The Leopard King

by Ann Aguirre

  “Stay focused. Are you recording?”

  She checked the equipment and nodded quickly. “We have hours of boring shit. But this is all that matters, and I’ve got it.”

  Nodding, he picked up Slay’s call. “Yeah, it’s certain. Round up all the key players. No honor guards. I don’t care if you have to drag Talfayen here by his hair.”

  Something boomed off camera, and then the drone went dark, nothing but gray snow shimmering on screen. As Dom swore, Pru queued up the footage, then rearranged the room to hide the fact that they’d spent most of the night curled up together. He didn’t give two shits if someone saw, but she seemed to think it would detract somehow.

  Raff arrived first, but Dom wouldn’t give any information. He waited until Beren, Alastor, and finally Talfayen assembled in the ops center. His heart thundered in his ears, but this was the only move left. There was no way he could deceive the bear lord, and the rest of the leaders had to know too.

  “What’s this about?” Talfayen demanded. “You have some fucking nerve dragging us out of our beds—”

  “Enough.” The word carried substantial bite, so that the Eldritch bastard actually shut up. “Just watch this. I don’t think I’ll need to explain.”

  Pru took the cue and played the two minutes they’d collected before the drone went dead. The room got ominously quiet, and then everyone got a visual lock on Alastor, who put up his hands with a convincing aspect of innocence. “I don’t know anything about that. I have no idea why there are troops moving on bear territory. I was tasked with handling our role in the peace talks. If we intended to abandon the Pax Protocols, why would they bother sending me at all?”

  “To waste our time,” Raff snarled, lunging at the Golgoth prince.

  Magda grabbed his arm, and the wolf lord cared enough about her opinion that he stood down with another menacing snap of his teeth. The security chief pointed to the frozen image on screen. “Explain that, Your Highness. We saw the change. You want to claim those are men in costume or something?”

  The Golgoth royal squared his shoulders as if bracing for an attack. “I never said I could elucidate. I have no more information than you.”

  Uncharacteristically quiet, Beren was still staring at the carnage on screen, just a few seconds before that vicious blood spatter. “Get that bastard out of here or I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”

  Slay evidently took this at face value. “You should go.”

  “I’ll escort him back to his quarters,” Magda offered.

  But Prince Alastor pulled away from her firm hold and faced off against Beren. “If you wish to challenge me, go ahead. Otherwise, I have the same right to attend this meeting as the rest of you.”

  A duel would just make things worse, so Dom headed this off. “I have a couple of things to say first. Then we can all go our separate ways.” He glanced between Beren and Alastor. “Is that all right with both of you?”

  They nodded grudgingly.

  “Fine. At this point, there’s no reason for me to pretend the conclave can go forward. Fact: Lord Talfayen’s nephew died on my watch. Fact: the Golgoth attacked the bear clan. That means the Pax Protocols are irreparably broken, and we’re living in lawless times, the like of which nobody here can even remember.”

  “Tell us something we don’t know,” Raff muttered.

  “I’m done trying to sort this shit out. Lockdown is over. It’s four in the morning, and you can leave as soon as you get ready. I’ll make it clear to the guards on the gate that we won’t interfere. Just know this… I don’t warranty your safety once you leave these walls. If Prince Alastor doesn’t know what his people are doing, who does? We haven’t been patrolling the last few days, so I can’t say how it is out there.”

  “Are you trying to frighten me, cub?” Beren’s scowl didn’t even faze him.

  I’m so tired of this crap.

  Dom went on like the old bear hadn’t spoken. “Understand that we will defend our territory, and we’ll be assessing economic agreements on an individual basis. We will embargo all trade with hostile states. That means no wine, no produce, and definitely none of our proprietary technology, so I hope your systems are in good repair.”

  The wolf lord smirked. “Yeah? How’s your drone inventory holding up?”

  For a moment, he wondered why the other Animari seemed determined to fuck with him at such a critical time. “Finally, if you leave the hold and encounter trouble, we will not send aid. We will not undertake rescue missions. Even if we’ve been on good terms prior, if you leave without renewing peace agreements, then go to hell your own way because I’m done.”

