Page 4 of The Monsters We Are (Devil’s Cradle #3)

After eating breakfast with Cain the next morning, Wynter strode through the arched hallways of his Keep as she made her way to the exit. The tall, cylindrical building was seriously impressive. A fusion of the old and the new. It boasted many state-of-the-art features, but she was more wowed by the imperial staircases and domed, frescoed ceilings that made her think of cathedrals.

She was also a fan of the stained glass windows that came in different shapes and sizes. It was difficult to tell from the inside, but the Keep was constructed of black stone. The shimmer of magick embedded in said stones prevented the exterior from looking dull.

Wynter skimmed her eyes over one of her favorite paintings as she passed it. Cain had long ago told her that he was an avid collector, but she’d sensed that much from the display of rare books, artwork, and sculptures in his Keep. Of course, the fact that he’d been so intrigued at the thought of having rights to an undead soul also gave her a clue.

Exiting through the Keep’s thick wooden doors, Wynter then walked through the bailey, passing several buildings such as the brewery, bakehouse, and stables. People hung around said buildings or stood in the courtyard, talking. The fine hairs on her body lifted at the odd looks some slid her way. Others avoided meeting her eyes altogether. Lovely.

Yeah, she’d figured that Adam’s claims, threats, and very generous offers would garner her such attention. That asshole needed to have his insides ripped out.

Wynter notched up her chin and kept moving. She strolled through the arched opening in the stark walls that surrounded the Keep and bailey. Her home was thankfully only a short walk away.

Lots of residents were out and about, heading to work and getting stores ready to open. There was no denying that the medieval city was something to behold. Though it was modernized, there were no phones, no computers, no TVs. But that was part of what Wynter liked most about it. It wasn’t so much a place of technology as a place of preternatural power.

Venice-style canals networked through the city. Each of the Ancients had their very own Keep, and all were sporadically dotted throughout the place. There were also many houses, and no two looked exactly alike. They came in all styles.

Some were rustic and whimsical, like magical country hideouts. Some held a fairytale feel, such as the very singular gingerbread house. Others were old fashioned, featuring wattle walls and timber frames. Some were cute and enchanting, much like the cottage that Wynter and her coven occupied. Beyond all the buildings were rivers, mounds, forests, and caverns.

Residents could shop at the stores, eateries, baileys, or the market near the town hall. Most people spent their downtime going horseback riding, socializing at the taverns, or playing games such as golf and football in the large park.

Artificial sunlight shone down upon the city, but it didn’t stem from the aqua blue stalactites that hung from the cavernous ceiling. It came from the combined power of the Ancients. Beneath the hustle and bustle noise were the artificial sounds of birds cheeping and the flapping of wings. The slight breeze was equally fake yet more than refreshing.

Simulating real-life, the sunlight would gradually fade and eventually be replaced by moonlight, just as the daytime sounds would be replaced by the hooting of owls and chirping of crickets. As such, one could easily forget that the city was underground.

Wynter walked along cobbled path after cobbled path, doing her best to ignore the looks being slanted her way, letting her gaze roam over the Halloween props outside each house—scarecrows, skeletons, ghosts, door wreaths. But some people so very rudely stared at her that there was no ignoring them. They were always the first to look away when she met such bold stares, though.

Striding down her street toward her home, she saw that many of her lycan neighbors were stood around. They didn’t offer her odd glances or glares. They gave her nods or simple greetings. That was the thing about lycans, they were so territorial that they considered their closest neighbors under their protection, irrespective of whatever else might be happening. It was a comfort to know that none would be considering cashing in on the bounty. They’d instead be pissed about it on her behalf.

A relieved breath left her lungs as she finally reached the gate to her front yard. When she’d first seen the thatched-roof cottage from the outside, Wynter had thought it looked like a magical retreat. That “feel”

had only deepened since the coven had added more and more personal touches to the exterior—hanging bells, garden gnomes, fairy castle sculptures, a wicca welcome mat, cauldron planters, and hanging baskets spilling with fern.

Of course, the current Halloween-y stuff only made it better. A row of witch hats bordered each side of the path. Synthetic cobwebs were attached to the doorframe. Pumpkins lay on straw either side of the doorstep. Fake ravens were dotted around the angular lattice windows. Hattie had rested some of the brooms from her very vast collection against the stone wall. And then there was Xavier’s contribution—a hand holding a red apple that he’d stuck to the front door near the knocker.

Wynter unlocked and then pushed open the thick door, strangely comforted by the familiar scraping sound it made as it scuffed the floor. Hearing voices coming from the kitchen, she made her way through the living area, pausing to kick a rumple out of the Moon tarot card rug.

