So why was she still so unhappy? She didn’t know. What she did know was she was fucking tired of thinking about it. So she strode across the room, crossing the large expanse of open floor to the area at the opposite end that functioned as both a library and den. The walls here were lined with tall bookcases. There was a fireplace and plenty of expensive-looking furniture. And there was a well-stocked bar tucked away in the corner. She stepped behind it and scanned the rows of gleaming bottles. After a few moments of debate, she selected a bottle of Stolichnaya. She opened it and knocked back several big gulps of vodka.
A slight semblance of well-being returned immediately. It felt good just to have a full bottle in her hands again. She moved away from the bar and examined the shelves of books. Many of them were classic titles she recognized. Many others were unfamiliar. Some titles weren’t in English.
She saw one that called to her, the words THE SATANIC BIBLE etched in gold print along its spine. She recalled her dream and pulled the book off the shelf. Then she settled down in a plush recliner, set the bottle on the little table next to it, and flipped the book open. Her fingers moved over the pages and her lips moved slightly as she read the words. She frowned. This book was not the famous Anton LaVey tome with which she’d been fleetingly familiar in her youth. It appeared to be an actual bible for Satanists, a genuine dark equivalent to the Christian Bible, but that was…
“It is what you think it is, Dream.”
Dream’s fingers stopped moving. The intrusion of the familiar voice had surprised her, but she felt no fear and that was strange. She had helped to kill him, after all. He was standing so close, but she hadn’t heard or sensed his arrival. She could hear the soft, unlabored sound of his breathing. He was alive again. Somehow. Or was he? Maybe he was like Alicia and Ellen, a manifestation manufactured by her subconscious, this time a conjuration of shameful desires she’d worked to ignore through the years. She had been thinking about him a lot of late, especially at night as she lay alone in the dark in that big bed.
Then he moved into view and she knew it wasn’t true.
It was really him. The Master.
She closed the book and looked up at him. “How?”
He smiled. “Does it matter?”
And now she smiled. “No. It doesn’t matter at all.”
She set the book on the table next to the vodka bottle and stood up. She stepped into his outstretched arms and laid her head on his shoulder. She felt his calm strength and reveled in the warmth of his bare flesh.
Her voice was a whisper:“I’m sorry.”
“Shush.” He stroked her hair with one hand while the other slipped to the small of her back. “Things were different then.”
She lifted her head and looked into his eyes again. “Yes. And I think I’ve become the woman you needed me to be back then. I think I could be your Queen now.”
His hand slipped beneath the thin fabric of her halter top and roamed over her trembling flesh. She felt herself grow wet and moaned as his mouth met hers. The kiss made her knees shake and she gripped his shoulders hard to remain upright. It went on for several moments, his warmth suffusing her as their bodies began to writhe in tandem. Then he broke off the kiss and smiled again.
And he said, “You are already my Queen. I knew one day you would be ready.”
Dream thought, You have no idea how ready I am.
And perhaps he knew her thoughts, because in the next moment he swept her into his arms and carried her across the room to the big bed. And within the next few moments Dream again experienced the thing she’d secretly longed for all through her years of private torment.
Her screams filled the room.
And after the screams, tears of joy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The collar was too tight and chafed at his skin. Chad fought an urge to stick a finger under the strip of leather to relieve the pressure against his throat. For one thing, it wouldn’t really help. But mostly he just didn’t want to feel the back of Bai’s hand again. She had a quick temper and would not abide even the mildest affront to her will.
The physical discomfort was only part of the problem. More aggravating was the humiliation he’d been living with every day for weeks. A masochist with a taste for bondage and discipline and a weakness for hot Asian chicks would be in heaven, but Chad didn’t roll that way. He burned with the need to be free of this despicable woman, to be his own man again, able to do as he pleased whenever he wished.
He didn’t know how to make that happen. Bai was too strong. Too smart and too fast by far. She was like some kind of superwoman. She anticipated his every move, seemed to know his thoughts. He looked at the long black leash hooked to his collar. It was looped around the minivan’s driver’s-side door handle. He imagined ripping the thing free and wrapping it around Bai’s neck. The fantasy took shape in his mind, and he saw how the leash would dig into her slender throat as he drew it tight, Bai’s eyes bulging out as she clawed helplessly at him and gasped for air.
Of course, the minivan would go hurtling off the road, perhaps to crash into one of the big trees beyond the ditch. The impact would send him through the windshield in a hail of safety glass. He might even die. He thought maybe it would be worth it.
He felt the heat of her gaze on him and turned timidly in her direction, tensing for the blow he imagined was imminent.
But she only smiled at him in that soft, enigmatic way. “We are almost there, Dogshit. If you wish to kill me, your best chance will come in the confusion of battle.”
Chad grunted. “We both know it’ll never happen.”
Her dark eyes gleamed in the morning sun. “Of course. You are too weak, Dogshit. Too much the coward. Too much the sniveling little faggot. You are worthless.”
This was another thing that incensed him. She hadn’t addressed him by his given name since the night of the coup. To her, he was primarily known as Dogshit. A prime example of what passed for her sense of humor. One day he’d stepped in a pile of fresh shit dropped by one of the stray pooches that hung around Camp Whiskey scrounging for scraps. Bai had immediately bestowed the hated nickname. The collar and leash was her idea of a fun way to embellish the joke. It was embarrassing as hell, but there was nothing he could do about it. He’d learned not to object the hard way.
But there was a change on the horizon. The battle they’d prepared for would commence soon, perhaps within the hour. Bai wasn’t saying much, but he knew they were very close to their destination. He had a feeling the end of his servitude to Bai was coming one way or another. Either he would die during the conflict, or she would finish him off once the Order had killed or apprehended Giselle Burkhardt.
Or he would find within him the courage to try to kill her during the battle. He would be outfitted with a combat-appropriate level of weaponry prior to the storming of the remote farmhouse. It should be an easy thing to turn that weaponry on his true oppressor. But Bai and the two Order men moved with a speed and deadly grace that was eerie, almost supernatural. Should he attempt to use a gun on Bai, she would be behind him within the space of a heartbeat, well before he could squeeze the trigger, her sword at his throat, ready to take his head off before he could even think to turn around.
There was just no percentage in it. Any such attempt would be tantamount to suicide. Chad figured this was part of the reason the surviving members of Jack Paradise’s paramilitary unit had surrendered and accepted the Order people as their new leaders. He also suspected these men had been promised a large reward upon successful completion of this mission. Hell, you could never underestimate greed as a motivating factor for anything.