God of Monsters (Juniper Unraveling Book 4)

by Keri Lake

  “Damn it!” The curse arrives as a whisper, and as Titus turns, a jolt of embarrassment heats my cheeks, as I swipe up the book. The curiosity written on his face disappears behind the now-crinkled pages when I attempt to hide. “Sorry … this stupid book.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “A stubborn woman.”

  Snorting a laugh, he rests his elbow on his knee. “And you find that stupid? Seems like a match for you.”

  “And you would be the brooding, irascible browbeater.”

  Frowning, as though to prove my point, he looks back to his carving. “You use strange words.”

  “If you picked up a book on occasion, you’d probably know their meaning.” My jibe is only meant in fun, but at the swirl of shame in his eyes when he glances back at me again, I suddenly regret saying it.

  “I can’t read.”

  “At all?”

  Lips pressed to a straight line, he shakes his head. “Not much light where I was kept.”

  A twinge of sadness pierces my heart, and I lower the book to my lap. “That must’ve seemed very hopeless for you.”

  “So, why don’t you tell me about this stubborn woman you’re reading.”

  “What, like … read to you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Um … okay.” Even if I find it a strange request, coming from him, I lift the book up again, and start at the beginning. It’s not as if I managed to get very far, anyway. While I read aloud, Titus keeps on with his carving, only really perking with my occasional shifting on the chair. I catch him looking back at me a few times, his gaze lingering on my exposed legs sticking out of the robe, before quickly diverting. It’s only once I’ve pulled the fabric over them, covering them, that he stops with his peeking. Perhaps silently embarrassed for having been caught.

  When I move onto the next chapter, he picks up another stick, quietly carving away. My voice grows hoarse around the fifth chapter, and I set the book down, exhaustion weighing heavy on my eyelids. “I think I’ll go to bed now. We can pick up tomorrow. If you still want to hear the story.”

  “Sure.” He gathers up the half dozen sticks he’s carved, and tosses them off his makeshift bed on the floor, then corrals up the small bits of wood into his palm and feeds them to the fire.

  The whole house is warm and cozy, but as I walk the dark hallway toward the bedrooms, a cold shiver dances across the back of my neck. There’s no way I’m sleeping in the same room as the man who essentially decayed in his bed. Instead, I stop at the bedroom where the son must’ve slept, and pause with my hand on the knob.

  The icy chill grows intense, and I release the knob, spinning around for the lantern I left in the living room.

  Rounding the corner, I skid to a halt.

  Standing before the fire, Titus slips the towel from his waist, letting it fall to the floor. I nearly choke on my own spit, taking in the sight of his stark naked, muscled ass and the meaty thighs that taper to equally toned calves.

  He turns to face me, cupping himself, something that, I notice, takes more than one hand to accomplish, and that signature frown creeps across his face. “I thought you’d gone to bed.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to … spy. I just …. I need the lantern. I’m sorry.” My cheeks burn with humiliation, as I lower my head and scamper for the lantern. Once I have it, I keep my eyes on the floor as I turn around. “Just so I don’t make this mistake again, do you always sleep in the nude?”

  “I prefer it.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Where I come from, a body is just flesh and blood. A machine. I didn’t choose any of these parts.”

  It’s strange, but now that he says it, I can see what he’s talking about. The bulges of muscle on an otherwise lean frame that look masterfully chiseled. A mostly hairless chest, and long sturdy legs that are well proportioned to his upper half. Too perfect to be entirely natural in a world where people are starving. Except for the excessive number of scars that mar his skin, he almost looks too perfect to be human. Like hard steel forged by fire and pain, hammered down to one impressive weapon.

  “The scars … they did that to you. At the hospital?”

  “They did a lot of things to me at Calico.”

  I’ve always been a woman of medicine and science, but seeing the evidence of what he suffered at the hands of men who were supposed to help him, to heal him, breaks my heart. “I’m sorry for what happened to you.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “Because no one should suffer that way. As you said, you didn’t choose any of it.”