  Prince Alastor startled him by breaking into delighted laughter. “Diplomacy has failed, but I think I prefer brutal honesty. Before, you said the Pax Protocols have imploded, but if I’m interpreting your farewell speech correctly, it seems as if you have something else in mind.”

  That was exactly the opening he needed. He had been germinating this idea for a while. “Words can only take us so far. Obviously it’s time to change it up, or we wouldn’t have such problems trying to get the treaties signed again. I propose a more intimate solution.”

  Talfayen had been silent this whole time, and his mouth curled in a scornful smile. “This should be rich.”

  “In the old days, they sent emissaries to each demesne, not hostages exactly, but more pledges of good faith. If we continued that tradition and added in a marital alliance, it could foster greater trust among our people.”

  “I… what?” For once, Raff seemed at a loss for words.

  “You want me to send a bear princess to the Eldritch or something and expect she’d survive in their court?” The old bear practically snarled the question.

  “I haven’t worked out all the details,” he said.

  But it was no use. The room devolved into chaos even worse than it had when Pru first played the footage of the Golgoth attack. Raff and Talfayen nearly came to blows while the Golgoth prince seemed thoughtful. Maybe they don’t all hate the idea. Finally, his mate put two fingers in her mouth and let out a whistle so shrill that half the room’s occupants flinched and rubbed their ears.

  When she seemed satisfied she had their full attention, she spoke. “It’s been a long night. There will be nothing gained by further discord. I humbly request you return to your quarters to take in the implications of what you’ve heard. If you feel it’s best to leave at first light, we’ll send supplies. But as my husband said, that’s the last help or support you’ll receive from Ash Valley. I’m sorry for everything that’s gone wrong and greatly regret that the conclave seems to be ending before it’s begun—and on such a sour note. Please, get some rest, all of you.”

  “The pride master’s idea might not be so bad,” Alastor mused quietly on his way out. “Perhaps marriage could cement the alliances like nothing else.”

  With a dark look, Beren snapped, “Who exactly do you think you’re fooling, treacherous scum? We are at war.”

  20.

  At 5:37 a.m., a series of explosions rocked the hold.

  Jolted from sleep, Pru dove out of bed toward the doorway as part of the ceiling collapsed; plaster and scraps of metal rained down where she had been lying a few seconds before. Smoke and dust clouded the air, so thick she could scarcely breathe. As far as she knew, Dom wasn’t home as he’d stayed to talk more with Magda and Slay.

  Dad… where is he?

  On her hands and knees, she scrambled through the wreckage, cutting herself on broken glass from where the kitchen cupboards had collapsed in a shower of plate and mug shrapnel. If nothing else, the pain sharpened her focus and firmed her resolve. At least I’ve shifted and have accelerated healing. Fear took hold when she thought of all the children in the hold, those who hadn’t changed yet. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she crawled over the mound of rubble in what used to be her living room.

  Part of the wall had given way, creating a partial barricade. From inside her dad’s bedroom,
she heard muffled cursing, thanks to her enhanced senses. With her bare hands, she yanked at the debris, flinging chunks of cement and broken furniture over her shoulder. From the sound of it, her father was doing the same on his side. Her urgency increased until she was working flat out, shredding her palms faster than they could heal.

  Finally, together, they cleared an opening large enough for him to crawl out. Pru grabbed her dad by the shoulders and inspected him head to toe. With an annoyed grunt, he jerked away, but not before she spotted the shard of metal jutting from his side. A shuddering breath escaped her, but she knew enough of emergency first aid not to yank it out. He could bleed out before he’s treated. Though it had to hurt like a bitch, she got on his good side and draped his arm over her shoulder. If he didn’t get help soon, the wound would heal around the metal, and it would require surgery to remove it.

  “I’m fine,” he muttered.

  “You’re partially impaled. This is no time to be stoic.”

  As she stepped toward the door, he flinched and shuddered. “You might be right. Take it slow. That shard’s… scraping something fierce.”

