Chosen Prey (20 page)

Now it was the last place on earth she wanted to be. A knot formed in her throat. The memories of the cult overshadowed all that had once been good and special.

She had no idea how Neal had managed it, but she was here.

"I flew you in my private plane," Neal said, startling her enough that she jerked her head from the view of Mount Hood to look at his satisfied smile.

How does he have a private airplane
? But even as she asked herself the question, she knew. Like he had been when she escaped, Neal had to be running drugs and who knew what else. Not to mention, he took everyone's money and personal belongings when they entered the cult, "in the name of the Light."

Lyra pushed her attention back to her immediate surroundings. It was as if she'd never left. The People quietly went about their business, performing their tasks. Always working.

Nothing less would be tolerated.

Along with the scents of Douglas fir and cedar, her nose caught the smells of farm animals, alfalfa hay, and rich soil. One cow gave a low
moo
, sheep and goats made their
baaaa
and
naaaa
sounds, and chickens clucked.

An oncoming storm brought the scent of rain and clouds just close enough to block the sunlight but not the view of the mountain. It was July, but quickly cooling. Used to Arizona weather, she rubbed her arms to warm herself from the light chill.

She'd forgotten all about Oregon's scents and sounds and the weather.

But the sights—the nightmares of being trapped with The People again—had never let her go.

At least a hundred tents, if not more, spread across the huge compound. Neal had his People arranged in groups, tents circled around large areas where The People in that particular group performed their duties.

Another wooden temple was being constructed in the background. Men and teenage boys climbed around the temple structure, working on it, and the pounding of hammer against nail and wood rose over the other sounds. The structure was still being framed out, in the early phases of construction.

Children gathered kindling, the bigger kids grabbing larger pieces of wood. Teenage girls watched the toddlers, giving them small tasks to do. Lyra knew that all children were

"educated" by their parents, more or less a version of being homeschooled.

And brainwashed.

Women performed chores "befitting them." Her heart tugged when she recognized women she had once coexisted with. Two of the girls she'd been more or less friends with during her three years in the cult were now, of course, adults. Both of the women had been married to older men when they were around fifteen. The pair chatted, but they never stopped moving their hands in whatever work they performed, whether it was sewing, knitting, or a variety of other tasks.

One woman shucked Indian corn while another stirred a pot of pinto beans, and still another plucked feathers from a boiled headless chicken. Circles of rocks confined cook fires, and a lot of cooking was going on.

"For the feast tonight," Neal said as if reading her mind again. He smiled despite the fact that she wasn't looking down. "After our joining."

A beautiful woman with a slender figure, long dark hair, and big brown eyes caught Lyra's attention. She was like an automaton as she washed clothing, scrubbing a robe using an old-fashioned tub and washboard. Lyra's heart hurt. The woman was definitely drugged, someone who hadn't wanted to be here.

"Unfortunately," Neal said as he noticed where she was looking, "Gloria has been confused about her place with The People. She'll soon realize this is her new home." He smiled and reached for Lyra's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Just as you were confused. But you're home now, where you belong."

A man around Lyra's age approached and Neal's face broke into a pleased and obviously proud smile. Immediately she recognized the young man. Jason had been seventeen when she was taken into the cult. He'd always treated her okay even though he was considered superior to her by being a male and Neal's eldest son.

By the hard glint in Jason's blue eyes, something had changed. Gone was the amicable look he'd given her in the past. She nearly recoiled from the hatred in his gaze.

When he looked at his father, that glint was gone, to be replaced by a pleasant expression.

Neal clapped the young man on his shoulder as he looked at Lyra. "You remember Jason, I'm sure."

She swallowed. "Of course."

"Head down in the presence of the Prophet," Jason ordered her with an imperious look.

Lyra's cheeks burned and she bit back the venom she wanted to spew at him. "Yes, Jason," she said in a bitter, angry tone as she lowered her head.

"Jason is of course my first in command," Neal said with that same pride in his voice.

From her position of submission Lyra managed to see Jason's expression of fury before a mask of serenity crossed his face when his father looked at him.

Neal slapped his hand on his son's back again. "I think the Temple workers need a fire lit under their asses."

Jason nodded. "I'll be happy to light that fire."

"The pride of my life," Neal said as she raised her head to look at him. He was staring after his son with fatherly love while he watched Jason's back as he left.

The lines on Neal's face had softened. "Only our child can match or surpass the pride I feel for Jason."

Lyra blinked. If Jason knew that, it was no surprise he'd looked at her with such hate.

As far as she knew, very few people had known about the Prophecy when she'd been brought into the Temple of Light, or of the so-called "new Messiah."

Lyra glanced beyond Neal and thoughts of Jason vanished. "Momma?" she said as she looked at the woman who had brought her into the cult.

Seeing her mother—actually
seeing
her—was like a punch to Lyra's gut.

Sara Collins had aged considerably in the last five years. She'd been a beautiful woman, but now she looked tired and… old. She'd gone from a healthy, full figure to being slender, almost frail. Lyra had inherited her green eyes from Sara, but those eyes were no longer bright and filled with life. They were dull and sad.

"Once you left, Sara could no longer cope," Neal said close to Lyra's ear.

A heavy weight slammed into Lyra's chest. Had she caused this change in her mother?

Or had living with the cult done this to her? Had Neal mistreated her because Lyra left?

Despite the feeling of anger that had followed her since her mother and Neal had brought them to the compound, Lyra felt something more that she'd pushed aside long ago. The love she'd had for her mother
before
. Trust, no, but love…

Ignoring Neal and not bothering to keep her head down in the pretense she was obeying him, she skirted women, children, and cook fires as she ran to the far side of the circle of tents. Small rocks dug into her bare feet and dark soil coated her toes as she hurried. A low murmur followed in her wake as she walked past people she'd known and those she hadn't.

