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Now Kronos was in front of her, flanked by the other two Horsemen. Kronos said, “Too bad you didn’t know you had to take my head to kill me.”
“I’ll take it now,” she said fiercely and leapt for her sword on the bed.
Caspian got there first. He flung himself on top of her sword, then grinned as he stood with the blade in his hand.
Cassandra cursed silently again and retreated, but she had nowhere to go. There were three of them, all bigger, all stronger, all skilled fighters. All men. What were her chances? Realistically—zero. She swallowed, dreading what she knew was coming. Her best plan now was to appear to give them what they wanted, to minimize the pain, to get it over faster. It was not total submission; it was a strategic retreat. She knew how to do that. She had done it before.
Cassandra allowed her terror to show. The Horsemen liked to see that; they thrived on others’ fear. She knew that if she tried to hide her terror, they would simply become more and more violent until they broke through her defenses. It was better to seem to surrender immediately, to let them think they had broken her.
Kronos smiled in response to her fear and took out a knife.
This time the terror on her face came of its own accord. It was the knife from the dream, the same knife she had used to kill him over three thousand years ago. He had kept it all this time.
“I’ve waited a long time to give this back to you,” he said, in vicious satisfaction. He moved closer, and Caspian and Silas came with him, jackals following the kill.
Cassandra retreated until her back was against the wall. It was not difficult to make small frightened whimpers, to cower in fear. It was going to hurt. She knew that. This had happened before. But she had survived then, and she could survive now.
“Scream,” Kronos warned, “and we’ll kill whoever comes through the door.”
She must be silent, then. She would not be responsible for another’s death. Not again. At least the Horsemen would not torture her now, or take her head in the hotel. It would make too much noise.
“Methos did a good job, calling MacLeod and luring him away from you,” Kronos said, well-pleased.
Cassandra blinked, trying to hide her shock. Duncan had lied to her? Duncan? He had told her would “be right back” when he knew he was leaving the hotel to meet Methos? Duncan had lied?
Damn him! How dare he mislead her that way? How could he do such a thing? She swallowed hard, rage and fear and betrayal freezing into a cold certainty within her. She knew what this meant. Duncan had chosen Methos over her. Methos was his “friend,” his “brother,” and she was just a woman. And if she couldn’t trust Duncan MacLeod, then who could she trust?
Damn all men! Fucking murderers, all of them! She shook her head and blinked, then hid her hatred, and allowed only her fear to show. Kronos would break her for hatred; he would enjoy her fear.
Kronos advanced until he was almost touching her, then carefully laid the edge of the knife against her throat, slicing into her skin. She shivered, and his smile broadened as he moved the knife moved downward, the tip delicately flicking against her nipples, teasing them into prominence. “You like that, don’t you?” he asked softly, smiling again. It was Roland’s smile.
She forced down her anger, held it deep inside her. She must not be angry. She had no right to be angry, no right to protect herself, no right to anything at all. The knife moved lower, and she swallowed hard, trembling.
Kronos grinned and stepped back. “But you don’t want to get blood on your clothes, do you?” He spoke without turning to Silas and Caspian. “Strip her.”
Not again! But she was not surprised. She was a woman, and this was what women were for. Cassandra closed her eyes and did not resist, retreating even farther behind her walls, going into that small hidden place where they could not touch her. She had done this before. The tight grips on her wrists and ankles were only dimly felt, their blows and touches did not really touch her at all.
Spread your legs. Turn her over. On your knees. Your turn, Brother?
She did not listen to their words and their grunts, her moans and her muffled cries. She did not see. She did not hear. She was not there.
When Kronos finally killed her, she felt almost nothing at all.

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Two years ago, around 410 illegal immigrants a day were crossing the land border between Greece and Turkey in Evros. As a result of stricter border controls, the number of illegal immigrants who are crossing the border at the same place does not exceed three per week as shown by the data that George Papanikolaou, a Member of the European Parliament and of New Democracy in charge of the issues of poverty and illegal immigration, has presented to GRReporter.
The Dublin Regulation (Dublin ??) was adopted at European level in 2003 but it turns out that it protects only the northwest part of the continent from the influx of illegal immigrants from Africa and the problematic areas in the Middle East. Under the Dublin Regulation, the member states are obliged to take unilateral responsibility for any application for asylum submitted by illegal immigrants.

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