Taking Back Sunday Read Online Free PDF Page A

struggling loosened her bonds. When her body jerked, the iron bands cut into her flesh. If Sunday could see from beneath the blindfold, she would see the blood oozing from her wounds. The more she squirmed, the more her body tore apart with pain. She wailed until her voice cracked and the sound turned into nothingness. The sandpaper lining of her throat burned as acid boiled up from her stomach. The spit that trickled onto her mouth stung in the cracks of her broken lips.
    At fourteen, Sunday was still embarrassed at the sight of her own naked body, yet she lay spread eagle as strangers examined her, touched her, cast chants upon her, and watched her suffer in the chamber. The more she fought the spellcasting, the more insistent it became. The chanting never stopped, even when she was certain that there was no one else in the room. There was no getting out from under the enchantment and no freeing herself from the bonds that immobilized her.
    Over the last few months, prophetic dreams revealed that the destiny of the Incarnate was upon her, but if she had known it would be like this , she would have fought every step of the way. No books she’d read or stories she’d been told could have prepared her for the savageness of this torture. Fate reigned supreme, however, and attempting to forge a different path for herself would have been catastrophic. Fighting wouldn’t have absolved her of Fate’s design.
    Dark magic wormed through the annals of her mind, erecting blockades and blacking out the pages of her mental diary. Sunday desperately fought to recover a lesson that could get her out of this, but the sorcery rapidly erased the steps. The faces of her family and friends, the titles of her favorite books, the way home from school, and the things she’d been taught about the Incarnate slowly faded. Tears streamed from beneath her blindfold.
    In Louisiana, Sunday had gone willingly with the men who claimed her, knowing that it was her destiny. As soon as she and her werewolf chauffeurs arrived in Seattle, one of them stabbed her with a needle, and she passed out. Sunday later awoke in the corner of a dark, dingy dungeon, like something straight out of a medieval horror. Stripped of her clothes, she gathered her knees to her chest and shivered in the shadows, unsure of where she was or what was happening to her.
    A pale, older woman came into the room, face tight and lips pursed. She was dressed in all black, and her hair was neatly gathered into a bun at the back of her head. Fingers laced, she held her hands to her belly and looked down her nose at Sunday.
    “Dear girl, fear not, for you are here to be purified,” the woman said. Her voice was nails on a chalkboard, and Sunday grabbed at her head and winced at the sound of it.
    She tried to speak, but her voice was hoarse and the words wouldn’t come out.
    “You have been hidden from my eyes, but destiny has guided me to you.” Her beady eyes shimmered like onyx in the fractured light that shone through the crack in the door. “This is the ritual of your great awakening, Incarnate.” A tight-lipped grin formed on her lined face, cartoonish in its cruelty. “I will leave you be, but I will see you again soon.”
    Hours after the woman had once again abandoned Sunday in the dungeon, her voice still whispered in the girl’s mind. Minute-by-minute, her thoughts became hazy, and her senses began to fail her. When the door finally opened again, two men donning red robes came in. Sunday tried to stand and run away, but she staggered and fell to her knees. Then, everything turned to darkness.
    Sunday’s eyes shot open, and she jolted upright in bed. Her body was covered in sweat, and her heart was racing. Gripping the sheets in a white-knuckled fist, she scanned the room frantically to make sure that it was only a dream.
    Curtains veiled the room from the early morning sun outside. When her eyes landed on the photo on the nightstand, she drew in a hard breath and slowly