“We don’t have time for this!” Bryce hissed.
“Shut up and listen.”
There was the non-sound again…a repeating wave of air pressure thrumming against his skin. It was everywhere—in the rocks, on the air he breathed, covering his bones like a compression bandage, making his teeth itch from the inside out. It was a hundred times stronger than it’d been in his cell, and he couldn’t pinpoint the source.
“Do you hear that?”
“I hear it,” Helena said.
“Let’s go,” Bryce pushed, undeterred.
It got worse when they stepped into the tunnel. Pounding pressure inside his brain, driving him crazy, distracting him into falling several paces behind Bryce and he almost lost him at an intersection.
“Bryce, goddammit, slow down!”
He didn’t. Whatever he’d picked up on, he was following after it as if nothing else existed. Christ, for Bryce’s sake, Aiden hoped it was Sinna.
Helena came up to him, her armor scraping the wall where the tunnel narrowed. “How sane is he right now?”
“Says the girl wearing metal armor and a rocket launcher.”
“He could be leading us into a trap,” she insisted.
Yeah, the thought had crossed Aiden’s mind, too. “Like it or not, he’s our best bet for finding Sinna.”
She harrumphed, and fell back to single-file. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
A few steps ahead, Bryce slowed to a stop.
Aiden signaled for silence and crept up to see what Bryce was looking at. His jaw went slack. The tunnel was a dead end. Not a wall of rock, but a sheer drop-off into a massive cave at least eighty yards below them. From so far up, the cavern looked like it was moving. And it was—with so many converts Aiden couldn’t count them all.
“Fuck me,” Helena breathed, looking over his shoulder.
“Hard and sideways,” Aiden agreed. They’d seriously underestimated the situation, though looking at Bryce, you’d never have known it made a difference. To him, it didn’t. He was after Sinna. That was all he cared about.
If Bryce went off, he’d leave Aiden and Helena in the dust, and Aiden would have to compensate, adjust their strategy. Which was kind of tough, considering they didn’t really have one.
“What is that down there?”
Aiden followed the direction of Helena’s pointing finger. A thin shaft of light came from a hole in the domed ceiling. No way of telling how thick that ceiling layer was; a small tremor could cause it to crumble. But the light filtering down made bubbling pools of black liquid glisten at the bottom. Converts crowded around them, smeared it on themselves.
“Tar pits,” Bryce said.
“Tar’s flammable, right? And this is the perfect vantage point. I think it’s time for the fat lady to sing. Whaddaya say, boys?”
Aiden scanned the horde for a break in the sea of gray. The converts hadn’t scented intruders yet. Not with the thick fumes and the three of them coated in so much convert gore, they might as well have been wearing camouflage. “I don’t see her,” he said to Bryce. “Do you?”
In answer, Bryce turned his back on the cave and doubled back to the last intersection.
“I guess that’s a no on the fat lady, then,” Helena muttered.
This time, they turned into a winding tunnel so small and narrow, Aiden had to duck his head and turn sideways just to get through. At one point, he got stuck so bad he thought he’d die in there. With a hard shove, Helena pried him loose and shimmied through after him simply by sucking in her stomach. Small, the girl was definitely not, so how the hell did she do that? “We have a belly dancer back home,” she explained. “I can bounce a quarter off of my abs, and hypnotize a battalion with belly waves. Wanna see?” She was already reaching for the hem of her shirt to show him.
Aiden shook his head. “You’re a few cards short of a full deck, aren’t you?”
Helena tucked in her shirt, grinning wildly. “Maybe, but I make up for it with awesome.” And with her free hand, she put up rock horns, sticking her tongue out as far as it would go.
“I am so going to need therapy after this.”
“Aiden,” Bryce called.
He’d found another dead end—a rock wall this time—but the non-noise was stronger here. Bryce had his hand on the boulder, brows drawn in concentration. When they caught up, he beckoned Aiden closer to feel for himself.
