“This is against the rules, Alpha Guardian.” Lavario kept his voice flat.
“I did not think you would mind. You do not care for rules,” Mazgan cheerfully retorted. “But do not worry, I am not going to hurt her. I respect our traditions. She is yours by right. She is only here for a show.”
Dip brought up one of the redundancies—the source of the screams from earlier—which kicked, wailed, and babbled nonsensically as the stupid half-breed pawed haphazardly at its flesh. Whatever language it had before was forgotten. It was a thing with skin too dirty to have a discernible race, a frame too emaciated to have a discernible gender. It only had enough dangling self-awareness to understand that being brought out of the cage was never good.
“Human, this is what will happen to you when Lavario falls, and he will fall. Dip,” Mazgan commanded, “get on with it.”
Stunted, more doglike than human or wolf, Dip was the monstrous result of a first desperate attempt to keep humans from going extinct. Ugly, vicious, stupid, careless, and impatient, the experiment made a rather lackluster Adam to be sure. Even Dip’s wolf form, something seen as a gift, was an affront. Transformed, he crawled around on all fours like a common dog, not by choice or as camouflage as some of them did to avoid detection but because he had no other option. Worse, he limped. The sight of him gangling along was loathsome.
The creature opened its jaws.
Amber looked from the ugly wolf and to the thing huddled on the floor. Experience, combined with an intuitive understanding of context, told her what was going to happen next. The monster holding her arm twisted it again when she tried to close her eyes or look away. Pain, intense, unyielding, tore through her. As always, she forced down the cries. But she looked. It would only get worse for her if she didn’t.
Dip started at the legs, taking large bites with his canine teeth.
The first screams tore through her. The first spurts of blood made her vomit. The noises the thing made as it ate caused her to empty her bladder. The humiliation she felt as the waste trickled down her leg finally made her cry out in a low, agonized whimper. She couldn’t take anymore. She was sure of it. After this, she’d take Lavario’s hand, he’d pull her to him, and she’d leave this world and its monsters behind. All these conflicted feelings would stop. Simplicity. Death was simplicity.
She moaned again as Dip bit into the human’s stomach. It—no he, Amber could see the penis now that the tattered pants were torn off—twisted on the floor weakly. Blood gurgled from his mouth, caking the outline of it in a way that reminded her of the first time she’d put on her mother’s red lipstick. Her mother. She wanted her mother. She’d give anything to smell her again, to feel her hands gently twist her hair into little braids.
The human’s eyes went wide. He stopped moving. Alive, he panted and his muscles flexed. Fingers, raw and broken from his frantic attempts to escape, seized violently from time to time. Trauma, combined with severe blood loss, wouldn’t allow him to live too much longer. Amber was sure of it.
Ten minutes later, the man finally died. Tossed back in the cage, the body no doubt stayed there until it rotted.
* * *
She’d stopped talking to him, so he read her thoughts.
Strange how looking up at the sky calmed her. She’d forgotten about it locked inside their cell, and now here it was—just the same as she left it. When the cold water hit her skin, she didn’t flinch, cover her breasts, or squeal. Half-aware of what was going on, she only thought, Werewolves have garden hoses? It seemed like something they shouldn’t have. Just the same, she was grateful when the smell of her own waste washed away from her.
But she was cold. Hazily, she looked down at her trembling limbs and snorted at them. Her knees were so funny! Look at them thudding together. She turned to Lavario and laughed. He didn’t. “Serious face,” she giggled at him and pulled down her lips into an exaggerated scowl, forced her voice to a lower register. “I’m a serious werewolf. I told you not to leave the cell and you did. Look what happened, young lady.”
Lavario wrapped her up in his frilly robe, the regal yellow garment he’d worn before his fight. Paws rubbed up and down her body, using the delicate fabric to dry her skin like it was some type of cheap rag. It angered her a bit. Secretly, she’d always dreamed of wearing the robe after she killed him. She was going to strut around in it as she looked down over his dead body, she was going to wrap herself up in it every day afterward to remind herself of what she’d done. Disgraced, she was wearing it now.
