I hesitate, unsure if I should take her hand.
“Don’t worry; I won’t bite.” She wiggles her fingers. “Come on. Hurry up.”
Summoning my courage, I place my hand in hers, and she helps me to my feet. I stretch out my legs and brush the dirt off the back of my pants, noting that we’re almost the exact same height.
“You’re tall. I usually tower over most people.” She eyes me over with her hands on her hips. “You can talk to me. I’m not as feisty and demanding as Zinnia or Wrath.”
“Okay,” I say, but I have no plans of saying anything. While she seems a bit more decent than Zinnia and Wrath, I know I can’t trust her.
She sighs. “All right, fine. I get where you’re coming from. But if you change your mind, I’d love to talk to someone who isn’t from here. It gets tiring listening to the same boring stories over and over again. It’s like no one ever wants to talk about anything else other than legends and sacrifices and hunting.” She motions for me to follow her as she strolls down a flattened dirt path and toward a row of tents.
I shuffle after her, stealing glances at the grates in the ground. Most of them are dark and quiet, but every once in a while, I hear someone beg for help. What really makes my heart ache is when a child cries out for me to save them. The imprisonment is too familiar, like back when I was in my cell and listening to the cries of the other Nameless. I loathe the similarity.
Why can’t this world be different? I want to open the grate up and free them, make this world different. They deserve to be free. What would happen if I tried?
Unable to bear the cries any longer, I focus on the metal fencing around the tents and then the rocky, jagged cliffs on the other side. I’m not chained or handcuffed. I could attempt to run and escape. But how would I save Ryder, Reece, and Blaise? I can’t just leave them.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Calla warns, noticing my line of sight. “They’d shoot you dead before you even made it five feet.” She points a finger at a lofty wooden structure. It takes me a moment to figure out what it is—a lookout tower. “Those are all over the property. Armed guards are inside, and they’ve been instructed to shoot anyone who tries to sneak in or out.”
“I wasn’t going to run,” I reply nervously. “I was just looking around.”
She rolls her eyes. “I doubt that. You ran from the channels. I’m sure running from here is no different.”
I tug at the sleeve of my jacket, concealing the number. “I didn’t run from the channels.”
“Technically, no, but you did escape.” She slows down, matching my sluggish pace. “How long have you been out?”
Every one of my instincts scream for me to lie. “A while.”
She studies me meticulously. “Maybe that’s why you talk so well?” It sounds like a question, but for some reason, it seems like she already knows the answer.
“I was taught when I got out of the channels.” My erratic pulse hammers, but thank God my voice comes out steady.
I can’t tell if she’s buying it or not. I hope so because I don’t think being different right now is a good idea.
“You must be really brave to survive such trauma without being very affected.” She flashes me a conniving smirk then barrels down the path, snapping at me to keep up. When we pass the fire pit, now filled only with embers, she says, “They put the fire out so you don’t have to worry about slipping into dreamland. But if you get out of line, Zinnia may dart you again, so I’d watch your back.”
She strides past tents, greeting and nodding at people. Most nod and say hello back, their attention lingering on me. Most of them look annoyed, others disgusted, but a few seem mildly curious. None of them approach me, and several shuffle away and duck back into their tents.
“Don’t take it personally. They don’t like outsiders.” Calla veers between two tents. “I guess they have every reason to, though.”
I hurry after her. “Why’s that?”
“You haven’t heard the story?”
“No.”
She checks left then right then spins around, nearly causing me to run into her. “Because of the hybrids.”
“Hybrids?” I feign dumb, but my voice weakly quivers.
She nods, tossing an anxious glance behind her. “We’re not really supposed to talk about it. Zinnia thinks, if we do, then we’re asking to be cursed by the Deorum.”
“The Deorum?” I bite my tongue. Crap. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Who knows if I’m supposed to know what that is already?
She angles her head back, staring down at the cracked dirt beneath her clunky, steel-toed boots. “The ones who watch us from below.”
