Page 67 of Demons

I took a breath, then began to drink more. It was so cold. I realized I was almost done, and I hoped he had one more. I’d be good long enough for one more bottle …

• Thirty-One •

Anyone who abducted a person was not mentally well.

Capri

Opening my eyes, I stared at the foreign wall. It was made of logs. Where was I? When had I gone to sleep? I dropped my gaze to the covers over me. They smelled clean. Like laundry detergent and sunshine. The sheets were so soft and smooth that I wasn’t sure this was real. I didn’t feel right. Maybe I was still asleep. But I didn’t remember going to bed.

Slipping my hand out of the covers, I ran my fingertips over the luxurious white down comforter, then turned on my back to take in the rest of the room. High ceilings, a fireplace, and a window. The floor-to-ceiling curtains were a heavy, raw silk fabric that were in dark jewel tones and drawn closed. I sat up and tossed the covers back. I needed to look out that window.

Pausing, I looked down at my bare legs and the black T-shirt I was wearing. It was all I was wearing, I realized. Slipping it up higher, I checked to see that I was correct in the fact that I had on no panties. I looked at the shirt, rubbing the cotton between my fingers. This belonged to a man.

Thatcher.

My head snapped up, and I stared at the closed door beside the fireplace. Thatcher had taken me. I’d been in his truck. I didn’t remember going to sleep. The last thing … I had drunk the water.

The door opened, and I sucked in a breath as he filled the doorway. If my dad was right and there was a god, then he had some explaining to do. Like why he had created someone who was ridiculously sexy, impossible not to want, and completely insane. It wasn’t a fair combination.

“You slept longer than I’d anticipated,” he said, walking into the room.

His jeans hung low on his hips, and he was shirtless. It seemed he’d just taken a shower since his hair was damp and haphazardly curled around his neck and face.

“You put something in the water,” I replied. My voice was scratchy from sleep. How long had I been out?

He smirked as he stopped in front of me. “I had to. You were gonna hurt your wrists. I couldn’t have that.”

That wasn’t a reason to drug someone, but this man, beautiful as he was, had clearly gotten off his medication. I didn’t need to push. The others would come looking for him. My missing would be noticeable. Would he be charged with abducting me? I didn’t want that. The thought of him in prison—

No! Dammit, Capri. This man gagged you, took you against your will, then drugged you. And you are in a log cabin—albeit it a nice one, it seems.

“Once you were asleep, I was able to untie your wrists, lean your seat back, and make sure you were comfortable.”

How considerate. I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Where are we?” I asked him.

“The mountains.”

“Blue Ridge?” I needed him to be more specific. If I could get outside and take off running, I had to have an idea of where I was.

“Smoky.”

How far had he taken me?

“You need to eat. It’s been eight hours,” he told me, reaching down and picking up my hand.

He held it in his as he began to inspect my wrists. They weren’t marked much. There was one small area that seemed red. I watched his expression as he ran his thumb over that spot. He really did seem unhappy about it. He could tie me up and drug me, but he didn’t want to hurt me. It was so odd. All of this.

“Why me?” I blurted out.

He had sex with countless women. Why had he chosen me to haul off to his cabin in the mountains? Was it because we hadn’t had sex? Was he needing to finish the deed with me before he could move on to someone else?

His eyes lifted from my wrist to meet my gaze. “You need me.”

I blinked, staring at him, trying to figure out how he thought that was the case. I hadn’t ever needed him, except when he was doing wonderful things with his head between my legs. Sure, I wanted him. Most women did even if they wouldn’t admit it. He was that dark, mysterious, possibly dangerous man that made your pulse quicken with just one glance. It was like … like Elena when she looked at Damon the first time on The Vampire Diaries. She knew all the bad, but she still felt something.

But this was not a hundred-seventy-something-year-old vampire. This was the real world, and Thatcher was truly not okay. Anyone who abducted a person was not mentally well. That meant he could hurt me. Just because he was worried about my wrists didn’t mean, at any moment, he couldn’t snap and … and do something bad to me.

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