Chosen Prey (22 page)

In the room filled with high-tech equipment, Neal studied multiple monitors that showed almost every space along the perimeter of the compound. The rain made the view in each monitor a little fuzzier, but it was all clear enough that during daylight hours they would be able to see anyone who approached. He'd had the guard increased when Lyra had been brought into the compound. No one would be able to penetrate his fortress and endanger his fold.

"Is every one of the floodlights functioning?" Neal asked.

"It'll be bright as day." Larry leaned back in his chair and smiled. "No way will anyone get by our men like they did under Mark and Adam's watch."

Neal scowled and felt a slow burn in his gut. "Mark and Adam let down The People last night in the Arizona compound. That had better not happen here."

"I've studied and restudied the tapes from that attack." The techie's smile faded. "Only two men, but they knew exactly where to hit, where it was darkest, and where the camera's blind spots were.

"Here the floodlights will keep a surprise attack impossible if they do come after her,"

he continued.

Neal steepled his hands. "In the name of the Light, I expect you to do your duty and keep them out." Just before he turned away he said, "If not, you'll find yourself on the cross of the Light."

A flash of fear crossed Larry's face.
Good
. The Prophet Jericho hadn't been pleased, having said as much to Neal when he'd meditated in his room while Lyra had been sleeping after her return to the fold. It'd been all Neal could do not to take her before the ceremony, but the Prophecy had been clear.

Neal scowled as he walked out of the dry Temple and into the pouring rain. He was instantly drenched again, his robe soaked, his long hair clinging to his neck, and raindrops rolling down his cheeks. His sandals slapped the wet ground, and mud splashed onto his toes.

When the first scent of the oncoming storm had greeted him, he'd ordered several of The People to put together the "gathering shelter." Upon occasion they'd had to use the canvas shelter to hold one of Neal's many sermons for his fold. Today it would be used for his joining with Lyra.

Just the thought of taking Lyra made his dick hard, and when he glanced down he saw that it was outlined by the wet robe clinging to his body. He pulled the cloth away and forced himself to control his reactions to the thought of finally having Lyra after all these years. Too bad he'd had to wait until she was over eighteen.

However, the Light had spoken.

Neal reached the gathering shelter and moved out of the rain. Satisfaction seeped into his veins. Not much longer and Lyra would be his.

The shelter was an enormous spread of canvas fastened to many metal poles, with ropes staked at the ground, keeping it taut all around. At the far end of the shelter was a platform where he would perform the ceremony that would make Lyra his thirteenth wife and the additional steps to move her into the position of First Wife.

Carrie and Julia should be preparing Lyra now for the ceremony. They would make sure no remnants of blood from the wound at the back of Lyra's head would show, nor the growing bruises on her face.

Stupid bitch.

As he watched several of The People preparing the shelter, Neal took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and calmed his thoughts. Rain pounded on the tented ceiling and dripped off the edges in loud splashes.

When Neal had backhanded her, he'd simply been teaching Lyra her place. That her head had struck the stake was another way Jericho was punishing her for leaving the fold and for her irreverence for the Light.

Gradually all tension released from Neal's body and he absorbed the power of the Light. He took another deep inhale and smiled. Soon he'd have Lyra, and everything would be as it should.

Two women holding various items entered the tent. The flap shut behind them. One of the women was the blond, Carrie.

Lyra tensed. Had she and her mother been seen pocketing the stakes?

Sara looked at the two women and cleared her throat. "Carrie, Julia. Have you come to help me with Lyra's wounds?"

"No," the brunette, who must be Julia, said. "We've come to prepare the new First Wife for the joining ceremony."

"Prepare me for the ceremony?" It was as if a freezing wind chilled Lyra's face. Ice sliced through her veins, and she shook from the cold that overtook her body. "What about the rain?" It was all she could think of to say.

Carrie placed bottles, a hairbrush, and a circlet of white silk flowers on the floor. "The Prophet has had the gathering shelter set up for your joining."

"I'm Julia, the Prophet's tenth wife." The dark-haired woman set a paper-and-twine-wrapped bundle next to the supplies Carrie had placed on the floor. She turned to Sara.

"The Prophet wants to see you, Sister."

