God of Monsters (Juniper Unraveling Book 4)

by Keri Lake

  “I don’t know much about them, either. We’ve only heard that they’re wild. Unpredictable. And turned on their masters.”

  “No need to fret over that. I’m sure you can attest that with a nurturing hand comes trust.”

  “Yes, I can. Perhaps you might consider cots for their cells. I’m sure the concrete gets very uncomfortable.”

  “Perhaps I will, my compassionate little Dove.”

  By the time I leave this place, assuming I make it out of here alive, I’m going to burn that godawful nickname right out of my skull.

  “Come on, I’d like you to take a walk with me before breakfast.” Climbing to his feet, he clutches the bird with one hand, and it squawks as he seems to press its bandage.

  “Oops,” he says, and my muscles burn with the urge to sock him in his jaw.

  “I can return her to her bed.”

  “No. I like having something to pet. It’s calming. And I’m sure she could use a bit of fresh air. These cells tend to be damp and stuffy.”

  He leads us out of the cell toward the back of the prison, where I’ve not yet ventured. Beyond a door there stands a courtyard that must’ve been a visiting area at one time, given the high fence around it and benches beneath trees. In the clearing, a massive figure stretches in the sunlight, tipping his head back, as if to drink it in. The wide expanse of his muscled back shifts and flexes, and I notice his shackles have been removed. At the sight of him, that stupid fluttery sensation kicks up again, and I clear my throat of the tickle in my chest.

  Beyond him, two guards, Tom being one of them, halfheartedly hold their guns as if they aren’t worried by the Alpha who could snap their necks like a dandelion.

  I’m told that’s how my father was killed.

  When Jack brought the offending Alpha, believed to be the last in existence, back to Szolen, my mother, brother, and I were given the opportunity to stare my father’s murderer in the eye and determine his fate. My mother, always the good Christian, decided to spare his life in exchange for a lifetime of imprisonment, and so they kept him in an underground tank where he would never see sunlight again. Personally, I’d have chosen to have him killed, but I suppose he suffers more for his crimes now than a quick death could ever offer.

  My father always called them soulless creatures who lack empathy and emotions. Human machines engineered to kill on command. His stories of hunting them on the Deadlands always made me fearful of the beasts, and had I known they still roamed about, I might’ve taken more caution around Titus. Even in chains.

  But my father also spoke of the gypsies that way, too. Savages he believed were fortunate for the opportunity to live in a community like Szolen. I loved my father dearly, but even he wasn’t immune to the ignorance that plagued my childhood, as I learned when I befriended a number of gypsies and found them to be intelligent, caring people. Yes, there were bad apples in the bunch, just like in any group of individuals, and maybe that was the case with the Alpha who killed my father. Maybe he was the bad apple.

  Jack told me the few unaccounted for Alphas had fled east, and all others in the area were captured as prisoners, or killed on the spot. I’ve no doubt Remus is telling the truth about Titus, though, based on what I witnessed in the arena. He’s an Alpha.

  The same breed that murdered my father and countless other Legion.

  But are all of them heartless killing machines?

  As we pass, Titus turns to the side, his square jaw shifting, as if he’s contemplating attack right now. I hate that the first thing I notice is how the sunlight shimmers over his skin, emphasizing the ridges and valleys of his carved body.

  Past him, Will sits hunched over on one of the benches, looking smaller, more frail than I remember. Or maybe it’s just by comparison he appears that way. Starvation has taken its toll, evident in the gaunt narrowing of his face and bones sticking out where there used to be muscle.

  Keeping his head low, Will doesn’t acknowledge me, as Remus leads me to the opposite side of the courtyard, toward a doorway for another, much smaller building.

  “Did I ever tell you what happened to the last one who was in your place?”

  “No.” I wonder if I’m about to find out, though.

  “From Szolen, too. Not a Daughter, though. Nowhere near as pure as you, but an outcast. Feisty as they come. A redhead, you know. I prefer blondes, but it’s not as if I have much to choose from out here.”

