Lance’s mood has lightened. He smiles as he gives me back my glass. “I have an idea,” he says. “Let’s drink tonight. A lot. Let’s forget the last few days and get roaring drunk. Drink until we pass out.”
Now that’s a plan I hadn’t thought of. No drugs. No brute force. He’s picked his own poison. All I have to do is pretend to drink as much as he does. Then distract him while I dispose of the liquor. There are enough plants around us here in the living room to take care of that.
Potted plants. Many soon-to-be very potted plants.
I grin at my own little joke.
“I like it.” I tilt my head back and drain my glass. “Your turn.”
Lance has already refilled our glasses. I put mine to my lips and take a long pull. I know how much liquor I can hold. I figure another glass or two, and then I’ll stop drinking.
I don’t know how Underwood plans to contact me at midnight but if Lance continues to drink at this rate, he should be too hammered to realize I’m gone. He’s already started on a third drink.
I’ve been sitting close to him on the couch. He bends toward me to refill my glass and I peek into the gaping robe. “You have such great pecs.”
It’s what I’m thinking. In my head. What I hear coming out of my mouth is different. Slurred. My lips feel swollen and my tongue heavy. I look up into Lance’s face and the room starts to spin. The glass falls from my hand.
“What the—?”
Lance takes me by the shoulders. He stands up so he can lower my body until I’m lying full length on the couch. He strokes my cheek.
“I’m sorry, Anna.”
It’s the last thing I hear before the darkness rises to swallow me up.
CHAPTER 29
I’m dreaming.
I must be. My body is floating, rising on an invisible cushion of air.
No. Not on air. Hands lift me. Hands at my shoulders, my legs, someone cradling my head.
I open my eyes. Can’t see. It’s too dark. Odd. Vampires can see in the dark.
Why can’t I?
Someone is singing in a clear, high voice. Pretty. Somber. A language I don’t recognize. I like the sound. Comforting somehow.
I smell incense. A familiar scent. Floral, woodsy. Someone’s cologne?
Can’t remember.
I’m shivering. It’s cold. Damp. Another smell underneath the incense. Musty. Stale. Like dirt.
Try to turn my head. Two strong hands prevent me. When I try to shake my head, to shake the hands off, the grip tightens.
“Don’t try to fight, Anna.”
Whose voice is that?
My mind struggles to penetrate the cloud shrouding my thoughts just as my body struggles to shake off the hands.
I accomplish neither.
Instead, those carrying me press closer, restrict my movements now with their bodies as well as their hands.
“She shouldn’t be struggling,” a voice nearby says. “She should be out. Did you do what I told you?”
“Yes. I gave her exactly the dose you prescribed.” That same familiar voice at my head. “You underestimated her strength.”
The feeling of fingers smoothing hair back from my forehead. “I don’t want her hurt. You promised me she wouldn’t be hurt.”
I want to scream, “Then why the fuck did you do this?”
But I know I’m the only one who hears. The shriek echoes and bounces in the void as if entrapped in a vault.
Perhaps it’s just as well.
I recognize the voice. Recognize the touch and smell of the hand on my forehead.
Bitter tears stream down my face.
The irony that one of my last thoughts before he drugged me was that I wanted to protect him.
Lance.
I stop struggling. I need a plan, need to gather strength.
The chanting grows louder. The procession comes to a halt. The hands lower me onto something cold and unyielding. My limbs are arranged, hands over my head and secured. Legs straightened.
Whatever I’m lying on is rough, where my back and legs rest there are uneven, jagged edges that bite into the skin. It’s worse if I try to move.
So I don’t.
Something is thrown over me. Something lightweight that floats on my skin like silk. Its touch makes me aware that until now, I was naked, exposed not only to the hands but the eyes of whoever bore me to this place.
Revulsion roils in my gut, bile rises in my throat.
I’m going to be sick.
No.
Swallow it back down. Turn the disgust into anger. Taste the bile and savor it because it is fuel for the rage.
The chanting grows louder. Exhortations to a goddess. Mari.
How do I know that?
The name is sung over and over. The chorus swells. More voices. More phrases that I shouldn’t be able to understand yet somehow, I do. Mari. The goddess of the earth. Protectress of those who rule in heaven, on earth, and below. Queen of the thunder and the wind and keeper of the storm. Beloved of her servants, those who surround her here, and her consort, Maju.
Maju?
The chant changes in tempo and pitch. It is Maju they call for now. Mari’s husband. Her mate. It is time, the words proclaim, time to fulfill the prophecy. Time to make heaven tremble and the underworld quake. Time to bring Mari and Maju out of the dark and into the light. Time for them to take their rightful place as rulers over all.
Time to consummate their love anew so the reign of the Sorginak can begin. Time for the lovers to reunite after five hundred years.
Lovers?
A hand lifts the veil, pushes it up from my ankles, gathers it at my waist.
No.
Something sharp, clawlike, traces a path on the inside of my thighs. It tickles and burns at the same time.
I try to kick out. Hands grab my ankles. Thrust something under my buttocks so my back is arched.
No.
Another hand circles my waist, pulls me forward.
It’s grown quiet around us—the chanting stopped. Now there are other sounds. Heavy breathing and lust-filled grunts. The smell of sex mingles with the incense. Those around us are pleasuring themselves as they watch.
Memories flood back. A year ago. In the backseat of a car. Donaldson hitting me until I blacked out. When I awoke . . .
A voice at my ear pulls me back.
“Don’t fight, Anna. You are Mari. A goddess. Destined to rule beside me for all eternity. Give yourself to me. Willingly. You have nothing to lose and the world to gain. I will be good to you. I will give you all.”
I force myself to grow still under his weight. Force myself to endure the feel of his hands as they push the veil higher to cup my breasts. Still, I force myself to endure the feel of him as he pushes against me, as he pries my legs open with his own to receive him. Force myself to wait until my mind is clear. Until I’m strong enough.