The Devil's Pit

by Naomi Martin

  “Keep tryin’ it, asshole,” a man laughs. “You’re only gonna hurt yourself.”

  I turn my head to the man who is speaking and see the name patch on his plain black uniform. It says ‘Villa.’ I commit the name and the man’s face to my memory, silently vowing to myself that one day, I will find this man and I will kill him.

  He sees me looking at him and his eyes narrow as his face darkens. My head snaps to the side I feel the sharp sting of his backhand. It only hurts for a moment, though, as my rage consumes the pain. I glare at him, feeling a murderous light gleaming in my eyes.

  “Stop eyeballin’ me, kid. I don’t like monsters staring at me,” he says, then turns to his men. “Get him the hell out of here.”

  His men drag me out of the house, and I start to scream for my mother again. Then I see her, standing in the living room. She’s glaring at me, that expression of disgust I saw earlier back in place. She looks down her nose at me, sneering as they drag me past her and out of the house.

  As they push and pull me along, directing me toward a dark, unmarked armored truck, I hear my mother’s voice. It chases me across the lawn, her words drilling themselves into my mind.

  “You should do us all a favor and destroy that… thing!” she screams. “The world will be a safer place for it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Raven

  I brush the loose strands of red hair out of his face as I sit perched on the edge of his bed, watching him sleep. Elliot’s face is still swollen and misshapen, a collection of cuts and bruises. I thought washing away the blood would have helped but truthfully, he looks just as terrible. And it infuriates me. I want to lash out at Clint and make him pay for what he did.

  “Damn. He really got the shit kicked out of him, didn’t he?”

  My eyes narrowing, I turn to see Gray leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded over his chest.

  “Yeah, he did,” I snap. “Thanks to you.”

  His eyes widen in surprise. “What the hell did I do?”

  I’m on my feet and across the room so quick, it startles him. Gray takes a step backward, nearly stumbling over his own feet before he catches himself. He leans against the railing on the walkway outside the cell and tries to look casual.

  “You filled his head with the idea that he could fight,” I hiss. “You made him think—”

  “Hey, I didn’t fill his head with anything,” he counters. “I was just trying to show him how to defend himself.”

  “Didn’t work out, did it?”

  “Seriously? You’re gonna make this my fault?”

  “Whose fault is it?” I snap. “You know he’s not a fighter, but you went and filled his head with the idea that he could.”

  “Listen, babe—”

  The sudden, sharp crack of my open hand meeting his cheek draws the attention of the people down on the common room floor below. Gray wasn’t expecting it and his head is rocked to the side, his cheek turning a bright, angry red. He looks at me with a surprised but amused expression on his face.

  Frankly, I’m pretty surprised at myself and look at my hand in shock, like it had somehow struck out at him of its own accord. But then I lower my hand and raise my eyes to meet his, glaring intently at him.

  “I told you not to call me that again,” I growl.

  “So you did,” he chuckles.

  Deep down, I know it’s not Gray’s fault. And honestly, I’m shocked at my strong reaction. I mean, I haven’t even known Elliot a week. But the impulse inside of me to protect him is irrationally powerful and seeing him lying there, beaten and broken, fills me with a rage that’s deep and abiding. It makes me want to—no, need to—lash out. Even if it’s at Gray, a boy I feel just as irrationally protective of as I do Elliot.

  But as I look into his deep, soulful brown eyes, I know my anger is misplaced. This isn’t his fault. He tried to help Elliot. Gray only wanted Elliot to be able to defend himself against people like Clint.

  “Raven.”

  Elliot’s weak, raspy voice filters out of his room. I look from Gray to the doorway.

  “Saved by the bell.” Gray grins.

  I turn and dash back into the cell, dropping down on the edge of his bed as I take Elliot’s hand in mine. He looks so weak, his skin even paler than before, and he groans every time he moves. He’s obviously in agony, but what passes as medical staff here hates us so much, they’ve refused to give him any sort of pain medication. They said to let him suffer because it builds character. I would have killed them all right there on the spot if I could have.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask. “What can I get you, El?”