Sara and Lyra exchanged a quick hug, and when Sara kissed Lyra's cheek she whispered, "Don't give up hope, Angel." Lyra almost started to cry again as her mother released her and stood. Sara gave a slow nod to each of the wives, then slipped out of the tent and into the rain.

Lyra felt the heavy weight of exhaustion to her core and sat on her haunches. Carrie knelt in front of Lyra, and Julia moved behind her.

"He hurt you." Carrie slid her shaking fingers gently over the side of Lyra's face. Lyra flinched and Carrie dropped her hand away.

Julia said, "Shush!" from behind Lyra.

"That was courtesy of Neal." Lyra managed a wry smile. "In the name of the Light, of course."

Carrie's mouth curved into a sad smile. "Of course."

Lyra felt in that moment a sort of kinship with these ladies. No doubt Neal had abused them all in some fashion or another, in "the name of the Light."

In the next moment Lyra cried out as Julia started brushing her hair. Lyra's eyes watered from the pain of her head wound.

"I'm so sorry, Sister," Julia said from behind her with a definite sound of apology in her tone. "I should have been more careful."

After her hair had been cleansed, Julia gently began sweeping Lyra's short hair up and fastening it above her wound. It took a few clips to do it since her hair wasn't long anymore.

Carrie opened a short, fat bottle and began to dab a beige substance on Lyra's face.

Makeup to cover her bruises, of course. Neal probably had all kinds of things stashed away that The People weren't allowed to use, with the exception of the "favored" and himself. Not that she thought he'd use makeup.

Lyra had to bite her lip to hold back more cries as the women worked on her face and her hair. Her face hurt where Carrie dabbed on the makeup, and Lyra didn't think her headache was likely to go away for days.

Carrie smoothed the makeup all over Lyra's face. "You were with The People before?"

"Shhh," Julia said again.

Lyra sighed. "I ran away when I was eighteen. That was five years ago."

"And he's been looking for you?" Carrie leaned back, tilted her head, and examined Lyra's face. "The bruises are pretty well covered now, but your face is a little swollen."

"Yeah, he has." Lyra ground her teeth. "I'd thought that maybe I was safe from him. So much for that."

Carrie took a small brush and dabbed it in a pale pink powder from a compact before lightly applying it to Lyra's cheekbones. The People didn't wear any kind of makeup, so it surprised Lyra that more than foundation to cover the bruises was being put on her. "So you really don't want this?" Carrie asked.

Lyra gave a sigh of exasperation.
Duh
. "I've been running away from it all these years. I just want out of here before this ceremony."

Carrie took the silk flower wreath and set it on Lyra's head. "Looks like it's a little late for that."

"Don't remind me," Lyra said. "I keep hoping I'll wake up from this nightmare."

Carrie leaned forward and her lips met Lyra's ear. "Me, too," Carrie whispered before drawing back and busying herself by opening the big paper-covered bundle.

"The two of you had better start showing respect for the Prophet," Julia said, and moved around so that she was standing in front of Lyra, a frown on her pretty face. "You need to get up."

Damn
. No finding any kinship with Julia. "Why do I need to get up?" Lyra asked, a little more leery of the woman.

"To get dressed," the blond said.

Lyra placed her hand against her pocket that held the stake. It hadn't occurred to her she'd have to change.

"My head's still woozy." Lyra placed her palm to her forehead. "I might need some help."

Each wife took one of Lyra's hands and helped her to her feet. They steadied Lyra as she wobbled a bit, and her head hurt even worse.

When she was standing on her own, she took a deep breath. But it caught in her throat when Julia said, "You need to take off your robe."

Heat rose to Lyra's cheeks. "Not in front of the two of you."

"It's part of the preparation." Carrie held up a beautiful white robe with shining white flowers and leaves embroidered along the hem. The design was so subtly sophisticated and the material so rich it surprised Lyra.

"This is what each wife wears for the ceremony?" Lyra asked as she ran her fingers over the incredibly soft material.

Carrie laughed. "Are you kidding? Nope. Neal said something about you being 'the Chosen.'"

Lyra jerked her hand back. This was real. Wayyyy too real.

Her anger at Neal doubled. Tripled. No, it was more than that. If it weren't for his threat against her mother, Lyra would refuse everything these women were doing to her. No, she couldn't see Sara whipped. Or killed.

