Authors: Rosalie Redd
One male stood out. He wore black pants, a black T-shirt, and black military boots. Slender, with well-defined muscles, his commanding presence indicated he was their leader. Brown hair tied back in a long pony at the base of his neck captured most of his hair, but a few loose strands fell across his face. A diamond stud just above his upper lip glinted in the light. He assessed Noeh with an inquisitive stare.
Noeh approached the newcomer, maintaining eye contact. He stretched out his hands, palms up, in the traditional Stiyaha greeting. “I am King Noeh. The Keep and all its inhabitants welcome you and your kind.”
“I am Demir. This is my Pride. We are all that’s left of several Panthera Prides that lived in the Rocky Mountains.” His husky voice added a sensual lilt to the words, drawing out the R’s, lengthening them.
The group behind him was segregated by clothing style, as well as demeanor. Demir pointed to the group with ragged clothes who toted more than their share of bags. A nervous male, his back bowed with the weight from the pack he carried, flinched at Demir’s movement.
“These are our children, the Dren,” Demir said.
The behavior of the Dren didn’t sit well with Noeh, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. His inner beast stirred.
Demir touched the shoulder of a female warrior standing next to him. “This is Aramie. She and her sister are new to our Pride, but she’s earned her way to become my second in command.”
Aramie wore a dark cape that hid her clothing, except for her black, patent leather high-heeled shoes. She appeared thin and wiry, with short black hair, dark eyes, and a small nose. A tiny, red barrette held her bangs away from her eyes.
“Veromé told us Stiyaha are great warriors. I look forward to seeing it for myself,” she said.
“And you shall.” Noeh took an instant liking to Aramie and her outspoken nature.
Demir scanned the room, taking in every little detail of those around him. His purposeful glare cut from one Stiyaha to another, as if determining which ones were a threat and which ones weren’t. He returned his gaze to Noeh, a smirk crossing his face.
Noeh’s skin prickled. There was something about this male he didn’t trust. Forcing himself to relax, he introduced Demir to Saar, Gaetan, and Jax. “We readied a wing in the Keep to accommodate your kind. Jax will assist you into your new quarters.”
Jax squirmed at Noeh’s side. Unable to contain himself any longer, he jumped in front of Noeh. “I will take you to your quarters. If you need anything, anything at all, I will make sure to get it for you. Indeed, indeed, it would be my pleasure to serve you.”
“You are too kind.” Demir raised an eyebrow.
Waving a hand dismissively, Demir walked over to a group of Dren, his movements slow and predatory. The tallest one was a male with short black hair and a mustache. Long scars on his hands and arms marred his muscular body. He wore a pair of dirty jeans and a gray shirt with a hole in the sleeve. His biceps bulged from the heavy bags he carried.
Demir pushed the male toward Jax. “Slave, take my things to my chamber. Make sure everything is to my liking.”
Adrenaline rushed through Noeh’s body, and his inner beast screamed. “We don’t sanction slavery in the Keep.” His marking for justice pulsed above his right eye.
Demir whipped his head around, narrowing his stare on Noeh. “How can you say that when your slave has offered to cater to our every need?”
Noeh gritted his teeth. “Jax is not a slave. He is my personal attendant, and my friend.”
“Slave, servant, attendant, take your pick.”
Noeh tasted bile. “We have a complex, symbiotic relationship with the Jixies. They provide for our needs. We provide safety and protection. We have lived this way for thousands of years.”
“We have slaves, and they do as they are told or suffer the consequences. From what Veromé said, we are free to live at the Keep as we choose.” Demir’s mouth curled into a half smile.
Noeh wanted to bash Demir’s head against the floor. He fisted his fingers, and his knuckles popped.
“Interesting use of the word ‘free’ don’t you think?” Saar interjected.
“This is not the time or the place to have a discussion on the societal implications of slavery. We should save that for another time, shall we?” Gaetan moved closer, his hand resting on Noeh’s shoulder.
