Author's Note: That's right, another chaptered story! And you thought Bella would never do anything but one shots... This one is pretty dark in places, so please mind the rating. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Contributions to the BellaOwnsGrissom fund can be sent to me, if you like. But not seriously. Seriously, not.


Chapter One: The Dream

The room was dark, with splashes of blood-red light the only illumination. Sara was pressed against cold tile, her breath coming in short pants. A hand in a long, tight, black leather glove was the only thing pinning her to the wall, but she was helpless to move. Wide, beautiful eyes gazed into hers with the sort of detached curiosity one might give to a slightly dull museum exhibit.

The sudden crack of a bullwhip against the concrete floor made Sara whimper in terror. The movement sent her captor's long auburn hair swinging away from the pale, lovely face. Sara's wide dark eyes took in the tight leather bustier, the form-fitting leather pants, the shiny black boots that went up just over the knee, with four inch spikes for heels.

"Do you think you know him?" the beautiful woman holding her prisoner asked, her head tilted ever so slightly to the side. "Do you think you can understand the way his mind works, what he craves, what he despises, the deepest secrets of his heart? Who are you, to have such presumptions?" The whip cracked against the floor again, and Sara bit back a scream of terror.

Across the room, hands bound in silver chains to the wall at waist level, stood the man around whom all her captor's questions revolved. Unlike Sara, who had been stripped naked and thrust, shivering, into this barren dungeon, he was fully clothed in a long black button-down and black trousers, an outfit he could easily have donned for work or to teach a lecture at a nearby university. His feet were bare, and it was only this and the chains holding him to the wall that made him look at all different from the man she saw every day. He was watching her impassively, his face expressionless as it all too often was, his blue eyes trained on her face, not even sliding down for a moment to appreciate or revolt at her nudity. He did not flinch when the whip cracked, or when Sara let out a frightened sound. He stood, motionless, watching her face.

"Who do you think you are?" the woman demanded again, and this time the whip cracked out, but not against the floor. It struck her across the thighs, just below her pelvis, and she screamed, wanting to slump to the floor but unable to. Four slender fingers and an opposable thumb, wrapped in black leather, held her in place.

"I love him…" Sara whispered piteously, and the sweet feminine laughter of the woman beside her filled the cavernous chamber.

"You don't know him," she sneered. "You can't love him." The whip arced upward, sang down into her flesh again, this time across her stomach. She screamed once more, watching her own bright red blood drip down onto her feet. Her eyes met his across the room.

He stood motionless, watching her face.

"Tell her to stop!" Sara cried out, trying to lunge forward to him. The hand easily held her back, and she writhed against it, against the cold tile of the wall, against the pain in her belly and legs. "Tell her to stop!"

The whip stretched toward the ceiling, coiled slightly in her captor's grasp. It cut through the air like a knife through silk, cleanly, beautifully, and slashed across her face…


TBC...