The tiny, bedraggled creature wakes up when we land back at the temple. He flinches from the sun ... the child can't open his eyes in the light.

"To the pool," I tell Thelios. He sprints through the doors and puts me down.

Inside the halls temple, the child is able to open his eyes in a squint. They are the darkest brown, staring out at me in fear and suspicion from underneath a rat's nest of hair so filthy that I wonder if it is as red as mine. I'm almost positive that this is a child, but he, or she, must only weigh about the same as two wet, fat gargoyles. Now that my heart is calming slightly, I can take the time to examine him more. He's nothing but skin and bones covered in dirt and filth and blood. Under the coat of filth, I think I can see bruises.

"I need your help, Sprite," Thelios murmurs. "What do we do?"

"I'll take him into the pool," I tell him.

"Female," the tiny thing whispers to me, "I's a female."

"Her," I reply faintly in agreement.

"She needs to eat, Mara," Thelios' voice holds an undercurrent of panic in it. His hands are holding her delicately and I understand his fear. Her bones are fragile. If she was in that basement for her whole life, how much exercise did she get? She must be so weak.

"She needs healing, first," I whisper to him as if the child can't hear me. I'm not convinced it's a female. I'm not sure of anything other than Thelios and I have rescued a starving, filthy child in dire need of help. We brought her here, which means that, in the eyes of the Fourth House, we stole her.

I push past him, sharply indicating that he needs to follow me.

When we walk through the portico into Death's temple the child starts to weep.

"Don't wanna be dead," she whimpers.

I stop and turn to look at them. Thelios looks desperate as he struggles to hold onto the squirming child without hurting it.

"You will not die, poppet," Thelios says. There is an undercurrent of panic in his voice that I have never heard before.

A tiny, grubby fist flails, flying out toward his cheek. He doesn't flinch when it strikes him, but when the child screeches in a foul curse he winces in sympathy.

"Not want! ... Not to be dead! Not want to be mama!"

Nateos, what did this child see in that basement?

Thelios grabs that hand in his fists, gently capturing the limb. It keeps struggling, making noises that sound eerily similar to rats fighting over scrapes on the streets.

I feel my own uncertainty ratchet upward. What are we thinking? The Second House, of the Mother, runs all of the city's orphanages. They are the ones who know how to care for a child. I am Death's daughter. What do I know of life, especially that of a young child? A baby?

"Mara?" Thelios looks up at me. Grey eyes swim with concern and pleading. Another harsh stream of nearly incoherent words from the mouth of the urchin has his face paling.

"Enough," I say it with enough sternness in my tone that the child stops struggling and stares at me in wary contemplation.

"Nateos is the god of Rebirth, not just Death. Into the pool, to bathe and heal."

"No," she whimpers piteously. Her struggles against a strong male have already sapped her strength. I can see on her right elbow a scab of skin rot. It's a sign that she has been injured and not tended to properly.

Of course the wounds are festering. I can smell the sickness of the basement from here.

Desperate now, I look around my soothing temple for inspiration. Thelios is no help. A typical male, I suppose, just waiting for me to come up with a way to get the child to cooperate.

I spot Harku and smile. "Do you see that gargoyle?" I ask it. She nods, still glaring. "His name is Harku. He cleans the temple. The temple that we are making dirty," I whisper the last bit.

The child goes still and eyes Harku. I know what it must be thinking. Harku is an especially ugly little gargoyle. I hate to say it, but every one of his features is mismatched to the others and his head is a little too big for his body. His stick-thin arms and legs are too long, and his belly is rounded like he swallowed a melon. Buck teeth with razor-sharp canines round out his ugliness. He looks like a monster, but he is my sweetest gargoyle. I'm hoping this child believes in monsters, the fairy-tale kind, because to most, even children, my gargoyles are just stone.

"He eats me?" the child asks.

"He will be sad," I look at the child with special significance.

