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“Don’t trust her, Little Brother.” It was the voice of Kronos, amused and skeptical, behind her on the other side. “Don’t ever trust a woman. Look at what she did to me.” He was in front of her now, his face swirled in black designs, a bloody knife in his hand. “Remember this?” he asked, holding it close to her eyes, a lazy, anticipatory smile stretching his mouth. He moved the knife lower until it lay against her throat, right above Roland’s hand, then he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. “You owe me,” he whispered against her mouth, and pressed on the knife until it drew her blood.
Kronos moved back and wiped the knife on his clothes, then said cheerfully, “Isn’t that right, Brother?”
“Right,” came the drawling, mocking voice, and now Death was there again, the shadows darkening the blue half of his face to black. “She owes us all.” He moved closer, and shook his head in sorrow. “You shouldn’t have left.”
Roland’s whisper came harsh in her ear. “I told you not to leave.”
Roland’s hand tightened, and she could not breathe.
“Haven’t you tamed her yet, Little Brother?” Death asked. “I can show you how.” Now his face was the face of a skull.
“Take this, Brother,” Kronos said, holding out the knife. “She deserves it.” There was blood on the blade again.
“No,” she said. She knew she did not deserve this. Now Roland was in front of her, flanked by the two Horsemen. All of them were smiling. Silas and Caspian were there, too, holding her arms tight behind her back. Her sword was gone. “No. ”
Roland stood in front of her. “We can do this as many times as it takes to tame you, Cassandra. Submit.” He smiled. “Tell me you deserve it.”
“No.” It had not been her fault. She had done nothing wrong.
Kronos hit her from the side, a slap that would have knocked her to the ground if Caspian and Silas hadn’t held on to her. “Submit.”
The side of her face went numb, but that faded soon enough to heat and pain. She spit out the blood in her mouth. “No.”
Death changed again, the skull fading to reveal the modern Methos, his face unpainted, his hair short. He was smiling slightly, his eyes faintly amused. Methos took the knife from Kronos and stabbed her once through the heart, then smiled at her as she crumpled to the ground.
Silas and Caspian were still there, each holding one ankle. Methos held her wrists. Kronos asked happily, “We share everything, don’t we, Brothers? Who wants to go first?”
Roland’s weight was on top of her, his eyes very close. “You owe me, Cassandra. Submit. Tell me you deserve it. Tell me,” he repeated, his hands around her throat. He did not use the Voice. “Tell me you’re sorry you left me.”
She looked into the eyes of her son, the little boy who had trusted her, the child she had failed to protect. The eyes of a lost, lonely, frightened, little boy. “Yes,” she said, admitting her guilt. “I’m sorry.”
He smiled at her, a smile of love and trust and happiness, and then he started to squeeze.
Cassandra woke suddenly, unable to move or to breathe. She kept her eyes closed and tried to relax her arms and legs. Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs, and she took a first cautious breath. She was on the bed, in the hotel in Bordeaux, and her sword was by her side. There was no one else in the room.
She opened her eyes slowly. It was dark outside now, and the room was dim, so she reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, blinking at the sudden brightness, still trying to control her breathing. She hadn’t had that dream before, not in quite that way. She hoped she never had it again. It was definitely one of the more unpleasant ones.
She sat up a little, and reached for a magazine, hoping to find something else to think about. Then she blinked again at the pain in the back of her head. Another Immortal was near. Cassandra stood shakily, heading for the door. It must be Duncan, finally done fixing his credit card. “Duncan, what took you so long?” she asked as she opened the door, needing to feel his arms around her right now.
But it was not Duncan.
It was Silas, shoving the door open when she tried to slam it shut. And it was not just Silas. Kronos and Caspian were there, too, and all of them were smiling.
She fell back in dismay, her hands at her sides, cursing her stupidity and her carelessness. One bad dream, and she forgot every single thing she knew. She should have run immediately, gone out the window. What an idiot she was!
Kronos advanced on her, smiling still. “I’m afraid—Duncan—is otherwise engaged.” His voice lingered on the name, giving it a evil, mocking twist.
What did he mean by that? Had they already killed him? Or was Methos killing him now? Had the Horsemen been waiting for Duncan at the hotel desk? Cassandra took another step backwards, moving slightly sideways, trying to edge closer to the bed and to her sword. She could not use the Voice on Kronos, and she probably wouldn’t have any chance against the three of them, but at least she could try.
Kronos tilted his head and asked engagingly, “Am I wrong? Don’t I owe you something?”
She swallowed in a dry throat. She owed him. No. That had been the dream. That was not real. She owed him nothing. She was not going to be tame.

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