The rock vibrated. Whatever was producing that sound had to be just on the other side. Aiden traced the boulder’s contours to its very edge and felt a crevice. It was loose, striking the walls of the tunnel with each shiver, translating the tremor through to the ground.
“Step back, weirdo.” Aiden handed Helena his sword, and he took hold of one side of the boulder, while Bryce grabbed the other. Together, they rocked it back and forth, until it gave a little. The tunnel was too narrow to slide it completely out, but they had just enough leeway to topple it. “Get ready,” he warned. “Whatever’s on the other side is probably not going to be pretty.”
Bryce nodded the count. One…two…three. They heaved, and the heavy boulder fell over into the tunnel. Bryce rushed out first, but stopped just over the boulder, making Aiden slam into him.
“Fuck, what now?”
A low ringing started in his ears; not a sound, but his brain’s reaction to the overwhelming tide of non-noise. His eardrums felt like they’d rupture, and he couldn’t open his eyes more than half-mast. The pounding pressure intensified, doubled him over until his stomach turned, but he swallowed back the nausea, forced himself to stand up straight and look ahead.
Torches flickered on the floor around the cave’s perimeter, illuminating twelve pods shaped like bathtubs that circled the chamber at not-quite-even intervals. They were rough, convert-made out of some material Aiden couldn’t identify. It looked almost like beeswax, but translucent, each one filled with some kind of liquid. Inside each bath sat a female convert, facing the wall, eyes closed. They rocked back and forth, throats working to make a perfectly synchronized sound, and they rotated in shifts, so eight were always doing whatever they were doing, while four rested.
Four little convert girls tended to them, seemingly oblivious to the noise. Deaf would have been Aiden’s guess, which would explain why they hadn’t heard the rock give way. With their backs to the tunnel, they were unaware anything had happened yet.
Aiden spotted movement across the cavern and swore, tugging Bryce back into the tunnel. A male convert shuffled forward, head bowed as if he didn’t want to look at the pods. He approached the very edge of the chamber, toes lining up with the end of the tunnel, but no farther. Then he opened his arms and dropped an armload of meat to the ground before he turned right around and shuffled away.
The little girls scurried to take up the small pieces, dried of blood, by the handful. Each ate exactly one piece and took the rest to the pod people. They fed the females by hand without looking at them, heads down, just like the male.
All except one.
The smallest girl was also the most unsteady. She kept lifting her head to find her balance, and on one of those times, she happened to look up at the exposed tunnel. Her hand froze halfway to a female’s mouth. Her big eyes blinked at the hole in the wall and the Wolfen trio crouched inside.
Oh, no. Aiden shook his head, held up a hand to soothe her. No, no, no—
She gasped, then let out an ear-piercing squeal that rippled the pod liquid with tiny waves.
The alarm had been sounded.
They were fucked.
62: Sinna
The male—her “intended”—let loose a mighty roar that echoed down the tunnels.
Sinna couldn’t feel her face. Her feet were rooted to the spot. They wanted to breed her! And they told her up front, like it was some great honor to have that…thing rut over her. To grow his mutant child inside her—and, what?—let it chew its way out of her body?
Get out! Get out right this second! Doesn’t matter if they
chase you, catch you, eat you; it’s better than the alternative. Run!
She couldn’t. Not with Granny Gray watching her with that creepy, messed-up smile, and her son—her son!—roaring to the ceiling. He was tall and lanky, on the cusp of adulthood, but not quite there yet. Granny reacted to his carrying on with something that might have passed for a defeated sigh. He clearly wasn’t her first choice to sire any descendants, but he was her son.
The male climbed the wall, and howl-roared again.
The hive swelled with noise, and the male hopped back down onto the ledge to thump his chest, signing, King. He jerked his chin at Sinna, huffing and snorting. King, he repeated. Then, he lowered to his haunches and oh-so-slowly, watching her the entire time, climbed from the ledge into the cave. He was aroused by the time his feet touched the ground, and Sinna moaned her distress, edging away from him.
Granny Gray clucked. No fear. No die.
