Zeke grabs my shoulders, slams me down into the chair, and opens the book himself.
“Oh, my God.” Lines of text cover the parchment in a bold, heavy scrawl. But it’s the image in the center that terrifies me.
My tattoo. Not a vague representation, but an almost exact replica down to the way the phases of the moon curve over my shoulder and the curl of the ribbon around the stems of the delicate oleander flowers.
“Read it,” Zeke snaps, his finger jabbing the first paragraph.
“Th-the Prophet will find the one who b-bears the m-mark of the Blue Moon over the most sacred of oleander flowers. Sacri—oh, God—sacrificing the Nova on a Blue Moon will honor the Glorious One. He w-will grant the Prophet and his entire flock eternal…life.”
“You…you’re g-going to k-kill me?”
I have to get out of this room. Surely there’s someone in this Blessed Flock who doesn’t condone murder.
“On the next blue moon, yes. In two years, eleven months, and one day. Until then, you will be a revered member of my flock.”
Killing me isn’t enough? He’s going to keep me prisoner for almost three years?
None of this is real. I have to be in a coma. Or dead. That’s it. I’m already dead and the afterlife is some massive mind fuck that never ends. Except, my cheek still throbs where he slapped me. My mouth is so dry, I can barely swallow.
The way Zeke is looking at me…he truly believes this. All of it.
I grab his sleeves, ready to beg if I have to—even though the idea of touching him disgusts me.
“Let me go. Please. I won’t tell anyone you took me. Not even my husband. I’ll…make something up. I hit my head. Blacked out. Ended up across town sleeping in a bus station or something.”
“No. This is your home now, Nova.” Zeke shakes off my hold, then strides for the door. He pauses with his hand on the knob. “Read the book, Nova. All of it. Then you will understand there is no going back. You are the Flock’s salvation.”
For what feels like hours, I stare at the plate. If I don’t eat, I won’t have the strength to escape. But if any of the food is drugged, I could lose another day. Or more.
I dump the water in the sink, wash the glass with that awful lemony soap, and fill it directly from the tap. The first few sips are pure heaven.
Returning to the desk, I risk a bite of hash browns. They’re cold, oily, and disgusting, but I don’t care. If I still feel okay in a few minutes, I’ll have more.
“Read the book. All of it.”
Hell, no. I’m not reading the delusions of a guy who thinks killing me will give him eternal life. Instead, I pick up his precious Doctrine and throw it across the room.
Chapter Six
AJ
The bullpen’s a storm of noise—phones ringing, boots pounding the linoleum, whispered conversations, squawks from the radios, the occasional shout.
My feet ache, blisters broken open twice over from walking miles of the trail more than a dozen times in the past twenty-four hours. I brace a hand on my desk, too tired to even sit down—because I’ll never get back up again, and Grace needs me out there.
Marvin’s posted up near the back wall, arms folded, watching the chaos. When his gaze lands on me, he straightens and beelines for my desk.
Fuck.
“Stone,” he says, his tone almost gentle. “I’m real sorry about Grace. If there’s anythin’ I can do…” Shaking his head, he adds, “We’ll find her.”
I’ve had it with the empty reassurances everyone’s been feeding me since she vanished. We don’t have a single goddamn lead. If Marvin really wanted to help, he’d be out there. Looking for her. Still, I give him a sharp nod. If I open my mouth, I’ll unload every ounce of rage boiling in my chest.
If it weren’t for his CI’s bullshit intel, we would have been up at the cabin. And no one would have dared touch her.
“Stone!” Harris shouts, stalking toward me. “I told you to go home!”
“Go home?” I shove past Jasper and beeline for the chief. “My wife is fucking missing! If you think I’m goin’ home, you’re a goddamned idiot.”
