I barely feel the needle slide into my neck, which only makes the horror of the drugs oozing into my system that much more potent. I shriek and jerk in his hold, but he might as well have a collar around my throat.
My limbs grow heavy, and darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision.
That featherlight touch on my hair again, petting me in a soothing rhythm.
“There’s no point fighting it, Abigail,” he admonishes. “The journey home will be much easier this way.”
Easier for who?I want to rail, but my tongue is thick against the gag.
He’s taking me somewhere, and I suspect that he doesn’t mean my apartment when he says “home”.
He has my passport.
We’re going…
He’s taking me…
I’m scared…
Even my disjointed thoughts float away, and his green eyes are the last thing I see before the darkness closes in.
33
ABIGAIL
Iwaver in and out of consciousness, completely disoriented. I’m only semi-lucid for a few minutes at a time before I feel the prick of the needle, and the world dissolves again.
Dane is placingme in a plush seat and buckling me in. The floor tilts, and I dimly register the sound of a plane taking off. One big hand rests against the side of my head, gently urging me to lean on his shoulder. My eyelids droop, and I breathe in his spicy cedarwood scent as I float away.
Dane’sstrong hands are on me, lifting me as though I’m a doll. Then I’m seated again, but the world is sliding past me. Or I’m rolling forward. My head swims, so I close my eyes and drift.
“Abigail is my patient.”I register Dane’s accent, smooth and cultured as ever. “The flight was difficult for her after the procedure, so I gave her something to help manage the pain. I have her passport here.”
My eyes flutter open, and I squint against harsh, sterile light. The uniformed officer looms over me, and I realize I’m still seated.
The man doubles in my blurred vision. He’s looking down at the two passports on the desk between us.
Something heavy settles on my shoulder: Dane’s hand. A reassurance? Or a warning?
Distant fear twists my belly, a fleeting twinge.
The officer glances up at Dane, then nods deferentially. “Welcome home, Lord Graham.”
“My father is Lord Graham,” Dane says smoothly, all charm and self-deprecating grace. “I’m just Dane.”
The officer glances at me. “You’re in good hands, miss. Get well soon.”
A soft whimper catches in my throat. I don’t understand what’s happening or where I am, and my chest is getting too tight to draw in full breaths.
“It’s all right,” Dane soothes as the world starts to roll by me again. “We’ll get you more meds as soon as we’re out of the airport.”
The rolling sensation makes my stomach turn. I close my eyes to hold back my rising nausea.
I barely feel the needle sliding into my neck, and then everything is warm and dark.
Dane’smassive body cradles mine, and his unique, masculine scent enfolds me. I breathe him in, and calm settles over me. His deft fingers trail through my hair, skating over the silken strands in a soothing rhythm that lulls me into relaxation.
I’m somewhere between sleeping and waking. Being with him like this feels like the sweetest dream, and I distantly marvel that this is real: my dark god is holding me like I’m his precious possession.
