Page 150 of Priest and his Anarchist

past

“Are you sure this is going to be safe for me?” I ask Nate, the urgency in my tone obvious. I need him to see it clearer. Hear me louder.

He takes me by the upper arm and directs me further through the metal doors, kicking them closed behind himself and shutting out the burning mid-day sun.

“Yes, Luna.” There is something about him I trust. Maybe it is because he and Bishop are the only two who ever showed an interest in me, or maybe it is because this is the man Nate Malum is. The kind that makes girls feel safe while making little boys run scared.

Fitting.

A small light flickers on from above, burning the retinas in my eyes. Glass walls and a single train track that runs over a dirt road, disappearing into a dark hole.

“What is this place?” I ask, stepping over the rubble. I squeeze my shoes in my chest, peeking around the corner. Thedress I wore to the gala now a ruin of dirt and stains, and despite the fresh stitches and assistance of the IV Nate pumped into my vein on the way here, I’m still feeling like shit.

I hate Priest.

I never thought it’d be possible to hate him as much as I do now. When I was brought to him as a young tween, I didn’t think anything of it. I was simply doing a task I was set out to do for a family I knew fate had chosen for me. On an easier path, I would have been a Midnight Mayhem girl, but now…now I was simply this. Being tossed between them all as if I was a disposable toy. He tried to fucking sell me! Sell me! To—to—them!

“It’s whatever you want it to be, Luna.” Nate leans against a single table. Minutes pass before I hear the faint sound of rusted wheels braking over the metal. “You came with your mother as a young girl and allowed Priest to take you in, even if you didn’t understand our world, you understood duty. Care. Respect, and you sure as hell have proved loyalty.”

“Unfortunately,” I whisper.

“Which is why I’ve brought you here. You’re not a prisoner, Luna, but I would appreciate if you lived a low-key life. People know you’re here, your mother and fathers. You’re welcome to use private jets to fly back and forth between here and Spain, but for the next however many years, you’ll stay here. Allow me to train you the same way I did some of the world’s most notorious legacies.”

My teeth sink into my bottom lip, enough to draw blood. “This place? Doesn’t look like much.”

The squeak of metal against metal ignites in embers in the dark tunnel, and I reach up to cover my ears from the scream. When it finally comes to a halt, I look up at Nate, straightening my shoulders.

“I don’t know if I’m fit for this side either.”

“You are.” Nate pushes off the random table, closing the distance between us while reaching behind me.

I turn to follow his movements as he opens a small door that leads to a miniature version of a train. With velvet black seats and small gold buttons, he gestures to the driverless seat at the front.

“You always were meant to be here, Luna. That’s why we always showed an interest. Your skill in chess? Impressive.”

I don’t know if he’s being serious.

I touch the soft material. “I thought you all did that because I was a loner. The rest, they didn’t like me much.”

“Slayers don’t have friends, Luna. Not the kind we need. Not the kind I teach.”

Interesting logic. I refrain from asking if it’s because they kill them all. “I thought you taught Riverside Elite?”

The corner of Nate’s lip twitches. “That’s what we like everyone to think, but this side of our life, it’s all a little…more than that.”

I lean my hip against the metal frame. “This is the real school?” I say it out loud, more for myself than for him.

“Yes.”

I ponder over his words while reaching for the door. “And where are we, exactly?”

Nate flashes a wide smirk, one I’m sure worked numbers on girls when he was at school, much like War’s does now. War has always been the one I had no problem with. Vaden wants to use his light for good, but I see it drain from his eyes every passing day, as if the darkness inside of him is slowly feasting on the light.

“Do you know what the Latin word for lost is, Luna?” He tilts his head.

“Perdita…” The word leaves my mouth in a whisper. “I’ve heard about this place.”

“No…” He takes my hand with his. “You’ve heard what everyone has heard if you’re not one of the founding Three. Three, Luna, not even the ten.”

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