He took her back to their prison. Amber wanted to feel the same pulsing energy she felt whenever she thought about her revenge against him. Anger tried to well up inside her, but she was too tired for it, and each time she looked—the green eyes in her night terrors were so tired, defeated—all she could muster was a quick burst of his fault before she went numb again and started laughing.
CHAPTER THIRTY: LAST TIME HE GOT TOLD TO DO SOMETHING
Kids playing in water. Blood. The laughter of the dead coming out of the mouth of a monster. The same dream came to her again, as familiar to her as the beat of her own heart. Variations were rare—same old, same old until she woke up with a scream or jolt or whimper. Tonight, it was her father instead of Lavario. He shouted, Your fault! Whore! as he held the body of his dead son, her brother.
It was as he said it would be before she left his home. God was punishing her. She’d put on her college sweater, her makeup, her weave, and then spread her legs. No one laughed in His face, especially not a little girl. This was the price her family paid. She should be dead instead of them, instead of the man who got eaten alive. Tears bubbled over and she choked on a sob.
“Amber,” a voice cut through.
Wildly throwing her hands in any direction she could, Amber struck out in blind fear. When she connected with something furry, she realized it was probably Lavario. Unnerved by his wolf form at first, it was now a normal part of her everyday life. Vain and particular as he was, she was almost certain he stayed transformed because he looked better that way now that his fancy clothes were gone and his eyebrows looked like something someone might draw on Wooly Willy.
“It is not your fault, Amber,” Lavario said softly. “You are not being punished by the universe.”
She hated how he knew her feelings. She suppressed another cry, her body shook with the effort to keep the noises to herself. Carefully, he slid over and pulled her to him. Guilt ripped through her, telling her she shouldn’t take comfort from her family’s killer, but his fur was warm and she was so cold. There was no one else to offer her any solace.
“I am!” she blurted at him.
“No, no one chose your family because you are wicked. The thought is ridiculous.”
Why then? She wanted to shout it at him but didn’t. She suspected he’d heard it just the same, though. She wasn’t sure how extensive his abilities were, but he was right more often than not. “My father told me—”
He cut her off. “Yes, and I told Kijo she’d be carried off by goblins if she didn’t cease her frenzies. During her teething period, there were a lot of goblins, and they all yearned for the flesh of noisy children with black hair, black eyes, and no manners.”
“She believed that?” Amber tried to picture the wolf woman as a frightened child, worrying about being whisked away in the night.
He laughed but stopped for a moment when he saw her face, which was probably a mess, and then did it again. “Oh, yes,” he finally said. “She believed it.”
She gave him a light slap. “It isn’t funny.”
“You are right. It isn’t.” His rested a paw on each shoulder and gently pushed her away so she was looking directly into his eyes. “Amber, it would serve my interests to allow your guilt. Believe me when I say I alone am to blame for the death of your family. Hate me. Give yourself some peace.”
Some of the old fire came back to her, the sense of self-righteous anger followed by the feeling that hurting him would make it all go
away. It would right the wrong done to her and her family. As quickly as it came, it left her again. She wasn’t any closer to liking him, but she wasn’t any closer to killing him either. Needing him was another matter.
“We should to do something,” she told him.
It almost looked like he cocked his eyebrow. Facial expressions were hard to see since his fur was so black, but his eyes remained expressive. Frustration blazed through them, followed by the patient look she hated so much. His tone was fatherly when he finally decided to respond, “Anything I do now will most likely cause trouble for you, Amber.”
She stopped herself before she puffed out her cheeks. “There has got to be something.”
Lavario flopped down on the floor with a great sigh. Dirt shot up around him. Without thinking about it, she tapped at his back leg with the tip of her toe the way she’d done to her stubborn collie when it didn’t want to go outside at night to pee. “I am not a collie,” he reminded her.
