Ritual Sins by Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online Page B

murky, filled with a pungent smoke that ripped at her sore throat. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was, or what had happened.
    The faint flute music that drifted from a distance was her first clue, though she was certain she’d never heard it before. She was in New Mexico. Land of enchantment, though the retreat center at Santa Dolores was leaving her far from enchanted.
    She gradually realized she was lying on the floor, on some thin pallet in a dark, cavernous room. The flute music was coming from somewhere in the distance, the pungent smoke surrounded her. Her clothes were loose, comfortable, and she didn’t have to look to know that Luke had eventually gotten his way. She was wearing one of their damned sets of pajamas.
    She tried to lift her head, but the pain was so intense she let it sink back to the pallet with a groan. She could remember Angel now, the ill-named creature who’d tried to kill her, her strong hands around her throat, choking her, as she smashed her head against the hardwood floor.
    Stupid, stupid, stupid
, she berated herself. She’d come away with nothing but a bruised andbattered body and a crazy woman’s ravings. A pack of lies. Much as Rachel wanted to believe the worst of Luke Bardell and his followers, on reflection the notion of wholesale murder was far too melodramatic. There were easier ways to extort money from gullible people—con men and evangelists had known that over the centuries. They didn’t have to resort to anything as messy as murder.
    Rachel shifted, biting back the instinctive cry of pain. Lying on the floor wasn’t her idea of comfort, and the incense-filled darkness felt more threatening than soothing. Even the knowledge that she was alone, to lick her wounds and mend, was little comfort … especially as she suddenly realized she wasn’t alone at all.
    She turned her head, slowly, carefully, the throbbing intensifying. In the misty darkness she could see him, sitting cross-legged, his hands upturned, resting on his knees, his eyes closed, his face serene. He looked like a lean, benevolent Buddha, though Rachel had no illusions. That meditative grace was purely for show. And she was far from an appreciative audience.
    “We don’t believe in the concept of sin.” His voice was soft, deep, and his eyes didn’t open.
    “Convenient,” she tried to say, but her voice was no more than a strangled gasp of air.
    He opened his eyes and smiled at her withannoying benevolence. “Very convenient,” he agreed, though there was no way he could have understood her word. “It’s an antiquated Judeo-Christian concept used to engender guilt and obedience.”
    He turned his hands flat, stretching out his long legs. “I’m not particularly interested in obedience from my followers. Which is fortunate, since I imagine obedience is the last thing I’ll get from you. And I know you’re not a follower,” he added, before she could wreck her throat with a protest. “Not yet.”
    She sat up at that one, trying to speak, but her throat was so raw it brought wicked tears to her eyes. He watched her, unmoved.
    “We believe in character defects instead of sin. Flaws that we try to mend, or accept if there’s no changing them. You already know one of your major defects is pride. You were so certain you could control Angel, that you were right and the caregivers were wrong.
    “Fortunately one of my flaws is a dislike of being kept waiting. Which worked out well for you, since I had someone go in search of you when you didn’t arrive for your five o’clock training session. Otherwise I imagine Angel would have smashed in the back of your skull before too much longer.” He sounded completely unmoved by the prospect.
    “That would have solved your problems.” At least that was what she tried to say. What came out was a harsh mumble.
    “You might as well not bother,” he murmured. “You’ll just aggravate the damage, and no one can understand you anyway.”
    You