God of Monsters (Juniper Unraveling Book 4)

by Keri Lake

  So much for keeping the peace, as Wren had urged them to do, the day before they set out for the other community.

  As far east as they’d set up camp, it was unlikely that Titus and Atticus would run into the officers, but traveling at night seemed to be the safest bet, anyway. Titus had grown tired of bloodshed and fighting. He longed for a peaceful and quiet second half to his life, living as a man free to wander wherever he wanted.

  The road to the hive was nothing more than a worn-down path flanked by endless dirt and cacti, and the familiar shapes of burnt orange mesas in the distance to guide them. The pack of dried meat in the bag strapped across his body was less than his usual offerings, which would undoubtedly reveal his intentions behind the visit.

  As darkness settled over the landscape, flickering fires of the hive up ahead cast a glow visible from the mile they had left to walk. A moment later, a blaze ignited, swallowing up one of the tents, and the sounds of distant screams carried on the air.

  Taking cover behind a cluster of rocks off the path, Titus pulled his binoculars from a separate satchel to that carrying the meat and directed them on the pyre.

  Beyond the lens, men scrambled about. Children huddled in their mother’s embraces. A flock of motorcycles at the perimeter of the hive gave reason for the unrest he was witnessing.

  “Marauders,” he said aloud.

  “How many?”

  “A couple dozen, from what I can see.”

  In the long absence of Legion soldiers, packs of rogues, like these, had doubled. They sought out hives, in search of women and supplies, pillaging and plundering in a wake of violence. Armed to the teeth, the band of mostly men would wipe out the small hive in a matter of minutes. They didn’t stand a chance. Neither did Legion officers, most of the time.

  “Fuck.” Atticus huffed, and shoved to his feet. “Abort mission.”

  Frowning, Titus lowered the binoculars and twisted to face him. “Walk away?”

  “Do you have a sudden craving for hot lead in your ass? You don’t bring knives to a gunfight.”

  It was true, Titus had no desire to engage, particularly with the likes of marauders, who were known to be lawless and brutal. “They’re our source of trade. There’s no other hive for miles.”

  “Then, we’ll pick up and move to where there’s another hive. Simple.” He’d already begun walking in the other direction, as if to prove his point.

  “You’ve fucked the very women they intend to violate.” Titus’s words brought Atticus to a halt.

  “That is a shame. But it’s the nature of this world. To take. Why interfere?”

  “Because you dragged my ass here, and I’m not going to stand by and let some goat-fucking pricks destroy our means of trade. Go back, if you want.” Stuffing the binoculars away, Titus strode through the dark, his muscles tight, fists flexing at his sides. Strange, the way the body rose to the occasion, even if fighting was the last thing he yearned for right then.

  Hives tended to keep to themselves, as they didn’t trust outsiders, for the very reason that drew Titus closer when he’d have preferred to turn away, as well. They traded with other hives for supplies, but it just so happened, Atticus saved one of the daughters from a band of Ragers who would’ve dragged her to a nest, while she was out picking juniper berries. His valor won him the trust of the girl’s father, and their hive, in turn, became a means of keeping the Alphas well-stocked through the winter.

  Sticking to the shadows, Titus approached one of the tents, opposite where the bikes sat unoccupied. The screams reminded him of those he’d often heard through the vents in Calico. Cries of fear and torment. He peeked around the canvas and found one marauder slipping a rope over the neck of a man who lay on the ground, the other end affixed to the back of his bike. At the man’s feet, a second rope had been secured around his ankles, the end of that one attached to a different bike. Both riders revved the engine, drowning the screams of an older woman who reached out for what Titus presumed to be her husband. Not a second later, the man’s head flew from the rest of his body, and the woman collapsed to the ground.

  “Fucking savages.” The sound of Atticus from behind didn’t startle Titus. He’d expected him to follow. As much as he could be a bastard, the truth was, Atticus had a possessive streak. No doubt, the comment about these men violating what he considered to be his gnawed at him.