Thelios flashes me a relieved look when Harku distracts the female before stepping forward and handing me the filthy babe. I practically fall into the pool. Call me insane, but holding her reminds me too much of another hurting, dirty child bathing in this same pool.

The child goes still as soon as the warm water hits her skin.

"Feels warm," she whispers.

Has she ever had a warm bath? My own sobs are choking me as I swallow them down. I don't want her to panic again.

I force a smile for her. "Hold your breath, all right? We are dunking under." I don't wait for a protest, but submerge us both.

When I come back up it is clinging to my neck, spitting mad. I pretend I can't hear the foul hisses of nearly incomprehensible words ringing in my ears. It's not language a tiny child should be using. Imagining how she learned such things makes my heart ache.

"I'll take poppet, sprite, while you get your robes off."

I turn in absolute shock at Thelios. He is nude but for his loincloth. His clothing, I note in a daze, is folded neatly by the rim of the pool with his weapons carefully laid nearby. His arms are outstretched to take the urchin from me.

He is gorgeous. Covered in tattoos that should interest me, but their beauty fades in light of the male muscle they are inked on. Mouthwatering, I swallow in pure lust, until I realize how close he is to me.

"Captain," I whisper, "you are standing in Death's sacred pool."

He frowns at me. "Yes, Mara. You need help, no?"

I nod at him, still stunned the Nateos hasn't peeled the skin from his bones. The acids in the pool burn even Patriarch Salbin if he ventures too close without me, yet here this male is standing in the waters as if it is a wading pool.

I hear a deep, faint chuckle and relax. What could Nateos find funny in this situation?

I choose well

I refrain from asking my father what he means. Now is not the time to converse with Death.

"Here, keep pouring the water over her head, make sure her hair is clean." I step toward the edge and tug and pull at my sodden robes until I am only left in my slip. There's no time to be modest now.

I turn to see Thelios' eyes skimming my body with darkened eyes. I glare at him, wading back to them and taking the child back from his arms. He smirks at me, but silently helps strip the rags off of the... female. Ah, she is a she. Well, at least she knows her own gender.

"Poor poppet," Thelios mutters. I don't say anything, but internally I agree. The filth and blood wash away to reveal too-thin arms, so incredibly delicate, like a bird. We stay in the pool for half an hour, gently washing away the wounds on the little female.

"Do you think they know she's missing?" I whisper, as the girl lays her head on Thelios' shoulder, her eyes drifting closed. It's a sight that I try to ignore as much as any female with life still in her body can.

"Not something you need to worry about, Sprite."

I pick up her hands and start to clean out her fingertips. They are jagged and broken, worn down in some spots so far her cuticles are raw.

"I looked like this," I tell him suddenly.

He stiffens and I hurry to explain. "When... I was older, of course, but my fingernails... they were blackened from..." my voice trails off at the dark storm in his expression.

"Repeat that for me, beautiful. You came to the temple like this?" he rasps out huskily. His body moves closer to mine, the heat from him washing over me in a blanket of protection.

I am quiet for a moment, feeling like a little mouse caught in the fox trap. His eyes burn into me, darkening with a rage that remind me that he is the Captain of Shadows.

"Let's get her back to my room so that she can sleep," I say softly.

I climb out first, fetching a clean robe and casting it around me like a shield before grabbing another to wrap around the girl as Thelios waits impatiently.

He lets me take her so that he can yank on his pants. He straps on his weapons, but doesn't bother with his shirt and vest. I studiously avoid looking at his chest. His perfect muscles, in case I was staring, which I wasn't.

I walk back to my room with what feels like a malignant shadow stalking after me. At my door I turn to look at him with the tiny female in his arms. A tiny tick in his jaw tells me that my hope that he will conveniently forget what I said in the pool is unrealistic.

"Later, Captain, please," I say.

He growls lowly, but nods. His fury is at odds with how gently he lays the girl on the bed.