The cottage’s interior was charming with its curved walls and wooden ceiling beams. Synthetic vines and maple leaf garlands were twined around the tree-trunk columns. A crescent moon mirror hung above the arched, brick fireplace. Pretty throw pillows adorned the plush sofa and single armchair. Triangular vases of fig and ivy hung from the walls.

A triple moon trunk sat beneath the corner altar, to which they’d recently added some symbols of late fall. So now skulls, pumpkins, acorns, and dried leaves sat with the athame, bell, candles, and cauldron.

The scents of coffee and freshly baked goods washed over her as she entered the kitchen. Xavier and Delilah sat at the barn wood dining table, empty plates in front of them. Hattie was pulling a loaf of bread out of the oven, humming to herself. Anabel stood at the counter sprinkling herbs into her cauldron; her tools and other jars of ingredients were close at hand.

They glanced Wynter’s way with a smile and said brief hellos. Then, as one, they frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

Xavier asked her.

Wynter began to clear the table, stacking plates. “I don’t much like that so many people felt the need to stare at me or look at me all weird just now.”

He grunted. “Assholes.”

“Some were probably simply wondering how willing you’d be to answer some questions about what Adam said last night during his little broadcast,”

said Hattie.

Wynter placed the dirty dishware in the sink. “Cain will be making a speech sometime this morning. He’ll clear everything up.”

“That’s a good thing.”

Xavier stretched out his long legs beneath the table. “I hope he also makes it clear that people had better not dare try taking you to Adam.”

She had no doubt that he would, but . . . “We all know some will be up for it. A million is a lot of cash.”

Pushing out of her seat, Delilah let out a little growl. “I could honestly murder that son of a bitch.”

Anabel slid Wynter a quick look. “From now on, you need to take healing potions with you wherever you go.”

Wynter nodded. “Will do.”

Being immortal now, she was harder to injure, but she could still be gravely wounded.

“Want tea?”

Delilah asked, rooting through the homemade mixtures in the cupboard near her cauldron, which was at the opposite end of the kitchen from Anabel’s. “I was just about to make myself a cup—ooh, wrong tea balls. They’re for pain relief.”

Hattie smiled. “They have a nice ‘kick’ to them, don’t they? I always feel all floaty after I drink those. Like I’m in subspace.”

Wynter almost jerked back. “What do you know about sub—you know what, I don’t want to know.”

A wicked glint lit Hattie’s eyes as she cackled. “No, you really don’t.”

“Anyways, it would appear that the lycans have my back, which is nice.”

And useful, because they made excellent backup and there were two packs on this street. That was a whole lot of claws and teeth.

Xavier snorted. “Lycans aren’t nice.”

Wynter sighed. “I thought Elias had stopped provoking you,”

she said, referring to the Alpha of one lycan pack.

“He has, but now the Beta of Diego’s pack is being rude to me all the time.”

Wynter felt her brow crease. “Why?”

“Stewart doesn’t like that I had a one-night stand with a vampire.”

“Well, you know how lycans feel about vamps.”

There was some bad history between the two species. “In Stewart’s mind, since the lycans consider us ‘theirs,’ it was a betrayal on your part.”

“Not my issue,”

said Xavier. “When I told him to stop being an asshole, he grinned and said he had way too much fun tormenting me. He won’t be grinning by the time I’m done with him.”

Wynter tensed. “What does that mean?”

“It means he’ll be reminded that payback is a bitch.”

Which would be fine, if Xavier’s idea of payback didn’t tend to be fatal. “Xavier—”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to take him out.”

“Or invoke a demon and have them do your dirty work for you?”

He only scratched his jaw.

“For God’s sake.”

Wynter plopped herself onto a seat with a weary sigh. With Xavier, disliking someone was all the reason he felt he needed to end their existence. Something she blamed on his previous coven, who had very few scruples. “You’ll need to find another way to deal with the Beta. Not only because it’s wrong—and no, I don’t expect you to give much of a shit about that—but because you’d be executed for murdering him unless you can first gain permission to do it from the Ancient who partially owns Stewart’s soul.”

His lips pursed, Xavier nodded. “I can do that.”

“Without lying that he’s done a bunch of things he actually hasn’t done.”

“I wasn’t gonna.”

He looked appropriately offended that she’d think otherwise.

Wynter snorted, not whatsoever fooled. Was it really any wonder that she hesitated to move out of the cottage when they were all a danger to themselves? On that subject . . . “I should probably tell you that Cain is pushing me to move in with him soon.”

“I’m not surprised, he’s not a dude who’d be okay with his woman dragging her heels over something like this.”

Delilah handed her a steaming cup of tea. “You need to stop stalling.”

Yes, she did. “You know why I am.”