  “I’ll take the north end of the camp,” Titus said. “You take the south. We’ll meet in the middle.”

  “I guarantee, by the end of this, I’ll have killed more than you, Brother.” Atticus pulled a grisly-looking blade from a side holster, another from his boot, and tucked a third up into a holster at his wrist. In the absence of guns, he’d make a formidable opponent to these men, wiping them out in seconds. Unfortunately, he’d need Titus to level the odds where automatic weapons were concerned. While they kept a few guns hidden back at the camp, they found them to be cumbersome during evening treks. Marauders and Legion were the only ones who typically carried an arsenal. Most wanderers and rogues could be subdued with a blade.

  It’d been months since either of them’d had to kill anything that wasn’t food.

  With the same sly stealth that he employed to hunt down rabbits and quick prey, Titus stalked toward a man who stood facing away on the perimeter of the melee. The gun strapped across him did him no good, as Titus slid a hand across his victim’s mouth, and with three perfectly executed stabs, the man gave out a mumbled grunt that vibrated against his palm, seconds before he went limp in his arms. Titus slipped the gun from over the dead man’s head and strapped it to himself before creeping up to his next target.

  In the same manner as before, he carried out a quiet execution, dragging each man to the shadows of the surrounding tents to avoid being seen. Opposite, Atticus would be making his way toward the center in the same manner, laying waste to every marauder in his path, without so much as a peep. Since they were boys, they’d been trained to raid hives on behalf of Legion in the same lethal stealth. And though marauders posed a bigger threat than the more peaceful and family-oriented hives, the two of them had managed to take out most of the invaders in a matter of minutes.

  As his sixth victim fell to the ground, Titus gathered his weapons and caught a glimpse of Atticus across the camp, hidden behind a stack of firewood he had helped stockpile. A stash of pilfered guns lay hidden behind one of the tents, which Titus would collect before they headed back to their own camp, and the only men that remained were those guarding the older women, children, and badly wounded men of the hive, who wavered on their knees with hands tied behind their backs. Given the absence of the younger women, he suspected a few more marauders had stowed away in the tents, making use of the females.

  Grunts and muffled screams bled through the one of the tent’s canvas barriers, as Titus stalked the perimeter, careful not to cast a shadow with the flame of the bonfire at the center of the camp. He could see the movement through the fabric, where the couple inside rolled too close to the edge in their haste and struggle, but the thick canvas prevented him from discerning which of the wriggling forms was the marauder, or the female .

  “I’m going to take you with me, girl. Back to my camp. I’ll tie you to a tree, and fuck you until your belly is so full of my cum, you’ll be pissing it for weeks.” The chasing whimpers told Titus he’d already begun the task. As disgusting as it was, the act would keep the raping bastard occupied enough for Titus to sneak inside.

  Crouched low, the Alpha peered around the front, where the only eyes on him belonged to the father of the three daughters that Atticus had slept with. Mouth gagged, face covered in blood, his eyes seemed to soften with relief, as he gave a subtle nod, and without any prompting, the older man kicked out a leg, slamming it into the guard beside him.

  A scuffle between the man and two marauders ensued, and Titus stole the opportunity to sneak inside the tent. As quiet as the predatory cats he’d often encountered in the mountains, he moved across the
small space, lit only by the light from the bonfire outside, and found a man moving against a woman’s back, her face buried in the dirt beneath her. With his head kicked back, eyes closed, he didn’t immediately notice the danger closing in on him, and Titus knew when he had by his lids shooting open. A brief yelp escaped him, before Titus silenced him with a blade across his throat. Blood leaked on the woman below, and when Titus shoved the spasming body off, he was greeted by the tearful face of Senna.

  “Titus?” Her lip trembled, and before he could stop her, she threw herself at his chest, burying a sob in his shirt. Body quaking, she felt like a child against him, brittle and scared, and he wrapped his arms around her, in spite of himself.

  It’d been a long time since Titus had felt compelled to protect something.