It strikes me in that moment, how beautiful it is to watch him care for a child in my own home. It's as if, in one perfect moment, I see a family with this male.

Sucking in a breath I shake the errant thought away before gently combing through the girl's hair. I braid her strawberry-blonde locks carefully. I know how curly hair works, and she needs it to be braided for bed.

Thelios murmurs from behind me, "she looks like you."

I nod without saying anything, pulling up the covers to tuck her in. We litter the city, us Love children with red and gold hair. Illegitimate children, bastards, born because a male refused to bond to the mother of his unexpected child.

Love children often end up cast out into the streets. My own mother could have been cast aside by my father had he not cared for her, for us. His family, nobles of Love, certainly had no desire to care for their poor relations. Little red-headed girls are especially vulnerable.

And she does look like me. Dark eyes, strawberry-blonde hair. We could be family.

"She's like a tiny flame," he mutters from behind me.

I cast a frown at him. We are strawberry-blondes, damnit. The firelight dancing in her bright locks makes a liar out of me, but I'm sure in the sunlight her hair is less... fiery.

"Mara, can you feed her when she wakes up?" he says softly to me.

I nod, not taking my eyes off of the tiny baby in my bed. How old is she? Three, four?

"I will return tonight, my Flame," Thelios says from my doorway.

His words finally penetrate the fog in my brain. "Thelios? Where are you going?"

He stops moving towards the door, looking back over his shoulder with grey eyes soft on me. "I have to investigate this further, my love. I'll bring food. Stay with her."

He leaves and I turn my attention back to the tiny female. It is just her and I in the room. Exhausted, I check my ice cooler to make sure that I have food for her when she awakens. Then I lie down, letting her snuggle into my side while my tears soak my pillow.

---

I leave the soup on the table for my females. They are curled up together, sleeping. My Sprite looks young in her sleep, with those siren-eyes closed. It makes me wonder just how old she is. I never asked. Maybe now she'll be more accepting of my presence and talk to me. She called me Thelios today, finally. I kiss both of them softly before leaving.

Samhill Square is lit up. The talk of murder and suicide and a body of a young female in the basement is high.

Belen is standing there, glaring at me, when I land. "Where the fuck did you go, Lios? This is a shitstorm. You knocked some fuckers out and there's a dead female in the fucking basement," he seethes.

I wrap my arm around his neck, pulling him close to my mouth. "That's not all there was in that basement. Shut the fuck up."

He shuts up, eyes wide in curiosity. Another male may be pissed that I spoke so harshly, but Belen, more than anyone alive other than his nan, knows me. A cruel smirk dances across his face. "How bad is it going to be?"

"My Fated's father has room in his house, did you know?" I say. We both laugh, the sound bouncing off of the cobblestone streets to the ears of the mourning Fourth House shifters.

I step back into the house. My Recondites are there, Nanto and Enlil are in the kitchen. In the basement Urla is standing against the far wall, jaw clenched, while Asan and Hanish examine the corpse of the broken young female. They have lit four lanterns, lighting up the horror of the cellar.

"Any idea of who her family is?" I ask, moving in to the space.

"She's a blond under the filth. From the Fifth House, most like," Hanish responds.

"Urla, go get the one of the Love priests. Whatever they are doing, interrupt it."

"Understood." Urla leaves, the hard set of his jaw the only sign of the inner turmoil I know he's feeling.

I look around the room. A root cellar originally, the ceilings are low, none of us can stand upright in the space. There are still some dried herbs hanging from hooks in the ceiling. Over in one corner is a sleeping mat. Another corner holds a bucket for the female's needs. There's a neat stack of clothing along the only shelf and a jug of water. I smell the water. It's clean, at least. No signs of any food and the waste bucket is empty.

I walk, hunched over, to the cot where the dead female is lying. Under the pillow I see a tiny button eye. Pulling, I take out the small rag doll fashioned out of old clothes.

