Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (55 page)

The crowd bellowed.

“Well, it just so happens, the bastard son is expecting his very own bastard!”

The crowd roared an angry reaction.

He gestured for them to quiet again. “Yes, I was surprised to find out the news myself.” His arm hooked in Calla’s, jerking her to a stand. “Here, I have his woman! The one who carries his child.”

More roaring.

“So, tonight … we’re going to purify this demon-fucking whore. We’re going to remove the demon bastard from its womb and give this woman a new start. Clean and pure.”

No
.

The crowd cheered.

Calla writhed but he gripped harder.

“What do you say we get started?”

“No!” Calla clocked Ryke in the jaw.

His hand clamped around her chin, and he kissed her on the mouth. “I plan to make it short and sweet,” he said quietly, “but any more of that shit and you’ll be entertainment into the early hours.”

“Don’t do this.”

He grinned and dragged her to the door of the cage.

Calla’s boots scraped against the concrete as she fought to keep from being forced inside.

Bullhead shoved the other body off the slab, sending it falling with a sloppy
thunk
to the floor, and shifted back and forth as though suddenly excited.

As Ryke shoved at her, Calla wrapped her leg around the door’s bar, but Bullhead stormed toward them. As the force of both males wrenched her from the cage, pain shot like razor blades up into her shin. “Shit!” Calla’s leg bent in a backward contortion, but she kicked at Bullhead with her good foot and arched herself between the two as they carried her through.

The cold solidity of concrete slammed into her back.

Chains locked her into place.

No
. She glanced around, looking for something—anything—but nothing useful lay within reach.

Ryke leaned down, lips puckered.

Calla head-butted him, taking small pleasure from the crack of bone, and from the blood that trickled from his nostril.

Ryke’s flash of a smile diminished as he dabbed it with his fingertip. “Perhaps a lobotomy is in order. I happen to like my females a bit more submissive.”

“Go to hell. I will never submit to you.”

The corner of his lip tugged. “You have no choice. You belong to me, pet. And once this baby is out of the picture, I’m going to teach you how to mind your place.” A spin on his heel took him to face Bullhead. “I won’t be needing your services this evening, friend.” He gave a pat on the tormentor’s chest. “I’ve some friends who’ll be doing the honors tonight.” Ryke signaled behind him.

Calla strained against her bindings. Her heart beat erratically in her chest, her breaths coming forth on a pant.

To the tune of cheers echoing inside her head, two burly nephilim pushed an elegant wheelchair inside the cage and lifted the snow-white, hunched-over creature onto the floor beside her.

Progenitor
.

She’d seen them staring at her from shadows in the feeding room, but never had she seen one outside of the darkness. Its fixated stare, dark and menacing with its lifeless eyes, roused a shudder. The darkening gray of its face suggested it hadn’t eaten in days.

“I’d been saving this blood meal for another defiant bitch in my life, but why the hell not? Indulge a little, right?”

Calla tugged at the chains.

“I had some very special bindings designed especially for you,” Ryke said, turning back. “Silver doesn’t typically have much effect. But you’ll never escape Diablis steel.” He gave a glance toward the creature. “And they smell an unnatural pregnancy like sharks in the water.”

Cheering died down, and Ryke exited the cage, leaving the ugly Sang to stare at her from where it sat.

Its eyes widened a second before it lurched into motion, slithering like a white crack of lightening across the floor. Up her body, it crawled, its flattened nose pressed to her stomach, and it lifted its head. The black in its eyes rolled back and fangs protruded from its upper lip.

A hiss shot down Calla’s spine, chilling her bones.

A long, brown-nailed finger slipped inside her leather jacket and, like a blade, it zipped upward, the slice of her clothing trailing behind.

Calla stiffened. Only a thin white T-shirt separated her bare skin from the creature’s target. The thought clattered through her mind, almost drowning the throb of her blood swishing through her veins.

“I want to fight you.” The words arrived on a desperate blurt. “Release me, you chicken shit.”

He slid a finger over the hem of her shirt.

Shit. Shit. Shit.
Chains rattled in her ear with the shaking of her body as panic swelled inside of her.

The creature lifted her shirt without tearing it, concealing her belly from her.

Wetness slid across her navel.

Calla jerked back, her stomach muscles tightening as she sucked in a breath. Had he slit her belly open and only merciful shock kept her numb?

A sting at her thigh and slurping sent a flashback smashing through her mind—her vision, the one shown to her by the creature in the parking lot at Sanctuary.

No. No, no, no.

Calla summoned every ounce of strength inside of her and bore down on the chains.

The metal gouged into her flesh with each tug, as weakness and dizziness settled over her with each long draw from her thigh.

Unlike Draven had, the creature at her thigh sucked with more force.

Still, she yanked until her entire body quaked with the effort. Blood trickled down her wrist where the metal partially severed her hand.

The restraint snapped free, the release sending Calla’s hand flinging to her face. After a rapid check ensured her appendage remained attached, she used her weakened arm and clawed at her other wrist until loose.

Still feeding, the Sang didn’t seem to notice her movement, or the roar of the crowd bidding her freedom.

Grasping the cuff of the metal still attached to her wrist, she bashed the Sang at its crown. As it stumbled back, she thrust herself upward and grabbed the curved top of the pendulum blade overhead. Flexing her thigh and stomach muscles, she heaved down on the blade, until a pop of the chain set her left leg free as the crank of gears clicked above her.

Throwing himself back at her, the Sang clutched onto her still-shackled leg and bit back down on her thigh.

“Ah, shit!” Calla screamed, her mutilated hands barely gripping the top of the blade as the pendulum pulled her upward in a slow ascent. She held tight, stretched by the machine and her bound ankle on which the Sang continued its feast.