  The past tense he uses gives me the impression she’s dead. “She was from Szolen? My age, then?”

  “About, yes. We found her hiding out in a hive, where we attempted to secure trade. She, apparently, escaped her transport to the convent.”

  How unfortunate for her. I’m guessing she might’ve fared best in a hive. I hear they’re mostly families, who aren’t known for taking in wanderers, but maybe her being female offered some advantage.

  “Does the name Lindsay James ring a bell?”

  The sound of her name sends tendrils of ice down my spine. Mother Chilson first spoke of her on the day I was to be sentenced for clocking Father Parsons. Lindsay James is a name thrown around the church, as an example of what happens to properly reformed girls. The story was, she seduced one of the married Legion officers, much like Gwen, and after months in the convent, she was granted her freedom to return to Szolen. According to Mother Chilson, she declined, and decided to pursue her religious vows to become a nun. I can still see the pride beaming in Mother Chilson’s eyes as she spoke of the girl.

  “What happened to her?”

  He steps away from the door behind him, and I hesitate at first, shooting him a confused glance, before stepping forward. Through the small barred window, I find an empty room.

  Frowning, I shake my head. “I don’t see anything.”

  He lurches forward, making me step aside, and he peers through the window. “Oh. Right. That’s why I brought bait.”

  The moment his words reach my ears, my eyes dart to the bird in his hand, but before I can stop him, he shoves the small wren through the metal bars of the window.

  Heart pounding in my chest, I dash toward the door and find my wounded bird hopping around the concrete. “Open the door. Please, now.”

  “I don’t think you want me to do that.” A breath later, a figure crawls out from somewhere below, where it must’ve been tucked against the wall closest to us. On hands and knees, a bony form stalks after the bird that hops to get away.

  “No! Leave her alone!”

  When the figure twists toward me, I notice her eyes are bloodshot, pupils dilated to look like the gaze of a demon. The same eyes I stared at back at the cave, with the Rager looming over me. She hisses and clicks before turning her attention back on the bird, which continues to hop away for its life. In one quick move, she snatches it up, teeth tearing away at its wings, while the bird squawks and struggles. Horror seizes my breath, watching the female Rager consume the helpless bird, and I don’t realize how tightly I’m clutching the bars in the window, until the burn hits my knuckles. In spite of my aching heart that prods me to turn around and attack him for his brutality, my head warns me to swallow back that rage. Choke it down. This isn’t a man who forgives, and showing any emotion might further incite his cruelty.

  It’s when the figure plops back onto her bottom that I notice the bulging belly sticking out.

  “She’s … pregnant?”

  “Oh, it’s not mine.” Remus chuckles, crossing his arms. “It’s my uncle’s child. I believe you met him down in solitary.”

  “Your uncle?”

  “He was bitten a long time ago. We sort of commandeered this place from him. He was warden here when the world went to shit. As I understand, he set the prisoners free and made this place his own fortress against the Ragers. My sister and I didn’t have the heart to kill him off after he was bitten by one.”

  The more he talks, the more questions he stirs.

  “Your sister?”

  “Agatha.”

  What th
e hell.

  Tightening my jaw is a poor attempt to school my face while he seems to be watching for my reaction. “So, you …. You gave Lindsay to your uncle?”

  “Agatha did this. She stuck her in the cell with him, and he just went wild. Breeding her for days on end.” For the briefest moment, there’s a flicker of sadness in his eyes, as if he himself didn’t want this for the woman. “My siblings and I … we had a very volatile life as children.”

  “Siblings?”

  “I had an older brother. He’s dead now.” It takes a minute before he smirks and looks past me, toward the door where we came in, as if checking to make sure no one is there. The move urges me to look, as well, but I don’t. “Which, I guess, means my father is dead, too.”

  “I’m not …. I’m not following.”

  Instead of answering, he stares off for a moment, rubbing his hands together, as though hesitant to tell me more. “It was my brother who raped my mother. And thus, my sister and I were born.”

