“How many of you were there?” Marcus asked with a frown. “I mean, I’ve heard the stories, a hundred women kept locked up in cages, released only to rape, torture, or feed on, but I always thought it an exaggeration.”
“It wasn’t,” Divine said quietly. “I would guess when the immortals attacked, he had about fifty mortal women for feeding on; twenty or so no-fangers he’d turned and was raping and torturing; along with four immortal women, all of whom he was hoping to breed with; and another twenty-four no-fangers plus myself who were pregnant or breast-feeding.”
Marcus breathed out slowly and then asked, “Which were you? Pregnant or breast-feeding?”
“I gave birth the morning of the attack,” she said quietly. “Actually, looking back I think it was an induced labor.”
“Induced?” Marcus asked.
Divine nodded. “We received word the night before that the immortals had formed an army under my grandfather, as well as Uncle Lucian and some others, and that they were marching on Leonius’s camp. The women were all aflutter, half hoping for rescue, half terrified of it.”
“And you?” Marcus asked. “Were you hoping or terrified?”
“I was just confused,” Divine said unhappily. “They were saying all sorts of things. Some thought that the immortals would rescue the women, but purge the pregnancies rather than risk bringing another Leonius into the world. Others thought they might just slaughter everyone, Leonius, his men and the women—”
“Why the women?” Marcus asked with a frown. “They were victims in all of this.”
“We’d been tainted,” she said simply. “A lot of women thought we would be considered damaged goods.”
“What did you think?” Marcus asked with a frown.
Divine shook her head. “I didn’t know what to think.”
They were both silent for a minute, and then Divine continued, “Anyway, I didn’t think I’d sleep that night I was so distressed by everything, but I must have because I remember that Abaddon had to shake me to get me to wake up. It was the middle of the night and I was confused at his waking me, and even more confused when he gave me a tincture to drink. When I asked what it was he simply took control of me and made me drink it. Shortly afterward I went into labor.”
Divine closed her eyes briefly and grimaced. “Damian was born quickly. It all happened much faster than anyone expected. Dima, the mortal who acted as my midwife, said if I had been mortal, I wouldn’t have survived. I was torn up pretty badly.”
“But you survived, and so did the baby?” he asked.
Divine nodded. “Yes. He was fine. He had no fangs but he was a strong healthy baby.”
“Wait, what?” Marcus said with confusion.
“He was strong and healthy,” Divine repeated, and then said wryly, “I wish the same could have been said for me. As I mentioned, I was ripped up pretty badly during the birth and I wasn’t allowed the time to heal afterward. Leonius ordered Abaddon to smuggle my baby and me out of camp through a secret tunnel before the immortals breached the camp, and he did so minutes after Damian was born.”
“Were other mothers and their babies smuggled out too?” Marcus asked at once.
“No,” Divine said quietly. “At least, Abaddon said I was the only one and they were all there when he hustled me out of—”
“Why did he want you smuggled out?” Marcus asked.
Divine hesitated, a little startled by his sharp tone and his interrupting her, but after a minute she sighed and said, “Abaddon said that Leonius thought my uncle might let the others live, but felt sure he’d cut me down where I stood and kill Damian as well when he learned that I’d dishonored my family like that.”
“Like what?” he asked with confusion. “How did you dishonor your family?”
“By having Leonius’s child,” she pointed out softly.
Marcus shook his head. “Divine, you were a child yourself, raped and tortured. Lucian would hardly have held you responsible for the resulting child, and he wouldn’t have killed an innocent baby.”
“He killed all the other women and children they found in the camp,” she pointed out sadly, recalling the women she’d lived and suffered with.
“The immortals did not kill those women and children,” Marcus said firmly. “When Leonius realized he was going to lose the battle, he retreated to camp with six of his eldest sons. They rounded up all the women and children and killed them. The few immortals were tied up with the no-fanger females and set on fire, and while they screamed and burned, he and his oldest sons visited an orgy of blood on the remaining mortals, drinking every last mortal woman dry.”
“But Abaddon said . . .” Her voice trailed off. She’d known all her life that Abaddon could not be trusted. She should have held everything he’d ever told her suspect. But he’d been her only source of news back then, and he’d pretended that she was important, given into his care to be looked after and protected. His lord’s dying wish.
“What happened after this Abaddon smuggled you out of camp?” Marcus asked. “Where did you go?”
Divine shrugged wearily. “The first part of the journey after leaving is something of a blur in my memory. I was weak and in pain from the labor, never given a chance to heal, or even to feed. We had to run and hide and run again.”
“Why?” Marcus demanded. “To keep you and your son safe from your uncle?”
Divine nodded.
He stared at her for a minute, and then said, “You mean to tell me that your whole life has been spent hiding and running from your family because you believed they would kill your son?”
“And me,” she added solemnly.
“Divine,” he said slowly. “Lucian wouldn’t have done that. He would not kill an innocent child.”
“But he was no-fanger like his father,” she pointed out. “And my grandfather and uncle were out to destroy all no-fangers.”
“Your son can’t be—” He shook his head and muttered something about dealing with that later, then said, “Yes, the immortals were determined to put down no-fangers back then. But not edentates.”
“Edentates?” she echoed uncertainly.
“That is an immortal without fangs. They are called edentate. Any child born fangless is considered edentate unless and until they go crazy and show the tendencies of no-fangers, a liking for torturing and killing, etc. But not all edentates turn no-fanger. Your son would not have been killed. And you certainly wouldn’t have been.”
“But I didn’t kill myself,” Divine pointed out.
“What?” he asked with bewilderment.
“The reason there were so few immortal women in the camp was because they usually killed themselves rather than suffer Leonius’s raping and impregnating them. I saw two of them do it during the year I was there. One got free and when the guard pulled his sword, she just threw her head over it, decapitating herself. Another threw herself in the fire and burned to death. Abaddon said they had honor and their families would have been shamed had they not done it. That their families probably would have cut them down themselves had they found them in Leo’s camp alive and well, never having tried to escape or kill themselves. He said Uncle Lucian was the same, arrogant, cold, hard . . .”
“Abaddon again,” Marcus interrupted angrily. “Divine, he was lying to you. He lied to you about what happened to the women in the camp, and he lied to you about this. How long did he pound those tales into your head?”
“I don’t know. Ten years, I guess,” Divine said, staring at him wide-eyed. It was the first time she’d seen him really angry.
“You were with him for ten years after he smuggled you out of camp?”
She nodded. “At first I needed him. I had Damian, I was breast-feeding, I—”