Chapter 5
I fade in and out of coherence, only aware of my body rocking back and forth. The throbbing in my head prevents me from concentrating until, at some point, it clicks that this undulating of my hips means I’m on a horse.
I’m taken back to my childhood, where I’ve just woken up from napping on a horse as Mother and I travel to a village. It’s for a routine trip where her services are offered to assist in birth and heal any trauma that might arise.
As my eyes fully open, I register the inky horse that I ride, a stranger’s. My mother’s horse, Honey, had a coat the color of fresh cream.
The last memory I carry of my mother is of her being stabbed in the heart, a place that I couldn’t heal, no matter how I poured my life’s energy into her, tears and all.
My throat constricts. No, she’s long gone. So is Honey.
As I wake, I register that my back aches. A jarring reminder that I’m in my mid-twenties, and not a child.
What happened to me?
I blink—but may have fallen back into unconsciousness—as the next time I open my eyes, the surroundings bear a striking resemblance to Talon’s Perch, its silhouette etched against the brilliant, star-filled night sky.
I stare for a while, the heaviness of my breaths exhausting me.
The pressure around my body forces me to groggily look down. Not only am I bound, but there’s a very large, thick arm wrapped around my waist. A firm body presses up against my back in an all-encompassing sensation, like I’m cocooned into them. “What...”
“I got no problem dropping you if that’s the kind of lesson you need,” a gritty voice warns. “It’d be a shame to waste such a pretty face since I bet you are perfectly firm underneath these men’s clothes.”
I grew up with criminals just as bad as him, so his words mean nothing to me. The vestigial smell of burning air sullies my nostrils, and my stomach aches as I recall the frightened faces from the village. “You attacked my village?” I slur, trying to concentrate my vision on my surroundings.
“No, it wasn’t me. I was only there for you.”
My brain understands what has happened, and yet I can’t quite form a proper reaction. I remember the Zenith skull, but surely that’s just a figment of my broken mind.
Why’s it so hard to focus?
I breathe out, “What kind of killer are you?”
He snickers, his deep and raspy voice like that of a giant, very scarred wolf. “Let’s wait until you’re on solid ground for that, Miss Jane.”
Time passes easily as we near the outpost, its weathered walls greeting me for the second time that day. My dazed mind perceives we’re suddenly dismounting, but I can’t quite figure out what I’m doing. When did we reach the stable? As he slides off the horse, I take a tumble in a desperate attempt to create any distance between us—even if bound—only for me to crash into his chest as his massive arms catch me.
They’re anything but comforting.
My head throbs, and my knees are weak as he puts me on my feet. Everything is out of focus. “You gave me a damn concussion. And... and, something else. I’m too out of it for this to be… from someone… hitting me.”
“Not my problem,” he grunts, pushing me forward. “Made my ride easier.”
Why are we here? In Talon’s Perch? Did Kathleen make it out alive?
The delirium thins enough that I realize if this man has a black skull mask, then I know exactly where we’re going.
In all outposts within a certain mileage of Skull’s Row is a blacked-out dwelling, usually tucked away in its own area where only the Zenith reside. Staff are always ready to cater to a Zenith that might stop in town for the night. Those killers travel around like how an alpha wolf might patrol his terrain.
The horror stories some of the workers tell at Ern’s Tavern… I always make sure I’m nowhere near Talon’s Perch when one is visiting.
I try to glance over my shoulder, only gathering that he towers over me like his horse did before he turns my face forward, pushing me with his other hand. There’s so much strength in that simple command.
“Keep walking,” he rasps.
The sound of clinking metal trails me; haunts me.
We pass by Ern’s Pub, a few familiar faces exiting the building and quickly darting back inside, only for more to pile out.
They all know me.
And now I’m being herded by a fucking Zenith.
I glance over at the tavern and glare at the fat ass that told Kathleen her place is on her knees and between his thighs. He leans against the building as he laughs. His swollen eye looks like a donkey kicked him, and I hate the way he clearly thinks he won by the smirk written all over his stupid face.
A moment of clarity returns like I wiped at a foggy mirror and can finally see myself. I’m almost certain now that I was drugged to some degree. My heart races, my body is exhausted .
Worrying about the village, wondering who died… The pain can’t help me now. I can mourn them later once I’m safe or alone, but right now every detail needs to be observed. If I want any chance of escaping, I can’t rest my mind for a single breath. Which includes ignoring those at Ern’s, who will continue about their lives while any mention of me will be reduced down to rumors spread as drunken tales.
All the while, I’ll be living an unfathomable nightmare.
No, I’ll escape. One way or another, I’ll figure it out.
We traverse in silence—save for the sound of leather soles on dirt and clinking armor—and veer off onto a darkened lane. Just outside the main strip is a settlement consisting of one large building that’s painted all black, along with a few smaller buildings adjacent to it. The roof, the framing of the windows, the chimney... all of them are the color of night.
Stationed men wait outside, opening the front double doors as we approach. Braziers light up the siding of the Black House, the stars bright above us.
My body is screaming at me to wake up as adrenaline courses through my veins. “Who are you...“ I mumble.
He doesn‘t answer.
I nearly stumble with my bound arms, but he grabs the rope to steady me, guiding me forward.
We enter the dark structure that has housed blends of agonizing screams, moans of pleasure, and just about everything in between. My breathing is ragged, and I‘m torn between panic and also wanting to go out like a warrior. But there‘s one thing for certain—I’m absolutely fucked.
No one goes in these without the permission—or by the force of—a Zenith.
The doors shut behind us, candles barely lighting the entryway, red velvet and gold decorations accenting the blackness of it all. Two servants jump up from a table, looking as if we interrupted a very deep and private conversation. They’re quick to give the Zenith his privacy, leaving the two of us in the foyer.
My captor leans in behind me, my body stiffening like a demon has just decided to make contact.
I shudder when he says, “The name’s Soren. You’ve found yourself on the wrong list, Miss Jane.”