She shivered as she continued to speak, trying to remove the morbid images that always surfaced from her mind.
The moment her uncle had learned of her romantic involvement with Emory and had forced her to face the truth of what he was, he’d shown her the extent of his depravity by driving her to the large building situated on the far end of the property, near the woods and a long stretch of water that nourished the cattle and livestock. The smells coming from it had been more than enough to keep her interest at bay when she’d arrived five years before, but as he drew nearer in the truck, with the windows down, she’d truly understood the depths of the stench.
It was one of rot, decay and, worst of all—death.
She’d kept her hand across her nose and mouth as she exited the truck and Elijah had instructed her to wait while the vans behind them parked and the men inside climbed out. There had been eleven in all, each familiar as they were family members who owned the adjacent farms and raised livestock or grew crops. They attended church services every Sunday with their families and seemed to be decent, god-fearing Christians.
Christians, she thought bitterly. Now that was a full-fledged blasphemy of epic proportions. Just how little she’d known about the people who’d embraced her as one of their own.
The moment she’d entered the building, the stench had been overwhelming, and she’d discovered why when she glimpsed inside the cages. Men, women and a small child were huddled within, their bodies covered in wounds that oozed blood and yellowish pus. All of them were filthy, hair matted with sweat, dirt and dried blood. When she’d finally torn her eyes away from the silver bars lined with tortured faces, she’d learned the horror didn’t stop there.
In the center of the room had been a wooden table with silver cuffs on each corner and a multitude of matching chains. The oak was stained black in places, the surface smoother where bodies had writhed in misery and unintentionally sanded the wood.
“They must repent of their sin and reject the beast before they can cross into heaven with their soul intact,” Elijah had said as she gawked at the atrocity in horror. “For this purpose, we attempt to expel the demon within.”
“The demon?” she’d whispered, mortified.
“Lucifer’s beasts reside within each and every one of them.”
The cage closest to her had held the single child in the group, who was no more than eight or nine years old. His face had been dirty and the wounds along his arms and chest had been fresh, but his eyes had been alert as he studied her silently. Pools of the most radiant topaz she’d ever seen—pure, untarnished liquid gold—stared back at her, silently pleading for help.
In that moment, she’d known she was no better than her relatives if she turned a blind eye to something like this. As she’d walked from the building with her disgusting and reprehensive “family,” she’d begun to formulate a plan.
Just two years before, on her eighteenth birthday, she’d been given her parents’ assets. It was more than enough for a fresh start somewhere. More importantly, she could finally discover what waited for her inside the safety deposit box in Florida—an odd location considering her mother and father had never taken her there. Her parents’ attorney refused to give her the key unless it was in person, and had specified that her mother and father had instructed that she had to open it before the age of twenty-one and keep the existence of it secret.
Considering her kin doubled as the Manson family, she wasn’t sure if it was bound to be a good or bad surprise. Either way, it was better than sticking around.
It had taken two weeks to work out her uncle’s schedule and by that time she’d known when her aunt was going to the grocery store, how long her cousin Jonah would be out in the field, and could count the minutes it would take to cover a significant amount of distance. Timing was everything, and as the number of people in cages had dwindled from seven to five, there had been little to spare.
Stealing the keys to her uncle’s shop was the easy part; standing before the cages afterward, eyes wide and hands shaking, wasn’t. She’d wondered if the ravaged and violated men and women would kill her on principle. Perhaps they did have a demon inside of them that would demand blood payment for their suffering.
As it turned out, they hadn’t harmed her at all.
Instead they’d forced her into one of the cages that reeked of feces and urine and locked her inside, deaf to her pleas to take her with them or set her free. Only the child had turned as she begged for mercy, showing fear for the first time. He’d reached for her hand and clasped her fingers in his thin hands before he was swept into the arms of a woman who carried him from sight as Mary struggled against the bars.
That was how her uncle found her—locked in a cage with the keys tossed in the dirt, the polished set flashing brightly in the setting sun just five feet away.
The beating she’d received after he pulled her from the cage had been the most severe—the one in which Elijah introduced her to the cane. “Spare the rod and spoil the child,” he repeated as he gave her a lash for each shifter he’d lost, as well as an additional five for her betrayal. Ten lashes total, the thick, winding scars of which now adorned the skin on her back.
It wasn’t difficult to feign fear or deference after that. A solid slap to the face courtesy of her aunt or a leering taunt from her cousin weren’t shit on the grander scale. The few friends she’d made at college were told she was recovering from mono and wouldn’t return for the rest of the semester when they called to speak to her. That meant no one would look for her, and no one would miss her if she suddenly vanished without a trace. Everything she did now was about survival. Surrounded by the lunacy as she was, there was only one way to ensure it.
She had to pretend, build trust and show them she’d seen the error of her ways. That meant staying quiet, keeping her nose clean and feigning absolution. It wasn’t always easy but as the good book said, good things come to those who wait.
“Again, Mary,” John said, going to his knees and starting a new passage, another she knew now by heart. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want; He makes me lie down in green pastures…”
Dutifully she chanted along, damning the god who’d placed her in his predicament, taken her parents from her and shown her just how vile and warped the world could be. As soon as she was given the opportunity she planned to run as far and as fast away from the sick, demented fucks as she could.
And there was only one thing she knew with utmost certainty.
She had no intention of ever looking back.
Chapter Twelve
Seated smack-dab in the center of wolf shifters and Ava had never felt so powerful. She knew she should have been terrified or nervous about the attention centered in her direction, but oddly enough she wasn’t. Ever since she’d left the office she’d amassed a wealth of knowledge about Diskant, his race and their connection.
His mate.
A shiver traveled down her spine as she acknowledged the fact, accepted it and comprehended the implications of such a thing. This wasn’t just a quick romp in the sheets or a casual fling that would go away. This was exactly as he’d told her it would be, a connection that would last the span of their lifetimes. As scary as the notion was, it was equally exciting, humbling and staggering. Since she could feel the complexities of his feelings, she was able to experience the full magnitude of his commitment and devotion—all-encompassing, frightening and unwavering in its intensity.
Never had a man felt as Diskant did for her, as if she was as essential to his being as breathing. He would do whatever it took to secure her happiness, even if it meant his own was sacrificed as a consequence.