Page 37 of Caged

“Do I scare you, Monroe?” he asks, and I shudder because I swear, even his voice sounds different. If this were Halloweenand our outfits were meant to be costumes, I would marvel at his demonic transformation. But it’s not Halloween. And these aren’t costumes.

Suddenly, my mouth is too dry to swallow. Speaking is too terrifying, because it dawns on me thatI’m in a fucking cult.

My eyes flick to his bedroom door, and his hand shoots to my wrist a second later.

“Too late,” he says with a low chuckle.

A hand dips into his pocket, and he pulls out a pill.

“What is that?” I stammer.

“Take it.”

I shake my head, and try to twist my wrist free, but he’s too fast. His hand snaps to my jaw and squeezes.

“Open,” he commands.

“No,” I say through clenched teeth. “Tell me what it is first.”

“Molly. Just a small dose. It’ll take the edge off.”

My eyes plead with the mask in front of me. “Are you lying?”

“No. I promise you Monroe. You’re supposed to take enhancements at these Ceremonies. It’s even written in Sigma's Charter. You'll enjoy the festivities more, trust me.”

I’d really like to get my hands on this so-called Charter. What the fuck else is in there, anyway? Demon worshipping?

I sigh a loud breath of surrender. “Okay,” I huff with resignation and open my mouth. He places the pill gently on my tongue and holds my jaw closed until I swallow.

“Show me,” he demands, squeezing my jaw open. I timidly stick out my tongue as proof.

“Good girl. Now let’s go.”

16

MONROE

Seven Months Prior to Present Day,

The February Full Moon Ceremony,

Sigma

Nothing could have prepared me.

I follow Kieren through the eerily quiet halls of Sigma. His fingers intertwine with mine with a tightness that feels both possessive and protective. My heart pounds in my chest as we weave through the maze of corridors and down flights of stairs until we finally reach the dimly lit stairwell that leads to the basement. Fear churns in my stomach. We descend the steps and halt at the closed door. A downdraft of frigid air snakes over my skin, and I visibly start shaking. I bite my lower lip to steady my chattering teeth, but it’s useless.

Kieren raps a specific sequence of knocks against the heavy wood door, and it swings open. Warm air immediately billows into the stairwell, and for a fleeting moment, I have the stupid notion that all will be okay.

We step into the basement, and my stomach drops.

Maroon floods the space: in the drapes that hang on the walls, the color of the floor, the strange furniture, and the light illuminating the room.

Everywhere I look is doused in blood red.

Kieren strides toward an elevated stage where a singular chair is placed. No, not a chair. A throne. A gold and black ornate throne carved with ancient lettering and one large Sigma symbol in the center. It’s otherworldly.

Kieren easily scales the elevated platform in one step, turns, and hinges from the waist to lift me up.