Leviathan (Devilry #1)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

He doesn’t speak.

As I approach the young boy, he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even acknowledge my presence.

I’m not sure he’s capable of it at the moment.

“How long ago was this?” I ask, turning to the cop that called me here. I’m not worried about him making the details of this public. Discretion and loyalty are part of the pact he’s made. I asked him to keep an eye on anything unusual in the surrounding counties, and he’s done his job. His reward will be plentiful. “Does anyone else know?”

He shakes his head, but he’s obviously rattled, and I don’t blame him. This isn’t a typical call in the small rural town he watches over. It’s not typical anywhere, really.

Which is perfect for me.

“Happened about an hour ago,” he says, his fingers itching around his holstered gun. “It was a noise complaint, so I didn’t need any backup. When I saw it, I called you immediately, Master.”

I nod, clicking my tongue as I take in the scene. “Leave us.”

“What will you do with him?” he asks, not sure if he’ll like the answer, but obedience is mandatory, and he can’t do anything about what I have planned.

My silence is enough of an answer to him. He bows his head, clasping his hands together before exiting the room. Now it’s just me and the boy, and the plan in my head grows.

I lower myself on my haunches in front of him. He looks to be about ten years old, not malnourished or beat up in any way. His hold on the bloody knife is wobbly, almost like he’s going in and out of it, and I know in his moment of weakness that this is the time to strike.

“You made quite the mess,” I chuckle under my breath, gesturing at the room around us. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

The boy hesitates, eyes glossy as he shakes his head. He opens his mouth, ragged breaths leaving him, before answering in a quiet broken whisper. “Should I be sorry?”

I tip my head. Maybe most people would be, but I have a feeling this boy doesn’t possess the necessary faculties to feel remorse. Regardless, I play along. “Did they hurt you first?”

“No.”

“Were they bad people?”

“They were good.”

“So why did you do it?”

“Because I wanted to.”

His silver eyes, cold and emotionless, meet mine. He’s no longer a weak little boy, not anymore. A flip has switched in his mind, making him fully aware of his actions. He’s reliving every second in his head, and the small tip of his upper lip tells me that he’s enjoying the memory.

He’s perfect. Exactly what I’ve been looking for. He’ll fit in well with the others.

“Do you know the story of the Seven Princes of Hell?”

He shakes his head.

I lean back against the bloody bed, stretching my legs out in front of me. I’m not worried about anybody interrupting us. By the time they get here, the boy and I will be long gone.

“They’re the most powerful demons, representing the seven deadly sins. I don’t take too much stock in that part. It doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me is how they can lay waste to the Earth and command armies. They’re true monsters, inside and out.”

“Monsters,” the boy whispers, latching onto the word. “Am I a monster?”

I smile wickedly. This boy is quick, smart. Yes, he’ll definitely fit in. “Do you want to be?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Do you have dark thoughts? Did you enjoy what you did?”

He nods. “I thought about it a lot. It was fun.”

“Fun,” I repeat, not able to bite back my grin. “Well, little one. It seems like there’s a monster in you, but we have to be careful when we let it out.”

He gives me a questioning look. “We?”

“We,” I confirm, reaching out a hand to him. “You’re coming with me. I’ll make sure everything is okay.”

He thinks it through for a moment, glancing over at what he’s done. He’s old enough to know he has a choice to make, and I have no doubt he’ll choose the one that’ll benefit me the most. What will he do without me? Without this chance I’m offering him? Juvie, prison, sentenced to death.

A death he’ll deserve, no doubt.

His small bloodied hand lands in mine, and I help him up. It’s not my favorite, but I don’t mind the blood. It’ll work to my advantage one day when he’s old enough. I just have to wait. Thankfully, patience is my strong suit.

I squeeze his hand, guiding him out the door. “Let’s start your journey, Leviathan.”

“That’s not my name,” he says, but it doesn’t look like he hates it.

“It is now.”

And together we leave the bloody, mangled, and tortured bodies of his parents behind.

He smiles the entire way out.