  “I have to finish this,” he whispered, lowering his hands to break the embrace. “Wait here.” From a nearby cot, he snatched a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders, then he spun around for the entrance to the tent. Peering through its cracked opening, he observed a stillness that sent a blaring warning through his muscles. Across the bonfire, Senna’s father lay bleeding out of his battered skull. The marauders who guarded him also lay in a heap, with the signature mauled throats of Atticus’s roughly serrated blade. The women had vanished. No one stirred through the camp. He searched for Atticus, finding no sign of him.

  As if everyone had abandoned the hive. Hopefully, led off by Atticus.

  Blade leading the way, Titus widened the opening, and scanned left to right, to ensure no surprise attack. Every cell of his body was primed, electrified with the impulse to attack.

  “Wait.” Senna spoke just above a whisper. “Take me with you.”

  Shaking his head, Titus signaled for her to stay put and stepped out of the tent. Nothing moved, save for the flickering bonfire and the still-burning tent at the other end of the camp.

  Instinct told him to take cover, but the quiet hum through the air beat him to it, slamming into his chest. A bullet, but not like any normal ammunition. He pried it out of him, holding it up to examine the foreign object armed with a needle at its tip, durable enough to penetrate his skin.

  The chasing sensation of dizziness told him it carried a potent poison, stronger than that which lined the tips of the prods Legion soldiers had often used to subdue him during his time in Calico. The toxin moved through him quicker than any other, with the kind of noxious intensity that had him wondering if it might be powerful enough to kill him.

  As he backed himself to the side of the tent, another thumped into his leg. Another in his bicep. On a grunt, he tumbled to the ground as the poison took hold, the capsules bursting inside his veins, releasing a toxicity that squeezed like a tight fist around his lungs.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  He couldn’t move.

  Another bullet hit his chest, his muscles hardly flinching with the impact. His breaths turned laborious, his heart rate slowing. Slowing.

  Two dozen Legion soldiers edged toward him, every one of them armed.

  Titus was powerless to stop them. Leaning to the side, he heaved up his last meal as the venom in his blood became too concentrated. Too many bullets.

  The line of soldiers parted, and another of them stepped forward and removed the canister mask hiding his face. His signature black uniform carried decorations of a more seasoned Legion officer, but he wasn’t the highest ranked, given his insignia only bore three out of four stars.

  Vision blurring, Titus blinked and shook his head to hold onto the features of the man, which were fading into the fringes. His eye. The pupil of his left eye appeared elongated in a way that made it look like a snake’s eye. Such details were important to remember for when he’d ultimately take his revenge.

  “Did I not tell you? These bullets could put down a rhino!” A second man flanked Snake Eye, one who didn’t wear the uniform of a soldier, but the slightly worn fabric of a marauder. A full head of thick, blond curls and bright blue eyes gave an air of youth that belied the cracks and wrinkles of his weathered skin. Where there should’ve been fingers on his right hand were nothing more than a thumb and a pinky, separated by a curved stretch of skin , giving the appearance of a claw. Like a lobster’s. Another deformity.

  Not that they weren’t uncommon anymore, but Titus had never encountered as many outside of Calico, where they had intentionally created such defects.

  “What do you call this again?” Snake Eye asked, examining one of the bullet cases that’d hit Titus earlier. “And where do you acquire such a potent concoction?”

  “It’s called Red Lotus. Made by a slave of mine,” the blond said with an oil-slick voice that reminded Titus of the docs at Calico. “An older woman borne of the few tribes that survived the Dredge. They often laced their needles with it. Very effective against Ragers. And Alphas, as you can see. We’ll take both of them.”

  Since when did Legion side with marauders? Their hatred for each other was on par with the Alphas’ loathing of the scientists who’d tormented them.

  “No. My men were promised an Alpha. We’ll keep the one in custody. You can have this one.”

  “He’s been shot. Many times. He won’t survive the poison.”