I glance at the ground then back at her. Is she talking about the Grim or a Tracker or what?
“Someone’s down there?” I point to the ground.
“Not someone. The Deorum. They’re the ones who take care of us now.” When I continue to stare perplexedly at her, she sighs. “After the hybrid’s killed off half of our kind, Zinnia made a deal with the Deorum. They watch out for us and protect us from the kind who can blend in undetected yet are infected with the thirst for lives.”
My heart nearly stops dead. “You mean hybrids?”
She nods, evaluating my every movement as she reclines against the side of a tent. “It’s almost impossible to tell a hybrid from a human. They don’t have silver eyes like the Grim or translucent, pale skin, but they’re just as evil and feed off humans.
“A few years ago, we made the mistake of letting a few into our camp. They said they wanted to join us and that they knew of a new location where we could get water. We’re always looking for new water supplies, so we stupidly let our guard down and let them in.” She clenches her hands into fists. “Never again was that supposed to happen. The Deorum are supposed to make sure of that. As long as we take care of them, they take care of us.”
“And how do you take care of them?” I ask, though I’m pretty certain I know the answer. We were brought here to be sacrificed, and I’m betting the sacrifice is for the Deorum, whatever they are.
Instead of answering, her lips twist into a grin. “You know, every hybrid has one thing in common.” She straightens her stance and snatches hold of my arm. With a violent tug, she yanks me to her and slams me back against the tent. “They were all Nameless who just happen to miraculously heal from the trauma of being in the channels.” Her fingernail scratches across my number. “They come out, walking and talking as if nothing happened to them. They’re perfectly fine when they shouldn’t be, and you want to know why? Because they’re not human. Their inhuman, cold, distant, cruel minds can get over the trauma without being emotionally, physically, or mentally affected.” She puts her lips beside my ear. “I don’t know if you’re one of them or not or how you got past the Deorum, but we will find out. We have a way to test for hybrids now.”
My throat tightens. A test? Like how Mable put a drop of my blood on moonstone?
Oh, my God! They’re going to know.
“You smell like rain,” she muses, stepping back. “So strange since it hasn’t rained for years.”
I don’t say a word. I never should’ve spoken to her to begin with.
“Come along.” She snaps her fingers at me and strolls forward. “Zinnia will be pissed if you’re late.”
I trail after her, worried about what awaits me when we get to Zinnia. Worried I won’t pass the test. That we’ll all end up sacrificed to the Deorum. But most of all, I worry that I am a hybrid. If I am, does that mean I’ll eventually become a murderer?
If so, maybe I deserve whatever is coming to me.
Chapter Thirteen
Quercu
Calla doesn’t speak to me as she hurries down a flattened path toward an enormous arched tent.
After we enter the tent, Calla waggles her fingers at me. “Have fun,” she singsongs then skips back outside.
I turn in a circle, taking in the multiple lanterns strung across the ceiling and she
er black curtains across the farthest wall. A section of silver-trimmed chairs are set up in a half-circle around a large wooden trunk with nicked-steel trimming. A rustic lock hangs on the front of the trunk, and I have the strongest compulsion to bust the metal apart so I can get to whatever is inside.
“It’s where I keep my quercu.”
I whirl around, pressing my hand to my sprinting heart.
The woman the Forsaken referred to as “your highness” pushes through the curtains, carrying a pleased grin on her face.
“I told Calla to let me know when you arrived.” She strolls over to the chairs and props her laced up boot onto the seat to unbuckle her thigh holster. “She’s never been good at following orders.”
I smash my lips together, remaining silent.
“I’m Zinnia, but I’m sure you already figured that out.” She drapes the holster across the back of the chair then crosses the tent toward me. “From the second I saw you, I knew there was something different about you. I didn’t want to say anything in front of everyone, but I think Calla might have caught on.” She ambles past me and reaches into the top of her leather corset, retrieving a skeleton key. “I overheard her telling you about the test I’m going to give you. I should be upset. It’s not as fun if you know what’s coming, but I can’t really blame her.” She slips the key into the lock. “Her brother and sister were slaughtered the night the hybrids raided our camp.” The lock clicks, and she raises the lid of the trunk.
