Page 85 of Cold-Blooded Creatures

Dorvan, one of the victims, stopped to say hello, but I urged him to go on. “Go ahead, I’ll meet you there.”

Bodies poured out of the adjoining streets, rushing to gather in front of a temporary stage erected at the far end of the vast square. Two men and a woman stood on top, their wrists tied behind their backs and their mouths gagged. Zion and a couple of people from his catch-and-play team stood behind them to ensure they didn’t escape.

Another group of five lingered on the side of the stage, at the bottom of the few stairs leading up to it, under the watch of Eli, Ezra, and a few others. The five were at fault for looting our stores before their group leaders visited them and offered theirprotectionservices.

The gathering crowd faded away as I located Kali excitedly talking with someone in the corner of the square. A minute later, they exchanged goodbyes, and she climbed to the top of the tower of wooden crates piled on top of each other.

She had found a good vantage point—or a foolish and dangerous one if it toppled. Perhaps it had been a conscious choice of hers. A game of fate.

Her beautiful head hoarded so many secrets I wanted to unravel, spread wide open, and carve my name out on their margins, so once she wrapped herself back in their cocoon, they would whisper about me to her.

She had conceded to having breakfast and dinner with Zion and I and was opening up, sentence by sentence. Yet she refused to talk about what haunted her. What awakened her in the nights and wrenched agonizing screams rattling our bedrooms’ doors. What chased her into a bathroom where she’d spend the next hour hugging the porcelain bowl, retching and panting. Why she pleaded with us to leave her alone and tears welled up when we would not. Why she trudged back to the bed, only to curl up in a ball under the fluffy duvet and stare at the wall.

But I was not going to press her into talking. Not yet. Because once my tattoo lay on her, she would have no choice but to tell us everything.

Willing my focus to fall where it was supposed to, I climbed to the side of the stage and tuned out the introduction Zion gave, observing the emotional state of the throng beneath my feet. No concern twisted the majority’s faces, anticipation of entertainment curving their mouths instead, but a dozen or so had scowls contorting their features.

I discretely mentioned them to Ava standing beside me, and she nodded in acknowledgment. Her head swiveled as she etched their profiles into her memory. She would check up on them. Discontent could be dangerous.

“…Gedeon.” Zion gestured to me, and I halted at the sight of the playful tilt of his lips. At how the wind ruffled his hair. How he tipped his head to the side.

Shaking myself off, I sauntered to the center of the stage and positioned myself in front of the three criminals about to be punished according to our customs. No better show of authority than standing with your back exposed to the offenders.

Expectation drew the multitude of gazes to me, and I widened my stance, my chin raised and my expression stern. “I will keep this short. I have kept our compound running for twelve years now. I have supported the expansions of Damia’s and Conall’s compounds near Ardaton and Coriattus. I have ensured we grew to be the largest, to the point that Ilasall stays away from us. They remember what befell them twelve years ago and have no idea what we could do if they dared to challenge us again.”

Pausing, I studied the people filling out the vast square to the brim. Some were jumping in the adjoining streets, trying to see the stage. We had increased in size so much over the years thatwe had to find a better way to do these things. Not a fifth of the compound fit in here anymore.

I continued. “All this time, we have cared for each person here. We provide you with shelter, food, and jobs. We give you safety, community, and actual lives with freedom etched into our every action. We ensure plenty of opportunities and ways to create any life you wish.”

Letting my words to sink in, I paused again. Life here was not perfect, but compared to the cities, it was a dream for most. “One rule. That is all we require in return. No oppression methods of any sort. I do not and will not tolerate any coercion measures taken against our own people.

“These three will serve as an example.” I indicated the trio of lawbreakers behind me, their protests muffled by the cloth gags Ava had stuffed into their mouths. “They are the leaders of a group that had decided to disobey our principles. A few months ago, they came up with an extortion scheme to fill their pockets. They talked their friends, the ones you can see standing at the bottom of the stage, into robbing a selection of our compound’s stores.

“After they ransacked our businesses, this trio went to the owners and threatened them with repeated incidents. They backed down only when the owners agreed to pay for their so-called protection from themselves.”

Boos exploded and curses boomed with such potent force that a deafening cloud enshrouded the entire space. With my spine as straight as a rod, I waited out the rippling wave of savage fury submerging the crowd.

I conveyed the message.

But they declared the judgment.

My compound was intimately familiar with our ways and traditions, including the sentences awaiting the transgressors.

“This is not something I will accept or tolerate. We have gathered you here to remind you of our rule: no oppression methods. That means no force and no coercion. As the violators of our law, today, this self-made group of eight will receive the punishment they deserve.”

Scattered shouts washed over the mass of our residents. One by one, resolution united the swarm, and its buzzing reached its peak. Uncoordinated dull thumps from feet stomping the ground merged into a singular rhythm, and all mouths chanted one word in sync.

Death.

In our world, there were no second chances.

Taking my time, I strode alongside the beats and came to a stop behind the man in the middle. Zion and Amari flanked my sides, each at the back of the other two leaders of their pathetic mob.

Zion handed me my serrated knife and snorted at the thrashing trio in front of us. A rope connected their wrists tied at their backs and their squirming only played on their balance, their legs twining as they teetered.

Once the crowd’s thirst for violence grew wild and the chant lost its rhythm, we yanked their heads back and slit their throats simultaneously.

Unmoving, we remained rooted in our spots while they convulsed, choking on their blood as it spurted onto the stage and stained their clothes. They slumped at our feet, revealing a myriad of spectators watching the show with palpable interest.