The Golden Madonna, perhaps?

Even as hope rose, Nick's memory quashed it. She had walked the circular room devoted to the six famous Lady and the Unicorn tapestries at the Cluny in Paris. They had the same bloodred background as this one, and in them the maker had woven the same black banners with three crescent moons. No way could this be one of them; it had to be a reproduction or a knockoff. Who would leave a national treasure hanging unguarded in the basement of a crumbling ruin to feed the rat population?

When Nick reached up to feel along the upper edge, her touch made the entire tapestry fall. A cloud of dust, dirt and rotted wool fragments enveloped her. Coughing, she covered her nose and mouth as she examined the wall behind the weaving. New red brick filled in the space of an old entry way, to seal off a room. The mortar must have been mixed wrong, as the seams between the bricks were riddled with holes, and some of the bricks were loose enough for her to push in with her fingers.

"Hello." Nick crouched down and pulled the pile of tapestry away from the wall. A thick layer of mortar dust obscured the base of the new bricks, caked as if it had been there a while. "Father Claudio, you'll never land a job as a bricklayer."

Come to me.Falling back onto her ass didn't improve Nick's mood, nor did scraping her palms on the stone floor. She stood and put an ear to the brick before stepping back again. "Is someone in there?"

Silence.

"If you hadn't noticed, this is private property, and I'm trespassing," she told the wall. "The French police aren't very fond of Americans breaking and entering, either." She waited for a response. "If you really want my help, friend, tell me if you're in there."

Silence.

Nick realized something. "Do you speak any English?" She repeated that in her phrase-book French, along with, "Are you stuck in there?" Brilliant question. "Do you want me to get you out?"

Silence, and evergreen.

"We'll call that a yes." Feeling ridiculous, Nick bent down, unzipped her bag and took out a hammer and chisel. After a glance at the brick, she put them back and removed a small sledgehammer. "If you're near the door, move back. Shit is about to hit the fan."

A hail of mortar dust followed the metal-on-stone slam of the sledgehammer. Bricks shifted, two falling into the space behind them. Grinning, Nick swung the heavy steel head again, and a foot-wide hole appeared.

Seeing that much brick implode made her stop and bend over to peer into the gap. Air rushed around her face as if the pitch- black room on the other side were sucking it in. Invisible branches of evergreen seemed to close around her.

"They didn't even leave you a night-light? Cheapskates." She shoved in a brick, scraping her knuckles, and something dark and wet dripped onto the back of her hand. Blood, and not hers.

Beneath the blood, her scratches disappeared.

"Fuck." She paused long enough to put on her leather gloves before she wrenched around the edges of the hole at the brick, pushing it away and widening the space. A strange urgency hammered inside her head, as if an invisible alarm clock had gone off on the other side of the wall. I have to get him the hell out of here before they come for both of us.

The hole was finally large enough for Nick to squeeze through. "Here we go." She poked her head and then her shoulders inside. The evergreen scent on the other side of the wall didn't cover the other, awful smell-as if someone had emptied a couple of trash cans in the hidden room-but she'd smelled worse. She climbed in, groping for a handhold, but her fingers found nothing but floor. More brick collapsed under her weight, and she fell on her face. Something long and hard bruised her thigh.

Flashlight. She pulled it out and switched it on.

The tiny room still held the empty racks where some long-dead aristocrat had kept his best bottles of wine and brandy. From all the tangled, dusty cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, it appeared as if no one had entered the space for years. Nick stood up and slowly swept the flashlight around her. A rickety-looking table and two old, scarred chairs waited empty in front of a dead fireplace overflowing with ancient ash.

No sign of life, however. "Where are you?"

Chains rattled behind her.

She turned around and pointed the flashlight toward the sound, and saw him. The light wavered before she controlled her hand.

"Bastards."They'd crucified this one.

Nick saw she was partially wrong-chains had been wrapped around his neck, arms, waist and legs-but two huge copper bolts had been hammered through his wrists. He'd worked at one, apparently, and could move it enough to rattle the chains around that arm. A black rag had been tied over his eyes, and a wide band of copper covered the lower half of his face. Dark green tattoos mottled his naked body, along with dried blood, open wounds, and filth.

Despite his sad condition, he still looked beautiful, the way they all did. This one resembled a green god, carved from dark jade.

Nailed to a cross.

The holy freaks had done this to him. Nick had never seen one this bad, but the deliberate, mocking crucifixion had the same feel as the others she had found. The question was, why? If they wanted them dead, why not just kill them? Why the torture and humiliation?

The prisoner turned his head slightly and moved his hand, disturbing the chains again.

