Page 2 of Taken By the Alpha Priest

Will and Grant are on watch tonight. I can see their glowing eyes flash every so often from the watchtower at the perimeter fence. Poor bastards drew the short straw, missing out on all the…festivities.

I haul myself up from my knees and head toward the fence, catching the faint green flicker of a laser rifle’s sights. We stole those rifles from a Heavenly Host supply depot just a couple days ago, and even though we don’t need them—our teeth and claws do just fine—it’s still good to have backup. Especially on nights like this.

By the time I reach the watchtower, the faint sound of shuffling cards filters down, accompanied by Grant’s distinct voice. He’s mid-ramble, asking Will some ridiculous question about pirate diseases.

“Was it really scurvy that killed the most pirates, or was it, like, drowning?” Grant says, his tone entirely too serious for the subject matter.

Will, ever the patient one, replies without missing a beat. “Definitely scurvy. You don’t hear about mass drownings on pirate ships, do you?”

I can practically hear Grant nodding thoughtfully. “Fair point. But what about those guys who walked the plank? Drowningandscurvy, probably.”

Will chuckles under his breath. “You’re exhausting.”

It’s funny how Will pretends to hate these conversations. Claims he doesn’t miss his days as a professor, but the way he indulges Grant’s endless questions says otherwise. Sometimes I think he misses teaching more than he’s willing to admit.

He discarded the life he had before the Convergence. I wonder if I should do the same.

It’s not like anyone believes in God anymore.

I grab the ladder, the metal rungs cool under my palms, and climb without bothering to announce myself. They’ll know it’s me by my scent before I even get to the top, one of the perks–or curses, depending on how someone smells–of having enhanced senses. Sure enough, the moment my boots hit the wooden platform, Grant glances up.

“Hey, Garza,” he says, a mop of red hair falling into his eyes. He blows it away with an exaggerated puff of air. “About time you joined us.”

I shrug, straightening my collar. I still wear it, even on nights like this–especiallyon nights like this. It feels like armor, a reminder of who I’m supposed to be.

“Couldn’t sit still anymore,” I say, sinking onto the empty chair at their card table. “There’s…something weird in the air tonight.”

Grant smirks. “Pheromones?”

Will snorts but doesn’t look up from his cards. “You buying in, or are priests not allowed to gamble either?”

I groan, stretching out my legs. “I’m in. What’s the game?”

“Blackberry rations,” Will says, dealing me in.

I raise an eyebrow. “Seriously? That’s what we’ve come to?”

Grant grins, showing teeth. “It’s the only fruit we’ve got. And, y’know, scurvy’s a bitch.”

Will snorts, finally glancing up. “Says the guy who thought ketchup was a vegetable. Pretty sure you’re the one most at risk here.”

Grant’s mouth drops open in mock indignation. “That wasone time. And I was desperate.”

“For ketchup?” I lean back in my chair, arching a brow.

“A man can’t live on canned beans alone,” Grant says, shrugging dramatically like he’s delivering a monologue. “Some of us have standards.”

Will deadpans, “Yeah, and those standards got you banned from the kitchen rotation. Didn’t Mateo say your last stew tasted like…what was it? Regret?”

Grant clutches his chest like he’s been shot, groaning theatrically. “I’ll have you know that stew was a culinary masterpiece.”

Will huffs out a laugh, leaning forward. “You dumped canned peaches into beef stock and called it fusion.”

“It was bold,” Grant says, lifting his chin with mock dignity.

“A bold waste of supplies,” I mutter, shaking my head.

The banter flows easily between us, a lightness in the air that I haven’t felt all night. It’s a temporary distraction, but one I welcome. For a moment, it’s almost enough to drown out the tension thrumming beneath my skin. We play the first hand, Grant getting the rations he’s so concerned about.

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