Page 27 of Priest and his Anarchist

Chapter Six

luna

year two

“Today was harder than the others?” Vaden asks, and as much as he tries to act as if he cares, I know that deep down, he’s a King. He’s just like Priest. Like War.

Like me.

I never thought I’d wish for another year of silence until that first night Priest took me into his room of slaughter. Every single day. Without fail. The same routine, with one slight change. Priest. Since my birthday, he hasn’t so much as looked at me while we’re in the room. Like he can’t stand my presence, or worse, I disappoint him.

Water washes over my shoulders, bushing my hair away from my face. I stopped tracking my days. All it did was torment me into realizing how long I’d been here for.

“Yes.” Steam from the shower melts across my face as I scrub the blood off my belly. “He was especially moody, too.”

Vaden grabs the towel on the rack and hands it to me. “He talked to you in the room?”

I turn off the water and step into the warmth of cotton. “Yes. Not that he talks to me outside of it, but at least it’s tolerable.” If I calculated enough, which I know I haven’t, it’s been about a week since.

Vaden disappears behind the cupboard before popping back up, pouring alcohol into a towel and dabbing it over my belly. “Block it out.” If only it were that simple. If only it were that easy.

Taking it from him, I place it on the counter as we both stand in silence. Every muscle in my body aches.

“He’s gotten worse…” Vaden whispers. He has visited me every night this week. Sometimes for ten minutes, others it’s for hours. He has become the habit that I rely on to keep me company when the walls cave in.

Vaden slips my gown over my head, and I pull my hair out from under it when the silk falls to my upper thigh. He seems more stressed than usual tonight.

“Sorry you have to go through this. If it makes you feel better, we’re all going through similar things. Maybe not the exact same, but it’s prepping us for what’s to come.”

It didn’t make me feel better. It made me feel lonelier.

I miss River.

With a silent click of the door, I’m once again trapped in the belly of a monster. Only now, my skin doesn’t prickle. The tentacles of fear barely brush my mind as my feet carry me down the path they’ve walked so many times.

The air becomes tighter with every step. Like visiting an old friend, every time I return, I notice something different, like the trailing perfume of vanilla musk and cedarwood. Flames burn rays of orange in the corner, igniting the scribbles of white over the walls.

“You’re late, Madness.” Darkness only intensifies the harsh lines on his face as he looks at me. I didn’t think he could hate me more than he already does, but the weeks proved me wrong.

“I didn’t mean to. I slept in.”

He doesn’t answer, but his head angles an inch, enough to expose the vein on the side of his neck. Even in a hoodie, I can see it. “In where?”

“In where, what?” My confusion only causes him to harden.

I wince.

“Where did you sleep?” My toes curl against the carpet when the temperature drops.

“In a bed.” I’m being cocky for someone who’s about one smart comment away from adding to my bruise count.

Pause. “In whose bed?”

My fingernails pinch the inside of my palm. “Mine.”

His eyes narrow. It’s only brief, and if his eye-fucking hadn’t trapped me, I would have missed it. “Yes. You are.” Standing to his full height, he reaches behind his hoodie and pulls it off. My breath catches in my throat. I don’t want him to think I find him attractive, even if I do. What kind of person would find a monster attractive? Another one, that’s who. It’s hard to ignore when the genetics of gods have forged you into literal perfection.

I have to make sure I’ll not be one to worship at his altar.

---