Saturday October 11th 2014

The quiet sound of his timer woke him. There was a tension in the air, a terrible threat that wasn’t there when he had gone to bed. Hidden from view, he tightened his grip on the knife under his pillow.

“That’s the wimpiest alarm ever,” Lady Kali whispered the soft words into the silent room.

She watched from the table well back from his bed. “Bad things happen to people who draw attention on the street.”

Her eyes softened. “How long did you live like that?”

“Still living like that.” The statement was flat. He could talk about the street, but he resented being asked about it.

“Not all women like bad boys.” Lady Kali's voice was more leading than he liked.

“How did your night with Viktor go?” The sarcastic bite said more than he wanted.

Lady Kali winced at the pointed question. “Anastasia’s young, it’s not that she doesn’t like you …”

Cesare cut her off. “That she chose a guy like Blaez says all that needs saying.” That Lady Kali had spent the night with Viktor said all he needed to know about Lady Kali too. “Even if she felt anything for me, it would never work. She wants position and power. I want to own.”

“When you’re young, you see a beautiful body and a tough attitude. It's fun and if it doesn't work, there are always others. You don't know how to look beyond the muscles and charm at that age,” Lady Kali said.

Cesare slipped on his newly repaired shoes, gray and shiny with duct tape. He wore his best jeans, the three rips along the right leg stitched together with glossy black thread. Freshly washed, his threadbare hoodie smelled of cheap soap.

Lady Kali was dressed in cyber punk chic. Black jeans, artfully torn and distressed, molded to her ass and legs. The tight blue t-shirt’s black letters crossed her chest, “Training to beat Goku … or at least Krillin.” Clinging to her athletic body, it outlined her small, perfectly shaped breasts.

Like her daughter, she emanated a dark sexuality. But in Lady Kali it was terrifyingly powerful, a weight pressing against his soul, its monstrous strength felt even when its still. Slipping into his mind, he heard its whispering of forbidden things, summoning horrific hungers hidden in the blessed temples of flesh. Diseased perversions glided through the ebony waters of his soul as the ripples of its words moved across the stillness.

Wanton creatures rose from the ocean, hungering for humiliation. They were titans born and gorged on pain, the stygian gods of appetites both dark and corrupt. Desire’s throbbed under his skin, to bleed, hurt, take, and possess. The hooked chains of the civilized loosened, steel bright barbs corroding under the corrupting touch of cruel needs.

Cesare had seen the aura in action. Students turned into stuttering idiots, slaved by their desires, consumed by a power beyond them. They were conquered by a look, their own hungers betraying them to the whims of horrors birthed in corruption. And that was when Anastasia wasn’t trying.

“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be sleeping off last night?” Cesare shot over his shoulder as he gathered the weapons for a final check.

Laughing, she shrugged off the dig at her sexcapades. “Something's are worth getting up early for.” So special she spent the night fucking Viktor.

Words are easy to bend and twist, to shape with poisonous precision into what you need to get what you want. He’d be a fool to think she hadn’t mastered that art long before his ancestors had prayed to dark gods.

“How come you and Anastasia don't look alike?” Cesare asked, fingers running over the claymore discs, looking for breaks in the mold.

“She’s not my biological daughter.” Cesare's hands froze. “She was left on my doorstep when she was a baby. My race descends from me, but our connection is thousands of years in the past. It doesn't matter to us, I love her as if I’d held her in my womb.” She traced a finger over the table. “Even my biological daughters don’t look like me. Every Harab Serapel is an individual, both in its true form and the Mendacium. While cambion share the genetic traits of their parents, true Harab Serapel are always unique and female,” Lady Kali said.

“I thought you were an akatharton?” Cesare asked.

“All Harab Serapel are akatharton, but not all akatharton are Harab Serapel. Baboons and marmosets are both monkeys, but no one would say they’re the same,” Lady Kali said.

“Then all of you share the same last name?”

Lady Kali laughed. “No. I’m the first. I willed myself into life and form. All Harab Serapel come from me but only those brithed from my womb bear my name.” She gave Cesare a long look. “And Anastasia.”

“You’ve noticed I look Asian?” Lady Kali turned back to his original question.

“Yeah.” Almond-shaped eyes, long black hair and pale porcelain skin that shone like sun caught snow. “I’d say Japanese.”

“Akatharton are different from the rest of the Umbrae Lunae. We're born unique. We have nothing in common with any other akatharton, not even our parents.” She lifted the black queen from the chessboard, meditatively rolling it between her fingers.

“I remember when we got the Mendacium—the so-called God’s Gift. Not many of us used them back then. It was a lie we refused to embrace. Now, it’s different. Umbrae Lunae grow up in their Mendacium, their true forms hidden in darkness. Even among their own kind, it’s rare to see Umbrae Lunae in their birth form.” She set the queen down before taking up a pawn.

“It’s humanity’s greatest victory. They took our identity, stripped us of our bodies and gave us theirs as the ideal. Humanity owns beauty, only shame fills us when we change into our true selves. Ugly, disgusting things of forgotten gods. It’s all my race is left with.” She was fighting for her races' identity, wanting them to hold on to some sense of themselves in a sea of change that was drowning them.

“What's your favorite ice cream?” Cesare asked.

Lady Kali laughed at the change of topic. He wondered how long it had been since she’d been asked something normal. “Depends on my mood. I think it’s every woman’s right to change her mind about something so important. Not to be cliché, but my go to is chocolate.”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course, you do.”

Cesare inspected the bottles of chlorine gas with the impact explosives in them. They should explode when they’re thrown hard enough, but that meant they were delicate. It was a tight rope between use and danger. They needed to be delicate enough to explode, but not so fragile as to detonate while being carried.

“I envy your freedom,” Lady Kali said.

“Being a goddess a tough job? Let me guess, shit for benefits, right?” Cesare said with a laugh.

“Don’t get me wrong. I love the money and power, but I remember a time when the world was new and mysterious. When I could leave a campsite and walk away without everyone running to follow me. I used to love to travel. Seeing the world with my own eyes, meeting its people, walking land that had never touched my feet. Every day was new and exciting, before imperiums and glass cities. When the world seemed infinite, instead of the small place it's become. When harems were hunting packs instead of glorified servants, demanding to help with arrogant eyes."

“You’re Kali the fucking Destroyer. Why would you need their help?” She’d destroyed cities and civilizations. For her, genocide was a verb. What was the harem going to help her with?

“Because I’m Kali the Destroyer. Back then, I was just Kali. When I knew the world as the Crossroads, connecting to the realms of a thousand gods and an ever growing insanity of dimensions. The war of the gods poured oceans of blood into the realms of blessed darkness and diseased light. Armies, both fey and monstrous, boiling out from the rifts torn in reality. Only the strongest made it past childhood, and all but the Immortals were enslaved to a god’s army. It was a savage time, but it was free in a way the world has never been since. Now, all anyone sees is Kali the Destroyer. Kali the person was swallowed by the myth centuries ago.” She paused, her voice turning whisper quiet, “Don’t get me wrong. I glory in my dominance, gleefully taking what I want, knowing nothing dares deny me. Power isn't happiness, but it rents by the month from where I stand. But your freedom makes me smell the price I paid.”

“Maybe. But I don’t have a family. There’s no one to come home to or even a home to go to … no bed to sleep in or people to care if I make it home. I eat out of dumpsters and sleep under garbage to keep warm in winter. You’ve created your own prison cell. You have the freedom you want … you just won’t take it.” He was focused on the blasting cap, Anastasia was fucked if even one didn’t detonate.

She was so quiet he had to strain to hear her. “I don’t have anyone to come home to except my kids. More than enough people want to fuck me, but no one wants to sleep with me. No one wants to snuggle on the couch and watch TV. No one babies me when I’m sick.”

The door opened and closed behind him. With his head down over the claymore, it was a few minutes before he turned to look. Elizabeth glared at Lady Kali from the threshold. Taking a seat at the table, Lady Kali arranged the pieces on the chessboard before quirking an eyebrow at the other woman.

Elizabeth wore a crushed velvet dress that hung an inch above the ground, black as midnight, it gleamed in the shadowed light, a beacon to nights glory. A corset of crimson was tied up the sides with black velvet straps, the lace along the top playing peek-a-boo with her cleavage. Fine traceries of blue veins threaded the pale skin of her shoulders. Her lips were a wet scarlet wound, the color of life’s blood. Shimmering red eye shadow deepened her dark eyes, making them voids of mystery. Still damp from the shower, her black hair shone with dark radiance.

“Tea?” Elizabeth asked, already making for the teapot. He’d watched her do this dance every night he’d stayed over and yet, each time, was like the first time ... captivating. She gathered their cups after setting the teapot on her small stove. The rune inscribed cupboard was opened with fey reverence, black containers chosen with the knowing few would own. Each cup was an experience never repeated, a taste impossible to reproduce. She poured the boiling water over the loose leaves before setting it down on the worktable with a private smile for him. Only after he had his did she prepare her cup.

Elizabeth took her place at the table and started the game with Lady Kali. They didn’t talk, choosing instead to focus on the game. This was a different animal than the casual games Cesare played.

Chess is the ultimate game of deception. There are no tricks to win, no secret strategies or hidden pieces. Every piece is seen, every strategy laid bare and raw to the eye. The trick is to know your opponent’s plan while concealing your own. Some think defense wins, but a good player knows how to hide the blade. It is betrayal in thought and deed.

It wasn’t long before the door opened again, Anastasia stopping uncertainly just outside the room. The harems of both akathartons jockeyed for position behind her, trying to look inside. Wolves and pups, killers and pets, the wet workers would kill the children if the boy toys weren’t careful. Dressed in designer clothes, Lady Kali's toys looked like models on a holiday instead of lethal weapons hungry for flesh. They were the real thing: deadly, beautiful, and elite. Anastasia’s harem was never anything more than disposable.

Keeping tight to her back, Anastasia’s harem crowded into her space. Fleeing the killers, they hungered for the safety of the cottage. Elizabeth stepped in before even one boy laid a foot in her domain. “You’re welcome Anastasia, but the harems stay outside.” The door closed on the angry faces of the slaves.

“Anastasia.” The girl walked toward him, stiff and uncertain, fear skittering through her eyes. “Let’s get you geared up.”

He picked up the black rope he’d been working on. “We’re going to create a rig for you, a harness to hang your weapons from.” Anastasia slipped the black Thagirion coat from her shoulders, scarlet hair reaching out to caress his hands as he walked up behind her.

He looped the rope around her waist as red hair eagerly traced his face. Anastasia’s breath caught as he tied the rope. “This is the root of the harness. Everything is anchored from this point.”

“Is this why I had to learn how to throw from those weird angles?” Anastasia’s voice shook, nerves tearing her down from the inside.