  Of all the seriously messed up things I’ve witnessed in this world, Remus has to be the worst.

  “And your mother? What happened to her?” I don’t know what compels me to ask the question. Perhaps some miniscule hope that Remus wasn’t always this way. That maybe there’s a sliver of humanity left in him.

  Yet, his eyes seem to darken with the question, like I’ve opened a box I shouldn’t have. “She was murdered.” The cold emptiness in his expression keeps me from asking any more about her. Seconds later, his eyes soften again, and it’s uncanny the way this man goes from one emotion to the next, as if his brain is one massive switchboard. “But then we were taken in by a new mother who was a kind and caring woman. She took the time to read us Bible verses. To educate us on Jesus and the apostles. She was a very rigid woman, with all kinds of expectations.”

  “It must’ve been a very … interesting childhood for you and your sister.”

  “Agatha is very protective of me. She always has been. We take care of each other. So, my advice to you is, don’t piss her off. Or me, for that matter. There is a cage for everyone. Some more hellish than others.” When he turns to face me, the glint of misery flips like a switch, and his lips stretch into an unnerving smile. “May I see your back?”

  Frowning, I consider his request for a moment, perhaps for longer than he prefers because his brows wing up, and turn around.

  The fabric catches on the edges of the wounds, as he lifts my shirt, and I bite my lip to reel in the agony of it.

  He lets out a sharp breath and draws his fingertips down the edges of my back. “So beautiful. The patterns of suffering are magnificent. Tell me, do they hurt?”

  I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much. “Only a little.”

  “They’ll heal quickly, and then we can add new lines and angles. Perhaps a bit of texture, as well.” The wet kiss he plants to my spine leaves me tightening my lips together to keep from showing my disgust, and the shirt drags across the wounds once more as he lowers the fabric. “Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

  I give one more glance toward Lindsay, who sits in the middle of her dark, damp cell, polishing off the last of the bird, before I follow after him.

  Once out of the building, we find ourselves back in the courtyard, where Titus and Will seem to be in a face off. Shirtless, with the shackles still attached to his wrists, Titus flexes his hands into tight fists. Across from him, Will takes a more defensive stance, his shoulders bunched, and a shovel propped in his hands.

  “What’s going on here?”

  “Practice.”

  “For what?”

  “We’re running low on supplies, which means Titus will need to fight soon. He could use the exercise.”

  His answer sends a bolt of panic that seizes my muscles. “He’ll kill him. Titus annihilated a mutation with his bare hands.”

  “Yes, well, such tragedies are a risk during practice sessions. We consider that a success, really.”

  The guard at the opposite side of the courtyard takes a sip from his canteen, before yelling, “Begin!”

  My heart leaps up into my throat, watching Will break into motion. He looks like a child standing before a monster, and at the first swing of his shovel, I bring my hands to my mouth as if to cap the scream. With effortless and agile grace, Titus dodges, and momentum sends Will tumbling forward, but he quickly regains his footing. Once straightened, he swings again, dancing around Titus like an insignificant planet circling the massive sun. The Alpha doesn’t move, doesn’t twitch in the slightest. He watches and waits, like a predator holding out for the exhaustion of his prey.

  “What is the point of this? You know Titus can fight well.”

  “Sitting in a cell all hours of the day can have a drastic effect on reflexes. Sunlight and a little exercise does wonders. That, and it provides entertainment for the guards.”

  “He’s Legion, though. He’s a valuable hostage.”

  Remus snorts, crossing his arms. “You Szolen people amuse me. For you, value is based on title, stature. Out here? Value is based on what you can provide. Perhaps you’re unaware that Legion are loathed by everyone this side of the wall. An Alpha can defend and fight and raid.”

  I want to believe, from what few interactions I’ve had with Titus, that he isn’t capable of hurting Will, but the moment he takes hold of the shovel’s business end and shoves the blunt pole into Will’s stomach, I know he intends to fight back.

