‘Oh, this is all just so very exciting,’ thought Vivian, as she rushed around her bedroom getting ready for breakfast. They had prisoners. Actual prisoners.

She had glimpsed them being brought in late last night when she should have been fast asleep. As she had lounged in the first floor study, flipping through the dusty books for something to read, she had heard the sound of voices in the hall. Thinking that it never hurt to have every piece of information one could in this family, she had stood at the partially opened door and listened without revealing herself. Through the crack, she had seen a beautiful blond woman and three teenagers that had to be her children. These guests had appeared even more reluctant than she to be visiting.

Two girls and a young man. A very handsome young man, Vivian had noted with a discerning eye. But the children had been eclipsed by the woman. Standing before her children, she had stared up at Mikovitch Alamain, Prince of Russia, last of the line of the Czars. She had stared up at him and her golden eyes had blazed her defiance. With scorn in her voice, she had demanded to know where they were and ordered him to explain himself. Instead, with uncharacteristic calm, Mikos had turned and told the servants to escort the captives to their rooms.

The ‘guests’ had departed and still Vivian had watched, peering out at the commanding form of her nephew. When he had finally torn his gaze away from the long hall down which the woman had vanished, the man had actually appeared shaken. Intrigued, Vivian had eased the door shut and gone to pour herself a glass of port. Mikos was not a man who showed his emotions, and his reaction to the spirited blond suggested that things were about to get interesting.

Smiling at herself in the ornate mirror, Vivian felt a shiver of anticipation at the events she could sense unfolding. Tucking a stray lock of hair back, she began planning how she could make this work to her advantage. With a light step, she turned to go down to breakfast.

Marlena stared out the thick panes of glass, searching the slowly lightening landscape for some hint of her location. There was nothing familiar about the desolate landscape below. Rocky wilderness stretched out as far as her eye could see. She didn’t even know what day it was, much less her current location. She could still feel the effects of the sedatives forced upon her and the children in the form of the headache that pounded away behind her tired eyes. With a frustrated growl, she turned from the window and paced once more across the big bedroom. She had just about had it with being kidnaped!

Her anger flaring, she tugged once again at the knob of the thick wooden door, already knowing it was a futile gesture. The richly appointed bedroom suite was decorated in the finest of furnishings. From the Turkish rugs that covered the floors to the rich velvet drapes that hung from the windows, it exuded taste and wealth. It was still a cage, and Marlena recognized it as such. With a last pointless kick at the door, she moved to sink down on the large canopy bed.

Wearily, she rubbed at her throbbing temples, searching for some explanation of where she was and why she was there. Tears unexpectedly sprang to her eyes and she dashed them away, ashamed of the sign of weakness. Ashamed of her refusal to face the fact that she already knew why she was here. She had known it since the moment Bolen had turned them over to the squad of mercenaries that had descended on them from out of nowhere. Those men hadn’t wanted her. They hadn’t wanted her children. They hadn’t even wanted Dimera. She was here because she was bait. Bait in a trap for the one they really wanted. She was here because they wanted John.

A tremor ran through her at the thought of him. God, she needed him so badly. She wanted nothing more than to feel his strong arms wrapped around her, assuring her that nothing would ever harm her. She never felt safer than when she was in his arms. But if he came for her this time, she knew that she would lose him. The fear took her firmly in its grip, because she knew that he would come. No matter where she was, he would find her. And he would come. And they would kill him.

She pulled her knees up against her chest and fought back the sobs that seemed ready to overwhelm her. ‘Oh God, please let him be all right,’ she prayed silently. ‘Please, be all right.... John, where are you? John, please don’t come for me.’

Dammit! Where were they?

John fought the urge to scream, struggled against the blackness creeping in on his brain. The rage flared and he lashed out with one grimy fist, knotting his fingers into the stark white collar of the man beside him. “Find them, God dammit! I want them here or want your bleeding heart on a fucking plate! Do I make myself clear?”