Was she being sarcastic?
Three ways in. One possible way out. Sinna darted left, and screamed when the king blocked her way. He chuffed, bobbing his chin in amusement. As if this was a game, and he wanted to play. He didn’t touch her—not yet. Sinna shifted right, but he was there again, too fast to outmaneuver. No, she couldn’t run from him; she’d never get away.
Granny Gray sat on her bed, watching and waiting for her son to get the show on the road. She gave Sinna an encouraging nod.
The king started forward, and Sinna flinched, tripped back a step. Her shoulders hit the wall, but she pushed away instantly. Can’t let him corner me.
He did it again, chuffing a laugh when she twitched and hunched her shoulders up.
On the third time, a high-pitched squeal from deep inside the hive stopped him in his tracks and brought Granny Gray to her feet. Sinna took the opening and went for the one weak spot she knew to exploit—she grabbed the king’s privates, dug her claws into the soft flesh, and twisted, yanking down.
The self-proclaimed king shrieked in agony, rearing away to escape Sinna’s clutches, but she held on, giving another merciless twist.
Granny Gray screeched and lunged, but Sinna was ready for her and dived out of the way, making a mad grab for the torch. Got it! Rolling to her knees, she swung the flaming thigh bone with all her might and blasted the old hag right across the face. Granny screamed and wailed, clutching her cheek. Some of the tar had come off on her skin and it was still burning.
Sinna attacked her again, beat her twice more over the head and back, until the old hag collapsed in a heap, still conscious, but helpless, burning, and not smart enough to figure out how to put it out.
But Granny wasn’t alone.
Recovered, the king roared and came after Sinna. Twice Granny’s size, three times Sinna’s strength, he knocked the torch out of her hands and pounced, shoving her to the ground.
Sinna crawled backwards, scrabbling for a bone, a rock—anything to use against him. He wasn’t smiling and chuffing anymore; this was no longer a game. She’d pissed off a convert, and he was going to get his due. He stalked her across the cave, ducked the rocks she threw at him. Quick as lightning, he snatched her by the ankle and gave a hard yank to bring her underneath him to pin her in place. Sinna screamed and clawed his face, and he snarled, snapped his fangs at her. He squeezed her throat tight, tighter. Sinna’s face grew hot, and she couldn’t take a breath. It was slow, methodical. The king knew his strength and didn’t want to damage her beyond repair. She might have taken down his mommy dearest, but he still wanted to breed her, and he needed her alive to do it.
Growing lightheaded.
Losing strength.
So. Very. Tired.
As her eyelids began to close, all Sinna could think was, At least I won’t feel it.
A screech fell from the ledge; one with mass and claws. It landed hard on the king, slashing at him, biting into his shoulder and jerking its head to tear off chunks of flesh. With a howl, the king released Sinna, and she sucked in a hard breath, fighting against a powerful wave of dizziness. The king twisted and spun, grabbing for the feral thing attached to his back, but the boy was clever, and he was fast.
When the king slammed him against the wall, the boy scampered over to Granny still moaning and twitching on the ground. He hissed at the king, took up the torch, and broke it in half. When the king charged him, the boy ducked low and rammed the bottom half of the bone into his midsection. Both went down, and somehow the boy ended up on top. He yanked the bone fragment out and, screaming like a wild thing, brought it down on the king, over and over again, until the male’s chest cavity was utterly destroyed.
But the king was still breathing. Or trying to—his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
So the boy slammed the crude weapon down one last time—onto the king’s head.
Finally, the male lay still. Breathing hard, the boy turned to Sinna, who pushed to her feet along the wall. The hive was buzzing with agitation, but whatever had riled them up was somewhere else. With the king dead and Granny Gray as good as, Sinna’s only obstacle was a boy-child convert.
Who’d quite possibly just saved her life.
What the hell was she supposed to do with that?
