His Words of Wrath (The Kaldr Chronicles Book 3) Page 8

  “I don’t doubt you will,” I laughed.

  When he closed the door behind him, I lowered my eyes and looked at the gun in my hand.

  Its sleek black metal, the silver bullets within—

  I didn’t want to use them, but Aerick was right.

  If it came down to it, I would pick myself over them.

  9

  The night was nearly upon us. Wrought with tension and agony unlike any I could’ve ever imagined, I went from person to person to shackle to shackle, locking into place the men and women who would soon become beasts. Their faces were plain, their expressions neutral. Some even appeared content with the situation—and how, soon, they would abandon their minds and bodies for one night to let loose the beast they all struggled to keep caged in.

  When I reached Aerick, he held his arms up steadily. Gone was the usual sarcasm and joviality that made up his person. In its place remained fear.

  “Hey,” I said as I reached up to lock his hands into place.

  “Hey,” he replied, as if already disconnected from his voice and body.

  “Is everything ok?”

  “I just… don’t like this part,” he said. “It hurts so goddamn bad. Every single month.”

  “I’m sorry you have to go through this.”

  “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

  The cold dismissal struck me not as odd, but hostile—as if he didn’t want anything more to do with me than he had to. As such, I moved on to the next person and shackled them, only occasionally looking back at Aerick when I felt our eyes would catch.

  They didn’t.

  Bowed to the floor, his head remained hanging, eyes closed and lips pursed with contempt.

  When I finally finished securing the eighteen Howlers that would be remaining within the storage room, I walked out, closed the solid metal door behind me, and locked it without question. I turned the lights off soon after.

  “It’s to keep them calm,” Baptiste explained as he and Poem drew closer, looking through the fogged pane of glass that looked into the lockdown room. “The bright light bothers them during the transformation.”

  “Heightened senses,” Poem added.

  I nodded. “And the two of you?” I asked, turning and making my way back not only to my room, but my own personal cell for the night. “The two of you will be all right?”

  “Just ignore anything that happens out here,” Poem said, “and everything will be just fine.”

  With one last nod, I stepped into the room, barricaded the door as best I could with the dresser, loose furniture and mattress, and waited for the night to begin.

  As much as I hated it do it, morbid curiosity got the best of me. I couldn’t help but peek through the keyhole to witness their transformations.

  It was unlike anything I could’ve ever imagined.

  It at first resembled spasms which shook their naked bodies and bowed their spines, which then sent them to their knees and onto their sides. It stopped—briefly, but only for a moment—before it began anew. Their spinal chords distended beneath their skin and from their expanding peaks the skin cracked and split. Muscles pulsed like gelatinous lifeforms. Bones expanded—cracking, snapping, realigning and them lengthening. Screams could be heard throughout the complex that resembled cries in the throes of death. Of them I was utterly convinced, as when the first piece of human skin split from Poem’s form I nearly vomited. It sloughed off her body like the skin from a shedding snake’s back and fell to the floor in globs of slimy viscous. Then came the hair growth—bursting from her body in shades of brilliant black and snow white, tracing her body from her lengthening face to her distending feet.

  By the time it was over, both were whimpering, both collapsed on their sides and breathing as though they’d just been given their final dose of euthanasia.

  Then their eyes began to glow gold.

  I pushed a blanket across the opening to make sure they wouldn’t possibly see me and spread out along the mattress, cradling the gun to me as if it were my great and holy salvation.

  That was when I began to hear the sounds from above ground—snaking through the pipes, laughing like a clown, whispering like the Devil.

  It made the wolves go mad, barking and snarling like hellfire on the coldest and darkest of nights. Though drenched in sweat I felt incredibly cold, and though riddled with the fear that Baptiste and Poem would somehow break in I stared at the ceiling as what felt like a thousand eyes penetrated into my being.

  We heard.

  We saw.

  We see.

  A wicked howl that could only have come from the biggest Howler ripped through the complex, nearly stopping my heart and causing me to panic at the same time. I racked the slide to chamber a round and cocked the hammer before narrowing my gun at the ceiling.

  “Go away,” I whispered.

  We will tear you apart, the voice of the Sanguine who had been here no more than days ago said. Whether it is inside or out.

  Pounding the likes I could’ve never imagined came from somewhere within the facility, causing each and every Howler to go mad with rage. The barks continued, the growls and yipes cut slivers through the fabric of my being. The howls, though—they filled me with utter dread: raising the hairs on my arms, my neck, my chest. Even breathing was hard—because at that moment, all I wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry.

  My people—my own people—reducing me to near hysterics.

  “Come on,” I whispered. “Breathe.”

  The sounds coming from outside the room stopped.

  I closed my eyes.

  A gale ripped through the overhead vents and sent the sheets billowing about me.

  A figure appeared.

  I fired once.

  I fired again.

  The monstrosity with red eyes that had come through the central ventilation system exploded in a burst of black dust that instantly choked me.

  Someone slammed into the door, then yelped as they were burned by liquid silver.

