Prologue
Melanie Walters had had it.
When she went to a club or out with a guy, she naturally expected to leave with him. Not tonight and not the last time she went to Club Dante. Both guys had been nice, handsome men and she thought she'd enjoy the evening with them and maybe even get lucky afterwards. Both of them left with others, not one, but several.
This had been going on for several weeks and she wondered if it was something she said or did or ... Damn it! She watched Lance leave with a tall, leggy brunette and inwardly screamed. Never had she had such a streak of bad luck when it came to guys.
Melanie's green eyes burned with rage as she turned to the bartender and asked for another whiskey sour.
"Are you all right, miss?" the tall dark-haired guy serving her asked.
"No," she stated.
He placed the old-fashioned glass in front of her and went to another customer. She could tell he didn't want to hear her troubles and the list was definitely growing by leaps and bounds.
When her ex had dumped her a few months back in favor of a struggling artist living in the East Village, she decided to see what the world had to offer. She'd found several prospects, but the same thing happened every time. They would enjoy a great evening and she would invite them back to her apartment--one even invited her to his--then she would make a last trip to the ladies room, come back to where they had been sitting, and see her date's back as he left with another beauty.
What hit her was a harsh reality--it wasn't just at Club Dante, but every place she'd been to in the past several weeks. What the hell was going on?
Hurt, she handled it the first time, but this was getting out of hand. She looked at her glass and counted the times on both hands. She was nearing the magic dozen mark and felt sick to her stomach. Am I that bad? Is my deodorant NOT working?
She left the club and walked. She needed to think and reassess her love life. What is wrong with me?
The click of her stiletto heels on the pavement echoed in the silence of the early morning hours in New York City. Before she realized how much time had passed, she'd walked from the Greenwich Village club and a good distance from her apartment. The convenience of the club's location to her West Village loft made it extremely easy for times like this, or if she had too many drinks, or happened to find a guy to spend the night with--that was when?
She pulled the lightweight shawl around her shoulders and tried to get her bearings. Where am I? Melanie looked around her at the huge brownstones and remembered some of the famous people who had occupied them over the years. She'd always wanted to see inside them, but this area had been out of her league. She could only dream about these homes.
Melanie figured out where she was and turned to head back home. In the moonlight, she could see everywhere but she couldn't shake the feeling of being followed. She looked around, saw no one but then her imagination went wild. She read the horror stories of street attacks and other horrible things, the thought of which made her quicken her step. Now look where I've gotten myself.
Suddenly, the moon slipped behind one of the taller skyscrapers and she found herself caught in absolute darkness, darkness she could feel. In the small space where the glow of the street lights overlapped, while not as bright as it could be if she stood underneath it, she froze but heard nothing. Odd, but she had the feeling someone was very close to her, but could see no one. Melanie tried to run, but couldn't, standing frozen in one spot.
Her breath caught as the night breeze surrounded Melanie's throat like chilly fingers causing her to shiver. She checked her surroundings, darkness closing in on her. Melanie wanted to cry out but couldn't. Her fear gripped her as her mind raced and darkness began to close in on her. She passed out, unaware of what was happening.
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