Templars in America Series 10 Watchtower of Turtle Island by David S. Brody

Author:David S. Brody [Brody, David S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Eyes That See Publishing
Published: 2020-06-12T05:00:00+00:00

Lloyd awoke on a dirt floor in a dark room. Immediately a feeling of dread coursed through him. No. Please God, no. But even before he had opened his eyes, he knew it had not been a dream.

He fought to control his breathing, to push back the panic which threatened to paralyze him. Use your senses, figure it out. He couldn’t see much, but the sound of an old furnace churned a few yards away, filling the room with the smell of oil. Actually, that was not the only smell. He crinkled his nose and rolled off his backside. He had soiled himself while unconscious.

He had no idea how long he had been out, though he had the sense that nightfall had arrived. The furnace kicking on seemed to confirm that—no reason for daytime heat this time of year, even on a cool day. At least his hands and legs were no longer bound. He reached for his phone, realized it had been taken, then continued his arm movement into a self-hug to try to stop himself from shivering. Not that it was the least bit cold here next to the furnace.

A warehouse with a basement and thick walls. Just as he had feared. He didn’t even bother to look for a way to escape. What was he going to do, break down the door? He couldn’t even do a chin up. The priestess had called him an alpha male. Ha! He was anything but.

But why had she called him that? And what was that she had said about displacing the priest? Was that why they had abducted him? Was it because of his bloodline, his relationship to Aleister? Ugh. If so, who knew what kind of depravations they had in mind. But if they had some kind of plan for him, however sick it might be, at least that meant they needed to keep him alive.

A spark of hope surged through him. Cheryl knew where he was. At some point, she’d get worried and come looking. Maybe even call the police.

As if God had answered his prayers, he heard her voice—Cheryl’s voice!—from the other side of the door. “Lloyd? Can you hear me?”

He rolled to his knees, a wave of relief washing over him. “Yes. I’m here. Locked inside. How did you find me?”

A key scratched its way into a lock and the door opened. Cheryl appeared, backlit like an angel from the light in the hallway.

“Cheryl!” Lloyd stood and strode toward her. “Are you alone? Thank God you’re here.”

She took a step back, an odd look on her face. “Don’t touch me. It’s not allowed.”

“What do you mean, not allowed?” And why was she wearing one of those white robes?

“Just what I said. No one can touch you. We are saving you for the hieros gamos.”

He had heard that term before. “Wait, sacred sex? What are you talking about?” He looked at her, replaying the conversation in his mind. “And why did you say we?”

Cheryl turned and began to walk away, her robe billowing.

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