When she reached her mother's side, Lyra stared down at her. Sara was crocheting what looked like a pair of baby booties.

Lyra sat on a large pine log beside Sara. They were next to a fire, and Lyra's face was immediately warmed. A cast-iron pot hung from the cooking frame within the rock-encircled fire.

The skin around one of Sara's eyes was black, and her lower lip had a healing cut.

Were those from punishment dealt out from Neal because of Lyra?

"Momma?" Lyra said as she stared at her mother.

She slowly raised her head and looked at Lyra. Confusion, followed by shock, flashed across Sara's battered face. "You're not supposed to be here." She reached out and grasped Lyra's wrist, hard. "You're not supposed to be here!"

Lyra reeled. Words wouldn't come to her mouth.

"This is Lyra's place, as I've told you many times, Sara." Neal squatted and placed his hand on her shoulder. "You've known this since you brought her into the fold." Neal's knuckles whitened and his fingers dug into Sara's shoulder. "Isn't that right?"

"I—" Something flashed in Sara's eyes then she looked away, her gaze downcast.

"Yes, Prophet."

Things were not computing in Lyra's mind. Her mother had brought her to The People.

Sara was the reason this whole thing had happened, right? Lyra had not lived with her mother long in the cult, as Lyra had been forced to live in the Temple, but never once did Sara show any signs that she disagreed with "the Prophecy."

Neal released Sara's shoulder, and the pained tension in her face eased. He tried to take Lyra's hand, but she jerked away and drew her mother into a hug. It took a moment before Sara's arms wrapped around Lyra. She felt her mother's tears against her skin at the neck opening of the robe. "I'm sorry, baby," Sara whispered. "So sorry."

Before Lyra could respond, Neal grabbed her by her upper arm and jerked her to her feet. She stumbled and almost fell. Her gaze was still on her mother, who bent over her task of crocheting the booties, her graying hair hiding her face and her tears.

Lyra whirled on Neal. "What did you do to her?"

His jaw tensed and his eyes grew dark. "Do you want to be tied up again?" he said in a tone so low that no one else should have been able to hear him. "Perhaps convinced in other ways?"

For one long moment, perhaps too long, she glared at him. But she came to her senses and dropped her gaze so that she was looking at her dirty toes. "I'm sorry, Prophet."

Bastard
.

As they walked away from Sara, Lyra's stomach churned more at the thought that her mother was probably knitting baby booties for Lyra and Neal's child. Apparently her mother hadn't wanted Lyra here after all, and now was being forced to make clothing for the grandchild that shouldn't be.

"You need rest," Neal said as he strode ahead of Lyra. "Tonight's an important night and you'll want to be refreshed when we come together as man and wife."

Lyra's body shook as heat rose in her chest. Her cheeks flushed and she had to force herself to keep from balling her hands into fists. She kept her head down as she followed Neal back to the tent. All these years… Had he kept her mother here against her will, too?

Lyra's thoughts turned back to the early days when they had arrived at the Temple of Light. Had her mother been perhaps too serene? Too at peace with life among The People?

Had she been drugged all that time?

Lyra and Neal reached the tent and he didn't bother to hold the flap open for her. As a good little submissive woman, she was to follow in his wake and not expect anything from him, even small courtesies.

When she was in the tent and her eyes had adjusted to the dimness, she saw fire in Neal's gaze as he stared at her. His hand twitched at his side. She didn't lower her eyes and she held her chin up.

Neal slapped Lyra so hard she dropped. She fell onto her side, hit her head on the floor, and cried out. Stars sparked in her head, and she tried to push herself to a sitting position.

"You seem to have forgotten your lessons." He knelt on one knee beside her, his voice hideously dark when he said, "Never make a sound when I punish you. From tonight on that includes every time I fuck you in the name of the Light." With that he swung his hand and slapped her hard enough to make her fall back again.

Tears stung at Lyra's eyes from the pain, but she didn't cry out, and she didn't bring her hand to her throbbing cheek. Instead she lowered her gaze.

She'd get even with him. One way or another, she'd get even.

He grasped her face in his hand tight enough to make her eyes water and forced her to look at him. "Because you haven't lived among The People for a while, and have forgotten our ways, I'll forgive you for your behavior in front of my People and your attitude toward me. But I won't put up with it anymore. Got that?"

Lyra nodded the best she could with his hand on her chin. "Yes," she said.

Neal raised his free hand again. "Yes,
what
?"

She lowered her gaze. "Yes, Prophet."

"Now," he said as he released her chin, "you'll rest for the ceremony. I'll send a couple of my other wives to prepare you for our joining." He caressed her face, almost tenderly.

"And then I'll fuck you so many times you'll beg for mercy."

A chill crept down Lyra's spine.

His tone changed, he lowered his voice, and it came out in a deadly growl. "You'd better be a virgin, or I'll make you wish you were dead. You'll carry the new Messiah, but you'll be punished." He scratched his nails down her cheek. "Are you still a virgin, Lyra?"

She slowly nodded. What else could she do?

"You'd better be telling the truth." His eyes were dark and deadly looking. He grabbed her hand and jerked her to her feet, but she managed to keep from stumbling this time. "Lie on the mattress," he said. "Guards will be posted outside the tent to
protect
you while you rest."

Neal gave her a small push and she tripped toward the mattress. She shuddered at the sight of the stakes at each corner of the bed.

"So much as peek your head outside the tent, and I'll have you bound and drugged until your preparation for the ceremony." He narrowed his brows. "And Sara will receive her first whipping."