Page 1 of Claimed By Shadows

CHAPTER ONE

“CAN I EXIST” BY MISSIO

ROWAN

Iwatch him across the street, the tattoos on his knuckles telling me he’s one of them, one of the ones who stole my Little Lamb and refuses to give her back. He’s laughing as he speaks into his phone, unaware that death is watching.

My hand wraps around the syringe in my pocket, something I’ve taken to carrying around with me because these Bratva are like fucking cockroaches. You squash one and another pops up. That’s okay though, because I thrive at extermination.

My heart beats faster when he hangs up, and I scoff when he doesn’t even look around before he walks down the road towards the park. These Russians are arrogant, but it works in my favour. I follow, stalking several feet away as he enters the gates, still completely unaware that death follows in his wake. It’ll make it so sweet when he finds out, but by then it’ll be too late.

I don’t know his name or what he does for Sergi, and I don’t give a shit. He’s part of the problem, and just like the ones whohave come before him in the past several weeks, he will soon sing a song of pain and suffering.

My teeth grind at the knowledge that the agony I’ve caused those others is probably nothing compared to what my Lamb is going through. We’ve heard fucking nothing, not seen her for three weeks, and each day I descend more into the darkness that promises oblivion from the hurt that having her taken from us caused. At not being able to stop them.

Before I realise it, I’m right behind him, the needle jabbed into the side of his neck with so much force that it breaks off as he slumps, the sedative taking immediate effect. The pre-dawn means there’s no one around at this late hour, which is lucky for me because this loss of time keeps happening. I’ll be in one place, and then suddenly I’m in another, often covered in blood.

Grunting, I dip down and throw him over my shoulder, heading back to the car I drove when I’d identified my mark. I’ve been following him for a few days, waiting for my chance, and anticipation makes my blood hum in my veins as I shove him into the boot. His head cracks against the side, and my head tilts as I watch the blood seep from the cut, turning his blond hair ruby red. Beautiful.

My pocket vibrates, breaking the spell I’m under, and I slam the boot shut as I pull my phone out, seeing Hunter’s name flashing on the screen.

I swipe to answer but don’t say a word. I haven’t said a word since they took her, as if the words dried up the moment that cunt dragged her away like a dog on a leash. Even the thought of that collar he placed around her neck has my hand clenching around the device, and I’m only vaguely aware of Hunt’s voice calling my name.

“Rowan?” Blinking, I tune back in as I round the car and get into the driver’s side. “Fuck, Rowan. You’ve got another one, haven’t you?” He sighs, but I don’t answer, just grunt as I startup the engine, letting the phone connect to the Bluetooth and placing it in the holder on the dash as I don’t bother with my seat belt and pull out onto the road. “You can’t keep doing this, Rowan. You’ll piss them off and Sergi could take it out on her.” My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white. He doesn’t get it, not even Roman does. I have to do this, I have to make them hurt. Doing this is the only way to satisfy the demon inside of me. He heaves another sigh. “I’ll meet you at the warehouse.” The line goes dead.

London passes by in a blur of lights and traffic, a city as big as this rarely sleeps fully. I scoff. We have that in common. I don’t think I’ve slept more than a couple of hours at a time since she left.

I lose time again, and then I’m pulling into the warehouse we usually use to store product. It has a soundproof room, one that was used infrequently but has seen almost daily action since that night.

Another car is already there, and as I kill the ignition, the doors open and Hunt and Roman step out of the vehicle. Taking an inhale, I open my door and get out, the cool night air barely touching me even though I’m only in a T-shirt. It’s like the world has become dulled, the colours all seeped from it, all feeling smothered in a fog that refuses to lift.

“Hey, bro,” Roman greets, his voice soft and lacking the cheer that used to be there. He’s suffering from her absence too. We all are.

My brother used to be the epitome of joy, the light in our dark world, but someone snuffed out that sunshine, covering its rays with a cloud until all that’s left is a bleak sky. Hunt hasn’t stopped looking for a way to get her back, sleeping less than I am, but it’s futile. She’s locked away in that fucking mansion like a bird in a cage, and no one has seen her since that night.

I nod at him, going back to the boot and opening it, finding my guy still out of it. He should rouse just in time for the fun to start, and Roman doesn’t say another word, just helps me lift him out of the trunk and drag him into the building.

The tang of bleach with an underlying note of copper hits our noses as we enter. I’ve had a clean-up crew scrub the place, but my demon enjoys the fact that the place smells like death, that we will be able to hear the screams bouncing off the walls as we drag our man to the backroom.

Hunt follows behind us, not saying anything as we enter the space, my torture room. My beast purrs in my chest, something inside me easing as Roman and I wrap the manacles around the guy’s wrists so that he’s dangling from the ceiling, a drain below his feet.

Turning my back on him, I walk towards my bench, picking up a large knife. This will do to shred him of his clothes and dignity. It’s amazing how vulnerable people feel when they’re naked. Plus, it means it’s easier to get to his vital parts and the places that cause the most pain.

“Rowan.” Hunt’s voice is unyielding as I pass him, and I pause, the knife gripped in my steady hand. “Look at me.” Slowly, I tilt my head upwards, staring into his green eyes. They’re full of anguish, and the place where my heart used to be twinges. His shoulders rise and fall with his exhale, and he just nods, the muscles in his jaw working as his fists flex by his sides. “Okay.”

I break eye contact, unable to take his pain because I’m drowning in my own. My brother, the other half of me, is waiting, ready to have my back no matter what. He knows I need this, knows that breaking this cunt is the only way I’ll feel anything.

I don’t need answers, though I’m sure Roman will ask questions like he has every other time, torturing himself with what our girl is going through.

All I want is this man’s screams as I imagine it’s Sergi whose flesh parts underneath my knife, whose blood drips onto the concrete floor at our feet. I need them to drown out the more feminine screams that haunt me at night. Ones that I’ve never heard but can imagine all too easily as my Lamb faces a den of wolves alone.

“ARCADE - ACOUSTIC VERSION” BY DUNCAN LAURENCE

IRIS

The day outside my barred window is sunny, a perfect spring day. I’ve watched countless birds flitting through the trees of the Petrov London Estate over the past few weeks as we moved from winter to spring. How I envy their freedom, their ability to soar.

The bedroom Sergi gave me is luxurious with silk wallpaper in a deep burgundy lining the walls and an enormous four-poster bed covered in matching silk bedding and gold throw cushions, but it’s a place of horror, a gilded cage where I have no control over anything. What I wear, what I eat, and where I go is all proscribed by Sergi himself.

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