Read Online Becoming Bad (The Becoming Novels) by Jess Raven, Paula Black - Free Book Online
Authors: Jess Raven, Paula Black
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she may never climb back out of. The bone sand had already creeped her out, and now her freak-out level was ratcheting up. As a macabre tour-guide, Mac could rival the best. If she encountered the pit of primordial ooze the mammoth wolf things had crawled from, she’d fight tooth and nail to get away and hide under Mac’s bed. But for now, Ash had borrowed some steel balls. ‘Who were they? The people you violated?’ she asked.
‘They were Viking invaders, a band of Norsemen and the straggle of male and female slaves aboard their longboats. They moored on the Dubh Linn, oblivious to its dangers, and on the night of Samhain, when the moon was full, the Fomorians were reborn as the men you see today: human in form, but not human. Beast, but partially tamed by humanity.’
His fingers toyed with the ends of her hair where they curled against the base of her spine and her flesh shivered. She looked down to see the floor had given way to rugged steps, dropping into darkness. She tentatively took the first one.
A punch of human instinct hit her with a warning. The fist of pressure halted her so hard she tripped onto the step below. Mac snatched her to him before she tumbled the rest of the way down and Ash clung on gratefully.
Haunting, a symphony of cries worked up the spiralled staircase to knot in her throat until she choked on the sounds. She glanced at Mac, but his face was cautious.
God, she was screwed. She was going to get eaten.
'This is your idea of a history lesson?' she asked nervously. She'd take her sleep-inducing professor any day over this.
He coaxed her forward and the darkness enveloped her, stroking around the flickering light of a solitary sconce. The howling from below was thunderous. How had she not heard it before? Mac seemed unaffected, and so she pressed on.
When her bare feet touched the bottom step, silence reigned. Not a sound, not a whimper or growl, the sounds just cut off. It was so very dark. Not even her glow-in-the-dark eyes could adjust to the cluster of pitch black. Her skin pricked with sensation, like fur just under the surface. Power stretched inside her and perked up, lurking, wary and curious. This room had her attention. Or something inside it did.
‘What the hell are you keeping down here, Mac?’ she whispered, backing away from the eerie sound of breathing that seemed to encircle the room. The air was stale, with a scent reminiscent of wet dog.
'Strange, I've never seen them so subdued.'
'Them?' Mac's confusion did nothing to reassure her. There was a flash of movement and the sound of stones skittering across rock. ‘Not that I don’t love the dark, Mac, but could you please hit the lights?’
Light flowed as Mac removed the torch from its bracket and cast the flames in the direction of the stirring. Thick bars climbed up from the cavern floor, illuminated in the pool of the torch’s rays. Inside the bars, spheres glimmered into existence, hundreds of them, soft red on a black canvas, twin floating beacons. She lifted a hand and the orbs shifted. She waved and the motion was tracked by laser sights. They were eyes.
Shit.
The fire spluttered and Mac stepped away, re-igniting the torch on the flinty ground. It sparked off like a match to a dynamite fuse, speeding on an invisible track that circled the centre of the cavern. Ash squinted, adjusting to the brightness. Behind the metal, massive furred bodies prowled, sinuous and lean, walking the semicircle of their cage. And every eye-shining gaze was fixed on her.
Ash bit back a scream at her nightmares come to life. These were the things she saw when sleep took her. Living, breathing … Death. Heart in her mouth, she backed away, throwing a terrified glance Mac's way.
‘The untame are what remain of the original of the species,' he said quietly. 'We keep them contained, here, in Fomor. They have no conscience, they are pure animal, and work on basic survival instincts.’
'Can they get out?'
Mac shook his head.
‘They were Viking invaders, a band of Norsemen and the straggle of male and female slaves aboard their longboats. They moored on the Dubh Linn, oblivious to its dangers, and on the night of Samhain, when the moon was full, the Fomorians were reborn as the men you see today: human in form, but not human. Beast, but partially tamed by humanity.’
His fingers toyed with the ends of her hair where they curled against the base of her spine and her flesh shivered. She looked down to see the floor had given way to rugged steps, dropping into darkness. She tentatively took the first one.
A punch of human instinct hit her with a warning. The fist of pressure halted her so hard she tripped onto the step below. Mac snatched her to him before she tumbled the rest of the way down and Ash clung on gratefully.
Haunting, a symphony of cries worked up the spiralled staircase to knot in her throat until she choked on the sounds. She glanced at Mac, but his face was cautious.
God, she was screwed. She was going to get eaten.
'This is your idea of a history lesson?' she asked nervously. She'd take her sleep-inducing professor any day over this.
He coaxed her forward and the darkness enveloped her, stroking around the flickering light of a solitary sconce. The howling from below was thunderous. How had she not heard it before? Mac seemed unaffected, and so she pressed on.
When her bare feet touched the bottom step, silence reigned. Not a sound, not a whimper or growl, the sounds just cut off. It was so very dark. Not even her glow-in-the-dark eyes could adjust to the cluster of pitch black. Her skin pricked with sensation, like fur just under the surface. Power stretched inside her and perked up, lurking, wary and curious. This room had her attention. Or something inside it did.
‘What the hell are you keeping down here, Mac?’ she whispered, backing away from the eerie sound of breathing that seemed to encircle the room. The air was stale, with a scent reminiscent of wet dog.
'Strange, I've never seen them so subdued.'
'Them?' Mac's confusion did nothing to reassure her. There was a flash of movement and the sound of stones skittering across rock. ‘Not that I don’t love the dark, Mac, but could you please hit the lights?’
Light flowed as Mac removed the torch from its bracket and cast the flames in the direction of the stirring. Thick bars climbed up from the cavern floor, illuminated in the pool of the torch’s rays. Inside the bars, spheres glimmered into existence, hundreds of them, soft red on a black canvas, twin floating beacons. She lifted a hand and the orbs shifted. She waved and the motion was tracked by laser sights. They were eyes.
Shit.
The fire spluttered and Mac stepped away, re-igniting the torch on the flinty ground. It sparked off like a match to a dynamite fuse, speeding on an invisible track that circled the centre of the cavern. Ash squinted, adjusting to the brightness. Behind the metal, massive furred bodies prowled, sinuous and lean, walking the semicircle of their cage. And every eye-shining gaze was fixed on her.
Ash bit back a scream at her nightmares come to life. These were the things she saw when sleep took her. Living, breathing … Death. Heart in her mouth, she backed away, throwing a terrified glance Mac's way.
‘The untame are what remain of the original of the species,' he said quietly. 'We keep them contained, here, in Fomor. They have no conscience, they are pure animal, and work on basic survival instincts.’
'Can they get out?'
Mac shook his head.
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