Cesare kept his tone casual. “Yep. All your weapons will be in the same spot you’re used to throwing from. Each one has a pull release. Just yank, and it’ll come off.” He’d spent hours testing each knot to make sure they’d release at the right amount of pressure.

Gliding his hands up to her shoulders, he watched the hair move aside for the rope even as it drifted across his hands. Reaching around to her front, he had to run the rope down her side and along the outer edge of her breasts. She grinned at him over her shoulder. “You know if you wanted a free handful, all you had to do was ask?” He enjoyed the playful smile, even if he flushed at the joke.

“Good to know, but I think Blaez would rip my intestines out through my nose if I touched his girl.” Her smile snapped into a black glare.

“I don't belong to him,” Anastasia said hotly.

He connected the straps to the belt with a series of knots. “Belong? No. Off limits? Absolutely. I wouldn't like someone creeping on my girl, and I won't creep on another man’s girl either.”

“If you had fewer morals, you’d have more fun.”

“And if I did, you’d be dead.” The flat tone sent Elizabeth and Kali stepping back, torn between wanting to see what he was doing and wanting no part of the argument.

Anastasia quit talking and focused instead on standing still as his hands moved over her body. He inspected each weapon as he connected them to her rig. The taped together liter bottles went onto her hip. “Chlorine gas … pull here to release. Remember, they’re impact explosives. You want to throw them hard.”

He hooked up the Frisbees. “Claymore Frisbees. They’ll be heavier than normal, but as long as you get them within twenty feet, you’re gold. Make sure he’s inside the triangle kill zone and that you’re as far away as you can get.”

He tied on holder for the soda can flash bombs. “Flash grenade … remember, even if you have your sunglasses on, closing your eyes isn’t a bad idea.” He handed over the bag of thermate. “This is your big one. It's Plan A. They have a saying when you sky dive, ‘slow is fast’. Hit him right with this, and you’re done.”

Anastasia looked at him, eyes wide, a slight tremble in her limbs. She was holding her shit together by the narrowest of margins, inches from coming unglued. If she went in like this, she wouldn't walk out.

Cesare looked beyond her at the two women. Kali's hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, fear stripping her face bare. She was another one that needed comfort, but she wasn’t the one fighting today.

“Can I meet you at the box?” Cesare asked.

Kali opened her mouth, eyes flashing violently with anger. Cesare met the Dark Mother’s anger. This wasn’t about Kali. She was worried and scared, but she’d live no matter what happened today. That couldn’t be said for Anastasia. And she'd rather lose her life than the cruel dreams she suckled. This was her one shot to birth a name for herself from the sea of shit and mediocrity, by doing what only a handful had done.

Anger drained from Kali's face as she met his eyes for a long minute. “Sweetie, I'll be there. I won't let … I’ll be there.” Facing Cesare, her back to her mother, Anastasia nodded as tears ran down her face. She didn’t want her mother to see her cry.

Anastasia launched herself into Cesare’s arms as the door shut behind the two women. Cesare was careful where he put his hands. She was armed with enough killing to take out a small army. With his luck, he’d go to feel her up and set off the whole damn thing.

She tucked her head into his shoulder, crimson tendrils playing across his face. Cesare kissed the top of her head, a cloud of jasmine rolling over him. Muffled against his shoulder, her voice was barely a whispers ghost. “I'm sorry. I was being a bitch.”

“Don't. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He ran his hand down her waterfall of blazing hair. It tangled and wove around his fingers, playing across his skin with gleeful joy. He knew this wasn’t right, it should be Blaez holding her. But Cesare wouldn't let her get torn apart.

He tightened his arms around her as she cried and trembled in fear. He’d done all he could to help her. She was as ready as he could make her, and yet, he still didn’t want to let her go out there.

“We have to go, princess,” Cesare said quietly.

She looked up at him, face so close they breathed the same air, her scarlet hair a halo of tentacles reaching for him. “You'll be there if I need you?” Something inside him twisted at the scared voice.

“Always. So will your mother and Elizabeth,” Cesare said.

“But you'll be there?” Anastasia pressed. It was important, she didn’t think she could go out there if he wasn’t there. If he wasn’t watching over her.

His hands moved to those hips he’d held so many times. “I’m not leaving you.”

She took a deep breath. “Can I win?”

“I wouldn't let you go if I didn’t know you’d win.” He locked eyes with her, needing her to believe. “You trained your ass for this. You’re stronger, faster, and more lethal than you’ve ever been. You'll win.” He was as sure of that as he was of anything in life.

Only a handful of inches separated their lips. And while he wanted those lips with everything in him, he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t try to win another man’s woman. Some lines crossed couldn't be undone, ravaging your life into a before and after. Cheating on a lover, beating a child, killing, torture … these are moral lines that exact their pound of flesh. You become less for each doorway you walk through, morally deformed by the pieces of your honor you gave away. He didn’t have much of himself left. He’d bartered and sold off too many pieces to survive. What he had, he wanted to keep.

She licked her lips, searching his eyes with her own, both of them standing on the edge of something. And both knowing they wouldn’t jump. They moved apart, her hair tangling in frustration.

Anastasia cast her eyes down. “Will you walk me to the arena?”

He smiled. “Just try to stop me.”

Anastasia’s harem waited for them outside, their eyes darted to where they held hands with a rage that demanded blood. Walking through the campus was surreal. She’d never walked close to him where others might see. But here and now, they walked hand in hand. But the campus was deserted, showing the lie of her gesture. It cost her nothing to do it, her status as perfect untainted by his touch.

She directed him to an archway built into the arena. Darkness held the stairs, pulling reluctantly back from the suns searing light, grudgingly giving ground to its cruel touch. The harem stopped at the entrance sullenly, glaring impotently down the stairs. With a pleading look, Anastasia pulled him through the archway. Their shoulders touched as they walked side by side, fingers tightly intertwined.

Twisted roots of stygian black, as thick as an arm and as small as a finger, had woven themselves into steps. Life in the raw, its face ripped off, veins pulsing with eldritch wonder, the woven walls were the beauty found only in hidden places. Pencil-thin, brown roots swarmed out of the earth by the thousands, braiding around thigh-thick grey ones that flowed up and along walls. Rivers of black, roots thicker than trees broke from the mass of twisting roots and ran unbroken until disappearing back into the tapestry of wood. Melding into each other, the veins of the arena merged, colors bleeding into each other before separating.

Here was the secret power of the cathedral above them. These roots nourished the living forest that made up the avatar of the wood. Thousands of trees intermingled, tied together into a massive organism that lived as one.

The stands and the seats, the graceful arching banisters, the walls and steps, these roots were the bedrock it was built on. It was a living testament to harmony, beings existing together, loving and supporting each other without losing themselves. It was a symbol, a lesson and philosophy given wild flesh.

It hit him there, walking through the walls of roots, in the heart of a life form that didn’t … couldn’t ... exist in the human world. This place was only possible with Elizabeth’s magic, the interweaving of thousands of trees into a symbiotic creature greater than the sum of its parts. Her artistic soul had given it life. That she could birth a goddess out of her soul was humbling when he'd birthed only maimed things of violence.

Small, florescent lights dotted the ceiling, obscene violations in this world of fey beauty. He could only imagine Elizabeth’s angry tirade on being forced to put them in. Her artistic soul recoiling from the coarse things being part of her art. She’d said this was her place of power. Seeing it splayed out for him like this, burned the knowledge into bone. You’d have to be mad to attack her here.

The door was woven of roots, twisting around each other, they formed a wooden thing stronger than the corpses of their kin could ever be. Anastasia took a deep breath before she opened the door into the domain of the Thagirion.

Abraxas meditated cross legged against the far wall. His eyes opened at the sound of the door, the coldness of a serpent glaring out at the world from the meat of a human. The dragon watched them for a long second before closing his eyes in dismissal. Pantagruel straddled a bench with a muscle magazine spread out in front of him. Blaez had been passing the lockers with long feral strides, needy with blood hunger, eyes threaded with yellow. The werewolf froze, eyes locked on the two of them. Rage drew his muscles taught, threads of black corruption writhing across his face while fists clenched.

Anastasia's thoughts blinded her to the others. She was barely treading water, any more weight, and she’d go under. Cesare pulled her over to the wall, his arms enclosing her soft body. She burrowed into his warm bulk, soaking up the comfort he offered, molding her body’s length along his. Cesare met Blaez’s furious eyes over her shoulder. The werewolf wouldn’t let the insult stand, he’d need blood to make it right.

“So, come here often?” Cesare whispered into Anastasia’s ear. Laughing quietly, she wormed closer, armoring her soul with the feel of him.

“You can't be here,” Anastasia’s words were soft. They pulled privacy around themselves, a world of two … just like they did when they trained. The others might hear them, but that didn’t matter. It was about hearts beating in tune with each other.

“You know, I get that a lot,” he said wryly.

Anastasia laughed into his old hoodie. “You just like breaking rules.”

“Not me. I love rules.” Knowing the rules let you know how people would respond, they bound the weak for slaughter.

“Elizabeth’s going to be worried.”

“She'll understand,” Cesare told her.

The humor was stripped from her laugh, leaving only a raw sound. “No, she won’t. Not even a little.” After a short pause, she quietly continued, “She doesn't like me.”

“She doesn't. But this isn't about her not liking you. It's about you needing me. I’d never let anything, or anyone, get between us.”

She changed the subject. “Mom likes you.” There wasn’t much he could say to that. “You’re all she talks about. She wanted to know everything, not just the training but … everything ...” There was a question in there that he wasn’t touching.

Pushing open the door, Jerold saved him from having to answer. With his perfect white skin, black slacks, and pressed shirt, he was a mannequin come to life. Surprise flashed in his eyes when he noticed Cesare and Anastasia. Pressed against his chest, she didn't know or care that Jerold had arrived.

“You need to leave,” Jerold said.

Anastasia gave a small hurt sound, pushing into Cesare’s chest. “Or what?” Cesare asked, curiously.

Jerold frowned slightly. “What do you mean? Only the Thagirion are allowed here.”

“Got that. So there has to be a penalty, right? So, what is it?” Keeping it casual was the key. He needed to turn this into a negotiation, not a fight.

Jerold looked over at the other Thagirion. Blaez watched with lethally intent eyes, but he was the only one. “Usually, they would ... address it.” Blaez begged Abraxas with his eyes, but the dragon was deep in his meditation, unwilling to leave its depths for the wants of a dog.

Cesare’s hand never stopped its caress of Anastasia’s hair. The other hand rested on the small of Anastasia’s back, holding her flush against him. “Fine, when this is over, they can do what they do. But I'm not leaving unless you plan to throw me out.” He met Jerold’s eyes. For one moment, they understood each other. It would be a long, drag-out, no-holds-barred fight to make Cesare leave.