The boy looked from her, to the hive tunnel behind her, then back to her. He huffed and pranced, left to right, bouncing on his toes; he lunged and she jerked away. At once, he stopped. With a low whine, he backed up and lowered to his haunches, ducking his head; a submissive pose, nonthreatening. Then he glanced up through the fall of his hair, big, gleaming eyes seeking her out before he ducked down again.
A slow, creeping shift forward. Check her reaction. Another shift. Another check. As he edged in closer, he raised a hand to her, palm down and knuckles loosely curled, reminding Sinna of a picture she’d seen long ago: a gorilla asking for acceptance into the group from the silverback male.
His hand was covered in the king’s blood, evidence of how ruthless a killer he could be if he set his mind to it. Sinna didn’t trust the innocent act. She eyed the tunnel behind him instead. If she could get around him, she could still make it. But he was smaller, and very fast; he could easily scurry through that hole in the ground, and running might provoke him.
Five feet away, he stopped and waited, but he was agitated, glancing repeatedly at the tunnel behind her. Something had spooked him.
The torch was going out. Without it, it would be pitch-black in here. Sinna’s night vision might be good, but it wasn’t as keen as the converts’. They lived in this darkness all their lives. She couldn’t afford to lose that light, and she couldn’t afford to let a weapon slip through her fingers.
The boy whined again—an urgent, pleading sound. Eyes to the tunnel, back to her. That bloody hand still outstretched, waiting.
She could kill him. He’d only brought down the king because of the element of surprise, but he wouldn’t get a drop like that on her. She could get the torch back, or even a rock. As strong as he was, he was still fragile in his child’s body.
But he’d saved her life. She’d never have been able to escape the king without him, and her heart balked at repaying him with a bone fragment in the back.
Goddamned sentiment.
What other choice did she have?
His earnest eyes gazed up at her, and he skewed his mouth into that creepy smile as if to say, “Look how cute I am. You can trust me.”
Head said: kill it with a rock. Heart said: trust. The heart won. Sinna huffed, annoyed at her own gullibility, and slowly raised her hand to touch her knuckles to his.
He chirped and grabbed her wrist, shoving to his feet so fast, Sinna gasped when he almost yanked her off balance. He snatched up the torch and ran for the back tunnel, dragging her in after him.
Sinna turned her back on the queen mother and her degenerate son, and squeezed through an opening just large enough to allow Granny and this boy-child through, taking a risk that he was leading her to safety and not to slaughter.
Then the underworld shuddered w
ith a massive boom of thunder.
63: Bryce
Bryce lunged for the girl and snapped her neck, instantly silencing her cry. But it was too late. The other three had seen him, and they all reacted the same way. Aiden and Helena took them out fast, shouted retreat, and ran back into the tunnel, but Bryce stopped at the edge of the boulder. The females hadn’t changed position. They must have smelled the blood, heard the cries, but they were still at their task as if none of it had happened. And that whump-whump-whump still beat out a steady rhythm through his blood, the same way it had in Randy’s bunker. He had a name for it now.
It was a call to gather—one that traveled through the earth itself, reached far and wide to any convert within range. They’d keep coming to answer the call. They’d come from all corners like moths to a flame. And they’d change, like the ones already here had. In numbers, they’d learn from each other, get smarter, stronger.
They’d take over.
He had to stop it.
Eight females humming their siren call.
Bryce drew his machete.
Footsteps came fast down the other tunnel.
Better make it quick, then.
He swung, and a head fell.
Sensing a void, one of the four sleeping females raised up to join the seven and make them eight. He cut her down. And the next, and the third, and finally the fourth. Seven sirens left, but they sensed something was wrong. One stopped her song to screech at the ceiling. Bryce cut off her head. Converts poured into the chamber, but they bottlenecked, blocking the tunnel, and Aiden and Helena made sure it stayed blocked.
When the last siren’s head fell, silence swallowed the cave despite the angry snarls of a monster stampede. The call was no more.
Not enough. If they’d put all this together once, they’d do it again; the hive was too sweet a spot for converts to give up.
“Get out! Go!”
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