God of Monsters (Juniper Unraveling #4) - Keri Lake Page 0,88
capable of that kind of callousness. “My father wouldn’t have done that. He would’ve spared your life.”
“Maybe. But maybe he didn’t choose any of what happened, either.”
In the blackness, I hear screams. Loud, painful, throaty screams.
As I snap my eyes open to the shadowed room, the screams persist. I scramble out of bed and hustle down the hallway, the intensity of each outcry heightening my nerves, until I halt at the open living room.
Titus lies curled into a ball on the floor before the fire, whimpering and growling. Scratching at his skull. “No, stop it! No more! No more!” The sound of his bellows bounces off the wall, and my chest tightens as I watch him tremble and claw at himself. “Stop!”
Across from him, Yuma lies on his paws, whimpering and perking up with each violent flail of the Alpha’s arms.
The nurturer inside of me begs to go to him, to settle him down and ease his pain, but I know better. My father often had nightmares when I was growing up, and my mother warned my brother and I to never approach him. He once swung out at my mother, believing she was a Rager, and, half-asleep, searched around for his gun. Fortunately, he knew to hide it away before bed.
Who knows what Titus might think of me, if he woke to find me standing here. Who knows what this man has seen? What horrors plague his head during slumber. I’ve no intentions of becoming the very thing he hunts in his sleep.
Instead, I watch him a while, until his cries die to whimpers, and his whimpers fall to silence once more.
Chapter 29
For the next three days, Titus and I settle into something of a routine in this strange place that time and the rest of the world seems to have forgotten. I’ve tidied up the rooms, even scrubbed the wooden bedframe in the back room, with a powdered cleanser I found beneath the kitchen sink. It almost feels like being back in Szolen, but without all the conveniences of there.
During the daytime, Titus patrols the perimeter of the cabin, searching for threats and any sign of Remus and his men, while I wander the forests in search of herbs and edible flowers, for tea and medicines. I’m hoping to find some Lobelia, in the event we run into Remus on our travels. When not meandering, I boil water for drinking and gather supplies for the road back to Szolen. Though, I have to admit, this place has grown on me a bit. If I had to stay anywhere out in the Deadlands to raise this child, it’d be here. This peaceful little oasis to the world outside of it.
Today, I’ve ventured out a bit farther from the cabin and found a patch of wild thimbleberries, which practically bursts on my tongue when I sample one of them. The sweet, sugary flavor will make a nice compliment to the savory backstraps Titus cut from the deer, once I boil it into a fruit sauce.
I pluck the berries from the shrub, tossing them into one of the pots I’ve brought from the cabin, until it’s half-full. Popping a couple more into my mouth, I close my eyes and take a moment to appreciate the simple joy of appeasing one of my neglected senses. I’ve not tasted something so sweet and delicious in weeks.
Berry midway to my mouth, a crackling sound from behind has me twisting on my heel.
The familiar click-click-click.
A growl.
I turn to find Yuma hunched in defense, hackles raised. Lips peeled back from the sharp teeth he bears, the dog looks and sounds like a feral wolf.
A threatened wolf.
I search the trees for movement, and the stillness thrums my wired nerves. Scarcely wanting to breathe, I take the first step on the path toward home, and the growl multiplies.
More wolves?
Fear trickles down the nape of my neck, raising the hair on my skin, as just a few yards off stand about a dozen Ragers, twitching and poised to run.
Oh, my God.
I’ve never seen so many in my life.
I spin around in the opposite direction and run, dropping the pot of berries. Yuma keeps on my heels, pausing every few yards to bark and snarl, warding them off.
The sound of rustling leaves and growls tells me the Ragers are after me, but I don’t dare turn to look. Branches and decayed foliage create a web that seems to reach out for me as I trample through them.