Nick lowered the flashlight as she walked to him. "Sorry." She didn't know why she was apologizing. None of this was her doing, and if she had an ounce of brains left, she'd run out of here before the old man found her screwing with this thing. Lucky for this one she was an idiot. "How do I get you off this without tearing you to shreds?"

The chains rattled a third time as he gestured toward the wall beside him.

Nick reached out through the hole and groped until she grabbed her bag and pulled it inside. Once she had retrieved her bolt cutters, she looked around the crude wooden cross. The chains had been threaded through rusted iron rings driven into the wall around him. She started there, cutting open the rings and tugging away the loops of chain. The weighty copper links felt icy and sticky, and wherever they had touched him, left dark impressions of their links on his skin.

This close, Nick could smell nothing else but the evergreen scent he radiated. How long had he been sealed in this room?

Weeks? Months? His matted brown hair shifted and his head moved back, as if he was trying to see under the edge of his blindfold.

"Want to have a look at me?" She stopped cutting long enough to remove the black rag from his eyes. His closed eyelids didn't open, and he sagged a little. "I'm Nick," she told him as she went back to work on the chains. "And you're a mess."

She freed his neck and arms, and examined the copper band gagging him. It had been welded there, but it was thin, and her tinsnips cut through it nicely. The raw skin under it began to heal at once, and she flung the copper to the floor in disgust.

"I've got to pry these bolts out." His mouth matched the perfection of his body; she saw that right away. Were any of these things ever ugly, or even a little plain? "It's going to hurt, maybe as much as when they went in."

Nick heard a jerking, tearing sound.

"Ce n'est pas necessaire." The voice sounded as dry and shredded as the feel of the trembling hand that pushed her back. "I can do the rest. Leave me, girl."

Like an animal in a trap, he'd ripped his wrists free of the bolts. Maybe that's all they were: gorgeous, two-legged animals.

Not very grateful ones, either. "You want me to leave now? Before you thank me, and say good-bye, and tell me to have a wonderful life? Tell me, is that what Jesus would do?"

He leaned forward, his eyes still closed. "If you remain, and if I look upon you," he murmured, "I will kill us both."He sounded like the genie that had been kept too long in the bottle: enraged and wanting some payback. Of course, he needed blood, and she was the only source present. In this state he'd lose control and try to drain her dry.

"I'm not leaving until I cut through enough of these so that you can get out on your own." She went back to work on the chains.

Bugs found their way into the room and began flying at her head. Absently she swatted at them until she remembered that all the bugs were upstairs in the chapel.

She hadn't left the cellar door open. How had they gotten down- Father Claudio was right there, his walking stick raised high, and then he clubbed her across the head with it. Nick couldn't avoid the blow, and in the explosion of pain that followed, she felt her scalp split, and the heat of her own blood. She went down like a sack of stones.

The last things she heard and saw before the night took her were chains falling on the floor, and two bare, dirty, beautiful feet walking across the stone.

Seductive vampire romance from Lynn Viehl If Angels Burn The first novel of the Darkyn Alexandra Keller is Chicago's most brilliant reconstructive surgeon. Michael Cyprien is New Orleans' most reclusive millionaire-and in desperate need of Dr. Keller's skills.

In the heart of the Garden District, Alex encounters the extraordinary Cyprien, uncovering a love Alex is willing to embrace-even if she must sacrifice her heart and soul.

"Darker than sin, erotic as hell, and better than good chocolate... Viehl opens a rich and tasty vein and treats the vampire universe to asharp new set of fangs."-Holly Lisle 0-451-21477-3.

Available wherever books are sold or at penguin.com More irresistible vampire romance from Lynn Viehl Private Demon The second novel of the Darkyn Night after night, Jema Shaw's dreams have become a haven for Thierry Durand. But his nocturnal visits have placed her in danger and brought her between two ancient enemies: the Brethren and the Darkyn.

"Exciting vampire romance [that] never slows down... Readers will appreciate each bite and look forward to sequels."-Best Reviews 0-451-21705-5.

Available wherever books are sold or at penguin.com J.R. WardDARK LOVER The Debut Novel in the Black Dagger Brotherhood Series In the shadows of the night in Caldwell, New York, there's a deadly turf war going on between vampires and their slayers. There exists a secret band of brothers like no other-six vampire warriors, defenders of their race.

Yet none of them relishes killing more than Wrath, the leader of The Black Dagger Brotherhood.

The only purebred vampire left on earth, Wrath has a score to settle with the slayers who murdered his parents centuries ago.

But when one of his most trusted fighters is killed-leaving his half-breed daughter unaware of his existence or her fate-Wrath must usher her into the world of the undead-a world of sensuality beyond her wildest dreams.

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"A midnight whirlwind of dangerous characters and mesmerizing erotic romance.

The Black Dagger Brotherhood owns me now."

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