Wooziness had her head rolling. Fading quickly. Letting go of the pendulum would cost her a leg and possibly her life, though. Only by a miracle had she managed to keep her grip on the top of the blade and hoist her arm over it.

She gritted her teeth as the blade pinnacled on its up-rise, her limbs trembling harder beneath her waning strength.

The machine swung back down. As she stooped low enough to brace herself, Calla struck out at the creature with her damaged wrist, yelping on impact, her body twisting as it held tight to her thigh. Once more, she found herself swinging upward, stretched by the half-moon blade.

She cried out as the stretch had the cuff biting into her ankle with enough pressure to tear her foot clean off—before she arced downward again.

The next swipe brought her back to a crouch, still well below the sharp end of the lowering blade. She summoned a fist from her limp hand and pummeled the Sang—screaming out at the splinters of agony shooting through her wrist—while clinging to the pendulum with the other.

The second the creature dislodged from her vein, she flexed her thigh muscle, yanked her leg upward, and whimpered out her relief as the chain snapped. With arms as limp as wet noodles, she dropped onto the tabletop alongside another swish of the pendulum.

Darkness settled over her, as the blood loss began its effects, tunnel vision narrowing her field of view.

The Sang slinked up over her too-weary body.

Its beady eyes squinted with what she could only surmise to be a smile of victory.

Hovering over her belly, it sniffed—long, slow intakes of air.

The first break through her skin forced her mouth wide in a silent outcry, and the chewing of her flesh had her whimpers chasing on its tail.

For moments, she allowed herself the blissful relief of fading—out, in—until a blink of her eyes brought a fresh hint of hope.

Above the Sang, the pendulum continued its progressive descent toward the table, inching closer with each swing.

As though the idea offered new strength, Calla braced her arms, tightened her muscles, and mustered what little strength she had to thrust her hips upward.

Blood spraying her face preceded the heavy thump of the beast’s head against her chest. Its slide from her body, and the thud onto the floor confirmed its death.

As the following downward slice of the pendulum zoomed perilously low, she rolled her body over, and her stomach lurched with her plummet.

Cement caught her fall, knocking the wind from her lungs. Blood oozed from her thigh like it’d taken a slice of the blade, her body so lost to shock, she hadn’t even felt it.

At the creaking of the cage door, Calla twisted.

Bullhead took up its frame with an axe hoisted over his shoulder.

As blood seeped from her belly and her leg, reality struck.

She wouldn’t be walking out of there alive.

CHAPTER 43

Logan followed Draven as he limped along and led him and his brothers to the door in the alleyway. Ryke’s secret lair.

The steel panel opened to reveal a male covered in the distinct track marks and collar of a slave. “They want to see,” Draven said.

The slave’s eyes appraised the group. All six demons, donned in black hoods, kept their heads low to conceal their faces.

Draven slapped a wad of cash Gavin had provided earlier inside the slave’s palm.

With a wave of his hand, the slave allowed them passage.

Down a dark corridor, Draven hobbled ahead, glancing back as the demons shadowed, his graying skin a good indication that he probably wouldn’t live much longer. The fucker tried anything tricky, and Logan would see to it that his blood livened up the boring cement walls.

The sounds of a crowd cheering broke through the quiet, and Draven halted. “This is the auditorium,” he said in a low, nasally tone. “Past the cage is a door. It’ll take you into a mansion, of sorts. Only saw the bedroom. Calla should be inside.”

“Where the fuck you going, pussy?” Ferno’s voice, though low, boomed in the hallway.

“Keep it down.” Gavin warned.

“I brought you here,” Draven said. “Did what you asked.”

Logan snatched Draven by the nape. “And here I thought you gave a shit about her.”

“To hell with him. He couldn’t kick a Catuzla’s ass if he wanted.” Mad Dog sneered, referring to a kitten-like creature in the underworld.

“You’re right,” Logan said, tossing Draven to the side. “Don’t need the fucker, anyway.”

“Hey, pull your hoodie, Zayne. The metal in your face is like a goddamn beacon, Bro.” Calix pretended to shield his face as Zayne mouthed a silent
fuck you
.

Still hidden behind the hoods, the demons entered the noisy auditorium.

Gavin gave them the signal to spread out, and each went off in different directions.

As Calix jogged off on his own, no doubt to search for Ava, Logan’s gaze scanned the crowd. Every one of them wore hoods, like some enormous cult.

When his focus landed on the show going on, his brows furrowed and his steps hastened.

Inside the cage, a blonde woman dangled from behind a huge Enforcer.

Calla?

As the Enforcer threw her body up on the surface of a concrete slab, Logan’s muscles tightened at the blood coating her leg and the limpness with which she landed—until a shift of her body brought some relief.

Alive
.
Calla!
He wanted to smile at the victory of having found her. His heart felt as if it’d begun to seal, at the mere sight of her within his reach after weeks apart.

A large pendulum retracted up from the table. Glistening crimson drops hit Calla’s body.

Logan caught a glimpse of large red blossoms scattered across her white T-shirt.

He swallowed a gulp, his eyes fixated on the bullhead tormentor inside the cage. He’d fought one once. Fuck if he was going to let it near his woman.

A rush of adrenaline took over him, but not before a glimpse of Gavin across the throng of supes made him pause.

A signal for Logan to wait. Wait until they were all in place.

Are you fucking kidding me?
He couldn’t wait. The wait had already killed him. Out of respect for his brothers, though, Logan braced ready in the center aisle, eyes focused, breaths heaving, muscles flexing and ready to pop through his skin.