“Pantagruel, you’re up,” Jerold said, turning away from Cesare. The giant stood up—and up. At over seven feet of musclebound meat, he made the room small.

“Time to stomp some uppity fuckers,” he said with a grin.

Tension tightened Anastasia's muscles, her arms cinching around him in fear. In another time and place he’d soak it in, suck the marrow from the moments bones and lap up the kills blood. But she was going into an arena where she’d face off against an abomination that scared vampires.

“Anastasia.” It was the same tone he used when they trained. Fear was a great servant, but it made a poor master. “Me and you, princess. No tomorrow, no yesterday, only today. Only the now. Feel my arms and hear my voice.” Smooth silk, the worlds flowed from his lips, darkness and moonlight, blood on white roses, and pain that cut to the soul. Lies of calm slipping into flesh, serenity promised at the end of a needle.

Cesare built with his words. Each word was a brick laid with care, cemented with peace, saturated with solitude, a place for them. Fear was chained in a room alone, with only itself to sate its insane hunger. Anxiety was cast down into a hole, dark and fathomless, falling into gibbering madness without anything to obsess about. Worry, bound so tightly to the future, withered and died in this fortress where no future existed.

Tension slowly bled out of Anastasia, her arms coming to rest around him. Raw need transformed into a desire to be held. Her breathing deepened, calm flowing into the empty place where demons had raged. The world faded away, leaving only his voice and the palace of serenity he’d created for her.

Pantagruel slammed open the door, a naked mass of bulbous muscles. Silver dollar shaped wounds dotted his legs, torn flesh weeping blood in steams along the etched lines of his muscles. Swiping up a dirty rag with one hand, he wiped off the blood absently.

“Blaez, you’re up,” Jerold said from the doorway.

“I'm the second-string bitch?” Blaez scowled as he stripped out of his sweats.

“Anastasia’s the big event,” Jerold said with a look to the girl. “I think if they could get away with it, they’d make it the final fight.”

Blaez grimaced as he walked out the door with Jerold. Anastasia pulled back just enough to look into Cesare's eyes. “I'm okay now.” The hair that had wrapped around him with longing now brushed his face and shoulders with languid desire.

“If that's what you want.” You either trust someone or you don't. It didn’t matter if he thought he should stay, only that she thought she was okay.

With a smile, Anastasia slid around him until she was in his spot against the wall. “Thanks for ... well, everything.”

Anastasia fished out her phone, quickly finding one of the meditations he’d recorded for her. Leaning against the wall, she slipped her earbuds into place with her eyes closed. Cesare watched for a minute as she fell deeper into herself with each breath. He placed a feather-light kiss on the top of her head. A self-indulgence, and one he’d pay for later, but sometimes you have to take something for yourself despite the cost.

The visitor sections had filled early, people coming from across the globe—needing to see the fight between Anastasia and Hoarfrost. They packed the student bleachers to capacity and then some. It forced students to find any spot to watch from whether it was sitting on the stairs or leaning against a wall. Dotting the crowd were Anastasia’s fan club, easily picked out by the black shirts emblazoned with a picture of Anastasia in that first fight, Thagirion coat blown back with the inferno burning behind her.

The only place with open seats was Elizabeth's box. All he had to do was face the gauntlet of degradation to get to it. The students pulled back sharply in disgust as he walked past, letting insults slip as he passed. “Shit head.” “Loser.” “Limp dick butt slut.” Flinching would only make it worse, pain drew them like chum in the water, they’d rip him apart if they thought it hurt.

Elizabeth's box was a sea of calm in an ocean of malice. Gated in gleaming wood, delicate whirls and curves flowed across the sun warmed wood. She’d extended the canopy of branches with a screen of feathered leaves, adding to the air of private seclusion. Nzinga stood at the gate with the rest of the harem spread out around the box. Eyes lit with homicidal need leashed by a fraying string, she was murder looking for a reason. The bouda shifted just enough for him to turn sideways and slid into the box.

Kali was up as soon as he entered the box. “Is she okay? Does she need me? She wants to call this off? Well, just give me a second and I’ll ...”

Cesare laid a tentative hand on Lady Kali’s shoulder. “She just had a freak-out, that's all. She doesn't want to call it off. Anastasia doesn't want you to see her like that. She wants you to be proud ...”

He took his seat next to Elizabeth. It wasn’t chance that put him between the two titans. “I wiped her ass when she was young and taught her how to use tampons, and she's worried that I might see her scared of a fucking wendigo!” Kali said incredulously.

It was her daughter that was going out there to fight this nightmare. She’d have to watch while her daughter fought for her life against a creature that relished killing.

Cesare laid a hand over Lady Kali’s clenched fist as it sat on the armrest. “She’ll win.” Her knuckles popped as her fist tightened in rage.

“And I should trust you?” She lashed out scornfully.

“You already trust me,” Cesare said, tightening his hand over the ball of fury her fist had become. “You know I’d never let Anastasia go in there if she couldn’t win.”

“She could die.” Rage burned in her dark eyes—a rage that had sentenced cities to death.

“She won't.” Cesare asserted.

“I could stop this.”

“You could. You could grab Anastasia and take her. No one could stop you.” Her hand unclenched one solitary muscle at a time. “But you'll break Anastasia's trust and you'll never get that back. I’m not much, but I care enough to support her dreams. You can’t swoop in when things go wrong. She has the right to make her own choices and her own mistakes.”

The rage faded, leaving what had fueled it—naked terror. “I can't lose her, Cesare. I’d rather have her hate me.”

She listened even as she readied herself to maim the world to save her daughter. “She won't die. She's going to win. You can trust her, or you can shatter her dreams. But you can't do both,” Cesare said.

She slumped into her chair, the fight draining out of her … for now. It wasn’t over. No mother was going to let it go that easily. Lady Kali would never be okay with her daughter's head on the chopping block. What kind of mother would she be otherwise? Not one that he’d want for Anastasia.

Blaez swaggered out of the entrance in a cloud of arrogance. Surging to their feet, the students chanted his name. Raising his hands, he basked in the crowd's adulation. In mid-step his body changed. Skin ripped, spraying blood across the grass. Bones distorted, twisting under skin, ripping through flesh in their drive to transform. Slabs of rotting human flesh hit the ground as new skin flowed over raw meat.

Birthed out of the meat of a man was a thing of demented imaginings, nine feet of killing intent covered in dark brown fur. A ruff of fur stood up along his back, from his ass to his neck, naked aggression poised to fight. The lower half was only a shadow of the muscled fury of the werewolf’s upper body. Its thin, spindly legs, looked too small to support its massive bulk.

Freakishly built, the curved spine moved its center-of-gravity forward. Claws twitched with wanton hunger, the scything bone blades dangling below its knees. Torn lips peeled back from crooked teeth, a maw of grotesqueness sawing through its mouth. Globs of blood-soaked saliva slid down its muzzle, soaking into its chest.

Walking from the other side was an already changed werewolf. A few inches smaller than Blaez, it was his twin in everything but height. It walked with the unsteady steps of a monster born for slaughter. Howling a challenge in a spray of blood, it leaned forward in a charge.

Blaez answered with a wet howl of his own, instantly falling into a dead run. Greg hadn’t even started the match, but there’d be no stopping them. And really, who cared? Slaughter was the reason for being here.

Blood lust raced from person to person, the stadium exploding with sound, everyone springing to their feet. The Bakkheia took up a frenzied song. It plucked the nerves with searing hooks, flaying the mind until it lit with pain turned to wanton rage, speaking of long-gone days of blood smeared orgies. Only the three of them stayed in their seats.

With a meaty crash, the two wolves slammed into each other. Blaez sank his claws into the other wolf’s guts, howling his glee at the rush of blood that soaked his arms and washed the ground crimson. The other wolf buried its claws into Blaez’s back and shoulders, jaws sinking into Blaez's neck with a howl of triumph.

Feet braced, their claws dug deep, each wolf muscling forward, using their weight to push the other back. Dragging its claws across Blaez’s back, the wolf flayed it open. Biting deep, it chewed its way through the muscle of Blaez's neck, wet snarling sounds weaving through the frenzied blood song of the Bakkheia.

Blaez screamed, ripping his claws out in a spray of blood soaked flesh. Biting down on the smaller wolf’s shoulder joint, Blaez chewed through muscled meat, gulping it down in a frenzy of hunger.

Shivering in pain and horror, ripples of agony spread down the wolf’s body as Blaez devoured writhing hunks of still healing flesh. It ripped its teeth from Blaez’s neck with a howl of agony that sawed across the arena. Blaez surged forward, his opponent’s small legs crumpling under the renewed assault. Pinning the werewolf to the ground, Blaez ripped through the last of the flesh with a gleeful snarl, tearing its arm off. His howl of triumph was drowned out by the scream of agony from the dismembered wolf on the ground.

Head thrown back in a howl of glory, Blaez soaked in the crowd’s worship. The other wolf’s wet scream of agony gurgled and died under him. Jerold and the medical team bolted out to the maimed werewolf, dragging it off the field with frantic speed. Whether he’d live or die would depend on just how great a wolf’s regeneration really was.

Soon it would be Anastasia’s turn. “Elizabeth, can you protect Anastasia while Kali deals with the wendigo?”

Elizabeth smiled. “You've seen the underworld? This is my land. I can secure her protection. You want me to wait for your cue?”

“Yes,” Cesare said, turning to Lady Kali. “Do you have a problem with me calling the shots?'

Lady Kali faced Elizabeth. “You know if you do this the repercussions will be … severe. They’d never dare challenge me, but you won't have that protection.”

Elizabeth's eyes grew hard and unforgiving. “You underestimate how important I am to this school. I’m the Imperatrix Terra. This land is mine and responds to my will. While the Mistress is unstoppable in single combat, she can’t be everywhere. Whereas, my power is the forest and earth that birthed it. What can they do, hate me more? Take away my students?” Without breaking eye contact with Lady Kali, Elizabeth laid her hand on his. “Today, I stand with Cesare.”

Warmth rushed through him at her words. It was everything he’d wanted, someone to stand by him. Maybe it was only for this fight, but he’d soak it up while he could.

Lady Kali leaned back, taking them in carefully. “What would my role be?”

Cesare could see the difference in her. This was Lady Kali the mother, she’d kill anything, do anything, to see her daughter live. But it was also Lady Kali the Destroyer, the monster that had crossed oceans of blood to survive centuries of killing.

“Elizabeth will protect Anastasia if it goes bad. When I give the word, you nuke the guy,” Cesare said, meeting her eyes.

“And by nuke?” Kali asked.

“Incinerate him. It's easier to tell a story when there’s only one narrative. Without him to fight his side and you backing the story …”

“The thing’s fast. If I target it alone, there’s a chance it could escape. I would need to ... nuke ... the entire field.” Kali looked at Elizabeth in question.

