Of course, humans sign up as soon as they hearimmortality. And when the coven deceives them and turns them into brainless puppets with no free will,immortality, or soul, no one is to blame but their own fickle human brains. What kind of desperate idiots sign a contract without reading the fine print?And why would anyone think trusting the witches was a good idea?
I take a deep breath to rein in my anger and immediately gag when the awful stink of blood and urine reaches my nose.
Clutching the dagger in my hand, I try to stand up, but my legs refuse to hold my weight. I crawl to the bars of my cell and use them for support as I clench my teeth and haul myself up in one quick move.
I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my knuckles to stifle my scream when the world starts spinning around me.Every bone in my body is begging me to sit down and rest my eyes before I pass out, but the sound of my little boy sobbing breaks through my fatigue.
You can’t give up, Nevaeh. Monkey needs you.
Once I’m sure I won’t faceplant on the ground, I stretch my legs to regain some feeling, even if it’s only pure agony.
The only reason I’m not on the floor writhing in pain is the sudden silence. Screaming and crying are good; it means he’s alive. But it’s the silence that chills my soul from the endless possibilities it leaves in its wake.
It takes me a moment to be able to balance my weight on my feet again, and I use the time to plan my next move.
Slowly, my Divine, the magic that runs in my veins, stirs after a decade of being forced to stay dormant. One by one, my open wounds begin to close.
I choke on air as my ribs snap back in place with a sharp pain. This time, when I breathe, my lungs don’t scream in protest, and I don’t feel like a baby elephant is sitting on my chest.
Is my plan reckless and probably going to get me killed?Yes.
Do I have another plan?Not even close.
To stop myself from overthinking my half-baked plan, I strike the dagger’s metal end against the iron bars, creating a loud, resounding sound throughout the dungeon. No take-backs now.
Rushed footsteps paired with the gut-twisting stench of rotting flesh are my signal. The smell overwhelms my heightened senses, and I have to focus on getting out of this cell instead of the urge to throw up. Not like I have anything left in my stomach to throw up. They stopped feeding me weeks ago.
As a guard charges past my cell, I use his distraction and his complete lack of a working brain to pull him in a chokehold through the bars. The moment my arms sink into his decaying flesh, I regret not stabbing him instead.
Over time, a Deviant’s body degrades into fragile bones and decaying flesh that sheds like a snake. I turn my head and gag at the smell.
The Deviant wildly thrashes into my hold, his touch burning my forearms from the amount of dark magic used to create him.
He angles his spear to stab me from the side, and I twist away just in the nick of time. Before this fool can alert the others with his antics, I squeeze my arms tighter, and his head drops to the ground, rolling away with a splat.Yuck.
I count to five, holding my breath to listen for signs that the commotion has drawn any unnecessary attention. When no one comes screaming bloody murder, I snatch the Deviant’s abandoned spear and smash the heavy lock on my cell to pieces.
One glance inside the opposite cell reminds me why I have to kill every ounce of hesitation and fear inside me before I step out. The broken, burned bodies piled in the corner are only a small example of what these monsters are capable of.
The scared and quiet ones are fun for them to toy with, but no one wants to deal with a mouthy, sarcastic bitch. I learned my lesson a long time ago. As long as they were focused on beating the attitude out of me, their eyes didn’t stray to where my clothes were torn.
Using the walls as a crutch, I limp to thelast cell. A relieved sigh escapes my lips when I hear soft whimpers again. I feel awful for being happy about the poor boy crying, but at least now I know he’s still alive. I’ll take him crying over getting killed at the hands of these voodoo-doing barbarians any day.
‘Always hit first and hit hard. Don’t give them a second chance.’
A combat lesson from my childhood suddenly flashes through my mind, freezing me in place. I’m surprised I still remember his voice, after all this time.
My Papa.
After a decade of nothing but pain and misery, hope spreads in my chest that maybe,just maybe, I’ll get to see him again.
The possibility of seeing my papa sends my Divine into overdrive. I feel my strength increasing with every dragging step. Adrenaline floods my veins, helping me recall more combat lessons Papa had drilled into me as a kid.
I stop before I can turn a corner and peek around the brick wall into the cell. When my eyes find a tiny figure bound to a chair he can barely fill, a familiar rage burns inside me. I have kept it dormant for years, but I don’t ignore the whispers of revenge today…I embrace them.
For my little Monkey.
A lump forms in my throat when my eyes land on the scar on the boy’s stomach that’s bleeding heavily. His eyes are wide from raw fear of the warlock looming over him.