Jensen froze. Staring into those eyes was like staring down the barrel of a gun. Black fire seared him and he had no doubt what-so-ever that John meant what he said. With a convulsive swallow, he nodded. “Yes sir, Mr. Black. We have agents blanketing the Alamain holdings. Men are in place to cover every lead. It is just a matter of time, sir.”

John didn’t let go, just kept staring down at him. Jensen’s world narrowed until it consisted of nothing but those blue eyes and the fingers that wrapped around his throat. Those eyes sought an excuse to destroy. Any excuse. For a fraction of a second, John’s fingers tightened. Then, with a grunt of frustration, John shoved him away.

“Get out. Don’t come back until you have news,” John said woodenly, turning away. Soundlessly, Jensen did as he was told.

Christ, it had been almost two full days since she had been taken. Two endless days. Anything could have happened in two days.

Cursing the wasted time, John slumped down in the leather chair behind the big desk. Yet another desk, in another study, in another safe-house. After a while, they all blurred together. He couldn’t even remember what state this particular desk resided in.

He tried to focus his eyes on the lines of the map, tried to trace the roads that led out of the Virginia wilderness. The image before him blurred, an endless sea of gray with no secrets to reveal. Groaning, he rubbed at gritty eyes and gave up the search. Too much wasted time. They could be anywhere by now. He had been too damn slow and now she was lost.

Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours it had taken him to hike out of mountains and make contact. Hours spent dodging search patrols, crawling on his belly more often than not. Another three hours wasted in transit to a Dimera base. By the time the search had started, she had already been gone.

He had been using every resource at his command, and after twelve solid hours of work, he still had nothing. There was simply no sign of Marlena and the kids. No sign of Dimera. So tired he couldn’t think straight, his head dropped down to rest on his crossed arms. The stink of blood was on his hands and he distantly realized that he should shower. Eat. Function. He couldn’t remember why it was he should do such things, so he didn’t.

John sat. His mind drifted. As always, it drifted to her. He dozed off, and in his mind, he saw her face. A small smile curved his lips before he recognized the dream for the nightmare it was.

It seemed his eyes had been closed only seconds before he was jarred back to reality by a persistent knocking at the door. Dismissing the ugly dreams, he prayed for good news. “Come in,” he called sharply, glancing down at his watch to check the time. Five more wasted hours. A scowl on his face, he nodded brusquely to Jensen, who entered accompanied by two guards.

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long, You better be here to tell me you have some word,” John said, straightening in his chair and rubbing irritably at the back of his neck.

“Yes sir. We just got a call from the kidnappers. Untraceable, we checked,” Jensen replied.

“Well?”

“No details on where they were, sir. Just a voice, claiming to have Mr. Dimera and the Bradys. We were told that we were to contact them once we have you in custody. They want a trade. You for Mr. Dimera.” Jensen said the words in a monotone, his eyes not quite managing to meet John’s own.

“Aaah,” John replied, nodding. “And what are you going to do?” he asked in a deceptively mild tone, rising slowly to his feet.

“Whatever you tell me to sir.”

“Good choice, Jensen. And these two?” John asked, with a nod to the two armed guards.

“These two are to make sure that everybody else does what you tell them to. Sir,” Jensen replied, a ghost of a smile on his face.

At this, John actually managed a grim laugh. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t think bodyguards are necessary. Now, let’s figure out how we are going to get them back. I assume you taped the call? I want to hear it. I’d like to be able to recognize the voices of the men I’m going to kill.

Marlena walked slowly down the long staircase, followed closely by her children. She suppressed the desire to tug the black shawl closer around herself. Though she had been grateful to relinquish the pair of dirty jeans she had worn in favor of a long soak in a massive clawfoot tub, she was uncomfortable with the thought of wearing clothes that had so obviously been chosen by someone else.

The burgundy dress clung to her every curve, the velvet whispering slightly with each movement she made. The dress fell almost to the floor, and while she was glad of the warmth it provided within the cold stone walls of the castle, the plunging neckline still managed to leave her feeling exposed. The black lace shawl she had found draped in the armoire had seemed to provide her with a sense of cover. At least it had until she reached the bottom of the stairs and found herself trapped in the gaze of the man who awaited her.