Noeh took a large breath. His friend was right. This wasn’t the time or place to get into an argument. As much as his initial reaction to Demir wasn’t a good one, he needed to give the leader of this Pride the benefit of the doubt.
“Once you are settled, we will have a feast to celebrate your arrival.” Noeh stood tall, establishing his authority.
“As you wish.” Demir bent low in an exaggerated bow, his left arm sweeping out and across his body in tribute.
Although he faced the ground, Noeh noticed the smirk on Demir’s face. Trouble had just entered the Keep.
Chapter Thirteen
A cool breeze blew through the window, pushing the smell of mildew further into the old cabin. Ram cringed. That needed to be fixed. The broken glass, however, was last on the priority list. He tapped his finger on the side of his mouth, and evaluated the six new fledglings standing in the middle of the room. Different in size and shape, the all-male draftees had the same thing in common: a new life of servitude to their God, Zedron.
Zedron. The name sent a chill over Ram’s scalp. His prior boss, Ashton, hadn’t fared well with the temperamental god. Ashton’s last scream still haunted Ram. He snagged his baseball cap off the rickety table and covered his bald head. He wouldn’t fail and end up like his old leader.
Ram focused his attention on his first lieutenant who stood next to the kitchen table. Jakar ripped a line of skin off his arm and held the membrane up for inspection. The transparent husk reflected the light from the bare bulb. Ram curled his lip. All the Gossum shed, but most did the task in private.
“Are they ready?” Ram asked.
“Yes, my lord. All but one survived the transition.”
“Ah, yes, the transition.” Ram chuckled.
The metamorphosis from human to Gossum was painful. It was one he would never forget. A single bite to administer the venom into the victim was all it took. He glared at the transformed males standing before him. Their bald heads and hairless arms were one of the unfortunate results of the change. That, and the scales running down their backs. The good news? They were blessed with hawk-like vision, sharp serrated teeth, retractable claws, and quick reflexes.
Ram turned his scrutiny back to Jakar. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
Jakar stood with his hands clasped behind his back. The amount of strength and speed he possessed defied his thin frame and short stature. His cleft chin and pointed nose only added to his weak image, which was fine with Ram. Any advantage gained was good. If the enemy considered him an easy kill, all the better. Jakar was ruthless and cunning. Ram couldn’t ask for a better lieutenant.
Ram sauntered up to the first new recruit, one with a small scar through his now hairless eyebrow. He inspected the young male, noting his burgeoning biceps and strong pectoral muscles. Without warning, Ram stung him on the neck, his tongue fast and strong. A bead of blood ran down the initiate’s throat, but he didn’t flinch.
“Very good.” Ram nodded.
The next in line peered straight ahead, arms by his sides. Ram closed the distance and invaded the rookie’s personal space, their noses almost touching. A laugh boiled up from within. He let it out, savoring the momentary enjoyment. Ram wiggled his eyebrows. The rookie looked back with black eyes, motionless, ready for orders. The venom injected into them would ensure their loyalty to him as their leader.
“These greenhorns are acceptable. Take them to the asylum and begin training exercises.” Ram glanced at his lieutenant.
“The asylum?” Jakar wrinkled his forehead and frowned.
Ram stared down his lieutenant. The silence stretched on for several seconds.
“Is there a problem?” Ram asked.
Jakar swallowed, but didn’t flinch. “The Stiyaha know we’ve been there—”
“Precisely.” Ram shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Soooo, they won’t expect us to return.”
“Very well, my lord.” Jakar bowed his head.
“While you were busy gathering our new recruits, I snatched us some vodka. Seems online security isn’t what it used to be.” Ram pointed to the boxes of Smirnoff’s stacked in the far corner of the room. “Amazing what can be accomplished from a Starbucks at night over a cheap phone.”
Ram’s chest expanded, and he couldn’t suppress the grin that spread across his face. Alcohol was the only nourishment his body, or any of the other Gossum needed. He valued the liquid like a prized possession. It was also the source of the rubbing alcohol smell, the remnants seeping out through their pores as their bodies processed the booze.