  “I was there because Legion raided my hive. Men like your father loaded me up on a truck and took me away from the only home I’ve ever known.”

  The man I knew, son of the most compassionate woman I’ve ever known, wouldn’t have been capable of that kind of callousness. “My father wouldn’t have done that. He would’ve spared your life.”

  “Maybe. But maybe he didn’t choose any of what happened, either.”

  In the blackness, I hear screams. Loud, painful, throaty screams.

  As I snap my eyes open to the shadowed room, the screams persist. I scramble out of bed and hustle down the hallway, the intensity of each outcry heightening my nerves, until I halt at the open living room.

  Titus lies curled into a ball on the floor before the fire, whimpering and growling. Scratching at his skull. “No, stop it! No more! No more!” The sound of his bellows bounces off the wall, and my chest tightens as I watch him tremble and claw at himself. “Stop!”

  Across from him, Yuma lies on his paws, whimpering and perking up with each violent flail of the Alpha’s arms.

  The nurturer inside of me begs to go to him, to settle him down and ease his pain, but I know better. My father often had nightmares when I was growing up, and my mother warned my brother and I to never approach him. He once swung out at my mother, believing she was a Rager, and, half-asleep, searched around for his gun. Fortunately, he knew to hide it away before bed.

  Who knows what Titus might think of me, if he woke to find me standing here. Who knows what this man has seen? What horrors plague his head during slumber. I’ve no intentions of becoming the very thing he hunts in his sleep.

  Instead, I watch him a while, until his cries die to whimpers, and his whimpers fall to silence once more.

  Chapter 29

  For the next three days, Titus and I settle into something of a routine in this strange place that time and the rest of the world seems to have forgotten. I’ve tidied up the rooms, even scrubbed the wooden bedframe in the back room, with a powdered cleanser I found beneath the kitchen sink. It almost feels like being back in Szolen, but without all the conveniences of there.

  During the daytime, Titus patrols the perimeter of the cabin, searching for threats and any sign of Remus and his men, while I wander the forests in search of herbs and edible flowers, for tea and medicines. I’m hoping to find some Lobelia, in the event we run into Remus on our travels. When not meandering, I boil water for drinking and gather supplies for the road back to Szolen. Though, I have to admit, this place has grown on me a bit. If I had to stay anywhere out in the Deadlands to raise this child, it’d be here. This peaceful little oasis to the world outside of it.

  Today, I’ve ventured out a bit farther from the cabin and found a patch of wild thimbleberries, which practically bursts on my tongue when I sample one of them. The sweet, sugary flavor will make a nice compliment to the savory backstraps Titus cut from the deer, once I boil it into a fruit sauce.

  I pluck the berries from the shrub, tossing them into one of the pots I’ve brought from the cabin, until it’s half-full. Popping a couple more into my mouth, I close my eyes and take a moment to appreciate the simple joy of appeasing one of my neglected senses. I’ve not tasted something so sweet and delicious in weeks.

  Berry midway to my mouth, a crackling sound from behind has me twisting on my heel.

  The familiar click-click-click.
r />   A growl.

  I turn to find Yuma hunched in defense, hackles raised. Lips peeled back from the sharp teeth he bears, the dog looks and sounds like a feral wolf.

  A threatened wolf.

  I search the trees for movement, and the stillness thrums my wired nerves. Scarcely wanting to breathe, I take the first step on the path toward home, and the growl multiplies.

  More wolves?

  Fear trickles down the nape of my neck, raising the hair on my skin, as just a few yards off stand about a dozen Ragers, twitching and poised to run.

  Oh, my God.

  I’ve never seen so many in my life.

  I spin around in the opposite direction and run, dropping the pot of berries. Yuma keeps on my heels, pausing every few yards to bark and snarl, warding them off.

  The sound of rustling leaves and growls tells me the Ragers are after me, but I don’t dare turn to look. Branches and decayed foliage create a web that seems to reach out for me as I trample through them.

