The General's Daughter (Snow and Ash #1) (20 page)
Read The General's Daughter (Snow and Ash #1) Online
Authors: Heather Knight
“Imogen?”
I jerk my gaze away from the stranger and look up into the cloudy blue eyes of my adopted uncle. “Your sermon was wonderful, Uncle Mike.”
Praying no one will notice, I dash back to the rectory and gather some bread and nuts and wrap them up in a cloth. I take my warmest pair of boots and a wool hat—I’m allergic to wool anyway—and sneak out the back.
Thanks to Yellowstone and this lovely volcanic winter, it never gets very light outside. It’s only eleven thirty in the morning, and I can barely make Mia out even though she’s lurking no more than three hundred feet from the gate. I look behind me, then dash through, set the package down, and wave until she notices me. I give her an I’m-so-sorry-look, which she probably can’t even see.
She breaks into tears. I can’t watch. I can’t do anything about it, either. I sneak the back way to the rectory and reemerge through the front door. Safely.
There’s always a feast following the service, or what passes for one. You won’t see any fat people here in Sadie’s Bend. The town leaders took over the school and used every bit of it for vertical gardening. We have one windmill, and it powers the garden lights and spins the vertical beds. We have to heat the rooms with wood stoves. It’s tough just putting enough food together to give everyone a meal. We eat a lot of mushrooms. Rabbit too, and so help me God, I feel bad every single time.
When I get to the church reception hall, the room is filled and people are standing in line at the buffet. I spot the stranger holding a plate as he leans against a wall. He flicks me a glance, then looks away. There’s a laugh hovering about his full lips.
“Imogen. I was wondering where you were.” Uncle Mike beams down at me.
“I had to use the lady’s room.” I hate lying to him, but it’s a decent excuse. The lady’s room is more of an outhouse these days, and you have to go off a bit to get there.
He nods. For the next hour I stick close to him. The stranger is working the room, shaking hands and looking humble to the people feeding him.
He’s really freaking me out. What’s wrong with me? In like two hours he’ll be gone and I’ll never see him again. I must be hormonal. I am on my period.
Pastor North and I are talking to Mr. Ruddick, the welder-turned-blacksmith, when I feel a light caress in the small of my back. I glance up and there he is. My heart glugs, and I’m conscious of the heat coming off his body.
“Pastor,” he says in a cool, deep voice. He reaches out his hand, the same one that only moments ago caressed the curve of my back, and shakes Uncle Mike’s.
“Axel, right?” Uncle Mike clasps the man’s forearm, making the handshake more intimate. He really is a sweet man.
Axel nods. “I just wanted to say thank you.”
He’s tall. I maybe, maybe reach his shoulder, and he’s built like he’s worked hard every day for the last ten years. You can see it in the grace of his movements, the way his clothes fit him. I’m close enough that I catch his scent: it’s impossible to describe except it’s intoxicating, male, and it makes me want to move nearer. He shifts his weight, bringing him even closer to me.
“The pleasure was ours. All ours.” Uncle Mike blinks as though remembering something. “Can I introduce you to my niece? Imogen, this is Axel…”
“Diehl,” Axel supplies. The way he looks at me, I feel like I’ve been pinned to the donkey.
With heroic effort I breathe properly and shake the hand he’s extended. It’s warm. His touch sends a jolt right
there.
“Will you be staying the night, Axel?” Uncle Mike asks.
My lips part and my mouth goes dry
. No. No no no.
I fling the stranger a horror-filled look, and I swear he’s barely repressing a smile.
“Thank you, sir, but I’ve imposed on you enough. I need to be on my way, if you don’t mind.” He gives Uncle Mike this nice-guy look that is pure bullshit, but the pastor buys it.
“I understand. Well—”
“Uncle Mike, A-Axel, I hope you don’t mind. I’m going to say hello to Mrs. Glaros.”
Before either one of them can answer me, I flee across the room and park myself down next to the seventy-year-old, who stares at me in amazement. “We never talk, do we?” I smile at her. “I’ve always wanted to ask you where you got that”—I glance over her—“beautiful ring.”
I’ve been insulated from the real world since I was thirteen. First through my manager and my bodyguards, and then due to the remoteness of this town. This churchy town. Most people, here or in my pre-ash life, would be stunned if they understood how little I know of men. The only boy I ever kissed was Trevor Marks back in seventh grade. He tried to use his tongue, and I bit him. I didn’t mean to—I just wasn’t expecting it.
