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His firm hands guided her toward a high-backed seat beside the fire. He was a gentleman.
“May I get you something to drink? Tea? Water? Something stronger, perhaps?”
Karen shook her head. She had no intention of drinking anything he offered no matter how handsome he was. Serial killers weren’t always ugly. She glanced around. Three doors. Two windows.
He followed her gaze, smiling, his voice icy. “Escape is impossible, though you are welcome to try.”
She struggled to speak, fear lacing each word, the calming warmth deserting her body. “Why am I here?”
“Are you American?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“I hear your people are direct. I like direct. Let me repay the favor.”
She scooted to the edge of her seat. “Please.” Finally, she might get answers.
“Over fifteen hundred years ago, the Blood Coven, thirteen witches and warlocks, created this realm. Scath. My people, Aeternals, resettled here. You, my dear, are a descendant of one of these mages.”
Elegant but crazy. Still the other guy was a vampire, or he had undergone cosmetic dentistry.
“You are mistaken. When can I leave?”
Occupying the oversized chair beside her, he patted her hand. She jerked it away.
A flash of anger glinted in his otherwise serene, cool eyes. “You are as I say. I am never mistaken.”
She would not call him crazy since she didn’t want to piss the guy off. She sensed that behind his calm, icy exterior was something darker. “Aren’t witches supposed to be able to cast spells? Well, I can’t.”
“Not yet. You need my assistance.”
She jumped out of the chair. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t need your help because I don’t want to be a witch. Let me go.”
“Sit.” He flicked two fingers, and she fell into the chair, unable to rise.
“What are you?” Her arms trembled. Her legs shook. While she struggled to rise, invisibly bound to the seat, she had a fleeting thought. Perhaps he wasn’t crazy.
“I am one of you. Think of me as your trainer. Your guide. Your mentor.” He set the book on the table. “Undress.”
“What? No.”
She rose against her will, unable to control her body. She pushed her sweater over her head, unsnapped her white cotton bra, and slipped the straps over her shoulders. She dropped it on the floor.
Without uncrossing his legs, he adjusted his pants. “Your breasts are lovely, my dear. Keep going.”
Karen sobbed. Nonetheless, she kicked off her sneakers, wearing no socks. She unbuttoned her jeans, unzipped them, and wiggled them down her legs, stepping away when they pooled on the floor. Clad only in white panties, she stood before this sadistic man, her arms crossed over her chest, hiding what she could, closing her eyes as shame heated her cheeks.
“Do not do that.”
Her hands shot to her side. When he arched his brows, she slid her panties down her hips, discarding them on top of her other clothes. Her shoulders shook with her loud sobs because of her humiliating lack of control over her own actions.
“Come here,” he ordered.
Her body jerked when she struggled to stay put. Unable to refuse his command, she stumbled toward him, willing her feet to stop. They didn’t.
With both of his shiny black shoes on the ground, he spread his thighs, unzipped his pants, and exposed himself. “Get on your knees, my dear. I’m sure you know what to do from there. You’re one of those modern American girls who have taken many males into your mouth. Afterwards, I will satisfy you while I make you a true witch.”
When Karen didn’t stop sobbing, he silenced her. Her screams unvocalized, she disappeared into her mind where she ran and ran to hide from the monster.