  I breathed through my nose to try and drive life-giving oxygen into my lungs and stared at the remnants of the Banshee on the floor before me.

  Surely a silver bullet couldn’t have killed it. Could it?

  No, I then realized in the moments thereafter. It hadn’t.

  The dust, as it rose from the floor, was recirculating back into the air, then being sucked in through the vent that spanned the upper part of the wall.

  I could only watch in horror as the Banshee—or whatever was left of it—dematerialized.

  Jason, I heard the voice said. Jason.

  “Go away,” I whispered.

  My name is Silence, the creature said. The one who came. The one who saw. The one who followed. You have broken me once, but never again.

  “Get away from me,” I continued as the pounding on the door began anew.

  I will never leave.

  Somewhere, deep within the recesses of my throat, something moved.

  I gasped as a sharp stabbing pain lit the inside of my esophagus and attempted to tear free, constricting and scratching at the muscles of my trachea and then eventually my tongue. My tonsils were attacked with vicious abandon and for a moment I thought would be torn off, but when finally I was able to force myself to vomit I watched as granules of black residue appeared within the phlegm, only to be lifted into the air and recycled into the vents.

  While my chest, lungs, throat and mouth burned, it no longer felt like I was being attacked from the inside out.

  Rising, I made my way to the vent, grabbed the switch that would close it off, and flipped it shut.

  Instantly the air chilled.

  I collapsed.

  The dogs barked.

  The vampires screeched.

  The banshee, in whatever ethereal form it existed in, continued to whisper throughout the pipes.

  I closed my eyes and begged for it all to be over.

  Then, out of nowhere, it stopped.

  The screeching, the
barking, the whispering—all vanished in an instant, as if I’d died and gone to Heaven.

  When I opened my eyes—when I took into consideration a room that was not the one I had just been within—I blinked and tried to clear my vision.

  This wasn’t the Howler compound. This was—

  “Kelda Folkhagi,” I whispered.

  She appeared—a brilliant mist of gust and snow—the stones upon her face and head startling in their glow and her mouth parted in what appeared to be a minuscule frown. Her hands spread as if to embrace me as she drifted forward, but before she could reach my cowering form, she stopped. “Jason,” she said. “DePella.”

  “Mother Kelda,” I said, bowing my head. “Our fountain. Our spring.”

  Your plight is acknowledged, young one, and it shall not be ignored in the hour in which it occurs. She extended and then spread the fingers upon her hand, then seized within her grasp an invisible aspect which I could not see but feel throughout my entire body. Wicked monsters lay in the darkest parts of the world, but those that lie the most are those within our hearts.

  She curled her fist, then snapped it to one side, instantly causing a jarring pain at the center of my chest. It reverberated throughout my body—first from my lungs, then through my throat—until from my mouth poured the darkness that had so encompassed my being.

  The banshee’s cry is known for its duplicity, she said. Once heard, it can never be forgotten; but once tasted, it can rarely be expelled. She brushed the fading remnants of the banshee’s person away with a wave of her hand, its black granules fading in the snow that existed within this frozen world. I put a spell on you, Once Warm Flesh of Svell Kaldr Guy Winters, now Svell Kaldr Jason DePella. In this moment you shall feel no pain from wicked things, nor will they have access to your being. This intervention is only temporary. Use it wisely. Then guide your people to their promised land.

  She faded into the darkness, her last fleeting image that of the honeycomb-shaped nodules upon the stone atop her head.

  I closed my eyes.

  I opened them.

  I was back in the Howler compound—cold, alone, and in my own quarters.

  I instantly drew the blanket around me and listened as I heard the carnal sounds of slapping flesh in the room outside of mine.

  They weren’t here anymore.

  The Sanguine, and the Banshee that had been with them, were gone.

  I curled into a fetal position on the bed and closed my eyes.

  Never did the gun leave my grasp.

  10

  I waited until late the following morning to rise and push the furniture away from the door. Wary that the transformations had yet to finish but knowing that I would eventually have to leave the room to check on them regardless, I pulled the blanket away from the keyhole and peered through to find nothing amiss, save a few overturned tables and benches that had been sent askew sometime during the night. However—there was no sign of Baptiste or Poem, nor was there any indication that they were anywhere near the vicinity of the common room.

  “Great,” I whispered. “Just great.”

  After pulling the mattress back, pushing the dresser aside and removing the chair from beneath the doorknob, I took the gun into my hand, checked to ensure that the safety was off and a fresh silver bullet was in its chamber, then exited the room.

  The silence was deafening.

  Taking in a breath, I stepped forward, training the gun on the perimeter around me. The entrance to the bunks were closed, the threshold into which the supplies would have once been stashed still locked and secure. I was just about to step toward it when I heard the shuffle of footsteps.

  I spun.

  I raised the gun.

  I saw Poem—naked, save for a slight sheet around her shoulders. “Good morning,” she said.

  “Morning,” I replied, looking from her, to the door, then back to her again. “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine,” she said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “You mean you didn’t hear the—”

  She frowned and cocked her head.

  So—she didn’t remember anything that had transpired last night. She hadn’t even heard the shots I’d fired when the Banshee had entered my room.