  He shakes his head, grimacing in pain with the effort. “It’s not Gray’s fault,” he says softly. “Don’t blame him for this.”

  “See?” Gray chuckles from the doorway. “Told you not to blame me.”

  Even in his weakened, battered state, Elliot is able to roll his eyes dramatically, which makes me laugh. Gray grabs the chair at Elliot’s desk and sets it next to the bed before he drops down into it.

  “What we need to talk about is how you used your power,” Gray states. “If I heard about it this quick, you can bet your sweet ass Dr. Fry and Dr. Keene have, too.”

  Elliot nods slightly. “No doubt.”

  I shake my head. “Who are they?”

  “The assholes that like to experiment on us,” Gray says, his voice hardening as his expression darkens. “They do some fucked up shit. Kill a lot of us.”

  “It’s true,” Elliot says. “This prison was built to house more than two thousand and yet we have, what a couple hundred?”

  “If that,” Gray confirms. “Used to be a whole lot more of us. A whole lot.”

  “And trust us, Raven, parole isn’t an option here,” adds Elliot. “So where are they all going?”

  “A giant pit somewhere,” Gray says.

  Elliot nods. “I’ve heard rumors about mass graves.”

  A moment of tense silence descends over us as I let their words sink in. And as I do, a cold, greasy feeling churns my belly and spreads outward, filling me with a sense of fear and dread that’s nearly overwhelming. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to stop myself from trembling at the thought of bodies piling up in mass graves.

  I look at the boys, eyes wide, wondering if that’s going to be my fate. I hadn’t meant to unleash my power. I didn’t know I could. And, actually, I felt a tremendous surge in my power I’d never felt before that I’ve been trying to figure out. It started when Elliot and Gray came into my life. It’s like they’ve somehow managed to level me up in strength.

  I haven’t mentioned it to either one of them yet, simply because I don’t understand it. It might all just be coincidence. The teacher my parents had found for me once told me that as we get older, our powers can sometimes increase. She said it’s rare and that for the most part, the power we come into when we come of age is the power we’ll have all our lives. But it has been known to happen.

  Something about it just feels different, though. Granted, my basis of comparison is practically non-existent, but to me, it feels like the boys are somehow responsible for this upsurge in my power. But because I don’t understand what’s happening to me, nor can I truly say I even understand my powers completely, it’s probably best to avoid speaking about it at all.

  So I turn my mind back to the situation at hand—and that’s the idea of these doctors killing people with abilities and throwing the bodies into mass graves.

  “Do you think that’s real?” I ask, my voice soft. “These mass graves?”

  “No, it’s a rumor. And a stupid one at that,” comes a voice from the doorway. “And if you believe it, you’re bigger morons than I thought.”

  We all turn to the door and I feel my breath catch in my throat. Zane is leaning against the wall just inside the cell, his vibrant blue eyes fixed on mine. The only word I can use to describe him is ethereal. And just looking at him does wholly inappropriate things to me.


  “Yeah?” Gray pipes up. “If not mass graves, then what?”

  Zane’s eyes flick to Gray. “Incineration,” he says. “They burn all the corpses.”

  “How do you know that?” Gray presses.

  Zane raises a long, slender finger and taps the side of his nose. “I can smell it,” he replies. “And you should be able to smell the burning bodies too, bear boy.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  A smirk quirks the corner of Zane’s mouth upward. “Shifters, like vampires, have heightened senses. Smell, sight, sound—everything is more vibrant,” he explains. “Apparently, he’s not very good at being a shifter.”

  “Fuck you, man,” Gray growls.

  Zane smiles again and I find myself suddenly fascinated by his full, red lips. I quickly tear my eyes away and clear my throat. Gray’s expression is sour, but he remains silent. I look at Elliot, who is staring at Zane with a strange light in his eyes. It looks as if he’s caught somewhere between awe and terror—which is something I can absolutely relate to.