The scent of whatever is inside that trunk drives my body mad. My senses go wild, my blood pulsating underneath my skin, like little flakes of metal being drawn to a magnet.
“Hungry?” she baits me with a smirk.
I shake my head, even though my mouth salivates. I can taste the fresh scent of leaves and life, and my taste buds go crazy in anticipation.
“Are you sure?” She sticks her hand into the trunk and removes a small, leather pouch. “Because you look famished.”
I shake my head again, but every bone in my body wants to rip that pouch out of her hand, even if it means stealing the knife off a nearby table and slitting her throat.
She unlaces the pouch and inches it toward my nose, watching my reaction closely. The smell is absolutely divine. I want to dive in, devour, feed the hunger pulsing inside me …
Oh, God, I sound just like Lex when he was hungry for me.
The revelation calms me down enough that I can step back.
“That’s not food in there.”
“Maybe not for humans.” She urges the pouch closer to my nose. “But for you, I think it might be really tasty.”
I stab my fingernails into my palms. “No, thank you.”
She scowls, lowering the bag from my face. “Fine. If you want to play this way, then we will.” She chucks the pouch into the trunk and slams the lid closed. “I was going to make you all take the test, anyway. The others aren’t marked with a number, but I won’t take any chances.”
Marching over to the entrance of the tent, she pokes her head outside. “Bring me the three who came with her.”
She steps back inside the tent, letting the flaps close. “I’ll admit, I was a bit jealous of you. The way the one guy—Blaise, I think, was his name—ran off, trying to lead us away from you and how the other two fought to protect you … At first, I thought maybe it was because they were all in love with you. And maybe they are, but that’s not the only reason they protect you, is it?”
When I don’t answer, she snatches ahold of my arm and drags me toward the curtains. “I want to play a little game. Whether you turn out to be a hybrid or not, I want to have some fun. God knows it’s been ages. And if you don’t end up being a hybrid, I’ll just use you to toy with that pierced guy of yours. I’ll mess with him just like he tried to mess with us.” She whisks through the curtains and shoves me toward a four-poster bed, the wood scratched and worn with age.
I land on the mattress with a bounce then hurry and flip over.
“I heard that he challenged Wrath.” She strolls over to another wooden piece of furniture … a dresser, I think, and glides the top drawer open. “And even though I doubt Wrath will need help killing the stupid bastard…” She glances over her shoulder at me with her brows raised. “That is, unless it turns out he’s a hybrid. Then maybe Wrath will end up dead.” She measures my reaction, which I hope comes off as indifferent, and then rolls her eyes. “Anyway, if I’ve learned anything, it’s that a good fight between men usually happens when a beautiful woman is involved.” She rummages through articles of clothing piled in the drawer. “I’m making sure we have that so the fight between my Wrath and your pierced friend will be good and bloody and gory, just how I like it.” She turns to me, holding a stack of clothes. “Even if it turns out you’re a hybrid, I might hold on to that information until after the fight. No one is going to want to fight over a hybrid—well, at least not my Wrath.” Not waiting for me to answer, she throws the clothes at me. “Now get dressed.”
I expect her to leave, but she takes a seat in the chair, crosses her legs, and sits back.
I unfold the clothes she gave me and try not to pull a face. I’ve never seen such flimsy fabric. Does this even cover up anything?
“Hurry up,” she orders, thrumming her fingers against the armrest. “I want you ready to go when they get here.”
Forcing down the vomit, I push to my feet and slip off my boots. With fumbling fingers, I remove my jacket, shirt, and pants, but keep the gloves on. Then I put on the red dress.
