“Promise me, Abby.”
“I promise not to go without you.”
“And not until you’re well enough and we can leave this mountain, if necessary. If we get stuck up here with them after us…”
She nodded, shuddering. “I promise, Luc.”
With a small huff, she put out a hand for him to shake. He shook it a few times, remembering that first handshake out in the middle of his vines. The feel of her hand in his that day had been like a door opening, letting sunshine into his life for the first time in years. He just hadn’t known it then.
He didn’t want to go up to the barn. He wanted to take this woman—the best thing in his life—upstairs to his bed. He wanted to lay her on her side and slide into her from behind, face in that thick, red hair. Instead, he leaned in for one last kiss, inhaling her scent so he’d have something to take with him into the cold, snowy night.
God, he couldn’t remember a woman tasting better than this, couldn’t bring up an occasion when he’d wanted someone more. But he had to get the generator up and running at the barn, so he pulled back and sent her to the bathroom. He gave her another kiss, because he couldn’t help himself, and then left her alone.
* * *
Abby’d wanted to stay on that sofa forever, lolling around in the vestiges of her excess, but Luc urged her to the bathroom and into a shallow, steamy bath before leaving her alone with a burning candle and that little flashlight.
Alone with this body, this hedonistic shell she’d been blessed with.
She was languorous still, and slick down there, the pleasure taking ages to seep out of her. It wasn’t until she started to slide down into the water that reality returned: her back, a mess; Sammy, out there still. The power was out, which made no difference in her world, but now she was alone here and that did. It wasn’t until Luc was gone that she realized just how safe he made her feel.
Which was ridiculous, wasn’t it, so close to the Church? And Sammy hadn’t been safe here, had he?
Chilled now, she washed quickly, got out of the bath, and turned to her dim reflection in the mirror. Mirrors were not something they had at the Church of the Apocalyptic Faith. Mirrors were for sinners.
She twisted, trying to catch a glimpse of her back and worrying about that unpleasant numbness.
It didn’t hurt. She hadn’t lied to Luc about that, but that was because it was numb—not necessarily a good sign, although it could have something to do with the wine she’d drunk. The memory of that wine gave her a tight thrill in her abdomen. Would he give her more tomorrow? Would he do that…touching himself again? Would he kiss her in that deep, lewd manner she’d never guessed would feel so good?
Or maybe I’ll do things to him, she thought, looking directly into those eyes in the glass and seeing nothing familiar there. He’d put his face down there. A long, slow shiver worked its way through her, leaving her skin pebbled with goose bumps.
Could I do that to him?
With another shiver, she pushed that thought aside and forced herself to concentrate on her back.
It was numb and stiff, despite the days that had passed since they’d marked her. The best sign that things were improving, she’d found, was when it started to itch. Right now, she felt nothing.
Squinting in the low light, she eyed one of the top-most burns. That yellow tinge couldn’t be good.
Was it getting worse?
No. Her arms had healed just fine. She’d be fine now.
No matter what, there’d be no police. No hospitals. No authorities.
One time, years before, someone had called Child Protective Services on the Church. Goodness, she’d been just a kid back then. Ten or so. Those people had shown up with their badges, police with their lights and guns. She and the other kids had been told to sit in the Hall, to smile and sing. So they had. They’d sung every hymn they knew, while the police took them out, one at a time, leading them to one of the cabins, where they asked all sorts of questions. Stuff about touching and beatings and food and school.
The police had come up empty-handed and eventually left. But beneath the fear of separation from Mama and the Church and everything she knew and trusted was the knowledge—even at that young age—that if anything was to happen, if there was to be any sort of confrontation at all, they would all be forced to endure God’s Wrath.
It wasn’t until recently that she’d fully understood what that meant. The adults wouldn’t go down without a fight. And the ones who tried to get away… Well, Abby remembered Becca Bernstrom—barely. She’d had the cutest twins—two itty-bitty girls, born early, their heads like warm apples. The birth hadn’t gone well, and her husband, Richard, had wanted to take Becca and the babies to a hospital. There’d been a fuss in the Center—Becca’s blood and her husband’s shouts. She remembered watching the family leave in the Church station wagon, disappearing down the drive toward town.
There’d been gunshots.
After that, the twins came back to be raised in the nursery, but their parents never resurfaced. Gone to a better place, everyone said, and she’d thought for the longest time that they meant some other town.
That didn’t seem likely anymore.
Abby did her best to resalve her back before dressing, feeding the woodstove, and heading back upstairs to crawl into Luc’s bed, chilled by more than the air. Again, her thoughts returned to the other side of the mountain.