  “What the fuck do you want here, anyway?” Gray finally grumbles.

  “I came to help.”

  “Help with what?” I ask.

  “Step aside,” he commands with a wave.

  Gray and I do as we’re told, crowding next to each other against the wall. We exchange a look of disbelief, neither of us seemingly able to understand why we jumped when Zane told us to. I turn back and watch the vampire perch on the edge of the bed I’d just vacated. He looks down at Elliot, and I feel a knot tighten in my belly, suddenly worried about what he’s doing.

  Zane is wearing a collar, like the rest of us, but I don’t know enough about vampire physiology to know what it restricts. They don’t draw on elemental power or shift into other forms—the things the collars we’re wearing prohibit. So, what do the collars to do vamps?

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  His intense blue gaze falls on me and I feel myself shrinking back against the wall. Zane holds his wrist out and deftly pulls a razor blade out of his—well, I didn’t see where. His movements are so fast and smooth, it’s like the razor just appeared out of thin air. His movements are so fluid, they’re dizzying to watch and leave me speechless. I cut a glance at Gray, who’s wearing an expression of surprise that must match the one I know is on my face.

  With a flick of his hand, a bright red line forms on Zane’s wrist. He moves it over Elliot’s face and the drops start to fall. I watch in fascination as crimson droplets splash upon his pale skin, others falling straight into his mouth. Zane grips his wrist and starts to squeeze, forcing the drops to rain down a bit faster. Elliot chokes and sputters, coughing as he swallows down Zane’s blood.

  “What are you doing to him?” I demand.

  Zane doesn’t say a word. Instead, he gets to his feet, and I watch—as if by magic—as the wound on his wrist vanishes. I gape at it for a moment, earning a chuckle from Zane.

  “Did you just turn him into a vamp?” asks Gray.

  “Hardly,” Zane replies.

  “Then what did you do?” I demand.

  Zane steps aside and both Gray and I watch as Elliot’s face begins to clear. The dark, purple bruises that had marred his face begin to vanish, just like the cut on Zane’s arm. Elliot looks over and smiles at us as he sits up without groaning or showing any hint of pain at all.

  “That-that’s amazing,” Elliot says as he moves his arms around. He turns his eyes to Zane. “Thank you. I feel… incredible.”

  “The euphoria will fade soon,” Zane says, then turns, his eyes pinning me to the wall. “The collar prohibits me from extending my fangs, thus preventing me from feeding naturally as well as exercise some of my other abilities. But my blood has retained its healing properties.”

  “Are you reading my mind?” I gasp.

  He quirks a grin at me. “No, that’s just one of the first questions newbies around here tend to ask. I thought I might beat you to the punch.”

  I laugh softly. “So, how do you feed?”

  He groans. “We are provided with a manufactured synthetic blood replacement,” he explains. “It fills the void, but it is hardly satisfying.”

  “Why did you heal me?” asks Elliot, his voice soft.

  Zane looks from him to me. “Because, for whatever reason, you are important to her,” he says. “Not to me, but to her. Personally, I would have let Clint beat you into oblivion.”

  “Gee, thanks?” Elliot says.

  I look at Zane, lifting my chin in defiance. “And why does Elliot being important to me matter to you?”

  “Because you’re important to me,” he replies, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

  I recoil slightly and look over at Gray, who looks every bit as confused as I feel. I turn my eyes back to Zane.

  “You don’t even know me,” I say. “Why in the hell would I be important to you?”

  He gives me a slight shrug and an enigmatic smile. “I’m not sure yet. But I know you are,” he says. “I can feel it.”

  We all stand—well, Elliot continues to lay on his bunk—in a deafening silence for several long moments. I have no idea what Zane meant but, in a way, I can understand it. As I stare into his electric blue eyes, I feel the same sort of pull and draw to him that I feel with both Gray and Elliot.

  Zane’s eyes find mine. “They’re coming.”

  I see Gray straining to listen and he nods. “I hear them, too.”