The Latina rolled her eyes. “It’s not like we’ll burn the cottage down without your supervision, Mom.”

Flames erupted out of Anabel’s cauldron, giving off a weird green smoke. Coughing, the blonde wafted her arm through the air. “Motherfucker.”

She emptied a vial of liquid over the flames, and they slowly died down.

Delilah cleared her throat. “If—no, when—you move out, you’ll still be here as often as you are now.”

Wynter sipped her tea. “That’s pretty much what Cain said.”

“And he’s right.”

Delilah heaved her box of for-sale bespelled cosmetics out of the cupboard. “Look, you can keep your room here. Not that I think that things won’t work out between you and Cain in the long run. It would just be a symbol that this is still your home. In spirit. If that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t,”

said Xavier.

Delilah threw him a dirty look. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Can’t say I care.”

Xavier jolted in his seat. “Dammit.”

He shot a glare at thin air and rubbed at his nape. “One thing I don’t like about this time of year is how active the spirits get. They can be seriously annoying at times.”

Delilah used her hip to bump a cupboard door shut. “I still say we should hold a séance.”

“Nu-uh,”

said Wynter, shaking her head.

“But it could be fun,”

said Delilah. “And Xavier’s an expert at communing with the dead.”

“Providing he has a corpse he can use as a conduit,”

Wynter reminded her. “I am so totally not going there.”

“It’s probably for the best that we don’t,”

said Hattie, fussing with the little plant pots on the windowsill. “A lot of the spirits here seem angry and melancholy. Probably can’t get a ticket out of hell. Poor bastards. I’ll be heading there for sure myself.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,”

Xavier told her. “Personally, I think the devil is gonna freaking dig you.”

The old woman smiled. “Well thanks, darlin’.”

Delilah turned to Wynter. “Back to the whole you moving out thing—”

She stopped as Wynter raised a hand.

“I told Cain I’d move my stuff to his place little by little. And I will.”

As for whether or not she’d bond with his monster . . . well, she didn’t see any harm in it. But she needed a little more information before she made an official decision one way or the other.

“Good,”

said Delilah. “You shouldn’t hold yourself back. Especially out of some cute but silly need to watch over us. We’ll be fine.”

A crackling sound filled the room as purple smoke ballooned out of Anabel’s cauldron. The blonde hissed. “Motherfucking fucker.”

Wynter sighed. “If you say so, Del.”

A blaring sound came from outside followed by a monotone voice announcing that Cain would be making a speech from the city’s tallest tower in exactly thirty minutes.

“There’s no point in us opening our shop yet, then,”

said Xavier.

Wynter nodded and took another sip of her tea. “We might as well wait until after the speech.”

“It gives you time to go pack a few things to move to Cain’s Keep later.”

Delilah gave her a pointed look, daring her to put up a protest.

Wynter sniffed. “Fine.”

Her mug in hand, she headed upstairs to her bedroom. Taking a good look at the space, she couldn’t help but heave a sigh. Other than the books, raven bookends, and maybe the African violet plant, not one thing here would fit well in Cain’s chamber. Still, she wouldn’t leave any of it behind. Aside from the furniture, of course—it all came with the cottage.

Setting her cup on the nightstand, Wynter wandered over to the ancestor altar that she’d set up on the top of her dresser. She constructed the altar every fall to honor those she’d lost. It was a tradition most witches followed.

This time, she’d used a red cloth that looked much like the one she’d left behind at Aeon when forced to go on the run. Normally, she would have placed photos and belongings of her deceased loved ones on the altar, but she’d had to leave those behind as well. Instead, she’d drawn pictures of them—they weren’t fabulous, but they held a real likeness to her mother, grandmother, and mentor Rafe—and placed items she’d found in local stores that much resembled family heirlooms. There was also a chalice, candles, and pumpkins.

The altar would for sure look out of place in Cain’s chamber, as would her collection of crystals and the astrological-themed throw on the armchair. She’d leave them here for now and take them to the Keep at a later date.

By the time Wynter had bagged up a few things and drank her tea, it was almost time for Cain’s speech. Together, she and her coven went to stand in their front yard. From there, she could clearly see Cain standing at the top of the city’s tallest tower. The other Ancients stood behind him in what appeared to be a gesture of solidarity.

The streets were packed with people, many of whom lived on the surface and had no doubt come here to be present for Cain’s speech. It wasn’t long before he raised a hand, gesturing for a silence that immediately fell.

“I know you’ll all have questions,”

said Cain, pure power amplifying his voice. “Several, probably. What do the Ancients make of Adam’s announcement? Does the Aeon truly not want war? Did Wynter Dellavale really curse his land? Do she and I intend to give ourselves up? What will Adam do if we don’t?

