Chapter 43
Sweat dripped down my temples.
My eyes flipped open, and I met the view of an unfamiliar ceiling with a spiderweb of cracks. Daylight poured through the window.
I made a move to sit up—only to find that I was strapped down to a table. My wrists were bound by my sides and my legs were splayed open with my ankles cinched.
Panic bubbled in my throat. A terrified scream wanted to emerge, but I shoved it down. Screaming wouldn’t help . . . but it might alert my captors that I was awake.
Savage . . .
Oh God . . .
A bat to the head. His still body. Is he alive?
Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks, but somehow I held them in. I couldn’t lose it now.
Morning sickness came with a vengeance. I turned my head and retched, shaking and quivering until not even bile came up.
I looked at my surroundings. I was in a house I didn’t recognize, but I assumed I was back on The Farm. The heat blasting my skin emanated from a wood stove chimney.
Someone had undressed me and put me in a white muslin gown. My body had been naked.
Unprotected.
The Grand Patriarch’s second-in-command had stuck a needle in my neck. After that, everything went dark for hours, and I had no recollection of anything.
I tugged my wrists, but the braces had no give.
Shuffling footsteps in the hallway alerted me moments before the door opened, revealing a balding man in a white doctor’s coat. He stepped inside the room and closed the door.
He looked at the floor and the mess I’d made.
Without a word, he went over to the window. He fought with the sticky sill but managed to get the window open. A waft of fresh air blew through the room, relieving the heat from the wood stove chimney and the acrid stench of my sick.
Drugs sloshed around in my veins; my sluggish mind slow to form thoughts.
He walked to the door and opened it, murmuring something I couldn’t hear to the person on the other side. When the conversation ended, he opened the door wider, stepped out into the hallway, and wheeled in a sonogram machine.
Swallowing, I kept my mouth clamped shut, refusing to ask questions, refusing to give one word to this stranger I didn’t know.
“I assume you know where you are?” he asked. His voice was nasally, like he had habitual allergies.
“The Farm,” I replied slowly.
He inclined his head. “I’m Dr. Winchester.”
“How nice for you.”
His brown eyes narrowed. “I’ve already drawn your blood and had it sent off to the lab.” His gaze dropped to my stomach. “I will be giving you a transvaginal ultrasound to determine how far along you are in your pregnancy.”
“ Don’t touch me ,” I snapped, anger whooshing through me, obliterating my fear.
He gave me a patronizing smile. “I don’t think you have much choice in the matter.” Dr. Winchester placed his hand on my belly, letting his palm rest there for a moment before he inched the muslin dress up my legs, baring me to him.
I turned my head away and closed my eyes.
“Yes,” he purred. “It’s much better when you cooperate.”
There was no electricity in the house, but The Farm had several generators and one of the machines hummed in the background.
I heard him prepare the ultrasound and then wash his hands using the washing basin and pitcher. The dichotomy was almost laughable. A modern medical machine juxtaposed against historic, handmade furniture in a room where a woman was being held prisoner by a cult.
Dr. Winchester sat down on the wheeled stool and rolled his way to the edge of the exam bed. He took the probe, and I felt it at my entrance.
He slid the wand inside me and a few moments later I heard a whoosh , followed by an echo sound.
“Well, isn’t that good news,” Dr. Winchester said. “The Grand Patriarch will be very happy.”
I opened my eyes and looked at the ceiling, praying the invasion of my body would be over quickly.
He spent a few moments moving the wand, no doubt gathering more information about me and my babies.
After he removed the probe, he lowered my dress.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Dr. Winchester called.
The door opened and the Grand Patriarch entered the room.
My father-in-law.
My husband had been the spitting image of him. Tall, muscular. My father-in-law’s hair was all gray now, and his face was lined with grief. Yet he was still a formidable adversary.
And he’d put the idea into my husband’s head to kill me. A true master of puppets. His followers were his marionettes.
The Grand Patriarch carried a tray with a plate of food as well as a glass of water and a straw. He set it down on the dresser next to the wash basin.
“Good news,” Dr. Winchester said. “She’s having twins.”
“Twins,” the Grand Patriarch murmured. “How far along is she?”
“Middle of her first trimester I’d say,” Dr. Winchester said. “I’m concerned about her stature.”
“Go on.”
“She’s petite, and I’m worried she won’t be able to carry the twins to their full term.”
The Grand Patriarch looked at me and smiled. “Then we must do everything in our power to ensure she births two healthy babies. After all, they are the future of the Seed Reapers.”
His eyes focused on me, but he addressed the doctor.