“Dr. Evans. You appear none the worse for wear this morning, I am happy to say,” the man said, rising from his seat at the head of a massive mahogany dinning table.

He strode confidently across the room, and once again Marlena was struck by a sense of familiarity. There was something about this man that she should recognize, but she could not place what it was. His body was thick but well proportioned and he moved with an easy grace. Grey streaked the temples of his thick mane of hair, the way he wore it tied loosely behind his neck an odd anachronism that suited him. When he came to a stop before her, she realized that the breadth of the man’s shoulders had caused her to misjudge his height. He towered above her, inches taller than she had first thought. His physical presence was intimidating, and she sensed that he used this to his advantage. Resisting the urge to take a step back she held her ground, only to be startled when he took her hand and raised it to his lips.

Something about this man was very wrong and a shiver ran down her spine at his touch. She knew he had felt it when a smile quirked his lips. As she stared into his face, she recognized what she should have seen at the start. John’s face gazed down at her. John’s face, but not John’s eyes.

With a gasp, she jerked her hand away and stepped back, unable to tear herself away from those dark eyes. Their black depths bore into her and her breath caught in her throat. Scary things lurked behind those eyes. Scary, ugly things. She didn’t want this man anywhere near her or her children.

“Who are you?” she asked coldly, unwilling to show any sign of weakness to the man who stood before her.

“Ah, yes. We weren’t formally introduced last night, were we?” the big man asked sardonically, a self-satisfied smile curving his lips. “I am Mikovitch Alamain and I am honored to have you in my home, Marlena. You and your children,” he said, stepping back a step and looking over the small group before him.

“I do believe that this beautiful young woman must be your oldest child, Carrie?” he stated, giving a nod to the young woman. “Of course, she isn’t truly your child by blood, is she?”

“My children are none of your business, Mr. Alamain. I want to know why you have brought us here,” Marlena responded, reaching out to take Carrie’s hand in her own.

Ignoring her, the man turned his attention to Sami and Eric. Raising an eyebrow, he gave a half-bow. “Samantha and Eric, the twins. A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, looking as if he were enjoying some private joke at their expense. Reaching out, he ran his finger below Sami’s chin, causing her to jerk violently away. “Such beautiful children you have, Marlena,” he said, with a nod of admiration.

“Keep your damn hands off my sister,” Eric growled, stepping in front of his sister.

“Watch your manners, boy. I do not tolerate ill-bred pups without the sense to respect their betters,” Mikovitch snapped out, his face taking on a dangerous scowl.

“Eric, don’t!” Marlena ordered, tugging her angry son away from the man whose very presence sent shivers of fear running through her.

“You should listen to your mother, Eric. I would think you have more sense than to insult your host,” Mikovitch said, turning abruptly away to move back to his seat at the table. With a broad sweep of one arm, he indicated that they should sit. “Of course, I guess I shouldn’t expect too much of them. After all, the children are the brood of your first husband. Roman Brady, I believe his name was?”

Though the words were said casually, his eyes studied her intently, and Marlena immediately knew that it was somehow very important that none of the children were John’s. Allowing some of the anger she felt to creep into her voice, she replied. “Yes. Roman is their father. He was a good man, and I will not hear you suggest otherwise.”

“Of course. You are quite correct. I apologize to you all.” Mikos managed a stiff nod.

Before Marlena could form a response, a shrill voice rang throughout the room. “Oh, now really! We have guests for the first time in ages and you don’t even wait for me to beginning dinning!”

The words were closely followed by a petite redhead who breezed into the room in a manner usually reserved for hurricanes. “Honestly, Mikos! What were you thinking?!” the woman chastised, coming to a stop behind an empty chair at the big table.

“My apologies to you too then,” Mikos said, only the barest hint of sarcasm in his voice. Gesturing to the empty seat, he continued. “And the food was waiting upon your arrival. Now, if I may? Vivian D’pua, I would like to introduce you to our ‘guests’. This is Dr. Marlena Evans, and these are her children, Carrie, Eric, and Samantha.”