“No, you’re a goddamn awful werewolf. Get up off your ass. Come on.” She whistled at him and tapped him with her foot again. “Come on, boy. Come on.” With a growl, he stood up with his hackles raised and his ears folded back on his head. Instead of going meekly back to her corner, the way he no doubt thought she would since it had worked for him in the past, she congratulated him. “That’s it. Who’s a good boy?”
He shrunk back down to his human form, no doubt with a lecture ready on his lips. He always went human to give her advice. She didn’t give him the chance. “You look terrible,” she told him.
Whatever it was he was going to say, he forgot it in an instant.
“Grab my chair,” he pointed to it.
“It’s heavy.” The damn thing had to weight over a hundred pounds.
“Be strong. Carry or fight. Your choice.”
She grabbed his chair.
* * *
Tempted to tell her that the last time someone told him to do something, he ate her family, Lavario settled for a series of agitated hand gestures.
The iron bars of their prison cell were simply salt-in-the-wounds decorations. One tug and the gate collapsed. Lavario walked through, Amber walked along with him. “Where are we going?” She was somewhat hesitant but followed him down the hall, keeping pace the best she could while dragging his chair. The sound of the carved wood hitting the ground with indelicate, stuttering thuds made him grit his teeth. The last beautiful item he owned and she was lugging it around like it was a plank.
“We are doing something.” He emphasized the words the same way she always did and then smiled despite himself when her face lit up in response. If nothing else, the young woman was a fellow rule breaker.
Even when he kicked down the first door, the only thought that crossed her mind was a quick: Whose room is this? She wanted it to be Geri’s or Freki’s. Lavario could perhaps accommodate that later. For now, they were in Lora’s room. With Lora. Her expression was his favorite cocktail of outrage, hatred, and fear. He did owe her an explanation. “My companion needs new clothes,” he explained. “Pick out what you like,” he sad to Amber.
Seriously? very quickly turned into Well, okay then. Lavario did adore her willingness to roll with it. If they were here to get clothes, she’d go get herself some clothes. Lora made some small attempt to stop Amber, but Lavario showed the other wolf his teeth until she slunk back down to a sitting position. He couldn’t challenge her for rank, yet it was well within his rights to take from weaker wolves. She could challenge him or accept it. She opted for acceptance.
Soon afterward, Amber reappeared with a suitcase, a bag of cosmetics, and a brush. Lavario gave her a quick too-much look when she shoved all the items into his hands. “In for a penny, in for a pound. Yes?” Why not? Lavario thought and shrugged. On their way out, Amber made one last-minute impulse theft: a dinner roll. The absurdities of her whims. Lavario loved them. Sometimes.
They shut the door behind them and moved down the hall. Just as Amber was becoming impatient—which didn’t take too long—they reached their destination. Lavario knocked this time, giving himself some time to place Amber’s suitcase at his feet. Oscar, false guardian, answered with a rebuke that turned very quickly to concern once he saw who stood on the other side. “Lavario? What do you want?”
He didn’t bother to respond. He grabbed the wolf’s collar and yanked him out the door without any ceremony, though there was some type of ritual for appropriation that he couldn’t quite recall. Something, something blood rite. Probably. “Bye, Felicia!” Amber chimed in. As far as Lavario was concerned, that was close enough. Both walked into the room together. Amber shut the door behind them using the legs of his chair. The room was sparse, Varcolac sparse. Amber put her hands on her hips and stuck her jaw out. “This shit is depressing.”
“We will see to décor later. And to some better attire.” Lavario would not wear khaki. Ever.
She brought some clothes out of the suitcase for inspection, holding up a few of Lora’s shirts, colorless polo blouses, to make faces at them. “Immortal beings who can turn into giant wolves and kick ass shouldn’t wear this shit.” She folded them up nicely and put them in drawer. Once all the items were in their place, she turned to him once again. “How long do we have here? I thought you couldn’t challenge anyone?”
“I didn’t challenge anyone. I took their stuff.”
“So?”