Supremely unconcerned, Elizabeth shrugged. “I’ll have the ground give out under her and fill the hole with roots. You can nuke the entire field down ten feet and it won't make a difference.”

Kali nodded thoughtfully as she gave Cesare a measuring look. “Why do you get to decide when we attack?”

“Elizabeth doesn't like your daughter, so she's out. You’re out because your too invested. You’d call it as soon as she got cut without giving her the chance to win. You’re too close to this while I’m enough of an asshole to wait and see.”

Kali watched the field while she weighed his words. She could screw up any chance Anastasia had of getting a shot at winning the fight. If she didn’t agree to trust him, she’d jump the gun and Anastasia would never get another chance. But he was asking her to trust her daughter’s life to him.

Kali looked sideways at Elizabeth. “You won't follow my orders?”

Elizabeth smiled. “I'm here for him.” If this were just Kali and Anastasia needing help, Elizabeth wouldn’t give a damn. They’d never stood for her, and she wouldn't stand for them.

Taking her eyes off the field where they were washing the blood off the grass, Lady Kali nodded. “Fine. I’ll follow your plan.”

“Thanks,” he said flatly, removing his hand from hers. She was only allowing him control because she couldn’t take it from him.

She took his hand back, interlacing their fingers. “I've done this for centuries, Cesare. You’re gifted, I won't deny that, but I've held power by trusting myself. I’d kill everyone in this stadium to see her safe, and you’re asking me to trust you with her life.” She smiled, knowing she’d just told him she’d kill him if it was necessary. “Sex is sex and love is love, but family is forever. I won’t lose this fight. I’d rather the operation was under my command, but Elizabeth killed that.” She shook her head at Elizabeth’s poor choice.

She was an ancient crocodile, killing her way through the centuries. Apex predators only cared about what they couldn’t kill, everything else was food. It didn’t help that he could see shades of himself in her. He knew just how fucked up he was. Hell, he wouldn’t want him on his side. Kali would do anything to see her daughter safe, even if she had to kill everyone here to do it. At any time, she could say fuck it and do her own thing.

She was a nuke waiting to annihilate his plans. It wasn’t if she’d explode, but when. They shared goals, but that meant nothing. Cesare shared a look with Elizabeth, both knowing Lady Kali couldn’t be depended on.

They’d been three people with one objective … her power play had changed that. Cesare and Elizabeth were a team working with Kali. If this went sideways, Cesare and Elizabeth would be on one side with the myth facing them down.

“I think you’re making more of this than you need to.” Kali's smooth voice tried to ease the bloom of tension in the air—tension that, even now, was drawing looks from her harem.

“Trust is never a small thing. You'll play by your rules. The only chance I have of getting this done is if I do it your way,” Cesare said.

“This doesn't have to change anything between us.” His anger butchered the hopefulness in her voice.

“No more than when your daughter kicked the shit out of me. Or her supporting the Thagirion even after they’d ordered my beatings three times a week.” Lady Kali’s eyes darkened with thought at the jab. “There are only two sides in this world, my side and everyone else’s. Trust is the line between them.”

“Now for the main event!” Greg announced. “The Scion of Lady Kali! Pride of Primrose! The Lady of the Ruin!” Anastasia walked out of the arch in the field. “The nightmare! The legend! The Horror from the North! Lord of Hunger and Ice! Hoarfrost!”

As much as he wanted to look at the wendigo, it was Anastasia who’d decide who'd die today. The crowd chanted her name, a base stomp of thousands of feet throbbing through the bones. “Anastasia! Anastasia! Anastasia!” A ready looseness owned her shoulders, the roll in her hips turning each step into a slow strut.

Cesare relaxed, stress evaporating like water hitting a blast furnace. Only when it had gone did he realize how worried he’d been. Damn, these girls would be the death of him. Leaning back, his words were more for himself than the others. “She's got this. It's a win.”

“Looks like our Lady of Ruin likes to listen to jam when she’s kicking ass. Any bets on what she listens too?” Ear buds firmly in place, she’d left the meditation on. She’d done the next best thing to having him with her.

“What’s she listening to?” Lady Kali asked, turning to Cesare.

He answered despite wanting to tell her to fuck off. “A meditation I made to help her train.”

Lady Kali shook her head in disbelief. “You’ve no idea how much you’ve changed her. She was born with monstrous potential, but I could never pull it out of her. As much as she’d done in mastering the Ebon Flame, she’s capable of so much more. You've gotten further than I ever did.”

“You did more than you know. All I did was support her.”

“You did more than that. You can't give someone their dream. They have to bleed for it. The world doesn’t care how much you want it. It only cares if you can take it. If you have the smarts to kill the monsters keeping you from it. You’re showing her that path. Hell, your carving the path for her. Do you think all this …”? Her gesture took in the chanting stadium. “…would have happened if the first fight hadn’t been a spectacle? I just hope someday she appreciates it.”

“Friends don't owe friends.” Even if Anastasia wasn’t his friend, he was still hers.

If a werewolf was a war hammer: brutal, blunt, and savage, then the wendigo was a saber: elegant, precise, and beautiful. It stood over seven feet, with a covering of understated gray fur that would blend in anywhere. Lean muscle rippled with each step. Flowing across the grass, its steps were balanced readiness. Silver fur fringed its muzzle and the tips of its ears.

Born with the grace of a predator, it was a perfect blending of man and wolf. Hoarfrost studied Anastasia without a look for the loud meat bleating from the stands. It was here to kill—not show off. Dead air radiated from it, a void in life, an absence of being.

Cesare flashed back to last night and his encounter with the thing. The dead coldness that stared at him from the abyss of its soul. No one cared where a burger came from, no one wanted to know the torture of a chicken, compassion was for the things we didn’t eat. Everything was food to the wendigo. There was no redemption for this monster. It had to die, a nightmare from a bygone era that had outlived its time.

The arena went silent as Hoarfrost took its place a few steps away from the slaughter line. It wasn’t cautious, but it was caution’s close cousin—smart.

“Fight!” Greg's voice thundered over the arena.

Hoarfrost moved in at an easy lope, neither fast nor slow but with a ground-killing stride that could be sustained for hours. Anastasia dropped the black bag, the accelerant he’d smeared on its sides giving it a wet look.

Standing relaxed, Anastasia watched Hoarfrost close the distance. Slipping the grenade out from the rig, she weighed it in her hand. Seeing the weapon, Hoarfrost disappeared in a burst of speed. Anastasia’s eyes darted over the field, tracking the things zigzagging. She waited until she felt the shot, when it was destined to be thrown and you were just an instrument of fact. The silver missile struck Hoarfrost and exploded in a searing white flash of light. Even across the arena, it left spots in Cesare’s eyes as the crowd jumped to their feet with a cheer.

The wendigo’s only chance was to get its hands on Anastasia. Its fingers dug into the ground in a savages butchered runner’s stance, ears laid back. It flew across the ground, an arrow for Anastasia’s heart. There was no snarl or cry of anger, only cold, murderous rage that left silver needles of frozen grass behind it.

Whirling the bag in one hand, Anastasia faced the monster's charge. The only thing that mattered was hitting the wendigo. If she hit the bastard, she was golden, but if she missed…

Cesare’s heart stopped the moment she let it fly. A viciously tight smile cute Cesare’s face when Hoarfrost tracked it with blind eyes. In his dark world, Anastasia was charging him.

Intercepting the bag, its claws parted the fabric like rotten flesh. Reddish dust bloomed around the wendigo in a thick cloud, hiding the thing in its center. The wendigo’s arm peeked out of the dissipating cloud. Caught in the trap, its only shot was to get out before the jaws snapped shut. As that reddened fur hand reached out of the deadly cloud, the black fire hit.

If the flash bomb had been intense, it was nothing compared to pounds of thermate in a dust cloud being hit by the fury of the Ebon Flame. Thermate had a high ignition point making thermite the better choice for most problems. But Anastasia was deep in her trance. Having followed his words into the depths of her power, she dragged the malice born power into the light, channeling a titanic blast.

The wendigo exploded into a ball of flaming red with a heart of incandescent white. Sparks flew from the inferno as molten bits of metal fused in the heat of the hellish heart. Devoured by a hunger that was ancient when the wendigo was young, fire’s unquenchable hate tortured it.

Thermate burns at over six thousand degrees, hot enough to melt through steel. Skin shrivels, ashing under the heat. Blood boils, erupting from flesh in clouds of crimson. Bone chars and cracks. Eyes explode as ocular fluid bursts from fragile membranes. Nose, lips, and cheeks melt off the face, leaving bone.

A thundering crack boomed across the field, laying the grass low. Pieces of the wendigo flew, scattering across the field. Anastasia stood defiantly against the blast wave, Thagirion jacket whipping back to reveal her stunning body.

Cesare was falling from his leap off the box railing before his mind caught up to his actions. He hit the ground with knees bent, tumbling into a roll to bleed off the impact. He was up and running even as he heard the thump of someone landing behind him.

Seeing Cesare coming, Anastasia didn't open her arms. No, she ran toward him, laughing. He lifted her up in his arms, laughing as she buried her head into his shoulder. One hand moved to the small of her back, the other tangled in her hair. She was safe. She was whole, and she was with him.

“You did it.” He spoke into her hair.

Her eyes shined with triumph. “We did it.” He looked down at her lips, all he had to do was lean in just that little bit …

The moment was gone in a flash as Kali's arms wrapped around them. Laughing, Cesare opened his arms to make room for Lady Kali in the three-way hug. The last of his anger faded as he looked down at the desperate relief in Lady Kali’s eyes. Would he have backed down if someone had demanded to be in charge of saving Anastasia? He’d have played it like Kali, going along until he could take control. Trust was a beautiful thing, but with the lives of those he cared for … well, he didn’t trust anyone that much.

He held Anastasia and Kali tight to his sides “How did you know it would explode?” Lady Kali asked breathlessly. Anastasia looked at him as well, her curious eyes beaming with happiness.

“I didn't. All I knew was that thermite and ice explode. No one knows why, only that it does. I thought it was a possibility, that's all. That's why I had the contingency plans. But that one phrase kept coming back to me, that they were ice and hunger,” Cesare said.

“Cesare.” Elizabeth's quiet words were gasped out. She was breathing hard with his army bag in her hands. Nodding his thanks, he disengaged from the two women. He had to get the arsenal off Anastasia. She couldn’t go around with live explosives strapped to her body. Kali and Elizabeth moved to screen them as he gathered the claymores and chlorine gas, the ropes coming undone easily in his hands. When Kali's harem arrived, they took in the scene and formed a second cordon around them.