The fabric is soft like velvet and slides over my thin frame. Long in the back and extremely short in the front, it makes me feel too exposed. The top section isn’t any better, either, with an open back and slits running along the side.
“You have a lot of scars,” Zinnia remarks. “That doesn’t make sense. Hybrids are supposed to heal without scarring.
“That’s because I’m not a hybrid.” My fingers tremble as I zip up the zipper on the dress.
She purses her chapped lips. “Where were you born?”
I rack my mind for a lie to feed her. “The d-docks,” I stammer the first place that pops into my mind.
“Really?” She pushes to her feet and yanks off my fingerless gloves. “And where are the docks located again?” She tosses the gloves on top of the dresser. “I forget.”
“In lakes and in the ocean.” I internally cringe at my off balance tone.
“And how did you escape the docks?” she asks, collecting a basin and washcloth.
I recount the story Ryder told me. “I jumped off and swam to the shore.”
“How very brave of you.” Her derisive grin suggests she’s toying with me, playing a game like the visitors used to do with me.
She sets the basin and cloth down on the bed. “Funny. Your friend, the one with the blond hair, told me the exact same story.”
“W-w live there together,” I sputter in a panic.
“He never mentioned that. In fact, I think I remember him mentioning he escaped alone,” she says. “So, my bet is one of you is lying.”
“When did Ryder tell you about the docks?” That doesn’t make sense. Blaise said Ryder hardly told anyone.
She soaks the cloth in the water. “He can be quite chatty when he’s all doped up.” She wrings out the cloth, her eyes narrowing on me. “I really do hate liars. I think they should be punished. But the question is, who was lying? Him or you? My bet is you.”
Guilt clutches at my throat. There’s no way I can let Ryder go down for this and get punished.
“Me,” I confess. “I don’t know where I was born.”
“I figured you were the liar. Most people under the influence of dreamland don’t lie. In fact, they can be pretty truthful.” Anger sparks in her eyes. “Too truthful sometimes. It takes the fun out of my game when they don’t want to play with me.” She begins cleaning the dirt off my arms, scrubbing so harshly my skin turns red. “I can’t figure you out. You scar, yet the place where the dart struck y
our neck healed within seconds. You’re from the channels, but you don’t know if you born there. But all hybrids are born there. Maybe you’re lying. Maybe you were born there. But if you weren’t, then what are you?”
“I’m human.” Liar. You’re not even close, and deep down, you know it.
“Doubtful. You heal too quickly.” She moves the cloth to my neck, and I focus on her knife collection spread out on a trunk, anything other than her touching me. “We’ll soon find out if you’re one of them. If you are, then I’m going to tear you apart.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Then I’ll tear you apart and feed you to the Deorum.” A merciless smile spreads across her face. “No matter what you turn out to be, your outcome will be death.” She rolls her eyes at the sight of the tears pooling in the corner of my eyes. “Death isn’t as bad as everyone makes it out to be. The world is only for the strong. If you’re weak, you’ll get broken again and again. It’s just how things work out here. It’s why our kind thrives in the murder and chaos—because we understand that, in order to survive their evil, we have to be equally as evil as the Grim.” She drags the rag down to my collarbone.
“You don’t seem strong, but the other hybrids didn’t seem strong, either. It was all an act, though.” She stares off into empty space, her eyes overflowing with undiluted pain. “I’ll never make that mistake again. The sacrifices make sure of that.”
Her gaze cuts to me. “At first, I questioned how you got into our camp. If you are a Nameless, how did the Deorum betray us and let you in? But you’re different from the other ones. Maybe that’s why.” She dunks the cloth into the basin again. “Or maybe you’re something else. Either way, I’ll be doing the world a favor by eliminating you. The last thing this world needs is another strange, unknown creature wandering around. It’s what started this whole mess. A single creature that selfishly dropped from the sky and brought an army of Grim with them. Just one creature started the destruction of mankind.”
Forsaken (Broken City Book 2) Page 10