  An involuntary scream escapes me, echoing through the forest, as the fear clamps down on my lungs.

  Fire ignites in my chest, the air diminishing, and I push speed from legs that feel heavy and slow.

  Like in a dream.

  I imagine lying on the ground, as they eat me alive. The feel of their teeth tearing away my flesh. Their black, lifeless eyes staring down at me.

  I don’t want to die.

  Not that way.

  A growl, louder than the others shatters my focus, and I glance back to find one of the Ragers has gained on me. He reaches out with a mangled hand, tugging wisps of my hair. Another scream breaks from my chest, and a hard thunk slams into my shin. Pain vibrates up inside my bones, and the earth comes crashing into my cheek as I tumble to the ground.

  “No, please! Please!” I scramble for the tree ahead of me and flip onto my back.

  To my horror, the Rager scrambles on hands and knees for me, his teeth chattering. The hard tree trunk presses into my spine, and as he climbs up my body, clicking and hissing, I throw out my hands to stop him. A rush of adrenaline pounds inside of me, but my arms aren’t strong enough to keep him from pressing into me.

  The distant barks and growls are a disheartening reminder that Yuma is fending the rest of them off himself.

  “God! Help me!”

  The Rager’s teeth snap.

  My arms tremble.

  He presses down harder, the stringing drool hitting my cheek.

  Seconds later, the weight is lifted from my body, and I look up in time to see Titus throw the infected monster off me. In slow calm strides, he walks the invisible barrier that the monsters seem unwilling to breach. Instead, they snap their jaws and hiss, swiping their arms, but the moment he steps in front of them, they cower and back away. Yuma trots behind him, like a soldier following after the General. As if Titus is the fiercer animal.

  I frown, confused by the spectacle.

  Blade in hand, Titus fluidly slices the throat of one Rager, before stabbing the skull of the one next to it. With the same lethal grace, he takes out three more, each kill effortless.

  Every bone in my body still rattles with fear, while the adrenaline keeps a steady thread of terror humming through me. I look down to find blood smeared over my thighs.

  My first thought is that the Rager might’ve bitten me, but when a cramp strikes my belly and more blood trickles out of me, realization dawns on me.

  “Oh, no.” I stare down at the blood coating my palms. “Oh, no.”

  Strong arms slide beneath my legs, lifting me up from the ground, but I can’t take my eyes off the blood. The baby I’m losing.

  Will’s baby.

  I rest my head against Titus’s chest, and not saying a word, he carries me back toward the cabin, where I finally break down.

  Chapter 30

  Pain moves through me as I lie on the bed, curled into myself. I’ve cried so many tears already, there isn’t anything left in me. I feel hollow and empty. Even the bleeding has stopped, the baby evacuated by my inhospitable womb, and during my bath this morning, I noticed my breasts were no longer tender. The nausea has subsided along with the ache in my belly.

  As if my body is eager to return to its normal state, while my mind can’t seem to let go so easily.

  “Do you need anything?” For the last few days, Titus has stood on the fringes, watching me mourn the loss and process the fear of having nearly been eaten alive. We should’ve left by now, been on our way to Szolen to return to my life, where I’d raise the baby in safety.

  With dried tears burning my eyes, I shake my head to answer the Alpha, staring through the window at where the tops of the trees sway in the wind. Nature telling me the world will go on.

  “I’m cursed, you know.” My voice has gone hoarse from little use over the last couple of days.

  “How so?”

  “When I was young, maybe fourteen, I was helping my Nan deliver a baby. While she cleaned and stitched the mother, I held the baby in my arms. It wasn’t until I handed her back to the mother that I was told she was dead.” I frown at the memory, recalling the shock and disbelief. “I held a dead baby in my arms for maybe twenty minutes, and didn’t know. If I had known, my grandmother might’ve saved it, but she couldn’t.”

  “You were young, as you said.”

