The Cult (Cult 1)

Forneus gave a slight nod to the men behind him.

One departed and entered a nearby cabin.

I couldn’t keep my breathing controlled because I was so anxious. I wanted to grab them both and get them out of this place—get them out of Hell. My heart was incapable of feeling almost anything, but the moment I’d held Claire, that was the moment I’d started to feel. Love came naturally. It was deep, potent, and beautiful. It made me afraid to die, not because of the darkness, but because I wouldn’t be there for her anymore. I wanted to live—for her.

The man emerged from the cabin and approached us—carrying a black duffel bag.

My body couldn’t remain calm, and I started to breathe deep and hard, my eyes filling with wetness because my brain came to the conclusion even when my heart refused to believe it. My shoulders dropped, and a flood of pure despair washed over me, a tide that pulled me deep under the surface. I couldn’t react in any other way because the trauma forbade me from doing anything other than breathing.

The man dropped the bag in front of us and returned to his position.

Forneus gave Bartholomew a nod, like the deal was done.

Bartholomew was stoic like always. “What is this?”

Forneus shifted his gaze to me, like he wanted to see my reaction as he crushed me. “Their bones.”

Even surrounded by a group of men, all enemies, I couldn’t keep my expression together. My entire body shook in both despair and rage, tears breaking past the rim and dripping down my cheeks, my arms rocked with tremors, my knees wanting to buckle so I could fall to the earth.

Bartholomew took another step. “That wasn’t the deal.”

When my horrified reaction was sufficient for his twisted amusement, Forneus looked at Bartholomew again. “You said you wanted them back—but never stated the condition of their return.”

The dagger was drawn from my pocket, and I rushed him with nostrils flared. I aimed for his neck, going for the kill so there was no coming back. My body exploded in a rage, and there was nothing that could stop me from taking this motherfucker to the grave.

Bartholomew anticipated my action and grabbed my wrist with trained interception, using every muscle in his body to keep me back, keep that dagger steady before it swiped across Forneus’s neck. The armed men grabbed me by the waist and yanked me back so I couldn’t burst past Bartholomew and land the strike. He looked me in the face, calm and indifferent to my pain. “No retaliation—no matter what happens.” He gave me a shove and forced me back.

They got the dagger free from my hands and placed their bodies in front of mine.

I pulled out the gun from the back of my jeans and took my shot before it was too late.

Forneus had no reaction to the assault, never flinching when the dagger was aimed at his neck, and he didn’t flinch now. The only movement he made was plastering that fucking grin on his face.

One of the guys pushed my gun up as I pulled the trigger, and the gunshot rang out loud in the silence, echoing in the trees. The gun was yanked from my grasp, and I was shoved back more, being pulled farther away from Forneus and his men.

Bartholomew grabbed me by the arm and forced me forward while one of the men grabbed the bag that contained Beatrice…and my daughter…and we departed. I tried to fight his hold and turn back, seeing glimpses of Forneus standing there and sneering, enjoying every second of this.

Forneus spoke. “I’m s-sorry for your los-s.”

I pushed at Bartholomew to break free. “Motherfucker! I’m coming for you—”

Bartholomew slugged me hard in the stomach so the wind left my lungs and I couldn’t speak. “She’s gone, Benton. Nothing can be done. Now shut your mouth and move.”

7

Constance

Most of the time, I was left alone.

I spent my time in my bedroom then went to the church to see the other angels. I’d only crossed paths with half of them, and Laura was almost always there, sitting in a row and staring blankly ahead. Beatrice would come and bring Claire with her, and she and I would color so Beatrice could have her time to be by herself.

The sun rose and fell—but nothing changed.

I walked up the hill at sunset, heading to the church to spend my evening with whoever was there. On the way, I passed members of the Malevolent—because they were always around. Keeping their distance, they followed me with their eyes as I passed, taking in my features with the same interest even though they saw me every day.

I stopped and stared at one who stood outside of a cabin.

When he felt my stare, he stilled further, meeting my gaze without blinking, his arms by his sides.