They were asleep on a blanket on the floor. The shadows of men drifted toward them, gaining substance as they closed in. Dorian stood in the light beckoning them. Yuri began moaning and writhing in her sleep. I tried to warn her, but couldn't speak. My body was too heavy to move. The bellow of a wounded beast erupted from Dorian's chest. I awoke to the sound of my own voice. My pulse raced. A sheet wrapped tightly around my chest and my right arm was damp with sweat. It was 3:30 a.m. With no hope of going back to sleep, I dressed and went downstairs. The hotel was on the outskirts of Yurakucho, a honeycomb of bars, beer halls, restaurants and coffeehouses. Most of the city shut down around midnight when the trains stopped running, but a few places were still open. In Tokyo's nightlife, the most raucous groups were office parties that generally broke up between 10:00 p.m. and midnight. The few people on the street now were couples or small quiet groups subdued by alcohol.