  “Sorry.”

  There was no need to open the door, as it was broken in three places and they had to tromp over it to leave the apartment. In the hallway, visibility was no better. Pru pulled her shirt up to cover her nose and mouth, but her eyes stung as she guided her father toward the stairs. Some neighbors stumbled out of their apartments, dazed and dripping blood. Mindful of her role as pride matron, she couldn’t just ignore them.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Are we under attack?”

  The questions multiplied, and she had no answers. Her father’s brow beaded with sweat from the effort of remaining upright. Really, he should be on a gurney with doctors and nurses ready to take care of him. But two of this group seemed almost as badly hurt, and one of them was a little boy who couldn’t shift yet.

  “Stick with me. We’ll get out together.”

  Their progress through the murky building was glacial, and more than once they had to stop and rest. When they reached the nearest stairs at last, Pru almost wept. The outer wall had caved in, blocking all but the most precarious path. If she shifted, she could run down with no problem, but that was out of the question for her father and the wee one. I’m leading this group. I won’t abandon them. In the distance, she detected sirens, which signaled that this constituted a true emergency. Guards and rescue personnel would be searching, but from the delayed pattern of detonations, she suspected multiple strikes had been unleashed all over the hold.

  There were four stairwells, one at each corner, and they couldn’t all be blocked. Yet it made no sense to drag injured people all over the place, draining energy they likely didn’t have. Swiftly she made a decision.

  “Stay here,” she said. “I’m going cat to scout, and when I find a clear exit, I’ll head straight back. Try not to worry in the meantime.”

  “I’ll keep everyone calm,” her dad said.

  Nodding her thanks, she whirled and shucked out of her clothes in record time. When she shifted, it only shocked her, like a mild current, no pain at all, and soon, she was loping along the hallways, searching for a way out. Along the way, she ran into more survivors, and she signaled with a swipe of a paw that they could find more pride mates in the direction she’d come from.

  Low to the ground, she could see better, less dust and better vision. The air reeked with blood and terror, some fading chemical that was probably tied to the explosion. No time to track the bomb origin. For the first time ever, Pru had people’s lives hanging on her every move. The next nearest exits were compromised too, the first with a slow-burning fire and the other was missing six steps, too far for her dad and the little boy to leap without shifting.

  This can’t be happening. I hope Dom’s all right, wherever he is.

  No, can’t think about anyone else.

  She ran on, and the final possibility proved to be golden. Though it was smoky and damaged, the stairs diagonal from where she’d left the survivors were passable. With a silent thank-you to her mother, who was surely watching over them, she raced back to the group. The little boy’s sobs were audible even from five hundred meters away, and as she drew closer, it sounded like the newcomers were arguing with her dad about the wisdom of standing around.

  “She’s not coming back, I tell you. I saw her running like the devil was after her, and that’s been a good ten minutes ago—”

  Pru shifted and grabbed her clothes from the floor. Normally, she might’ve minded a little, getting dressed in front of so many strangers. But today there was no time for modesty. As soon as she got her head through the shirt, she snapped, “Shut up and follow me. I’ve found a way out of here.”

  To her astonishment, as nobody ever claimed she had an air of command, the complaints quieted, and everyone fell in behind her without protest. Is it because I’m pride matron now? Because of Dom? Or have I changed a little too? The questions had to remain rhetorical, as she focused on guiding the group to safety. Perforce, they moved slow, and by the time they reached the diagonal stairwell, she was trembling in reaction—from multiple shifts, nerves, fear, and low blood sugar.

  Thankfully, the stairs, though still chipped and crumbling, held together long enough for most everyone to get down. She sent the most injured first, some borne on the backs of relatives, and as they reached the ground floor, two weakened stairs collapsed. Everyone still upstairs was hale enough to shift, so they stripped and went for it, one by one. Conscious of her role as leader, Pru made sure everyone else was out of the building before she changed.

