Page 19 of The Preachers' Promise
“Just stating a fact. It has upsides and downsides. The downsides being that males are generally more territorial so it can lead to conflict.” He pauses and gives a wry smile. “But italso has benefits, and some of those are supposedly stronger offspring, so perhaps in a way, it is natural to some creatures.”
“It’s natural to some humans,” I point out. “Some societies live that way.”
“I don’t think we can try to apply those things to our society,” Mal interjects. “There’s nothing natural about the way people in the modern world live, and not in the way our families live with all their made-up hierarchies and rules. Now, this is all very interesting, but let’s skip the anthropology lecture and get this done, because I feel fucking sick. I won’t feel better until we have Ophelia back.”
I’m the same, sick to my stomach, but I’m also second guessing myself and my plan. If this doesn’t work, what the hell will we do? Christ, if they absolutely refuse to let her go, it will tear me apart. Tear all of us apart.
In some ways, I worry about Roman most of all. I hadn’t realized how much his childhood had fucked him up until we found Ophelia. She set him free in important ways, and without her, he might end up reverting to how he was before. Or worse, totally retreating into himself.
I shake off my doubts and tell myself to get a grip. I’m Cain Lockwood. I can charm the birds out of the trees. Or so I’m told regularly by the women in my life. I just need to apply that charm to her parents.
“Come on, then,” I say as I exit the car. “Let’s roll.”
9
ROMAN
We approach the gates,and a guard appears as if from nowhere, weapon raised. It’s not the same one we saw when we first arrived at the house, but I assume that first one must have notified others. He’s young—maybe only a few years older than us—and has the short buzz cut that reminds me of the military. As well as a weapon, he has body armor.
“Halt,” he orders.
I half expect him to say, ‘who goes there,’ like in the books I read as a kid, but he doesn’t. He simply says, “You need to leave, now. I have orders to shoot on sight. You’re on private property, and I’m well within my rights to stand my ground.”
He means he’s well within his rights to shoot us dead, in cold blood.
Cain holds his hands up, palms exposed. “We are here to see Ophelia. We’re friends of hers from college. Please, can you ask her parents if we can speak to them? It’s important. I think they’ll want to hear what we have to say.”
“No. Now fuck off.”
“Please, listen. I believe they need to hear this. You’ll get into trouble if you don’t at least give them the chance to decide whether to speak to us. Just tell them Cain Lockwood is here.They know me. They know my family. We’re from the same world, and I used to live just there.” I point to the distant house on the other side of the stream, shrouded now in the dark, but he’ll know where I mean.
The guard presses a button on the lapel of his collar and speaks. “There’s a crew of kids here at the gate. They want to speak with Mr. Sinclair.”
Kids? He’s not much older than us. I almost punch him for that, but don’t because Ophelia is what matters. I’ve not been a kid for years, though. That was stolen from me.
“Yes, of course, sir.” The guard’s brows raise, but he turns back to us. He stares at us for a beat, as if trying to figure something out. “He says you can go on up, but we need to check for weapons first.”
“Fine,” I say.
We’d expected as much.
The iron gates swing open, and we step through.
A second guard approaches—I assume it’s the one we spotted initially from the road—and uses a scanner on us like the kind you see at airports.
“This is fancier than a pat-down,” Mal jokes.
The second guard shocks the hell out of me when he smacks Malachi up the back of the head.
“I can do it the old school way if you prefer,” he snarls at Mal.
“No need, thanks. Geez. Take your meds, okay?” Mal smirks, but I can see the barely repressed fury simmering in his dark gaze.
Cain shoves Malachi with his shoulder, basically telling him to shut the fuck up.
Thank the ancestors that Malachi does. He presses his lips together in a thin line but doesn’t say a word.
“You can go on up,” the guard says.
