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“I’m not . . . I won’t.” A blush crept up her cheeks. She clutched the cloak tighter, eyes moving around the room, searching for a way out.
Endreth turned to face her while dressing himself in a gray blouse. One eyebrow arched in a silent challenge.
“I won’t!” she repeated, her voice stronger this time.
His eyes darkened, the modicum of patience he had shown vanishing as if it had never been. “Either you do it willingly, or I will do it for you. And be sure to . . . remove everything.”
“Don’t you dare,” she spat, her fear momentarily overpowered by anger.
“As you wish.” Slowly, he started to close the distance between them, each step deliberate, calculated. A smirk played at the corners of his lips, the threat in his eyes unrelenting.
She noted his imposing figure. Could she stop him?—the thought was laughable. She had spent her life behind a desk, not engaging in physical combat. She wanted to defuse the situation, not incite his anger further, but the thought of complying made her stomach churn.
Endreth took two more slow steps.
The terrifying reality that he would indeed force her if she didn’t comply sank in, a sickening realization that sent her heart pounding against her ribcage. “Alright!” Anthea took a moment to swallow the lump in her throat, her heart hammering a loud, insistent beat. “But . . . but you have to turn around.”
He halted, giving her a slow, deliberate nod in response. “Very well,” he said, turning around and presenting his back to her once again.
Swiftly, she shed her soiled clothing, the cool air of the room making her shiver as each piece dropped to the floor.
It was only a dream.
Only a dream.
“Boots and undergarments too,” Endreth ordered, still facing the three arched windows. His voice was steady, clinical even. “Everything,” he added.
Tears welled up in her eyes, a mix of fear, humiliation, and frustration—it all was too much. But she blinked them back rapidly. This was not the time for tears. With a shaky breath, Anthea complied, taking off Ari’s boots and adding them to the pile.
“I’m ready.”
Endreth turned around, his gaze sweeping over her bare feet and the cloak that now draped her short frame. Then he stepped closer, grasping her elbow.
“Welcome, Anthea Clark,” he said. “Welcome to Isluma.”
4
Anthea sank to the cold, hard stone floor. Endreth had taken her here: to this cell. Wrapping the blue cloak tighter around her, the fabric soft against her skin, she tried again to make sense of what had happened. Had she been drugged? She hadn’t checked the drinks the blue-eyed man at the club had brought her. Was it possible she had been drugged and now she was just having a really bad trip?
Every fibre of her being wanted to believe this was a horrific nightmare—a terrible, twisted dream she would jolt awake from any second. She pinched herself on her arm. It hurt. There was also the numbing cold, the overwhelming nausea, and the sounds of waves crashing against something nearby—it all felt so real. But it couldn’t be.
How could it be real?
Anthea lurched to the side, retching. The taste of bile and alcohol burned her throat as she emptied the contents of her stomach the second time this night. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the taste of vomit still sour on her tongue. Anthea had told Treia she would be coming home. Had her sister already gone to sleep, or would she wait up for her? Would she worry? No. She couldn’t think like that. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
How could it be real?
“Get it together,” she whispered to herself, taking deep, steadying breaths, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. She crawled to the straw mattress in the corner and curled into a ball. “It’s just a bad dream. I will wake up soon . . . I will wake up . . .”
The glare of the morning sun jolted Anthea from the depths of her sleep. Her throat was parched and her head pounded like a drum. She shouldn’t have drank so much. She needed to finish her presentation today. Turning around with a groan, her palm came to rest against a cold stone floor. Did she fall asleep on the street?
She opened her eyes abruptly, her arm flying up to shield her sensitive eyes from the intrusive light. As her vision gradually cleared, two figures came into focus. The events of the previous night flooded her consciousness with a jarring intensity. It hadn’t been a dream—this was real, as real as the raw fear coursing through her veins right now.
She had been taken.
Standing next to the wooden cell door was Endreth, auburn hair glowing under the soft glow of the morning sun. Beside him was another man, taller and broader, with a cascade of fiery red hair that flared under the sun, mirroring the fiery orb itself. His handsome face was a chiseled work of sharp angles and glowing skin. Both men were draped in ornate attire of maroons and golds and blacks. But it was the tips of their ears that captured Anthea’s attention—they were pointed.
Aliens? Her heart thundered in her chest at the ridiculous thought, but it seemed to be the only explanation for the inexplicable events that had transpired. Aliens had abducted her.