“Leave us.”
The doctor didn’t even bother looking at me, instead doing as the Grand Patriarch commanded without hesitation. The door closed with finality, and I wanted to shrink inside myself.
The Grand Patriarch said nothing, but his gaze dropped to my stomach. He walked toward me and placed his hands on the gentle swell of my lower belly.
His eyes gleamed with fanatic zeal.
“You are the bearer,” he whispered. “You carry my son’s legacy inside you. You are fruitful. Yes, you will carry many legacies.”
Many . . .
Terror bathed my spine and my fingers went cold.
“You must eat.” He lifted his hands from me and went to the tray of food. “I will feed you. And we will talk.”
My throat was parched.
“What did you drug me with?” I rasped.
The Grand Patriarch frowned at the tray of food before looking at me. “A mild sedative. Dr. Winchester assured me it won’t harm the baby— babies .”
“How did you know I was pregnant?”
He lifted the tray and walked over to the stool with wheels. He sat down and rolled toward the side of the exam table. He pressed a button, and the table lifted me so that I was now propped up.
“We didn’t,” he crooned. “Not until we got you here and saw that you are showing.”
He stuck the straw into the glass and before I could reply, he shoved the straw into my mouth. I gulped greedily.
When I’d downed half of it, I released the straw, and he set the glass aside.
“How did you find me?”
He paused for a moment before replying. “We caught your face on camera at the bus station. It wasn’t hard to figure out you bought a ticket to Waco.” He smiled but it wasn’t at all pleasant. “Calvin has always been like a dog with a bone. I knew once I put him on your scent it was over, and if he kept asking around, he’d find you eventually. He finally picked up your trail, and here you are.” His gaze slid over me. “You cut your hair.”
“It’s my hair.”
“No . . . your hair—like your womb—belongs to the Seed Reapers.”
He sliced a piece of sausage and held it out to me. If I wanted the food, I’d have to lift my head and lean toward it. He’d make me meet him halfway. He’d prove his power over me every chance he got.
I didn’t want to give in, but I wasn’t eating for me. I was eating for the babies.
So, I leaned forward and opened my mouth.
“Where is my son?” he asked. His blue eyes shone with determination.
Would he withhold food from me if I refused to tell him?
No. He wanted me alive. He wanted the babies alive.
They’re his own flesh and blood . . .
“That night you came over for dinner and I went to bed early . . . I heard you tell Randall to kill me so he could take a new wife. A fruitful wife.”
“I make no apologies for doing what’s necessary for the good of the Seed Reapers.” He clenched his jaw. “And yet his seed finally took root, didn’t it? Did your body finally succumb to his power, or was it the sacrifice your parents made?”
The words he spouted were scripture to him.
He was certifiable.
“Sacrifice.” I snorted. “ You convinced them to take their own lives. Next time you want to have a private conversation, make sure there’s no one lurking around the corner.”
He looked like he was pondering my words and then he touched my stomach again. “Their sacrifice was not in vain. Their blood was spilled, but life now grows within you.”
The sausage I’d eaten threatened to come up my throat.
“You know what’s supposed to happen now, don’t you?” he asked, his brow furrowing in thought. “The heir of the Seed Reapers has died. I know you killed him, or else he’d be here with me now. There is no other explanation. Tradition dictates that the wife of the deceased heir be burned alive on a pyre so that she may accompany him to the afterlife where she can serve him for all eternity. Purity . . . sacrifice by fire. However, you are carrying his heirs— my heirs.”
My expression flattened. “You’re going to burn us— the babies ?—”
He scratched his jaw. “No. Purity by fire would be such a waste. You have finally proven your worth, and you have something within you that’s far more valuable to me than your death ever could be . . .”
His smile was cold and clinical, and it caused fear to battle its way up my throat and nearly strangle me.
“You will deliver these babies. And when you are healed and recovered, I will take you as my wife and I will put several more babies inside you. You will continue my family succession and ensure that it is our flesh and blood that rules the Seed Reapers for generations. That will be the price for your redemption.”
“But you already have a wife,” I choked out.
“A wife who can no longer bear children due to the trauma of birthing our son. A wife who believes in duty above all else. A wife who understands her place . . . a wife who will understand when the time is right that making the ultimate sacrifice will be her greatest achievement.”
She doesn’t know . . .
“You’ll murder your own wife just to take another? You’re insane,” I blurted out. “I’ll never agree to this.”
He placed his hand on my belly and began to rub circles across my flesh. Tender, gentle circles.
“My incubator, what makes you think I’m giving you a choice?”