slut," he said with a sneer. "No better than the whore who brought you into the world."

Ana Luisa stared up at him, his words flailing her like a lash.

"No pretty painting for you this time," he said as he pulled his wand from inside one voluminous sleeve. "No hope of release." He leaned toward her. "You remember the statue in the arbor, the one you always thought looked so much like your mother?" His eyes were mere slits now, his face florid with rage. "I think it is time you joined her there." His laughter was cruel. "I'm sure she will welcome the company."

Ana Luisa shook her head. "No, it can't be." Her voice was little more than a shocked whisper. Ava Vilnius had disappeared on the night of her daughter's sixth birthday. Ana had been told that her mother had come down with some contagious disease and been taken away during the night lest she infect others of the household. Now, thinking back to that terrible time, Ana realized that the statue of the beautiful woman in the arbor had appeared the very next day. "No," she said again. "Not even you could be so heartless."

"You think not? There is no escape for her, and this time, there will be none for you."

Lifting his wand, he began the incantation.

Before Vilnius had spoken more than a word or two, Vega burst through the front door, his eyes blazing like the fires of hell's deepest pit, his fangs bared.

Vilnius whirled on the newcomer, an oath escaping his lips as he delved into his robe with his free hand, only to reappear clutching a large bottle of holy water. He pulled the cork with his teeth and threw the contents in Vega's direction.

Vega danced sideways, eluding most of the bottle's contents, and vanished in a swirl of dove gray motes.

With her father's attention focused elsewhere, Ana Luisa rolled to her feet and grabbed the wand out of his hand.

Roaring with outrage, Vilnius lunged forward. He captured his daughter's arm with one hand even as he reached into his robe yet again and withdrew a narrow-bladed dagger. Eyes gleaming with triumph, he plunged it to the hilt into her heart.

With a shriek of pain, the wizard's daughter staggered backward, one hand clutching at her chest. Dark red blood oozed between her fingers and sprayed over her face like crimson mist as she slowly sank to the floor.

Vilnius took a step toward her, only to come to an abrupt halt when a dazzling shimmer of silver-hued motes rose up in front of him.

Before the wizard could make sense of what he was seeing, Rourke materialized between Vilnius and his daughter.

"You!" Hatred contorted the wizard's countenance.

Rourke nodded as he fought to keep his own loathing under control when all he wanted to do was wrap his hands around the wizard's throat and slowly choke the life from his body.

"Luisa." Tears swam in the wizard's eyes. Wailing, "What have I done?" he darted to the side and threw himself over his daughter's body, and then, with a savage cry, he yanked the dagger from her chest. Her blood stained the weapon; a single drop clung to the point of the blade. Vilnius stared at it a moment, and then, with an exultant shout, he sprang to his feet and whirled to face Rourke. With the blade held high, he lunged forward.

Acting on pure reflex, Rourke stepped to one side, his hand clamping over the wizard's wrist. His gaze met the wizard's for one stretched moment of eternity, and then, forgetting everything but the three hundred years he had spent in captivity, Rourke bent the wizard's arm and drove the blade deep into his heart.

Vilnius stared at him, a faint look of victory flashing in his eyes before the life drained out of him.

Rourke stared at the fallen wizard, troubled by the gleam of triumph he had seen in the wizard's eyes.

With a muttered oath, Vega materialized beside Ana Luisa, one side of his face and neck blistered where the holy water had touched his skin. "Ana? Ana! Dammit, can you hear me?"

At the sound of his voice, her eyelids fluttered open. "It's a good thing...the blade wasn't silver," she murmured, and then her body went limp.

Vega looked up at Rourke. "Is she...she's not...?"

"No. She will be all right. She is young and strong. Take her home. She will need rest, and fresh blood. You will be tempted to share yours with her. If you do, give her only a small taste. Call me if you need help."

Vega grunted softly. "What about him?" he asked, gesturing at the wizard's body.

Rourke shook his head. The body could lie there until it rotted for all he cared.

"Keep in touch," Vega said, then lifted Ana Luisa into his arms and left the house.

Rourke paid little attention to their departure. He looked at the painting and then glanced at the wizard's body. The enchantment Vilnius had cast on the painting should have been broken with the wizard's death, yet the painting remained intact, with Karinna still its prisoner.

Filled with a horrible premonition, Rourke moved closer to the painting.

"Karinna Adams," he called softly, "come to me."

A faint ripple of supernatural power stirred the air, then dissipated like smoke in a summer breeze.

"Karinna, come to me!"

Again, Rourke sensed a ripple of supernatural power, though it was weaker than the last.

He swore under his breath, quietly damning the wizard and his own impetuous act in killing the man. He knew now why Vilnius had looked so smug before death claimed him, why the spell had not been broken when the wizard breathed his last.

A choked cry of denial escaped Rourke's lips as the realization of what he had done knifed through him. In killing the wizard, he had forever trapped Karinna behind a wall of glass.

Filled with despair, Rourke lifted the painting from the wall. For the first time, he hoped Karinna wasn't aware of what was going on around her. He couldn't bear the thought of her knowing that he had tried to free her and failed, didn't want her to know that he had killed Vilnius and in so doing had killed all hope of freeing her from the wizard's enchantment.

A thought took Rourke to Karinna's house. Heavyhearted, he hung the painting over the fireplace, where his own painting had hung not so long ago.

Would she eventually gain strength enough to move about in her painted world? Had she been able to hear him when he called her name? Did she know Vilnius was dead? Rourke swore softly. Even with his own preternatural powers, it had taken centuries before he had gained strength enough to move about within his prison. How much longer would it take a mortal woman? Was it even possible? If the wizard's daughter hadn't accomplished it in three hundred years, what hope did Karinna have?

"Karinna." He spoke her name aloud, wondering again if she could hear him, see him. Did she know where she was, or was she deaf and blind to her surroundings?

He clenched his fists as a fresh wave of remorse assailed him. As long as she was bound to that painting, so was he. He could never leave it, or her, not as long as there was a chance she would one day find the strength to communicate with him, as he had once communicated with her. It didn't matter if it took one year or a thousand; he would stay with her, wait for her.