As the last rope went into the bag, Anastasia handed over the detonator. He’d already taken the detonator caps out of the claymores. Still, he dismantled the remote just in case.

“Hey, that's my girl in there!” Blaez's indignant voice rang out from beyond the wall of Lady Kali’s killers. The wolf was dressed in his best, a tailored gray suit molded to his athletic body.

At his side was a man that could only be Blaez's father. He had wind-blown black hair that was too perfect to be anything but styled. Taller than his son, his eyes drifted over the harem, taking in the bulges that hide weapons with the trained skill of a fighter. His wife was on Blaez’s other side. With short brown hair and a blue dress, she complimented her husband well. A trim build and the long legs gave her a runner's build, she owned the fluid suppleness of a fighter. She looked like what she was—a professional, she’d killed, raised a son, and commanded a pack. This was a woman who had butchered her life from the choice cuts, and taken power because she was harder than the other bitches. The polished shine of her eyes was the product of an ivy league education and a lifetime of walking the halls of power.

Focused on the family, Kali’s quiet words were only for Cesare. “You done?”

“Yeah, should be good for now. I’d feel better if I could take the bag back to the cottage.” The explosives needed to be checked, and either repacked or disposed of.

“We'll see.” She wasn’t willing to commit, not with the wolves in her sights.

Anastasia walked through the harem to her boyfriend’s side. Blaez snatched her up in his arms, twirling her around. “That's my girl! I knew you could do it!”

Anastasia's tone was wry. “Really, is that why you spent all night trying to talk me out of it?”

Blaez’s father stepped into the awkward silence. “You did wonderful, dear. When that ... thing ... came out, we were sure you’d be forced to forfeit. I've never cheered so hard then when you blinded that thing. And you were so poised and in control. Beautiful, just like your mother. I've never seen anything like it.” Even as he complimented her, his attention stayed on his son, deftly heading off the argument that had started.

“It was amazing. I would’ve pulled my son out and damn the consequences. I’m ashamed that I thought it was a mistake to let you fight the wendigo. The people who’ve killed a wendigo one on one can be counted on the fingers of one hand.” Kali had been walking forward since Anastasia left the protective circle. As soon as she exited its covetous protection, Blaez’s father turned to her with a smile “But then, I should have known Lady Kali knew what she was doing.”

Lady Kali snorted. “Actually, I came here to pull her from the fight. But Anastasia and Cesare convinced me they had it under control.” The ground steamed, flayed down to blackened dirt, melted pieces of red hot steel cooling in the air, rotting bits of wendigo rotting in quick time. “And looking at this, I’ll admit I was wrong to doubt them.”

A sharp look from Lady Kali shut Blaez’s mouth before he’d gotten more than a breath out. The boy flinched back from the woman, terror skittering through his eyes as his shoulders rounded in fear. Concern moved across his father’s face at the confrontation. Anastasia stepped closer to her boyfriend in support. Blaez's arm wrapping possessively around her shoulders, even as her hair shied away from touching him.

“I'm glad Anastasia has such a good friend beside her.” Blaez stiffened at his father’s words. “Are we still on for dinner after the Games?”

Kali reached for Cesare’s hand with a hopeful look. With a smile, he interlaced their fingers. Maybe she was acting like a love-struck girl, but her voice was of a titan that had ruled an empire before humanity spawned wet and screaming from wet shit. “Of course. Cesare will do me the honor of being my escort.”

Blaez's parents looked at Lady Kali with wide eyes. Catching themselves quickly, their polite masks snapped back into place. Blaez's head jerked up in shock. But no one was as surprised as Anastasia.

“Mother?” Anastasia asked, aghast.

Lady Kali smiled at her daughter. “Just because you’re willing to pass up a man for the tongue of puppy doesn’t mean I am.” Kali looked up at Cesare with smoldering eyes.

“But he's fifteen.” Anastasia said. “That's illegal and ... nasty.”

“I've had my pussy longer than this continent has had life on it. I assure you, nature doesn’t give a damn about how old you are as long as your parts work. I’m sure his cock is as big as it's going to get, and I’m mature enough to take it. If Cesare is old enough to have sex with a woman his own age, I don't see the difference between that and having sex with me. Now, we can debate underage sex all day if you’d like, but I believe what I do with my pussy and what Cesare does with his cock isn't any of my daughter’s business.” There was no give in Lady Kali’s voice. “Are you going with your boyfriend to watch the last fight, or do you want to come back to the box with us?”

Blaez looked hopefully at Anastasia, but she peeled his arm off without a look. “I'm coming with you.”

Blaez looked at Anastasia uncertainly. “Well, can't I ...” He stopped as the ground rippled around them. The boy stumbled back under the force of hatred in Elizabeth's eyes. His father set his hand on Blaez's shoulder, pulling him away from the confrontation.

“I think it would be better if we see them after the fight,” his father said, leading the wolf away before he was killed.

“You didn't have to ...” Anastasia began.

Elizabeth cut her off. “That child has gone out of his way to torment Cesare. Maybe you don't care to stand up for him, but I assure you, I do not share the sentiment.” Lady Kali's look was even more damning as she locked eyes with her daughter. A slow flush reddened Anastasia’s face, whether in shame or anger was anyone's guess.

Cesare took a seat between Lady Kali and Elizabeth. Anastasia sat next to her mother, but not before levelling a pointed look at Cesare and Kali.

The crowd roared when Abraxas took the field with a bored look. A small smile spread across Cesare's lips. No matter what Abraxas did, Anastasia had gained a lot of ground today. She was eclipsing him in popularity, making her a threat to the snake’s hold on the school.

His opponent was a woman who was six feet of solid muscle. It wasn’t born in the furnace of weights and long hours in the gym. This was the muscle of farm and field. Carved from working hard every day, of pulled muscles, no choice, and the need to feed a family, it was a bloody power stronger than what weightlifting could bless a man with.

“Now we have the leader of our own Thagirion, Abraxas!” Greg waited out the thunderous applause. “And his opponent! The Bear Woman, Mato!”

Between one step and the next, a heat haze covered her body, blurring the lines of her form. It disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving a Grizzly Bear in its place— over sixteen hundred pounds of furious temper. It ambled forward with a roiling walk, each step hitting the ground with the authority of an apex predator. This was a monster that knocked down trees to get what it wanted, that ran down cars and ripped them open like TV dinners. It moved right up to the line and squatted, a stray paw scratching its side in search of an itch.

“What do you think, Cesare?” Anastasia asked.

“A Grizzly’s over a thousand pounds and moves at thirty miles per hour. There's not a predator on the planet that hunts them. And that's a normal one. Abraxas will take this one.” It would be interesting to see how the dragon dealt with it. The same tactics it had used on the golem wouldn’t work this time. With almost nine inches of fat, it would be suicide to think you could punch through that.

Greg waited for the Bakkheia to reach its stride, the music stoking the blood into a frenzy. People leapt to their feet, stamping a base rhythm that burrowed down to the bone. “Aaaaaaand … FIGHT!”

Lumbering to its feet, the bear picked up speed with a shambling run. At thirty miles per hour and sixteen hundred pounds, it would be like getting hit by a car—a car with a vicious temper. Abraxas stayed still until the last second. Diving to the side, he barely dodged a cumbersome swipe from the bear.

Abraxas watched as the bear curved in a wide arc. Mato was trying to keep as much of her momentum as she could. A stream of gold and red fire flowed from Abraxas pursed lips. It grew exponentially, doubling and doubling again until a tornado of golden red flame formed with his lips as the epicenter. The grass burned under the tongues of flame that escaped from the tightly controlled cone.

Mato was already on her way back to him, tucking her head down she picked up speed. Too close to dodge, her only shot was to break through. The inferno engulfed her in its hate. The sweet, sickly smell of burned meat filled the stadium. She was only in the flame for a bare few seconds before bursting out in a skid across the ground. The strong, brown-furred bear was ravaged. Rivers of blood oozed from canyons marbling charred flesh. White bone showed through across the skull. Exposed fat sizzled as it ran down her body in veins of white.

Splayed on the ground, her face was a melted ruin, jellied eyes dripping out of blackened sockets. Her ears were burned off her head, leaving raw bone charred from the flame. Scarlet muscles showed across her face, coated in smoking blood. Her teeth were bared in a death’s head mask.

Abraxas headed back through the archway under the crowds adoring cheers. The world owed him its worship, it wasn’t arrogance to take what was his by right of birth. He took their hearts with the arrogance of a young god, and they loved him for it.

Greek Gods weren’t moral; they weren’t good. They fed their appetites without caring for the people they ruined. Tore the meat from the still living bodies of their food, uncaring of the maimed they left behind. They lived the dreams of mortals. Modern gods were birthed from sports stars and movie actors, adored by shallow souls, loved by the plastic people, each a cow to be slaughtered when it fell from grace.

“Did you expect that?” Anastasia asked for the women.

“The dragon’s lethal. If he can see it coming, you've already lost. That's why no one’s come close. Once you know what your enemy can do, it’s only a step beyond to knowing how to beat them.” The women settled troubled eyes on the departing dragon.

They walked down onto the field, with Lady Kali taking possession of his hand. Elizabeth walked on his other side, close enough that their shoulders rubbed and hands bumped. Anastasia was the lone person out, keeping her distance, eyes never far from where her mom held his hand.

The wolves waited for them outside the arena. As the two came together, Anastasia left their group to move over to Blaez's side. A smile of triumph cut across the boy’s face at the girl's choice. The werewolf settled for claiming her hand when she shied away from him putting his arm around her.

“Are you going to change before we go?” Blaez asked intently. “I'm sure that shi ... ah, Cesare would like to get changed too.”

The wolves were dressed for dinner, while Lady Kali was in designer jeans, artfully and—no doubt—expensively ripped. Her anime t-shirt added flare to the ensemble. Elizabeth was gorgeous, with her blend of Gothic couture, her look went beyond appropriate and into the realm of art. Anastasia, fresh from her fight, still wore her tailored school uniform. She looked as she always did ... breathtaking. And then there was Cesare, white undershirt showing through his black paper-thin hoodie, faded jeans taped at the knees.

Anastasia glared at the smirking Blaez. “I'm fine.” Anastasia bit off, pulling her hand from Blaez. “Thanks for asking.”

“You stink like … him,” Blaez spat out.

Anastasia sighed. “It worked. I won, and the wendigo died. I don't care how I smell, I'm hungry and I want to spend time with my mom before she leaves. I’d enjoy spending time with you too, but that's on you.”

Blaez’s father set a restraining hand on his son’s shoulder. “I'm sure he didn’t mean it like that. We’re sensitive to smells when we ... like ... a woman. The smell of other males on her sometimes causes us to overreact.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. You know I love having you by my side.” Calculating as a snake, Anastasia watched him for a long minute before letting him take her hand again.

