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“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.