It’s been a full week since Axel Diehl left. I know we’ll never lay eyes on each other again, but I can’t stop thinking about him. Last night I dreamed about him. He was kissing me, and his hands were cupping my backside. I woke up to find my panties soaked. I hope, I really hope I didn’t make any sounds. God, if the pastor heard, I’d die.
Pastor North smiles my way, and that’s my cue to start the next hymn. I’m only a few bars into “There Is a Fountain Filled with Blood” when a crashing noise comes from the room behind the pulpit. I jump. Half a second later, the front doors fly back with a bang. I yelp and spin around just in time to see a string of armed men stream through. Screams erupt throughout the congregation.
I grip the sides of the piano bench like it’s the only thing keeping me safe. I don’t believe what’s happening even though I have a perfect view.
“Everybody hold it right there!” A man with a serious-looking handgun stalks forward, aiming it here and there at various people until he makes it to the pastor. He grabs Uncle Mike from behind and aims the gun at the side of his face.
My heart skips. Automatically I scan the room for a place to hide, but there’s nothing. And then I see him. Him, Axel Diehl. He’s striding down the aisle, grim-faced and with an aura of purpose. Oh God.
“Everyone shut the fuck up!” The man holding a gun to the pastor’s head adjusts himself so the gun is pressed to his captive’s temple. “I said shut up, or I’ll put a bullet through this man’s brain.”
My gaze locks with Axel’s as he strides toward the front of the room. Toward me.
My mouth goes dry, and my stomach is heavy with dread. He’s one of them. He must have been here to spy. My breaths come heavy and quick as he reaches me, grabs me by the arm, and yanks me to my feet. He, like, sniffs up my front and presses his lips to my ear. “What a beautiful Melody.”
The guy holding a gun to my uncle’s head is talking, but I’m only half-aware. No one has called me Melody in years. The room goes blurry, and the only thing I feel is a shuddering tingle of horror. That, and the tiny lick he gives my ear before he circles around and pulls me back against his chest. He points a gun to my head.
The leader, the guy with my adoptive uncle, says something about how we’re to bring this and that to the church within twenty minutes or the pastor will be the first to go.
I gasp. Not Pastor North. Anyone but him.
I feel the shift of his body. “Don’t do anything foolish, Melody.”
My mind races and I swallow the hairball at the back of my throat. “Imogen,” I breathe. “My name is Imogen.”
“To me you will always be Melody.” He caresses my arm and takes my hand. He rubs the half-moon-shaped scar on the back.
It actually burns. “That was a long time ago.”
He leans in and his lips tickle my ear. “I had a picture of you in my cell. Do you know how many times I jacked off, just looking at your face?”
Oh. My. God.
The congregation begins to spill out except for the half dozen of us held at gunpoint.
Axel urges me backward until he reaches the piano bench. He sits, legs spread, and settles me in front of him. His dick presses against my backside. I squeeze my eyes shut against the tears that threaten to spring. “I’m not like her. It was a fake. It was only to sell music.”
“That was harsh, what they did to that woman last week,” he says, ignoring my words. “I was just wondering if they know who
you
are?” He leans forward and indicates the empty pews with a nod of his head.
“Pastor North knows. I told him. He doesn’t care.”
He runs the barrel of the gun down the side of my face, down the side of my neck like it’s a caress. A cold lick of death. He shakes his head. “The townspeople, though—they don’t, I’m guessing.”
I say nothing. I think nothing. I wasn’t even fourteen the first time the media called me a whore. No one can ever know—not in Sadie’s Bend or anywhere else. Melody once dominated the top of the music charts. She dressed in black leather, sparkling gold spandex, and barely there clothes that showed off her tits. I’ve buried Melody firmly in the ash, and I’m Imogen Barrow now.
“No,” I whisper.
He breathes in, and I get the impression he’s smiling even though I can’t see. “Best day of my life.”
His dick is right up against my ass; it grows into a full-on erection…
If you would like to continue reading
STOLEN MELODY
, a stand-alone novel from the Snow and Ash Series, it is available right now on
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Copyright © 2016 by Heather Knight
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First Release, 2016
United States of America
ISBN 13: 978-1-63303-334-4
Flowers and Fullerton Publishing