  For the first time, going cat made her dizzy instead of hurting. Backing up, she made the leap and landed unsteadily below the gap. She ran down the rest of the steps and out into a frigid dawn. Her survivors gathered around with incoherent thanks, patting her back and promising future favors.

  The scene struck her as surreal, like something she’d watched in an old film. People with bloody faces and wild eyes clustered around fires burning in metal trash barrels while three different tents had been set up in the park. She also scented cats, wolves, and bears, plus more mysterious and arcane aromas that probably came from the Eldritch and Golgoth. Sensory overload. Smoke rose from multiple points in the hold. Her ears swiveled. Sobs, cries of pain and bereavement, wails of fear and devastation—the noise blended together into a cacophony of grief, so she couldn’t sort it out.

  “The medical tent is that way,” her dad said.

  Someone handed her a basic bundle of clothes, and she ducked around the corner to change. This time, she staggered and had to hold on to the wall for almost a minute until the sparkle-confetti left her field of vision. Stubbornly she rounded the corner and reached for her father.

  I have to be strong.

  Dom had twenty fires to put out—literally—and he couldn’t stop asking this one question. “Has anyone seen my wife?”

  Most of the building had been deemed inaccessible, but low risk. With the sprinkler system malfunctioning and flames smoldering all over the hold, he shouldn’t fixate on one person’s fate. I’m responsible for everyone, not just Pru. But he wouldn’t be able to focus until he found her. She’s alive, she has to be. I’d know if she wasn’t, right? Possibly their mate bond was too nascent and fragile, so maybe—

  No.

  Slay went by at a run, and Dom grabbed him with both hands. “Did you find her?”

  “Sorry, not yet. I’ve asked all the guards to keep an eye out. You have other things to worry about. Let me take care of Pru.”

  “Fucking never,” he snarled, and let go of his second so hard it was nearly a shove.

  But come to it, Slay wasn’t wrong. I have to focus. His people were well trained, and they were already executing emergency procedures. Medical tent, temporary shelter for those displaced—quickly he ran down the list of things they should be doing. The rescue brigade was working on the pocket fires, but it looked like so
mebody had tampered with the dampening system, so it required time and manual intervention.

  Magda ran up before he could complete the mental inventory, panting. “Mob. They’re trying to execute Prince Alastor.”

  Shit.

  With the Golgoth attacking the bear clan in the north, it made sense to blame their royal emissary, but what kind of an idiot would detonate multiple explosives while he—and his people—were still in the city? Dom nodded and followed her at top speed, shouldering through the crowd milling between park and plaza. It was a mix of Animari in humanoid and animal forms, so he had to wade through wolf, cat, and bear to get to where Raff was holding the prince by the scruff of his neck, forced to kneel amid threats of a public execution. Honestly, it was hard not to wonder if things could’ve gone worse, left in Slay’s hands.

  “Golgoth scum,” someone called. “They stuck around to watch us suffer.”

  “Stand down,” Dom growled at the wolf lord.

  “Like hell. This bastard killed Beren.”

  Not the old bear. Beren’s passing marked the end of an era. Then a troublesome thought surfaced, circling like a shark.

  Don’t tell me those assholes went at it as soon as my back was turned.

  “In a duel?” So galling to ask questions when he wanted to snarl and keep snarling and claw people until they left him the fuck alone.

  The wolf lord snarled, “No, you stupid shit. When that bastard prince detonated half the hold.”

  “Did you see him do it? Did you witness his people planting explosives?”

  Raff’s gaze shifted away just for a second. “Who else could it be?”

  “I don’t know, but I promised this man my protection until he leaves the walls of my city. If you try to make a liar of me, we’ll go. You want that? Now?” Dom popped his neck and said with a look that he’d fight.

  There had been no battles between wolf and cat for as long as he could remember; he couldn’t even think of any stories where it had happened. For a long moment, Raff stared him down, and then he flung Alastor free as Dom had Slay, in a fit of impotent fury. Letting out a slow breath, Dom helped the prince to his feet. Based on the footage he’d watched, if the royal had gone brute, he could’ve slaughtered a good portion of this mob by himself.