“Excellent, my lord. We shall dine well tonight.” Jakar ripped open one of the boxes and hefted a bottle into his palm. His smile was all the thanks Ram needed.
As much as the euphoria felt good, the joy didn’t last long. Ram hadn’t always been a Gossum, and his past still haunted him. He pulled out his decrepit wallet, one of the few personal belongings he still owned. With deft fingers, he leafed through the stolen credit cards until he came to a worn photo of a young woman. Sliding his claw-like finger over her golden hair, the picture was a constant reminder of everything he’d lost.
I’m going to make it all better, Sheri. I promise.
A memory flooded his mind, and he didn’t stop it. Instead, a perverse desire to experience the emotional pain ran through his body. It was twisted, but he didn’t care.
The sound of bubbling liquid and the smell of noxious chemicals gave Ram a headache. He pulled a tissue out of the pocket of his white coat and wiped his nose. Red and raw, the inside throbbed from his latest intake of heroin.
He picked up his notes, walked to the desk, and sat down to read through his comments on the latest experiment. He pushed aside greasy napkins and an empty fast food bag and laid the paper on the desk.
The room started to spin. A wave of nausea rippled through his body. His palms were damp. Sweat ran down his face. It splashed onto his coat, a yellow stain marring the white material.
He stumbled to the door and exited into the parking lot. The lone car left on the premises, his old Honda Civic, loomed like a relic from happier times. His heart raced as he stumbled to the vehicle. With a slight tug, he pulled on the door handle. It didn’t open.
His body shook with need, and he leaned against the cool side of the car. He pulled on what little energy he had left, yanking on the handle again. Mercifully, the door opened. He drove away from the medical school’s facility and headed toward his place, thankful for the short drive.
After some effort, he managed to get out of the car and shuffle to his old, run-down apartment. He walked into the kitchen, threw his keys into the empty ashtray. The clanking sound added to his building headache.
Silence greeted him. Everything here reminded him of her, the yellow kitchen towels, the “Eat at Sam’s” chipped coffee cup, the ceramic chicken salt-and-pepper shakers.
He couldn’t believe Sheri was gone, but he understood why.
He leaned against the sink for balance. A small scrape rustled in the quiet, as if a boot or a shoe had hit a piece of furniture. Goosebumps rose on his arm.
Before he had time to react, two men grabbed him from behind. “Hey, what the f—”
A hand clamped over his mouth, drowning out his protest. They pushed and dragged him into the living room, forcing him to the ground, despite his weak attempts to free himself.
One held him in place while the other came around to face him. The man was large and had pockmarks on his cheeks. A bead of sweat dripped off his chin onto Ram’s forehead. Ram flinched at the wet contact.
Pockmark looked menacing, and Ram sucked in his breath, trying to hide his fear. The man shoved the blunt end of a tire iron under Ram’s chin, but he didn’t cry out, not this time.
“Do you have the money?” Pockmark’s muscles bulged in his black fatigues.
“No, but—tomorrow. I’ll have some cash tomorrow.” He scanned the room, eager to find a way out of this.
“We’ve heard that one too many times,” said the other man.
They beat him, dragged him outside, and left him by the trashcans in the back of the dilapidated apartments.
“This is what happens to trash that doesn’t pay their bill. You better have the money tomorrow.” Pockmark kicked him in the ribs.
Pain blossomed in Ram’s chest. He couldn’t breathe.
“I hope you don’t have the money. I’d like to finish what we started.” The other guy winked at him.
He wished that the taillights from their pimped-out Land Cruiser were the last things he saw before he blacked out, but they weren’t.
Lying on his back, he stared at the night sky. His body ached in places he didn’t know could ache. A strange smell like strong cleaning fluid wafted down to him, drowning out the stench from the garbage cans.
He rolled over to his side and vomited what remained of his burger and fries. Groaning, he tried to sit up. Nausea rolled around in his stomach like a bowling ball as he propped himself up on one elbow. Down the street, a couple of guys eased out of a van and walked toward him.