“Fuck,” I murmur, backtracking.
I pause before the cell containing a male Aeshlian with coils of iridescent hair. Big, crystalline eyes blink up at me—a little dull on shine.
He needs sunlight. A perfect excuse to give him time in the chains.
“You’re up,” I say, leaning the catchpole against the wall.
All the color drains from his cheeks.
I dig my key into the lock, and he shuffles to the back wall. The fresh reek of piss fills my nose. “No! No, please! I-I can’t go out there again—”
“He needs a pick-me-up,” I declare, grabbing the catchpole.
I stalk into the cell as the boy pulls into a tight, trembling ball. It’s really fucking hard to get the prongs around their necks when they act this way.
I kick him in the ribs, and his head whips back, a scream spilling as I clamp his throat and drag him toward the door. He continues to kick and thrash and squeal, his desperate sounds morphing into big, wrought sobs that draw every other inhabitant to the forefront of their cells.
“Shh-shh-shh,” I coo, snapping a shackle around the young man’s wrist, tethering him to a long length of chain that’s bolted to a pole in the circle’s center. A chain longer than Father’s, giving his prey the false sense of security in this small outer band.
Giving themhope.
Pathetic fucking hope. The main ingredient of disappointment.
Shuddering, Father tries to scuttle farther away, more blood leaching from his torn-up wrists. “No,” he cries. “No-no-no-no—”
“I know what you need, Father.” I snap the second cuff into place. “It’s okay.”
I loosen the catchpole, toss it aside, then stalk toward the man I’d give my life for. I crouch before him, grab a fistful of his own chains, and give them a playful tug, flashing him a reassuring smile. “Come on. You used to say their blood made you feel good. And there’s nothing wrong with feeling good.”
He snaps his head around, looking straight at me with wide, aching eyes. “I want it to end, my son.Please!”
My heart stops.
“Wh-whatdid you say?”
His chest swells. “Myson!” he roars with the ferocity of a thousand war drums.
He slams his hands into my chest, all the breath punching from my lungs as I’m thrown backward. My head smashes against the stone, lights forking across my splitting vision as I look up at him—standing at his full height, like the mighty, powerful warrior he once was. Teeth bared, his canines glisten in the firelight, his inky eyes on harrowing display.
“Father …”
The word comes out choked.
His face contorts, and he crumbles down, like someone just ripped several disks from his spine. He snatches Mother’s top off the ground and scurries toward the far edge of the arena where he resumes his silent rocking.
My son …
He hasn’t called me that in …centuries.
Throat thickening, I breathe the echo of his words like the nourishment they are, watching him shudder in the corner …
My face hardens, a fierce ball of determination welling in my chest.
He wants me to let him go—to end his suffering. I can’t. Won’t.
Ever.
My son …