  “Sir!” The voice arrived from somewhere beyond the men, and Titus desperately clung to consciousness in a slowly failing effort to know his fate. “She was hiding in the tent.”

  From the crowd behind the two bickering men, a soldier shoved Senna forward, the force tripping her to the ground, where she tumbled just a few feet from Titus.

  Each inhale burned like flames inside his chest. His muscles turned laxer with each passing second.

  The blond marauder kept his eyes on Titus as he knelt down alongside her. The smile on his face carried an evil glint that prodded Titus forward, despite the weakness swallowing up the strength of his muscles.

  “This is the beauty you killed my man to save?” The blond dragged one of his gnarled fingers across her jaw and licked the invisible path.

  Fingers clawing into the dirt, Titus willed his arms to haul him close enough. Every movement felt as if boulders weighed him down, and the blackness on the fringes of his vision threatened with the kind of darkness from which he might never crawl out.

  “Where I come from, vengeance is paid in like. Eye for an eye.” The blond held the blade up to her eye, and his grin widened.

  “No.” Titus coughed, the spittle of blood hitting the dirt beneath him.

  Head wrenched back, Senna whimpered, staring down her nose at Titus.

  “What is the meaning of this!” The unfamiliar voice drew Titus’s waning attention toward a gray-haired man making his way through the crowd of surrounding Legion. “Who sanctioned the attack on this hive?”

  The snake-eyed Legion soldier who’d doffed his mask snapped to attention, shoulders back and chin high. “I did. Sir.”

  “You did.” The older man, who Titus surmised must’ve been his superior, stepped toward the soldier, who kept his eyes ahead, body stiff. “And by what authority did you carry out this ...” The older man looked around at the bodies lying about the camp. “Slaughter?”

  “Our men didn’t--”

  “You were to inquire about the location of the Alphas, and nothing more! And since when ...” The veteran soldier stared down at the blond, his lips peeled back with disgust. “… do we consort with marauders? Release that woman immediately, you impetuous lout!”

  “I don’t take orders--”

  Before Lobster Claw could finish his words, a hard punch kicked his head to the side, and with a smug grin, Senna scrambled away from him.

  The fist around Titus’s chest squeezed tighter, banishing the last of the air from his lungs. On a reflexive inhale that crackled in his chest, like ground glass scraping the inside of his ribcage, he coughed and wheezed, gasping for a single breath.

  The blond marauder growled and lurched toward Senna, but was stopped short by a gun pressed to his temple.

  “Y
ou lay one hand on that woman, and I will blow your brain right out of your skull.” The older soldier stood over the marauder, looking far more intimidating in his black uniform. His gaze fell on Titus, his brows coming together in what almost looked like sympathy, if Titus thought them capable of such a thing. “Answer me!”

  Snake Eye cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders back, as if the thought of following orders grated on his nerves. “These people were hostile. They refused to divulge the Alpha camp.”

  “I don’t give a damn if they bloodied your eye and danced a jig on your face! You were not given the authority to attack! Your hatred for these people has gone too far this time. You’ve not only gone against my orders, but the pact that we established with the hives over the last two years! The clergy will have your head for this! God help you, they will, and I won’t have any say in the matter!”

  The crack of a gunshot echoed through the camp. Another. Titus shifted his attention toward the blond marauder, waiting for him to fall.

  Except, it was the older man who tumbled to the ground, and once he had, Titus got a clear view of the gunman behind him.

  The other Legion soldier. Snake Eye.

  More shots rang out. The half dozen, or so, Legion officers who’d arrived with him systematically executed the veteran soldier’s men as they rushed to his aid.

  Once all the loyal officers were dead, Snake Eye sighed and stared down at where the older man seized on the ground, hand clapped over a bleeding wound at his throat. “I’m afraid God gave up on me a long time ago, my friend. This is nothing personal.”

  Growling again, the marauder scrambled for Senna, dragging her beneath him by her legs.

  Vision narrowed to a small frame, Titus palmed at the dirt.

  The air withered in his chest.