Cesare had seen cities, lost towns in the middle of nowhere and small shacks hidden in the woods. He’d lived in hell holes with rats and roaches, burrowed into garbage to stay warm, and bedded under the stars. But he’d never seen anything like the town beyond Primrose.

A crooked sign nailed to a tree read 'Vagabonds’ Exile.' Almost unseen under it were carved letters worn smooth with time, 'Last stop for the unwanted.'

Elizabeth noticed his interest. “Since the formation of Primrose, there’s been a Vagabonds’ Exile, a place for those with no place. The towns always moved with the school, burning their homes, killing off livestock and migrating to wherever it set down roots. It’s the only place they belong now.”

The buildings had come from worlds butchered by stronger cultures, the remains of a thousand races. They were the cast off's that no one wanted, the losers in the wars of power, the examples of failure, the price of weakness. There’s a special pain when even the lost and hated throw you away, when even the lowest turn away in disgust.

Only when you have no one, can you be what you want. There’s no pressure to fit in when everyone's left. Solitude’s blessing allowed the broken to grow into their truth without the hooked chains of others binding them to their needs.

A terracotta building of rich reds stood alone. Transported from a land of deserts, it bled memories of sweat soaked days, heat that never left, and hard days under punishing suns, from its squat walls. Thick wooden supports sticking out along the roof dotted the rough clay of burnt crimson. The building owned a humble dignity, honest in the way of hard work done for a living wage. A wooden porch of weathered wood stuck out from the house, bigger than the house it was tied to. Tables of unfinished wood and chairs formed a place where good food could be had for a fair price. Students dotted the restaurant with Mexican woman weaving in between tables laden with steaming food.

Sharing its fence was an old Japanese home. Behind the red cedar fence, a water garden spread out across the lawn, pools of glass still water offering sanctuary to fat koi. Waterfalls of moss-covered stone saturated the air with the sound of falling water. A bridge passed over the largest pond, ending in a dark stone path that led to a cedar porch. Wood wrapped around the building, protected by a roof of clay tiles, rice paper screens standing open to private rooms with delicate lacquered tables. Rich students wandered the garden with white porcelain cups in hand.

Facing the Japanese building from across the street was a wrought-iron fence with sharpened points along its top. A large man with olive skin stood next to the gate, eyes resting on Cesare for a moment before skipping to Lady Kali’s harem. An obsidian lake of black marble led to stairs of white marble. Columns of virgin white stone held up a classically arched roof, mirror polished walls throwing the sun into the eyes of anyone rich enough to get inside the gate. Wooden doors stood open in welcome to the right people.

“You've never been to Vagabonds Exile?” Blaez’s father asked. “I thought students could come out on weekends.”

“I work as a Grounds Keeper on the weekends,” Cesare said as he took in the town.

“That's very responsible of you. How long do you plan to do that?” There was something more than curiosity in the man’s question.

“As long as she’ll have me.” Elizabeth gave him a warm smile at the raw truth.

“You’re the one who helps Anastasia plan her fights? The one who makes her weapons?” Blaez’s father continued, “I’ve heard the teachers are calling you ‘Master of Arms.’”

Coughing, Blaez muttered. “More like ‘Master of Stench.’” Pulling her hand from his with a glare, Anastasia stepped over to her mother’s side and away from the family of wolves. Her glare was nothing compared to the homicidal look Elizabeth leveled at the wolf. The boy skittered back behind his parents’ protection, his mother swatting his head like a puppy that had pissed on the floor. Blaez’s cheeks flamed red at the open shaming.

“Sorry sir, but I don’t know your name,” Cesare said while holding his hand out to the man.

A small smile crossed the man’s face. “Nice to see a young man with manners. Troy Strand, you can call me Troy.”

“He doesn’t help me.” Anastasia met Troy’s eyes. “He trains me, plans my fights and crafts my weapons. I just do what he tells me to. If it weren’t for him … I would’ve left with my mom.”

Troy studied her without a word. “Anastasia, I’ve done my share of black ops and no matter how well planned, it takes the right operator to pull it off. It was your life on the line. What you accomplished today … people will talk about for as long as this school stands.” The man’s words settled something in her eyes. It was one thing for Cesare to tell her, and quite another for her to hear it from a stranger.

Troy turned to face Cesare. “Can you tell me what your plan was? It would help us deal with the Wendigo.”

“No.” The group eyed Cesare curiously.

“What?” Troy asked.

“You don’t seem like a bad guy, but I don’t like your kind. In fact, I don’t see a difference between werewolves and wendigo’s. You killing them or them killing you is a win for me either way.”

“Why? I’ve never done anything to you …” His eyes fell on his son. “Is it Blaez? Cesare, what you did today hasn't been done before. As good as Anastasia is, she couldn’t have killed the wendigo without you. You could save hundreds of lives. This isn’t about a child’s anger, this is about saving lives.”

He was right. This was bigger than Cesare’s pride or his hate for Blaez. The werewolf was everything Cesare could never be, handsome as a model, built like a Greek god, an idol for the boys and eye candy for the girls. With all that going for him, no one cared if he got his kicks out of tormenting kids.

“I don’t know you. If you die, I won't cry. Now if your son died, I’d dance a fucking jig and throw a party. The point is, I don’t care about you. I don’t care about your people. And before you ask, no, I don’t want your money. I want nothing from you and yours … ever.” Troy’s mouth flattened into a thin line.

“If it had been another wolf asking …” Troy pressed.

“I might have thought about it, but the answer wouldn’t change. I don’t have much, but what’s in my head’s mine. Sharing it doesn’t do me any good.” He got a kick out of turning Blaez’s dad down, it was a nice change after watching the boy get everything Cesare wanted.

People cared for people they’d never met, not the starving kid shivering under winters teeth next to their car. Endless thousands walked past the homeless boy, the old man freezing to death and the girl spreading for a place to sleep. They pay lip service to feeding the hungry, complain about an unfair world, talk for hours on how people should love each other. Everyone cares, but not enough to help.

The world had taught Cesare that love was a glass never full. You have one cup of give a shit and once you use it up, you’re all out. He was using all his give a shit on himself and the girls. He didn’t have anything left.

Troy opened his mouth before stopping abruptly. They’d arrived. Wisteria dominated restaurants front, tendrils spider webbing across grey stone, lavender flowers birthing themselves by the dozens from twisted roots. Students dressed in tailored suits and dinner dresses dotted the tables outside.

Sunshine poured through the floor to ceiling windows and into the dining room. Tables of dark brown shined with polish, with the floors a shade lighter. Bronze banisters and fixtures shone with care, their twisted mirrors warping the bodies of the people reflected in them. Singular paintings marked the wall, more than decoration, they were works of art. This wasn’t a place you wandered into. You come with reservations, or you don’t show up.

Lady Kali pulled him into the restaurant with her. Tall and slim, a man stood at a podium just inside the door, he was painfully well groomed in a black suit paired with a blinding white tie. He looked up from his seating chart, professional smile firmly in place. “I'm sorry madam, you're welcome to come back when you are in formal wear.” His eyes narrowed on Cesare. “We don’t serve your kind here, sir. You'd find other accommodations more to your liking elsewhere.”

Lady Kali bared her teeth in naked threat. “Get your owner before I turn this shit hole into a burned out crater with your bones as a marker.”

The man stilled under her savage eyes, the titan’s presence detonating into the air. A sweep of lethal malice rushed through the restaurant, the heavy air strangling the world with its grip. The room shied away, eyes wide with terror. A collective shudder rippled through the watching monsters at the extinction event tearing into life.

A rotund man came at a lumbering run. Suit stained with sweat, the man bent over, gulping down frantic breaths as he stopped in front of them. “I'm sorry … Lady Kali. There was a problem in the back, and I had to take care of it. I'm sure we don't have a problem.” His voice trembled on the edge of hysteria. Her name stilled the room. The myth's presence had frozen them with terror, but her name was the nightmare made real, a vengeful goddess of legend.

“He insulted my escort. I want an apology, or I'll take his skin.”

The owner whipped around to the shivering man pinned in place by Lady Kali’s predatory eyes. The owner waited a silent second for the man to talk before exploding. “Well, fucking apologize before she burns my place down!”

The man collapsed to his knees. Turning his face to the floor, he hid from Lady Kali’s eyes. Tears dripped from his chin, wetting the floor with the man’s fear. “I’m profoundly sorry Lady Kali, for any insult I gave you or your escort.”

Kali dismissed him with her eyes, her dominate presence fading with her anger. “I have reservations.” The owner jumped at her words, bowing low in a leading gesture.

The room watched the group walk across the restaurant, the owner running attendance on Lady Kali. Everyone greedily twisted in their seats for a glimpse of the Dark Mother. Their reverence was birthed in terror, its bloody leavings coated the unholy worship they had for her. She wasn’t a person, she was a goddess, the chains of their adoration wrapped around her, hooks sunken into flesh, binding her to their needs.

The table was set up along a wall with seats along both sides, leaving the heads of the table free. The paranoid could put their backs to the wall, allowing them to see the angles of the room. Warm sunlight bathed the table from the windows along one wall, gifting the small island of solitude with a view of the private garden. A boundary of empty space divided the room in half, with Lady Kali's small party taking the lion's share.

“Picnics are cute, but they can’t compare to eating inside with a view of a garden.” Kali pulled him behind the table, with Elizabeth taking the other seat next to him. The others, even Anastasia, took the other side. Unless invited to sit next to Lady Kali, you didn’t … even if you were her own daughter. Lady Kali’s harem set up a perimeter in the space between their table and rest of the restaurant—a kill zone.

The owner bustled over with single page menus. Cesare thought for a minute that the menu was upside down before he realized it was him. He wasn’t sure if it was in another language or just that he’d never eaten anything like it.

“I wanted to talk to you about the Donaldson pack,” Troy said.

“Just because your son’s fucking my daughter doesn’t mean I care what you think.” Lady Kali didn’t bother to raise her head from her menu.

“Mom! We’re not fucking!” Anastasia’s face was lit with anger.

“Then why are you with him? From what I’ve seen, he isn't worth anything else. Take the dick and move on.” Kali coolly eyed Blaez. “But then, you probably won't. Let me tell you, boy. A woman knows in the first ten seconds if she’s willing to fuck a man. If you haven't gotten any yet, chances are you’re not going to.”

Blaez's mother nodded in the face of her son’s horrified look. “What, it's true. I knew I'd fuck your dad from the moment I saw him.” Eyes threaded with desire, she gave Troy a wink.

“Mom!”

“Don't be a prude. You’re not human for Odin’s sake!” she said.

“My son ...” Troy started.

Kali cut him off, her tone lazy - the laziness of a lion watching tourists, unsure if it’s worth getting up to eat them. “Your son’s a bully and a thug who likes to kill as much as he likes to fuck. I've seen a million like him and while some were good in bed, none of them were worth a damn out of it.”