“I will answer those questions. You should also ask yourselves another: Why would Adam not come here for vengeance? Strange that he didn’t, don’t you think? In relatively short order, the three other ruling Aeons were killed, including his son. Abel’s dismembered body was dumped at Aeon for Adam to find. Yet, he proclaims he doesn’t want war. Personally, I find that exceptionally hard to believe.”

Glancing at the sea of faces around her, Wynter saw that Cain wasn’t the only one.

“The opinion of myself and the other Ancients is simple: Adam fears coming here,”

Cain continued. “He fears facing us and all of you. If the last ruling Aeon falls, the place and its inhabitants will be vulnerable. And so he concocted a plan that would weaken us. That plan? To remove the most powerful Ancient from the equation by placing him in a position where he must give himself up for the safety of his people.”

Anabel leaned into Wynter. “So he’s really the most powerful?”

she whispered.

Wynter only nodded.

“Here’s the thing,”

began Cain, “it would not save you if I did. Adam would still come—he would never overlook what happened to his own people here. Never. And if I’m not at Devil’s Cradle when he does come, you will be down one Ancient. We all know that one Ancient can make all the difference.”

Wynter watched as people digested that. It was clear that not all of them had looked at the situation that way before.

“As such, it isn’t an option for me to surrender myself to the Aeons,”

Cain went on. “It would only make Adam come here that much sooner. To leave would be for me to neglect the promise I made to the people in my service—that being the promise to keep them safe.”

Ah, it was clever of Cain to put it that way. No one would expect him to hand himself over now.

“I made another vow,”

Cain added. “The vow to never hand people over to any outsiders who may come for them. As such, to give Wynter to Adam would be a betrayal on my part. And I think you can all understand why I would never surrender her to him in any case. To address the question I’m sure most of you have, yes, she did curse the land of Aeon.”

Wynter tried not to tense as people glanced her way. She’d agreed for Cain to give the residents more information on what happened back then, but she didn’t much like that her private business would be aired this way. Fuck you, Adam.

“She was unfairly exiled, as was her mother many years before,”

said Cain. “Except, in truth, Aeons don’t exile you. They have one of their keepers toss you over the falls. Wynter didn’t learn that until a keeper tried to do that same thing to her. She escaped, cursed the land to avenge herself and her deceased mother, and then left. I doubt anyone here would blame her for that.”

Maybe they wouldn’t, but they were clearly weirded out that she’d been able to infect the place with a blight that couldn’t be combatted—it was written all over their faces.

“Adam is well aware that I won’t surrender either myself or Wynter to him,”

Cain added. “That isn’t a losing situation for him, though, as he believes people will subsequently turn on me and choose to leave Devil’s Cradle. A lesser population means a lesser army—one that’s far easier for him and his own troops to take down.

“Some of you may in fact decide to leave, particularly when he starts using his ability to manipulate the natural elements to punish the town. That is your choice. An understandable choice. Adam has done his best to scare and confuse you. I don’t doubt that that has worked on some. Playing mind games has always been a forte of his, after all.”

Wynter felt her lips twitch at the use of reverse psychology. It certainly worked on many of the crowd. Eyes narrowed. Chins lifted. Backs straightened. They clearly weren’t happy that Adam believed he could play them.

“Those who wish to stay will naturally wonder what the other Ancients and I now plan to do about Adam.”

Cain paused. “Twice now Aeons have invaded our town and tried to destroy it. We intend to return that favor. We intend to strike before Adam has the chance to step even a single foot in our direction. We will make our move sometime soon and rid ourselves of this last threat to our home.”

Satisfaction began to gather in the air. People nodded or smiled, clearly up for getting some payback against the Aeons.

Cain swept his gaze over the crowds, very briefly settling it on Wynter. “There may be some of you who are tempted to act on Adam’s offer and cash in on the bounties. I don’t think I need to tell you how ridiculously stupid that would be.”

Menace thickened his voice. “Not simply because neither I nor my consort are easy targets, but because there would be no reward. Adam would do no favors for any of you. He would only view you as part of the army that led to his son’s death.

“He would kill you. But not quickly. Not cleanly. You would suffer. And, let’s face it, you’d deserve it for betraying your people, for making them vulnerable at a time of war, and for shitting all over a place that is a sanctuary for many—including you.”

Wynter noticed some people nod, including her coven.

“So think on that,”

advised Cain. “Don’t let greed override your common sense. If you do, the consequence would be simple: either Wynter would kill you, her monster would kill you, I would kill you, or—in the unlikely event that you made it to Aeon with a captive in tow—Adam would kill you. In short, no matter the case, you would die. And it would be as far from painless as painless can get.”

Well.