  “I was never enamored with babies. She was no safer in my arms than if my grandmother had left her on the floor while she stitched. At least then, she might’ve noticed the baby wasn’t moving.”

  “What is the point of this?”

  I exhale a shaky breath, still staring up at the trees. “That I’d make a horrible mother. I’m selfish. Pig-headed and stubborn.”

  “You are. But brave and smart, too.”

  “Except when those Ragers chased me. I’ve never been more afraid in my whole life.”

  “Fear and bravery aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  In my silence, I think back to the moment he arrived, how effortlessly he threw off that Rager. How, with the wielding of a single blade, he took out a half dozen more Ragers in a matter of seconds. What I wouldn’t give to not be at the mercy of someone. Not to rely on being saved every time. What I wouldn’t give to be able to defend myself.

  As Titus retreats, I turn over in the bed.

  “Wait.”

  He pauses midstride and turns around.

  “You’re a warrior. One of the best I’ve ever seen.”

  “You’ve seen many warriors?”

  “My father sometimes took me with him to the training center. He let me stay to watch his men spar. I longed to be as strong as they were. As fast with a weapon.”

  “So, why didn’t he teach you?”

  “My father … was a good man. With faults. He felt that a woman’s hand was no place for a weapon.”

  “Sounds as if he prepared you well for this world.”

  I don’t even want to think of how differently things might’ve been if he had. “In fairness, I don’t think he ever imagined they’d throw me to the wolves. He worked toward his rank to ensure that we’d live comfortably in Szolen. He’s probably rolling over in his grave right now.” Or not. Maybe he would tell me all these events were the consequences of my actions. My father wasn't always gentle with his honesty, either. “I want you to teach me.”

  “Teach you what?” He crosses his arms over his chest, the muscles stretching his shirt at his biceps and serving as another reminder of his strength.

  “How to fight.”

  “What for?”

  “What do you mean, what for? To defend myself.”

  “Easy enough. Learn to run faster.”

  “No. To wield a knife like you.”

  His brows wing up. “You want to kill, then.”

  “Sometimes, killing is necessary in defense, isn’t it? And it will be good for me, in case we run into Remus again on the way to Szolen.”

  “Talking of which, by my estimates, we should be on the road tomorrow.”<
br />
  “We can stay here, just a couple more days, so you can show me how to use the knife.” At his frown, I continue, “The other day, with the Ragers … and my time spent with Remus …. I feel very vulnerable. It’s terrifying, to be unable to defend myself. I want to learn.”

  Jaw shifting, as if chewing on the request, he stares off. “If that’s what you want. I can teach you.”

  “It’s what I want. When can we begin?”

  “When you’re no longer in pain.”

  “Then, we begin today.”

  “You need time to heal. Training to fight is very physical.”

  Time to heal will only throw me into a state of self-loathing and blame, and that’s not me. Mentally, I’m a fighter. It’s time to become one physically, as well. “All I’ve done for the last few days is lie here thinking about how differently things could’ve been.”

  “Don’t condemn yourself to that thought. It might not have been different.”

  No. He’s wrong. I have no doubt so many things would be different if I’d had the ability to defend myself. “I’ll condemn myself every day that I remain weak and unable to fight.”

  In a clearing behind the house, Titus points to a spot ten yards directly in front of a tree. “Stand there.”

  As he commands, I step to where he directs me, watching him circle behind me. “It’s best if you can learn to kill from a distance.” With his chest pressed into my back, his massive arms circle me from behind, swallowing my body as he lifts my hand to press the blade’s hilt into my right palm, then he nudges my left knee.

  “You throw opposite the leg you keep forward, to steady yourself.” The rumble of his voice in my ear is a minor distraction, while he positions my limbs where they should be. “Use your upper body.”

  Nodding is all I can do to ignore the way his rough calloused hands feel against my skin when he takes hold of my wrist. The way my bones could easily break in his grasp, as he draws my hand back. When his other palm rests against my belly, I suck in a sharp breath with the contact, and he lowers his hand away.