"Did she have a child?" Hanish asks me in a low voice.

I look at him steadily. "No."

He nods with understanding as I tuck the doll in my shirt.

"Bring her out of the basement. Let's see what reaction we get. Someone had to have known she was here."

We wrap the body and Hanish picks it up. "She barely weighs a thing," he mutters.

I look around the cellar in distaste. I walk upstairs and take a closer look at the rooms of the house. Fancy cutlery in the kitchen. Richly upholstered chairs in the living room. Their furniture, most of it, is carved from alpac trees from the mountains. Expensive. I'm sure this male's family wants some of this fancy shit.

"Look for any evidence of who she was. Any crimes, who the fuck this male was. Who his bonded was. I want details."

My males nod, eyes glaring at the house as if it offends them, too.

It's dark by the time we're done destroying everything. Nothing is found. It's as if the female in the cellar never existed.

"What now, Captain?" Asan asks me.

I look over at Urla. Behind him is a Love priest, looking shaken. The male's been here for hours while we ransacked the house.

"Burn the house and contents. To ash."

"The Fourth House males you knocked out are still inside," Belen points out.

I look into the priest's scared eyes. "That's very unfortunate for them."

---

"What did he do?" I ask Patriarch Rimon raspily. My throat is dry today, I'm thirsty.

"He made a mistake, akin to yours," the old male says with a sideways glare at me.

I let my head droop. I barely feel the chains biting into my wrists anymore.

The male across the room is being tortured. There is no other way to describe it. The seven males, my warriors and that pain-in-the-ass Recondite, are using him as a training dummy.

"Your fool of a leader is pointing out the shoulder joint incorrectly. Idiot. How do you get that pressure point wrong?" I mock the elderly demon.

"Is he?" Patriarch Rimon quirks his eyebrows.

"It's just a bit lower. Look, Carnak's got it." The male screams, his arm twitching, then flopping uselessly as Carnak digs his thumb in experimentally.

"Hmm."

My mind feels sluggish. I try to swallow but my mouth is dry as dust. "What did he do?" I croak out. "Did he... did he hurt his Fated?"

"He kept her enslaved for six years. In his root cellar while he and his bonded lived just above in luxury."

"Bastard," I breathe out. "I wouldn't have done that to my female."

"You killed her and replaced her."

"I was told she betrayed me."

"By your grandfather."

"No, not just him," I admit it out loud, finally. "I... I saw her. She was in my study, then the guards came and she ran... ran away."

"How did you see her?"

I take a shuddering breath. "I was shown it... by a Seer for the Love goddess."

Patriarch Rimon's face is staring into mine, from a mere handbreadth away. "A Seer... from Love?" he questions softly.

"Yes," I whisper. "Was it true, then? Did my sweetheart betray me?"

The face in front of me flashes, dark eyes, unfathomable, ageless, as black as my own Parijan's eyes. Cold, dead marbles. Smooth white skin replaces wrinkles, pale pink lips flash redder, as red as blood. Fangs, white and gleaming. Wrinkles reappear, the moment lasting only a heartbeat.

"You are Nateos," I breathe out.

"I am whoever I want to be," the god says.

His eyes change back to blue. "The god goes where he does."

"Why was I lied to?" I murmur. "About my Parijan?"

"Love enjoys a good heartbreak."

"Bitch," I rasp out. The male screams, a horrifying pitch. The snap of bone echoes across the dungeon. "They aren't breaking the bones completely. He could still use his arms to attack. They need to be thorough."

"You are a sadistic male, Thane."

"If that male is like me, then he deserves the torture."

Patriarch Rimon stares at me. "His Fated bore him a child. He kept that little mite locked down in the basement with her. His own child."

"Have them practice hitting his heart. The flat of their palms, up into the ribcage. Not over it, up and under. Those with claws can practice slicing around the ribs through the back, too."

Patriarch Rimon chuckles. Apparently he's sadistic, too.