Branded Captive (Wren's Song 1)

The land sunk deeper every day; staying ahead of the bog was all that mattered.

And love.

Family.

Family mattered most.

Wren would drag hers away from Caspian’s Syndicate kicking and screaming if she had to. She knew the scoundrels well enough. Alec and Mikael had simply gone down the pipes for the laughs…

Gone down and never came back.

Both were crafty little monkeys, capable and knowledgeable of the channels. Both had the skill to slip away unseen if they’d been spying or dumb enough to steal from Alphas. But they had not returned.

Street kids knew better than to fall for the rumors of Caspian’s power. The boys had lived their whole lives in a constant state of circumspection, and did not need food or shelter beyond what their family, what Wren, might provide. Unless one of the shifts had sunk the city’s monumental skyscrapers deeper into the Warrens’ muck and drowned them while they played.

To even think it…

No. They would be here with Caspian.

They had to be.

And Wren needed to know if they were prisoners, or simply wanted to play with the big boys for kicks.

And so she waded through the mud, aware that a single tremor might change the drift of rotting refuse and suck her down like it did so many every day. She went into the dark, flipping up her goggles once the sun was doused by metal tubes.

The sun had never been her friend.

Perhaps that’s why she had thrived in the Warrens since her father had dropped her here five years ago. All the way down here, the buildings were too tall to offer more than the hazy afterthought of light.

Every day the city sunk a little deeper. And every day up top, they built higher and higher to escape the inevitable mud.

The very mud that was fighting to suck her boot from her foot.

In the distance, Wren could hear the sound of rushing water, a sign she was closer to the pipeworks than she’d thought.

She wanted to pretend it was nothing, that she wasn’t afraid. But she was. Alphas put things inside a body and tore them out. Alphas were the reason her right cheek had been tattooed with the symbol for defective merchandise.

Wren had never met a single one without a black heart. And those condemned to the Warrens were the worst of the worst.

A pinpoint of light showed the outlet of her stagnant pipe, the roar of rushing water warning her that trouble lay ahead. Creeping, mud up to her chin, Wren counted to three, over and over, and refused to think of anything beyond the fact her boys needed her.

A room so bright with electric light that she had to lower her goggles to see anything at all. Astounded, she took it all in, failing completely to accept what she saw. Hundreds of men moved through ancient drainage systems. A rough looking bunch; men she would not like to see following her down a dark alley.

Men marked with the dark print of a hand over their mouths—Caspian’s mark—held forbidden tech. Weapons. Circling the workers, less guard and more taskmaster.

What the hell had her boys gotten themselves into?

And yes, they were here. As were many other children Wren had somehow never seen before.

Frowning, she leaned back on her heels, mud squishing in sodden socks. Many of the little ones looked scared. Alec and Mikael were among them, dirty… well, they were always dirty… but drenched through. Mikael was clearly sick… hacking where he lay sweating despite the cold.

But what left her jaw gaping was why they were wet.

Fresh water poured from the walls, raining down upon the workers as if it were cheap and easy to find.

Clean, clear water.

She was so screwed.

Sucking in a deep, mist-drenched breath, Wren scanned the aqueducts and saw the kingpin himself. Like all Alphas, his size was intimidating. Caspian: ugly, brawny, vicious…

She’d once heard a rumor that he wore a coat made from the skins of his enemies. At the time, Wren had laughed. Seeing the beast now, she wasn’t so much as cracking a smirk.

It was flesh colored, if flesh had been tanned and stretched. A patchwork of various shades sewn with skill and absolutely disgusting.

Chapter 3

“We have an intruder wading through Pitchfork Canal 7, sir.”

Caspian refused to look away from his data relay. There were more important items on the agenda than another starving asshole stumbling down to see things not meant for their eyes. “Kill them.”

Kieran radioed the order. “That is an affirmative. Shoot the—” The relay cut him off. “What?”

Lowering his arm, Caspian looked to his subordinate, annoyed with the interruption, and cocked a brow.

“It seems, sir, it’s a child.” More radio babble chimed at Kieran’s ear. “He’s approaching the boys on the third floor now.”

They turned in unison to look over the rim of the pipeworks, and found the intruder marching boldly toward the child laborers. A rather exuberant gutter rat jumped up upon seeing him, waving both thin arms in the air. More boys took notice, many leaving their posts to rush over and see who’d come to play.