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Gor gripped a fistful of my hair and yanked my neck back, forcing my face upward.
A monster stood before me.
I sucked in a breath. And couldn’t exhale.
Huge. A beast, bigger than Kol or any Morgon I’d ever seen, towered over me. Bare-chested, wearing a leather kilt and a gold torque around his massive neck, his black hair hung long, his massive, black wings jutted over his shoulders. Black wings. Like the Nightwing clan. Impossible. His appearance didn’t frighten me nearly as much as his face. His brow was too large, his jaw too wide, his chin and nose jutted too far, like the muzzle of a…of a dragon. He was more monster than man.
At the moment, his piercing gaze had left me to pin Gor, who still had his fist in my hair. With a swift movement, the monster grabbed Gor’s arm and snapped the bone. Gor yelled, letting go of me. The creature took his head in his hands and cracked his neck, dropping the body to the floor.
Not a sound. The only surprised gasp came from me. I glanced at Gor’s glazed expression, alive only one second before.
The monster stared at Barron. “She is not a bleeder and will not be handled as such.”
“Yes, my lord. Of course.”
The beast squatted down to me, his serpentine pupils dilated, observing with predatory intensity. Malevolence rippled off him like a foul odor. I was looking at death himself, except death would’ve been more kind, promising some blissful afterlife. In his eyes was endless emptiness.
His massive hands bore long, extended claws. He used one to tilt my face upward, his claw digging into the tender flesh under my chin. I refused to whimper or cry, forcing myself to hold his gaze, no matter the fear trembling through me. He turned my face to one side, then the other. He pulled the tie holding my braid in place, unraveling my hair with his clawed hand, lifting the dark waves to his nose. His eyes finally caught the mark on my neck, hidden before by my braid hanging to one side. His eyes flared a fiery red. He became preternaturally still.
“Who touched her?” he asked low and deep.
“None of us, my lord,” assured Barron, stuttering. “She’s taken a Morgon lover. Very recently.”
A moment’s pause. He smiled, revealing a row of sharp fangs, canines protruding. My heart raced faster. He was an abomination, some mistake of nature. A horror story come to life.
“Then she can take another.”
He released my chin and stood to his full height, his voice bellowing in the cavern chamber. “She is to be my breeder. No one will take his pleasure on this one.”
A unison of “Yes, my lord” rang out.
In a lower voice, he waved to someone in the shadows. “Commander Gaius. Take her to be bathed and put her in my chamber. I want her upon my return.”
“Yes, my lord.”
He whirled toward the shadows behind him, his knotted spine jutting out and stretching the skin on his back. He flared mighty, black wings. Footsteps fell in line with him and filed out an exit in the wall behind his throne. He was leaving on some other mission. Thank heaven!
Gaius!
Tall, dark-skinned, shaved head, and fierce expression, I would never in my life have taken him for a traitor to this cause if I didn’t know it already. His skin and eyes matched the cocoa-brown of his wings. He was a Woodblade, the only one I’d seen so far in this place. He gripped me by the upper arm, lifted me off of my knees, and led me out a different corridor. I glanced over my shoulder to see Barron following his master along with a troop of others.
Where was I? This wasn’t a cult, that was certain. This was a new society, made of Morgon soldiers who did everything they were told on penalty of death. Ruled by a mighty Morgon god, a beast of unparalleled proportions, who reeked of violence, power, and blood.
As Gaius led me away, four Morgon guards flanked our front and our back. Trembling from the encounter I’d just escaped, I glanced up at the one Morgon who might help to get me out of here. He didn’t even look at me. His expression was hard and focused, like all of the others in this place, and I feared Kol was wrong. Gaius might have switched allegiance to this army of murderers. Or perhaps some dark magic had ensnared him to their cause. I trembled. My best hope may not care one way or another whether I lived or died.
Chapter Twenty
We wound farther into the cavern. The yellowish rock walls sparkled with a sheen. We came out into a circular chamber. Water dripped from stalactites on the ceiling. Thick humidity and steaming pools of all sizes made the place feel like a public bathhouse. Vapor filled the smaller chamber, dampening my skin. I suppose this was their public bathhouse.
A russet-winged Morgon, a Rowanflame clan member like Conn, lounged in a pool, his arms resting on the edge, his wings laying flat on the stone, while two scantily-clad women massaged his shoulders. My heart stammered at the thought of one of Conn’s clansmen, distant relation or not, being a part of this foul group of Morgon men. Conn would beat him senseless for shaming the family name if he knew.
Gauis snapped to a halt. “Out!”
The Rowanflame, unaware of us, launched to his feet, revealing his full naked body. Like the other men here, he was in fantastic shape. But it was horrifying rather than enticing. Strong soldiers with sadistic minds and an even more sadistic leader—the combination terrified me. I dreaded I might never escape. I looked away.
“I see we have a new recruit, Gaius. I don’t mind sharing. Bleeder or maiden?”
“Neither.”