“It’s Sami,” the youngest girl corrected, shooting a challenging look toward the head of the table.

“Sami.... What a lovely name,” Vivian interjected smoothly, ignoring her nephew’s frown of disapproval. “It is just such a pleasure to have company in this dreary old castle of Mikos’,” she continued with a bright smile.

“We aren’t exactly here voluntarily,” Marlena responded dryly, not quite certain what to make of this seemingly ditzy redhead. Beneath the flashy exterior, Marlena could sense a steel edge as sharp as any she had known.

“Well company is company. One can’t be all that choosey around here, you know,” Vivian answered with a careless flip of her hand. Reaching for the cup of coffee in front of her, Vivian focused inquisitive eyes on Marlena. “Now my dear, why don’t you tell me all about yourself? It has been so long since I’ve had anyone other than Mikos to chat with over morning coffee.”

“Vivian, please refrain from pumping our guests for information. It is unseemly,” Mikos commented from his seat at the head of the table, his attention focused on the smoked herring that was his usual morning fare.

“Why exactly are we here?” Marlena asked, her food lying untouched before her.

“You are not one for small talk, I see,” he replied, looking up at her with amusement. “But, if you wish to spoil breakfast by discussing such unpleasantness, then so be it. Your presence here is an accident. A most pleasant accident, I might add.”

“Your attack on the compound in Virginia did not seem ‘accidental’ to me,” Marlena shot back, her eyes narrowing in anger.

Mikos could not help but smile. “No, perhaps not. But it was the only way for me to issue my… invitation for a meeting. I have business with one ‘John Black’. I believe that you are familiar with the man? He was even a husband of sorts, unless I was terribly misinformed.”

“I ‘am’ married to John Black,” Marlena responded, emphasizing her words. “It may not have been under his own name, but we are still husband and wife.”

“Of course you are,” was the condescending reply.

“My ‘husband’ has no desire to do business of any sort with you, Mr. Alamain, and he has the ability to make your life very uncomfortable. I would suggest that you release all of us immediately,” Marlena said hotly, her anger overriding her fear.

“‘John Black’ is not a threat to me,” Mikos replied, his voice growing threatening. “He will do as I command him to or he will suffer the consequences!”

“You aren’t fit to shine his boots!” she spat out, rising from her chair and flinging her napkin to the table. Without another word, she turned and walked quickly from the table back toward the privacy of her room. The children followed quickly in her wake.

He watched in admiration as she stalked angrily away. He had found her intriguing when he read her file. Independent, intelligent, and very very beautiful. An aristocratic beauty with hair of spun gold, she looked more like royalty than any queen he had ever met. ‘At least his brother showed good taste in women,’ he had thought at the time. Little had he realized, the pictures did not even come close to capturing the reality of her.

He had thought that she would be cold, reserved. Above all, frightened. Instead, her mere presence generated heat. There was fire inside that woman. He had seen it blazing out from her eyes when she thought he wouldn’t notice. ‘He would not go to sleep with his back turned on that one,’ he thought wryly. It made him want her. The fact that she had belonged to his brother made him want her even more

His brother. The boy had done quite well for himself. He now had control of one of the most powerful criminal cartels in the world. How he felt about that, Mikos was not quite certain. On the one hand, it only made sense. After all, blood will tell. Alexander was his brother. Half-brother, at least. It should come as no surprise that he had risen to the top of his profession. In a sense, the man had won a kingdom of his own.

And that, of course, was the problem. There was only room for one ruler in the Alamain line. There was only room for one king. Little Alexi showed an appalling lack of respect in trying to build a kingdom of his own. His place would be to serve, not to rule. As for the woman.... Well, little brother had no right to aspire to such a one as that.

For a moment, the image flitted before his eyes. His brother on his knees before him, head bent in respect. Paying him the homage that was his due. The woman at Mikos’ side, her eyes never leaving his face. It was a lovely image. Perhaps having a brother would not be such a bad thing after all. With a satisfied sigh, he leaned back in the armchair and raised his eyes to the heavens.

‘Ah.... Alexi,’ he thought. ‘Hurry home little brother.’

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