“So, pack rules allow taking items through force. Here, you must be strong enough to keep your possessions. If you’re not, then you do not deserve them. To get their belongings back, they’ll either have to challenge me or use force. Either of those scenarios ends with me winning. We will be fine here.” He was at least eighty-five percent sure of this. Technically, they could go to Kijo, the pack’s second. Lavario doubted his daughter would make much time for tattletale werewolves.
Sarcastic nodding followed. “Makes sense. I guess.”
Her scorn amused Lavario. It didn’t make much sense, but it was the way of his kind. “They will follow rules.”
“What does that mean?”
Lavario got the gist of what she was asking. Basically, how long are we safe? He did not know the answer to that question. It was possible his daughter would intervene—perhaps Mazgan would put pressure on her to do something about him. He did not want to get into the complexities of wolf politics with the girl. It was better to be brief, reassuring, confident. “It means I am now runner-up for worst werewolf. Go congratulate Oscar on his promotion.”
To his surprise and delight, she did.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: NEW RULES
As Mazgan paced the room that once belonged to her father, Kijo looked down sourly at his “gift,” a sword she had absolutely no use for. Like most of her pack, she used her teeth and claws to fight. She wasn’t a damn ninja. She also wasn’t an “it’s-the-thought-that-counts” sort of wolf, so she tossed the blade to the side with a careless snap of her wrist.
What she was or wasn’t didn’t concern Mazgan. His head didn’t even turn when the metal went clank! and echoed across the empty chamber. He was too wrapped up in his anger over Lavario taking over Oscar’s room. The last ten minutes had been a solid rant punctuated by violence, occasionally directed toward random objects, other times her. She was accustomed to it by now.
According to Mazgan, there had to be some legitimate way supported by law to remove Lavario from Oscar’s chamber. There were none. Pack rules were clear on matters of property rights—can’t defend it, can’t keep it. Oscar’s weakness was his own concern. Mazgan wouldn’t accept that as the answer. He was enraged when his perfect punishment, one that allowed him to gawk at Lavario’s misfortune from a safe distance, had such a glaring loophole.
The only thing that surprised Kijo was that her father stayed with the redundancies for as long as he did. Patiently, she waited as her superior stormed around the mostly empty room.
Today was the day he came to tell her about the plan. Mazgan started to share it be
fore a lower-ranking wolf came in with the news about Oscar. Mazgan had taken it with his normal aplomb. A quick smack to the side of the other wolf’s head, a roar, and a never-ending tirade.
She wasn’t sure what else Mazgan expected now. At some point, her alpha had to go back to what he came here for. He couldn’t tell her he wanted to destroy the entire system of distribution for bloodservants and walk away.
“Oscar can have one of my rooms, Alpha Guardian,” she offered. “There is not much else to be done.”
She sighed when he didn’t respond. Getting him to talk had never been this difficult before.
“Alpha Guardian,” she started again, heavy-handed this time, “perhaps we should discuss the bloodservant matter you brought up earlier.”
“Yes, of course, my love.”
Her teeth wanted to pop out at the term of endearments he’d been addressing her with ever since her father’s demotion. Rage wasn’t something she could afford right now; this game required finesse, so she sucked her teeth back down along with her pride. “You said you wanted to change the system of distribution, Alpha Guardian. What would this entail?”
Mazgan nodded, as if snapping himself out of a dream. “Yes. I am here to discuss the future. We can deal with Lavario later.”
She gave him a gracious, subservient nod of her head, urging him to continue.
Typical of him, he said a bunch of stuff before he finally got to the point. Kijo half listened to all of it, nodding her head at times she felt was appropriate. Occasionally, to give the illusion she was paying attention, she’d say a quick affirmation followed by his title. At last, Mazgan said, “It is time for you and I to lead this pack into the future. We will destroy the Boo Hag system. We will create our own, you and I. Together.”
“How, Alpha Guardian?” She asked it as though she hadn’t already been told.
He puffed himself up, ready for the big revelation. “Vampires.”
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