  “Shit,” I whispered, running a hand through my hair.

  “Boss,” Baptiste’s familiar voice said as he rounded the corner. He, too, was naked, and showed no signs of modesty. I tried not to do a precursory glance at his chiseled physique and failed to do so, but eventually lifted my eyes and trained my gaze on his. “Did something happen last night?”

  “A Banshee infiltrated the compound through the ventilation system,” I sighed.

  Baptiste growled, a hand near his waist balling into a fist. “Those dirty fuckers,” he said, his cold grey eyes monstrous with rage. “I swear, if I get my hands on that thing, I’ll—”

  “The Kelda took care of it,” I said.

  “Who?” Poem frowned.

  “The Kelda Folkhagi,” I said. “The—”

  You are to never divulge the location of her sanctuary, the concepts of her home or the makeup of her person.

  I froze, unsure what to say or how to continue.

  “Jason?” Poem asked. “Who is the Kelda?”

  “Someone very important,” I said, turning to face the door that held the eighteen other Howlers. “Let’s get our people out of there. I’m sure they’ll want to know what’s going on.”

  11

  The process of unshackling everyone took at least ten, if not fifteen minutes. Most of the Howlers were delirious—starved of sleep from the night before. Some were incoherent. Others on the brink of collapse by the time I released them from their bonds. Regardless, I could not sit by and let them go to bed without first recounting the events of last night.

  With that in mind, I led them out into the common room, gestured them to right the tables and benches, then recanted my story.

  By the time I finished, everyone was staring.

  “No one has ever infiltrated our sanctuary,” Baptiste said, still filled with his earlier disbelief. “That’s… unimaginable.”

  “Some would say illegal,” Keylor said, crossing his arms over his chest. “A violation of the treaties imposed by the three clans.”

  “Whatever it is,” I said, “it isn’t good. And it doesn’t bode well for us staying here any longer than we absolutely should.”

  “You said it got into the ventilation system?” Aerick asked, stepping from the back of the room to examine the series of vents all around us. “If that’s the case… then it could still be in here.”

  “It’s gone,” I said.

  “How do you know?” he replied.

  “Trust me. I know.”

  He looked as though he were about to question me—his eyes narrowing, his lips curling into a frown. When he didn’t, however, I sighed and nodded as he returned his attention to the walls and ceilings around us. “So,” he said. “We had vampires on one end and a Banshee on the other. Great. Fucked both ways.”

  “It sounds like you’d enjoy that,” Keylor smirked.

  “Normally I would, my friend, but I don’t like the idea of us being trapped in a place where something can still get at us even when the front door is locked.” He turned his eyes up at me. “What do you propose, boss? Are we staying, or…”

  “I don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to,” I said. “The banshee specifically went after me. It could’ve gone after any of you, especially since you were all chained up, but it chose me. That means they have a vendetta. Which means that they’re likely to strike again.”

  “Unless we get a higher authority involved,” Baptiste nodded.

  “Exactly,” I said. I looked around at my small clan and took note of their expressions—mostly the fear, but also the anger riddled throughout. I palmed the back of my neck and looked at them—then said, without pause, “We need to leave. As soon as possible.”

  Tho
ugh no one disagreed, they were hesitant to nod or even respond.

  “We’ll need a bus or a truck to transport everyone,” I said, casting a glance at Baptiste, who merely nodded as he trained his eyes toward the elevator hatch, “and we’ll need everyone’s decision on whether or not they’re coming to the Winters’ family ranch by tonight at the latest. Anyone who wishes to come should start making arrangements now, before we abandon this place.”

  “And if we don’t want to go?” Keylor asked. “What then?”

  “I can’t tell you what to do,” I said. “But I can assure you that we’re stronger as a group, and would be far better off with more supernaturals—even if they aren’t your kind—than we would be alone.”

  “So we’re free to leave if we wish?” another Howler asked.

  I nodded. “Everyone is free to do whatever they want.”

  By the time the Howlers finished dividing themselves up, all but three of them had chosen to go to the Winters family ranch. Among them was Keylor—who, with wary eyes and a bold face, declared that he would never associate himself with the Kaldr even if came down to life and death. “I’ll find my own way,” he said.

  He, another man, and one woman walked to the elevator hatch, entered, then turned to face us.

  I knew, by the looks on their faces alone, that this would be the last time we would see them.

  12

  Having been liberated of one vehicle in the aftermath of Keylor and the others’ departure, Baptiste chose to venture into a nearby town and acquisition a bus in order to transfer the seventeen remaining safely and without suspicion. Knowing we were better off together rather than apart, I agreed to this sentiment, but only on the condition that we would make the trip in one night with no stops whatsoever.

  While awaiting Baptiste’s return, I went to work securing the few belongings of worth in Pierre’s room—sorting through his clothes, picking out those that were not ragged, packing the ones I felt could be repurposed. I slid the handgun with the silver-coated bullets into the bottom of the bag and was just about to turn and start on the scant amount of bedding when a knock came at the door.