  “Who’s coming?” I ask.

  “Sherman and his men,” says Zane. “They’re coming to take you to Fry and Keene.”

  “I don’t want to go,” I reply.

  “You have no choice,” he says. “But you can choose what you show them. Do not show them the power you displayed in the yard. Don’t make an obvious target of yourself.”

  Gray nods along. “He’s right. The more power you show, the more tests they’ll run on you,” he says. “If you show them what you can do, you’ll be their lab rat.”

  “And we’ll never see you again,” Elliot adds.

  It’s then I finally hear the heavy tread of boots on the metal walkway outside the cells. My heart leaps into my throat and the knot in my belly constricts painfully. I swallow hard, feeling myself start to tremble.

  “Show no fear,” Zane urges.

  And then Sherman steps into the doorway of my cell. He looks at the boys, then at me, a flicker of a smirk touching his lips.

  “Didn’t know y’all was havin’ a party in here,” he sneers.

  “We did,” Elliot tells him. “And you weren’t on the guest list.”

  Sherman smirks as he looks at me. “I was told I’d find you here,” he says. “Let’s go. The doctors want to see you.”

  He reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling me along. When I cut a glance back at the boys, I see all of them looking back at me, various degrees of concern etched on their face. Except for Zane, of course. He just looks angry.

  “Remember what I told you,” he advises.

  “Yeah, do what he says and you’ll be fine,” Gray calls after me.

  I hear the feigned confidence in their voices, and I realize they’re just as scared as I am that this is the last time they’ll see me.

  Chapter Twelve

  Raven

  “I’ll take her from here,” Sherman says.

  The pair of guards peel off as Sherman shoves me through a doorway. It slams shut behind us with a resounding boom, leaving me alone in a long corridor with the man. A finger of ice slides up my spine, making me shudder.

  “Let’s go,” he orders.

  He walks close enough behind me that I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. I try to quicken my pace, but he clamps his hand down on my shoulder and squeezes it tight, drawing a yelp of pain from me.

  “What’s the hurry?” he asks.

  “I’d rather be given a pap smear with a chainsaw then be anywhere near you,” I spit back.

  He cuffs me in
the back of the head and I turn, glaring at him. He chuckles.

  “You sure are gettin’ mouthy, girl,” he says. “You think them three fellas you’re bangin’ are gonna be able to help you?”

  “I’m not banging anybody,” I correct him.

  “Uh huh,” he says. “That ain’t the word ‘round the campfire.”

  I open my mouth to respond but quickly close it again. I don’t need to explain or justify myself to him or anybody in this place. Let them think what they want. I really couldn’t give less of a shit what assholes like Sherman think.

  We walk down the long corridor, our footsteps squeaking on a floor polished to a high-gloss shine. The walls are stark white and unadorned, reflecting the harsh fluorescent lighting. There’s a strong antiseptic odor in the air that makes me cringe, but not nearly as much as the heavy stench of Sherman’s aftershave.

  There’s a junction up ahead at the end of the hall but before we can get there, Sherman grips my arm, squeezing it like an iron vise. He opens a door to my right and pushes me inside. I stumble forward and fall down to my hands and knees, my belly churning wildly and my heart thundering hard. I jump to my feet as he slams the door behind him, a leering smirk on his face.

  “Yeah, I’ve got to get me a taste of what them boys are gettin’,” he says with a long and ominous chuckle. “You can either make this easy or you can make this harder on yourself than it needs to be.”

  I look around the room wildly, searching for some way out. But it’s very dimly lit—a single light bulb sits in a cone-shaped fixture that hangs from the ceiling—and it looks like a storage closet. There are shelves stacked with cardboard boxes and other office supplies.

  On a table sit a couple of old computer monitors and laptops that have been ravaged for spare parts. The air in the room is musty and smells of disuse. I’m not sure anybody’s been in here in a while, which is not good news for me.

  “So? What’s it gonna be?” he asks. “Gonna do this the easy way? Or the hard way?”