Lyra tried to refuse getting undressed in front of the women, but finally she had to give in. Apparently she didn't have a choice in a whole lot of things.

Her cheeks were so hot she must have been bright red when she dropped the robe from her shoulders to the floor of the tent and was completely naked. The stake in the robe's pocket made a soft thudding sound when it hit the tent floor, but Carrie and Julia didn't seem to notice.

Instead of putting the new robe on Lyra, they opened a couple of vials and poured oil onto their palms. Immediately the smell of jasmine filled the tent.

Lyra's heart started. They wouldn't.

They would.

"No way—," Lyra said as the two women rubbed the oil between their palms, then began applying it to Lyra's body. She trembled as they rubbed it up and down her legs, her ass, her back, and even her breasts.

"Sorry," Carrie said. "His orders."

Lyra groaned and clenched her fists. She remained rigid the entire time the women prepared her.

When they were finished, her body gleamed in the light and she smelled so strongly of jasmine that she knew she'd hate that scent for the rest of her life. Next, Carrie and Julia helped her into the ceremonial robe. It felt soft against her skin as it slid over the body oil.

Instead of needing a belt, her robe fastened at the sides, making it hang straight in the front and back, and giving her voluminous sleeves.

No pockets. Lyra's heart plunged. She had no way to carry her "weapon."

Unless…

When Carrie and Julia finished fussing with Lyra, and Carrie had applied some clear gloss to Lyra's lips, the two women handed her a small mirror.

Lyra's eyes widened and she looked at herself from side to side to see that her red hair had been swept up with clips in a way that hid her wound. The crown of white silk flowers encircled her head, and she felt like a flower child of the sixties. The robe was beautiful on her. She couldn't tell where the red marks were, and her cheekbones looked higher from the light coating of blush that looked almost natural. Her lips were moist and soft. She looked pretty.

"Stunning," Carrie said, and in the mirror's reflection Lyra saw Julia looking at her thoughtfully.

Lyra sucked in her breath and closed her eyes. It was Dare she wanted to see her like this. Not Neal.
Not Neal
.

When she opened her eyes again, Lyra wanted to rip off the flowers, shred the robe, scrub off the makeup, and take down her hair. Instead she trembled with a combination of fury and fear.

Rain continued to drum on top of the tent, and it fit Lyra's mood perfectly. "I don't know why you all had to go through the trouble of getting me ready," Lyra said. "I'm just going to get drenched when we go outside."

Carrie picked up a folded piece of canvas that had been under the white robe. "It's our job to hold this over your head and make sure you don't get wet."

"How much longer?" Lyra glanced to the tent flap.

Carrie shrugged and looked at Julia. "Would you say about an hour?"

Julia frowned. "Whenever the Prophet summons, then we'll know."

Lyra vibrated with the need to carry through with the part of her plan that included the stake. From the way Julia had been acting, she'd be heading straight for Neal to tell him.

Think, think, think!

Lyra reached up and touched the back of her pinned-up short hair and jerked loose a clump while trying to make it look like she was just checking it. "Carrie," she said, and slightly turned so that the woman could see the back of her head. "Some of my hair is falling down."

"I'll take care of it," Carrie said, and immediately brought her hands up to Lyra's head.

"Um, Julia?" Lyra asked in her most apologetic tone, then coughed. "My throat is so dry. I really need a drink of water."

The dark-haired woman looked to the tent flap and back to Lyra. "It's still raining hard."

"Please?" Lyra asked, keeping her voice low enough that she hoped it sounded scratchy. "I don't think I'll be able to talk when it comes to it."

Julia whirled and ducked out of the tent without another word.

Lyra pulled away from Carrie before the woman had finished pinning her hair.

"I have one more thing to add to my 'costume.'" Lyra went to her dirty tan robe, dug out the stake, and picked up the sash. She raised the white robe, exposing her thigh, and tied the sash around it until it was wrapped triple around her leg. She took a deep breath, picked up the stake, and slid it into the bindings.

When she looked up, Carrie's eyes were wide and her mouth was open.

"I'm not going down without a fight." Lyra glanced at her leg to make sure the stake wasn't outlined by the robe. Thank God the folds were thick enough it couldn't be seen.

She glanced up at Carrie. "You won't say anything, will you?"

"Not a chance," Carrie said.