Troy sipped his water. He was a dangerous wolf, trained to kill and practiced in butchering the animals that crossed him. But he was nothing next to her, a bug tossed into a bonfire, it’s incandescent death nothing next to the flames glory. “My son’s not like that. He's a good kid. When he finishes the Reaving, he’ll settle down and be an Alpha like his father.” Bleaz straightened under his father's look of pride.

“The only way he becomes Alpha is if he can get someone to take it for him,” Lady Kali replied dryly.

“I’ll admit that he has … a ways to go.” Troy said.

Kali looked up at Cesare. “What did you think of the two fights you’ve seen Blaez in?”

Cesare savored the bite of the carbonation from his soda. He rarely had the green to spare for a soda on the streets. Rolling Kali's question around, he knew nothing good would come of answering. It would only add fuel to the fire between him and Blaez. Lady Kali squeezed his hand, a demand without the words.

“It was a dogfight without the grace.” The three wolves became murderously still, eyes tracking him. “A werewolf’s body is designed for charging, it’s a tank of meat. The upper body, the small legs, and its center of balance all lead to one thing—destructive power. In the first fight, Blaez walked up and stood toe to toe with a creature he knew spit acid. It wasn’t a matter of strength, only who could regenerate. It was macho bullshit, pain for the sake of proving you can take it, kids playing at being fighters.”

Cesare sipped his soda. “The next fight was more of the same. Fighting an equal opponent, he charged him. Without a plan, he lost the exchange with the wolf taking his throat. Only his ruthlessness got him out of having his head chewed off. It was professional stupid from start to finish, not even casual stupid but pro level shit. No finesse or forethought. No combat experience. Just two animals colliding, biting, and clawing. I know he's trained but I haven’t seen it. Blaez’s only worth is as an arrow catcher, a distraction so real soldiers can get the job done.” Cesare met Blaez’s lambent eyes.

A low growl shivered through the air, the water in Blaez’s glass rippling under the base sound. Troy's hand kept the wolf boy in his seat and alive. Languidly drinking her soda, heat radiated off Lady Kali. Her power writhed underneath her skin, greedy with the need to feed.

Troy and his wife both took long drinks from their ice water, setting them down carefully. “Well thought out. And like I said, my son has a lot to learn. How would you have handled it today?”

“As a wolf or as myself?” Cesare asked carefully.

The question was more than it seemed. Revealing what he would do if he were a werewolf might be helpful to Troy, but telling him how he’d handle a wolf, well, that would be invaluable. It would showcase weaknesses they hadn’t identified themselves.

Troy smiled tightly. “As a wolf, of course.”

“Of course.” Cesare matched Troy’s smile with one of his own. “If I were Blaez, I’d have taken a bat with me. When the wolf charged, I’d toss the bat at its legs to tie them up. Once he fell, all that bulk’s a weakness. Take his back and rip his spine out.”

“I didn’t need a fucking stick! How could I prove I was the best if it wasn’t a fair fight?” Blaez snarled between clenched teeth.

“If you’re in a fair fight, then you fucked up somewhere,” Cesare said dryly. “You got lucky. Nothing more. Only amateurs play fair—professionals cheat.”

“Interesting. I believe we were talking about the Donaldson pack before we got sidetracked.” Iron control was clamped down around the anger that surged in Troy’s eyes.

Lady Kali leaned back with hooded eyes, a smile playing across her lips. “Cesare, you know the reason I don’t have any wolves with me? I cast them out of the Andhērē Rosa after they deserted me to the wendigo's mercies. Years later a Bouda clan—that’s what those who can change into hyenas call themselves—came onto my land chased by a pride of lions. I gave them territory and a place to belong. Since then, they’ve never wavered, killing, dying, and bleeding for me and mine.” She sipped from Cesare’s soda with a possessive smile.

“Until now.” Troy interjected.

Kali held her hand up, making an “iffy” gesture. “From the outside, it can look that way. Like all Na’wal, they're prone to the Furia. They’ve lost four in the past year to its madness, bursting into full form and killing anything in reach until put down.” She shook her head. “It was a nightmare, but we cleaned it up. They’re down members, and a good-sized wolf pack can field a good forty killers. Having them both would balance Bouda pack without giving the wolves dominance in numbers.”

Troy moved quickly into the lull. “The Donaldson pack would be an asset to the Andhērē Rosa. They’re forty strong and haven’t had a member fall to the Furia in over fifty years. I know the man, he’s both strong and experienced. I think you would get along well with him. I know he’s only looking for a meeting.”

Disregarding Troy, the goddess eyed Cesare. “What do you think?”

The table went silent at her question or more for who she’d asked. There was a curious look on Troy and his wife’s face, while Blaez seemed ready to leap across the table and go for Cesare’s throat. Anastasia watched the interplay with interest while Elizabeth’s silent support anchored his side. What caught his eye was Nzinga's desperate eyes.

What did it matter to Nzinga what he thought? He was nothing more than a bit of fluff Lady Kali played with. Where would Nzinga’s pack go if Lady Kali kicked them out? Did it even matter? They’d be forced to leave their land and homes, maybe not today, but the end of their time with Lady Kali would be marked if she accepted the wolves.

The decision wasn’t difficult. The wolves had both numbers and stability. Nzinga could see that as well as him. The choice was a foregone one. Still, Lady Kali hesitated.

Cesare looked across the table at Troy. “The Alpha would stand with Kali if she faced another wendigo?” Troy paled at the casual use of Kali’s name without the honorific.

“He’d stand beside her.” Troy's smooth words brought a red shine to Nzinga's as the animal bled through.

“You lie.” The two words hit Troy with the force of a sledgehammer to the balls. His hands clenched the edge of the table, fury exploding from his eyes as they went incandescent yellow. Cesare continued in the face of the werewolf’s rage. “You said the alpha was experienced. Then he’s had challengers and killed to keep his place and protect his family. If he stood with Kali he’d be locking with the wendigo while Kali destroyed it … which would get him killed.”

“Anastasia did it,” Blaez spat out. The cold fury that came Blaez’s way from Anastasia was second only to the acidic look Kali shot him.

“Children should know their place when adults are talking.” Blaez shrank into his chair at Lady Kali’s words.

“Anastasia won and looked good doing it.” Cesare shared a smile with Anastasia. “She executed the plan with calm, cool precision. Something I’ve never seen from a werewolf. Your bodies don’t allow you to back up or retreat, you either win on the first push or die. Your meat waiting for a butcher. If this Alpha stood with Kali against a wendigo, he’d die. Since he’s experienced, he’d know that and wouldn’t stand with her.” Cesare took a drink under their watchful eyes. “A wise wolf would send in some of his pack as support but stay away himself. If she won he could claim he supported her, if she lost, he’d be positioned to take more territory.”

Troy’s words were cold and clear. “You’re saying the Bouda are stupid?”

“I’d say committed. Everything they have depends on Kali winning, their lives are in her hands. They rise or fall on her word. That's the blood and guts of it. Kali looked after them and they love her. They owe everything to her. You can't buy that kind of loyalty and dependence. Your wolves could never give Kali that.”

“The Donaldson pack would only ever be her allies. Powerful ones, but she wouldn’t own them body and soul like the Bouda. For the alpha to offer that kind of loyalty to Kali would be cutting his own throat. It would lock out too many possibilities.” Seeing the question in their eyes, he continued, “He’d need to prepare for the possibility that Kali would fall. Excessive loyalty to her would make him number one on any kill list. It would stop him from making deals behind her back that would favor his pack. I could go on, but you get the point. He’d be a fool to tie his fortune to her.”

Kali looked triumphantly at the others, her daughter included. “That’s why he’s my escort.” Elizabeth gave a slight cough. “Our escort.” Kali amended easily, with a wink at Elizabeth.

Troy shared a long look with his wife. Finally, the woman gave a slow nod of agreement to an unknown question. “That’s … extremely well thought out. I wouldn’t have guessed someone your age could think so ... calculatingly. You’re full of surprises.”

“I'm not the smart kind,” Cesare said.

“There're different kinds of smart. I know people in the military who would be interested in sponsoring you.” The offer was given with a straightforwardness Cesare appreciated.

“Dad!” Blaez was incredulous.

Looking sadly at his son, Troy explained. “You don't see it. Anastasia came to this school as an unknown. Her first fight had better than even odds she’d lose. Yet, she made a showing that people are still talking about.” He paused, awe taking over his eyes. “Today, she killed a wendigo! The boy neatly eviscerated my argument for taking the Donaldson pack into Lady Kali's territory. And did it so well that even I wouldn’t take them now. And I know them. You don't throw away talent like that. You cultivate it.”

Everyone turned their attention to their menus. Unlike him, they seemed to understand what the dishes were. The problem was they didn’t list any of the ingredients. Instead, there were just a few lines of entrées.

“Cesare, do you need help?” Elizabeth asked quietly. As grateful as he was for the offer, he could do without everyone staring at him.

Embarrassment flushed through Cesare in a cold wave, settling into a sickly pit in his stomach. Setting the menu down, Cesare whispered, “I don't know what any of this is.”

“There’s a first time for everything. The first time I was taken to an Italian Restaurant, I killed the waiter and burned the place to the ground.” Lady Kali gave a fatalistic shrug. “This has to be better than that.”

“What don't you understand?” A born teacher, Elizabeth couldn’t see someone struggling and not help them.

“Pretty much everything. The only thing I've ever had was spaghetti and lasagna.” Both looked at him in question. “It's easy to cook, cheap, and can feed a lot of people. Food banks cook it for meals—especially for the holidays.” Elizabeth was on the edge of asking but kept quiet on noticing the others watching.

“Is that what you want?” Kali asked.

“I don't know. It's not on the menu ...” Cesare started.

Lady Kali gave a low, dangerous laugh. “If I tell them to cook it, they'll damn well cook it. I don't give a rat's cock if it's on the menu or not. Now, do you want to try something new or have them make you some spaghetti?”

Lady Kali waited patiently for his answer. It was then that he understood the depth of her power. People walk through life penned in by laws and codes. What you can wear, how you can act, even what you can eat in a restaurant. Cesare watched what he said around people, stayed in line instead of cutting, walked around the bush instead of jumping over it. He followed the rules because standing out meant pain.

From the day they cut our foreskins to sell to science until the day we die and they fill our bodies with poison. We're caged in by the rules of society, brutalized for coloring outside the line, shunned for being different, punished for being true to ourselves.

We follow rules. Even those who live outside of society bow to the whip. The nature of an outsider is defined by how they don’t fit in, whether it’s the clothes they wear or the books they like. They’re defined by the few rules they don’t follow, not by the thousands that control their lives.

