Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
I lean in and kiss her again. "Darlin'," I whisper into her mouth. "I can live with that vow."
Then I lead her out of the bathroom, still wet, but not caring, and I get in bed, pulling her in next to me.
I turn on my side, wrapping my arms around her waist, her perfect round ass pressed up against my cock—which is hard again, but there's time for that tomorrow.
And when she lets out that breath—the final breath for day one on the near side of twenty-three, I match her.
The near side is where all the danger is.
That's where we exist right now.
But her promise is enough to still me, and moments later, we're asleep.
In the black space between time, I dream.
Not dreams of peace, but of war.
Always war.
The eternal battle carved into my flesh, now etched into my sleeping mind.
In the beginning was darkness upon the face of the deep. And then came light—terrible, judging light that showed all things as they truly were.
Not as comfort, but as sword.
Flames lick upward from the depths, consuming everything in their path.
Faces form in the smoke—familiar faces, forgotten faces.
Some I know.
Some I've lost.
Some I've killed.
The fire speaks with many tongues, telling stories of what was, and what will be.
It whispers the name I've tried to forget.
My name is Legion: for we are many.
The flames rise higher, consuming flesh, and bone, and memory.
Nothing escapes the fire.
Not innocence.
Not guilt.
Not love.
Especially not love.
I am the archangel with the sword.
I am the beast with the horns.
I am the watchers with sealed beaks.
I am the skulls in their bone court.
I am the hands reaching through flame.
I am all of them.
For we are many.
CHAPTER 12
Someone's shouting.
No—several someones.
The sound filters through the thin walls, bounces down the hallway, seeps under the door. Voices rising and falling like waves crashing against rocks.
Angry waves.
Urgent waves.
Down below, a bike is revving.
Then another.
Doors banging.
Voices.
With the pillow now over my head, I burrow deeper into the mattress, trying to escape the noise and the light filtering through the blinds.
My head is pounding. Last night wasn't exactly wild, and I didn't drink much, but my crazy life is catching up to me and I'm desperate to go back to sleep.
But it’s so fuckin’ hot in here. Did the AC give out?
Beside me, Legion moans.
"What time is it?" I mutter, voice raspy and unfamiliar.
He doesn't answer.
I roll over, reaching for him, my fingers searching for the familiar warmth of his skin, the raised edges of his tattoos. My hand meets heat—intense heat—and I pull back instinctively.
Suddenly, I'm wide awake. Sitting up, looking down at him.
"Legion?" I whisper.
He's burning up. That's why I'm so hot. His skin radiates fever like a furnace, the sheets beneath him damp with sweat. His chest rises and falls too quickly, breath shallow and uneven.
"Legion?" I touch his shoulder gently, trying to rouse him. "Hey. Wake up."
Nothing. Not even a flicker of his eyelids.
"Legion." I shake him, gentle at first, then with more force. "Legion, come on. Open your eyes."
His head lolls to the side, unresponsive. Panic starts to build in my chest, a tight, squeezing sensation that makes it hard to breathe.
Outside, the commotion grows louder.
Someone shouts an order.
Boots pound across gravel.
A door slams.
I tune it out, focusing only on Legion. I slide out of bed, grab the first things I find—a pair of shorts, one of Legion's t-shirts—and pull them on quickly. Back at his side, I press my palm to his forehead. He's so hot, his skin slick with sweat.
"Legion!" I'm shaking him harder now, desperation creeping into my voice. "Please wake up. Please."
That's when I see it—his brand. The Badlands "B" they burned into his chest the night of his patching ceremony. It's angry red, swollen, with yellow-green pus oozing from the center. The skin around it is hot to the touch, streaked with red lines that spread outward like poison.
"Oh, my god." My stomach lurches. "Legion. Legion, wake up." I'm saying his name over and over, like a prayer, like if I say it enough times he'll have to answer. "Legion, please. Please wake up."
He doesn't move. Doesn't respond. His breathing remains shallow, too fast.
A siren bleeps outside, cutting through the shouting. One short burst, then silence.
I rush to the window, pushing aside the blinds. Down in the compound, chaos unfolds. Men running in every direction, shouting to each other. And at the gate a sheriff's cruiser, lights flashing.
Two deputies standing beside it, hands on their holsters.
What the fuck is happening?
I turn back to Legion, who looks like death itself, then to the window again. I can't process both emergencies at once. Legion needs a doctor, but there are cops at the gate, and no one's coming to help us.
I need to find someone. Anyone.
I bolt from the room, bare feet slapping against the worn floorboards as I race down the hall, then take the stairs two at a time, nearly colliding with a young man at the bottom.