Okay, clearly this was a dream. Yup. Because that just didn't happen to cosmetically enhanced teeth. Ever.

As the patient bared his "fangs," the man with the multicolored hair stepped in front of Red Sox, braced both hands on the wall, and leaned in until their chests almost touched.

But then the patient shook his head and turned away from the wrist. "Can't."

"I need you," Red Sox whispered. "I'm sick from what I do. I need you."

The patient fixated on Red Sox, a powerful yearning flashing in his diamond eyes. "Only for… you… not me."

"For both of us."

"All of us," the blond woman interjected.

The patient took a deep breath, then-Christ!-bit into the blonde's wrist. The strike was fast and decisive as a cobra's, and as he locked on, the woman jumped, then exhaled with what seemed like relief. Across the room, Red Sox trembled all over, looking bereft and desperate while the one with the multicolored hair blocked his way without coming into contact with him.

The patient's head started to move in a rhythm, as if he were a baby nursing at a breast. But he couldn't be drinking from there, could he?

Yeah, the hell he couldn't.

Dream. This was all a dream. A loony-bin dream. Wasn't it? Oh, God, she hoped it was. Otherwise she was stuck in some kind of Gothic nightmare.

When it was done, her patient eased back onto the pillows, and the woman licked herself where his mouth had been.

"Rest now," she said, before turning to Red Sox. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head back and forth. "I want to touch you, but I can't. I want in you, but… I can't."

The patient spoke up. "Lie with me. Now."

"You can't handle it," Red Sox said in a reedy, hoarse voice.

"You need it now. I'm ready."

"The hell you are. And I have to lie down. I'll be back later after I have a rest-"

The door flew open again, light spilling in from what looked like a hallway, and a huge man with black hair down to his waist and wraparound sunglasses on stalked in. This was trouble. His cruel face suggested he might get off on torturing people, and the glare in his eyes made her wonder if he wanted to start in on someone right now. Hoping to avoid his notice, she slammed her lids shut and tried not to breathe.

His voice was as hard as the rest of him. "If you weren't already assed out, I'd put you on the ground myself. What the fuck are you thinking, bringing her here?"

" 'Scuse us," Red Sox said. There was a shuffle of feet and the door shut.

"I asked you a question."

"Supposed to come with," the patient said.

"Supposed to? Supposed to? Are you out of your goddamned mind?"

"Yes… but not 'bout her."

Jane cracked an eye open and watched through her lashes as the mammoth guy glanced at the one with all the fabulous hair. "I want everyone in my study in a half hour. We need to decide what the hell to do with her."

"Not… without me…" the patient said, his tone getting stronger.

"You don't get a vote."

The patient shoved his palms into the mattress and sat up, even though it made his arms shake. "I get all the votes when it comes to her."

The towering man pointed a finger at the patient. "Fuck you."

From out of nowhere, Jane's adrenaline kicked in.

Dream or no dream, she should to be counted in this happy conversation. Straightening in the chair, she cleared her throat.

All eyes snapped to her.

"I want out of here," she said in a voice she wished were less breathy and more ass-kicking. "Now."

The big man put a hand to the bridge of his nose, popped up the wraparounds, and rubbed his eyes. "Thanks to him, that's not an immediate option. Phury, take care of her again, would you?"

"Are you going to kill me?" she asked in a rush.

"No," the patient said. "You're going to be fine. You have my word."

For a split second she believed him. Which was nuts. She didn't know where she was, and these men were clearly thugs-

The one with the beautiful hair stepped in front of her. "You're just going to rest for a little bit more."

Yellow eyes met hers and suddenly she was a TV unplugged, her cord yanked out of the wall, her screen blank.

Vishous stared at his surgeon as she slumped down once more in the armchair across the bedroom.

"She all right?" he said to Phury. "You haven't fried her, true?"

"No, but she's got a strong mind. We want to get her out of here ASAP."

Wrath's voice cracked through the air. "She should never have been brought here."

Vishous eased gingerly back onto his bed, feeling like he'd been punched in the chest with a cinder block. He wasn't particularly concerned that Wrath had his leathers in a knot. His surgeon had to be here, and that was that. But at least he could tray-up a rationale.

"She can help me recover. Havers is complicated because of the Butch sitch."

Wrath's stare was level behind his shades. "You think she'll want to help you after you had her kidnapped? The Hippocratic oath only goes so far."

"I'm hers." V frowned. "I mean, she'll take care of me because she operated on me."

"You're grasping at straws to justify-"

"Am I? I just had open-heart surgery because I was shot in the chest. Doesn't feel like straws to me. You want to risk complications?"

Wrath glanced at the surgeon, then rubbed his eyes some more. "Shit. How long?"

"Till I'm better."

The king's sunglasses dropped back onto his nose. "Heal fast, brother. I want her scrubbed and out."

Wrath left the room, shutting the door with a clap.

"That went well," V said to Phury.

Phury, in his peacekeeping kind of way, murmured something about how everyone was under a lot of stress, blah, blah, blah, then went over to the bureau to change the subject. He came back to the bedside with a couple of handrails, one of V's lighters, and an ashtray.

"Know you'll want these. What kind of supplies is she going to need to treat you?"

V whipped a list up off the top of his head. With Marissa's blood in him, he was going to be back on his feet fast, as her lineage was nearly pure: he'd just put high-test gas in his tank.

Thing was, though, he found himself not wanting to heal all that fast.

"She'll also need some clothes," he said. "And food."

"I'll take care of it." Phury headed for the door. "You want something to eat?"

"No." Just as the brother stepped out in the hall, V said, "Will you check on Butch?"

"Of course."

After Phury left, V stared at the human woman. Her looks, he decided, were not so much beautiful as compelling. Her face was square, her features almost masculine: No pouty lips. No thick lashes. No arching, feminine-wile brows. And there were no big breasts pushing against the white physician's coat she had on, no wildly curvy ins and outs as far as he could see.

He wanted her like she was a naked beauty queen begging to be served.

Mine. V's hips rotated, a flush spreading under his skin even though there was no way he should have the energy to get sexed up.

God, the truth was, he had no remorse about kidnapping her. Matter of fact, it was preordained. Just as Butch and Rhage had shown up in that hospital room he'd had his first vision in weeks. He'd seen his surgeon standing in a doorway, framed in glorious white light. She'd been beckoning to him with love on her face, drawing him forward down a hall. The kindness she'd offered had been as warm and soft as skin, as soothing as calm water, as sustaining as the sunlight he no longer knew.

Still, though he might feel no remorse, he did blame himself for the fear and anger in her face when she'd come to. Thanks to his mother, he'd gotten a nasty look at what it was like to be forced into something, and he'd just done the same thing to the one who'd saved his life.