Lady Kali was beyond the hooked chains. Her difference was the primal truth of a Great White so powerful she didn't need to obey the rules of lesser creatures. They didn’t apply to her, an ancient evil that had endured the light of humanity, a darkness greater than all the petty candles that flickered in the endless night. The world would bow before her or it would pay for its disobedience.

He’d never known anyone that could live that way. Without boundaries, stripped of the stop signs that littered his life. “I think ... I'd like to try something new, but I don't know what any of these things are.”

“Easily fixed,” Lady Kali said, summoning a waiter through the ring of protection with a curt gesture. She handed the waiter the menu and demanded he explain the dishes … all of them. The man accepted the order with professional grace. After each dish was explained, Kali waited for Cesare's nod before letting the man continue.

The three of them decided to try different dishes and share the food. The production was embarrassing, with Blaez biting his tongue to keep from saying anything. Surprisingly, neither Troy nor his wife showed any amusement at the show.

As the food came, the table broke up into isolated pockets with Elizabeth, Lady Kali, and Cesare on one island and an ocean away from the werewolf’s and Anastasia.

Cesare headed to the bathroom, passing beyond the harem’s boundary of safety. Nzinga peeled off from the other slaves and fell into step behind him. Since others had left without an escort, he guessed this was personal.

He came out of the bathroom with his knife nestled snuggly along the back of his arm. Nzinga gave the arm with the hidden knife a knowing look. A trick that fooled a school bully wouldn't work on a professional.

“I didn't come to fight,” she said.

“I bet you thought the same thing last time.”

Nzinga grimaced, acknowledging the point. “I lost it, and Lady Kali will make sure I pay for it. I wanted to apologize.” He nodded. He wasn’t accepting her apology, just letting her know he’d heard her. When someone tries to kill you, well, you don't forgive them, and you don't forget. Anastasia was different ... somehow.

She held her temper with both hands, red eyeshine flashing before disappearing under the lie. “By Fenris, you’re difficult!” Cesare widened his stance, just in case. “I wanted to thank you for what you said back there. Being part of the Andhērē Rosa has been more than my people have ever had. It’s everything to us.”

Shaking his head, he slipped past her without taking his eyes off the bouda. “She’d already decided. It was a test to see what I’d say and how the wolves would react. Lady Kali does what Lady Kali wills.”

Nzinga persisted. “I still want to thank you. Even one arrow can change the path of a war.”

Kali’s eyes were trained on the hallway when he appeared, looking past him at Nzinga. Kali hadn’t sent her to watch over him, but she'd allowed the Bouda to follow anyway. She was running her own game. Like everyone, she had her own hustle working.

Hours later, they walked out of the place with Cesare more wistful than he would’ve liked. It would be nice to think he could come back. But he’d never have made it past the door without Kali. Places like this were for people who had homes and money.

Kali and Anastasia locked in a tight hug. They held each other for a long minute before Kali stepped back, her hand running down Anastasia's hair in a gentle caress. “You did well today. I’m proud of you.” A lone tear traced down Lady Kali’s exotic face. “You should know it was Cesare who stopped me from ending the fight and pulling you out of that bloodbath.”

“I love you, mom. I wish you could stay longer,” Anastasia said quietly.

“You wanted this and ... maybe it’s for the best. I’ll see you next month.” They gave each other one last hug before Anastasia walked away with the wolves.

Kali watched her daughter take up her boyfriend’s hand. “You'll watch over her?”

“Do you think I’d let anyone hurt her? After all the work I've put into her?” Kali smiled at him, going up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“I think you’d burn the world for someone you love… and count the cost light.” Shrugging, she continued. “In that, we’re similar. The world has given me nothing, but those I love have given me everything.” Elizabeth walked away, leaving them in their moment of privacy.

Kali looked up at him in the twilight of the day's death. “Call me.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Cesare said as he took a careful step back.

“Because of Viktor.” Lady Kali followed him step for step. She was a hunter of men, money, land, or blood, she’d slaughtered her way across the ages and wouldn't give up on what she wanted.

“I don’t know what you want, but a part-time girl isn’t what I’m looking for,” Cesare said.

“It doesn’t have to be like that. Viktor’s just a sport fuck. I can be faithful when I'm here.”

“And that’s the problem … while you’re here.” He continued before she could cut in, “It might mean nothing to you but it mean’s everything to me. I want to love someone and know they’re mine. You … can never give me that. I won’t walk down a road that cuts me with every step.” Cesare's eyes danced away from hers.

She studied him, words coming slow and careful. “I’m not trying to push you. Yes, I’d like to date and try you between the sheets, but I honestly think we could have something good. But you’re right. I’m not willing to give up sex on the side for you. I might only see you once a month. What am I going to do in the time between?”

Cesare laughed, low and hard. “I don’t know, be loyal? This is why it won’t work. If you have to ask, then you’re not the one for me. I want a woman whose flesh is mine, not one who can’t see the point of being faithful.”

This couldn’t go anywhere. She was rich, with the kind of money that bought nations. She’d lead armies into a war that had started before humanity had crawled out of caves, carved an empire into the bleeding flesh of the world, incinerated cities and was worshipped as a living goddess. She was a tactical nuke, an abomination of darkling glory. Even if they could get past her ideas on sex they had nothing in common.

“Why does this mean so much to you? I can't have anything you haven't seen before.” He gestured toward himself.

She giggled, raising an eyebrow at him. “I don't chase cock. Half the world has them and having tried more than my fair share I can tell you, even the best dick is overrated. I love sex and intimacy. I love the touch of a person who wants me. But I don't chase for sex. It's too easy to find another just like him. No, I want something more from you.” Something flickered in her eyes. “I don’t need to be protected or taken care of, but I want someone who want’s Kali the woman, not the myth.”

“I like you, but I won't chase you hoping you’ll change.” Lady Kali didn’t flinch from the hard words.

“I’m not giving up on this. I’m not giving up on us, but you’re right. Until one of us changes, this conversation isn’t going to go anywhere.” Standing on tiptoes, her kiss was a feathers brush against his lips.

She walked away, her faded jeans and snarky t-shirt hidden as her harem possessively surrounded her in a gilded cage of slavery. The combined power of that pack was enough to kill everyone in this town. The power of an individual Umbrae Lunae was monstrous, but it was nothing next to a solid fist of them wedded to slaughter.

Cesare turned away as they were lost from view, Elizabeth falling in beside him. They walked slowly, the way people do when they don't have anywhere to go and every reason to stay. This was their time. On weekends they could pretend that what they had wouldn't end in tears. Maybe it was just the day, or just his mood, but he couldn’t hide his eyes from the fault lines that spider webbed his friendship with the older woman.

She was so much older than him. That was one reason he liked her, but how long could she be with someone who was a child in her eyes? It was easy to say the years didn't matter, but it rang hollow when you understood what those years meant. They’re the music you like, the people you remember, the sex you’ve had, the issues that define your era, how you look at life and your place in it … it's so much more than just days.

She was more than he could ever be. He’d found her three Master's Degree’s shoved into a box in the cottage. She didn't need to teach high school kids; she chose to teach them. Successful, college educated, with a future ahead of her, she’d claimed her place in the world. His future was a shit apartment and taking the bus to work.

He tucked the dark thoughts away. Just because it would end in tears didn’t mean he had to drink from the poisoned well tonight. “Interesting night.”

She laughed as she bumped shoulders with him. “She’s old, Cesare, like the oldest thing besides the Mistress. That’s so old that she was around when the Umbrae Lunae came into being. She’s worshipped by monster and man as a living goddess. The morals you grew up with are meaningless to her. She comes from a different age. Killing, sex, right and wrong … she’s got her own way of looking at the world. And Cesare, she’s never met anyone that had the power to force her to change.”

“How far back do you guys go?” Cesare asked

“We had a mutual friend a few years back,” Elizabeth said quietly.

Anastasia waited along the path. The women shared a look before Elizabeth nodded. “Meet me in the cottage when you’re done, Cesare,” Elizabeth said as she left them alone.

Anastasia broke the silence as they walked side by side. “Thanks for today. I owe you more than I can pay.” Anastasia grinned at him. “Why can't you just fuck me and be done with it?”

Laughing, he looked her up and down. “You have a high opinion of your talents.”

Her grin widened into something wicked. “Well, you can always find out.” Heat and desire twisted between them, shadowed by something more, something neither would admit.

“Seriously, thank you. I know you keep saying it’s me who wins the fight, but I wouldn't be here if it weren’t for you. I don't forget that. Ever. I owe you … everything …” She watched him as they walked with shoulders touching. “You've done more for me than anyone else, including my mom.” Silence fell between them at the mention of Kali.

“So, you and my mother, huh?” She asked.

Cesare shrugged uncomfortably. “Not really. I think she took a shine to me, nothing serious. I told her I’m not into sharing and that should be it.”

“Let me tell you something, Cesare,” Anastasia said wearily. “My mother guards her name like, well, I would say like her pussy, but she gives that out like candy. I’ll just say that she’s never allowed anyone except her daughters to call her by her first name.” Anastasia watched him from the corner of her eye. “She won't forget you.”

“It’s not that I don’t like her. But I don’t want what she’s offering. It’s fine for her to say it’s just sex, but it’s not just sex to me. I want someone who’ll be with me. A person I can count on. If I can’t count on them to keep their legs closed, how can I expect them to have my back.”

“I think that’s a good choice. I can’t see it working out between you. She’s been with a lot of men ... well, men and women.”

“Considering who you’re dating, you’re not really one to talk.”

“I know. Just saying.” She stopped as she choose her words carefully. “I think you and Blaez could’ve been friends.”

“Small chance of that.”

“After today, you’re right. You know I care about him.” She paused to look at Cesare. “But you’re my friend and I care about you too.”

“Good to know,” Cesare said flatly.

“Why do you always say it like that?” She snapped.

“You’re not there, Anastasia. You’re not there when his pack corners me. You’re not there when they insult me. You don't sit with me or even talk to me. When the chips are down, I can't count on you. It's easy to care. It’s hard to do something.” The soft words tore through the air. They were the bloody ravings of a beaten child, the call of a tortured friend for a helping hand.

“I've talked to Blaez. He says ...” Anastasia started quickly.

He cut her off softly. “He lies. It’s what guys do.”

“Or you lie.” Anastasia said, just as softly.

He smiled with a bitter laugh. “You know how you can tell a guy’s lying? His mouth’s open.”

Maybe he should’ve taken it personally that she thought he was lying. Maybe it should’ve offended him, but he could see where she was coming from. She was gorgeous, the kind of woman that men would lie, cheat, and steal for. If she’d been born in another age, songs would have been written about her. Both Blaez and Cesare were close to her and yet, one of them was lying. So how did she decide who was being truthful?