  Will skids across the ground on his back, his face screwed up into a grimace. He scrambles for the fallen shovel, but not before Titus swipes it up. As the Alpha raises the object over his head, his intentions are clear.

  “Stop!” The scream rips through my chest, and I hustle across the courtyard.

  Shovel still raised for the kill, Titus pauses, and I slide between him and Will.

  “I won’t let you do this.” Adrenaline pounds through my veins, my whole body trembling, as I wait for the Alpha to thrust that shovel into my chest.

  “Thalia, what are you doing?” Will says behind me, but a hard elbow to the chest shuts him up.

  Eyes locked with Titus, I silently challenge him to strike me.

  He doesn’t move.

  “Titus,” Remus says, casually strolling up from behind, but keeping his distance, as well. “That’s enough exercise for today.”

  Jaw tight, the Alpha continues to stare down at me, his golden eyes twitching, and my muscles brace for the impact of that metal slamming into them with brute force. He lowers the shovel and tosses it off to the side, setting my stomach at ease.

  I was wrong. Dead wrong.

  If given the chance, I’m certain he would’ve killed Will.

  Chapter 17

  I slide the bread I tucked away from earlier through the window of the cell, and Will practically snatches it out of my hands, moaning as he bites into it. “You’re a fool to take on an Alpha. Don’t you remember the stories?” A quick, unmet glare toward the other cell is all I can do to keep from wanting to stab the Alpha myself.

  “I remember,” Will says around a mouthful of bread. “I didn’t have a choice. It was that, or the whip.”

  “You would’ve survived the whip, idiot.”

  Bending over, he coughs, and the wet, barky sound isn’t good. In fact, it almost sounds like a bout of pneumonia, and the pallor of his skin is concerning. “Who says I wanted to survive?”

  “Shut up. Don’t say that.” I lean in and lower my voice. “I’m still working on getting you out of here, okay?”

  “There is no getting out, Thalia. Everyone who’s tried has been hunted.”

  “So, I should give up? Stay here, and live the rest of our lives trapped in this hellhole? What the hell is wrong with you, Will?”

  “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not mad. Not at you.”

  The hard clank of a door steels my muscles, and I snap my gaze toward Tom’s guard post.

  “I have to go.” Before
I can exit, Tom plows through the door with a look of distress, and my heart triple pounds against my ribs.

  “It’s Agatha.” He unlocks the door to Titus’s cell and swings it open. “You need to busy yourself, or she will have my ass.” With a hard shove against my back, he pushes me into the cell, and I nearly tumble onto the floor. “Listen to me, you can’t be visiting the other prisoner. They get wise? It won’t be good.”

  The moment he exits, Agatha’s voice calls out to him like blades scraping over my eardrum.

  I scoop some water from the bucket, and kneel on the floor beside Titus, offering it to him. After a moment of hesitation, he accepts the proffered drink, and with unsteady hands, I run my fingers over one of his bandages, catching the hard flex of his shoulder.

  Agatha sweeps past the open door, staring down at me with a smirk as she passes.

  Toward Will’s cell.

  Frowning, I pause to listen to her soft cooing. The click of the lock. Sounds of Will’s protest.

  Is she hurting him?

  Moans and feminine giggles.

  “No! Stop! Please!” Will’s voice is hoarse and carries the weight of exhaustion. “Don’t do this!”

  How could she possibly single-handedly subdue him? He isn’t shackled to the wall like Titus. I didn’t notice a weapon on her.

  I lurch toward the door, but pause at a hard grip on my arm. Panic twists my guts inside out, when I look down to find Titus’s fingers curled around my wrist. Only this time, there’s no fluttering of my stomach. I’ve seen murder in this man’s eyes, and I have no doubt what he’s capable of now. Lifting my gaze to his, I open my mouth to protest, and he gives a silent shake of his head, his eyes darkening with warning.

  Every cell in my body quivers with fear, and I wonder if he’ll crack my bones in half. If he’s angry about earlier, when I interrupted his kill.