"I'm not sure if this means you trust me more or less."

Spring may be upon Preene, but the air was still crisp with a winter chill. Snow was still pushed into alleyways and side streets, though the embankments had shrunk by at least a foot over the past week. The people surrounding us were still bundled in fur coats and cloaks.

"It means I'm curious, that's all."

The man raised an eyebrow. I gave him a cool stare in return.

"Anyhow," he sighed, turning back to the street he was guiding me down, "I'm afraid you'll be recognized, even without your mask."

I frowned. "I wear it as often as you. The public's never seen me without it. Even if they did, it's not like there are cameras to broadcast my face to everyone."

Cyrus nodded. "Something probably better off lost to the old world, for our sake at least."

I trotted to catch up to him. My head tipped as I fell in step with his fast pace. "I'm surprised you got that reference. It seems Preene's motto to forget the old world entirely."

He shrugged. "A few things they kept, everything else they buried."

A voice called out from the street corner. I turned toward the sound. A man with held up a stack of papers which, judging by their bold type, had been printed on a printing press. He immediately noticed my staring and waved us over.

I would have ignored him, not allowed a commoner to interfere with our business, had it not been for the pair of women standing next to him wearing wolf masks. Both were remarkably similar to mine, save for the fact mine was white, while theirs were modeled after brown and black lycans. I tugged Cyrus's sleeve, dragging him over.

"Hello young woman," the man greeted. "I can see in your eyes you are a loyal citizen of Preene." He handed me one of his fliers. "I hope you can see which side you should really be on."

I gave him a kindly smile. "And which side would that be?"

"Why, allied with our great queen, of course." He clasped my gloved hands. "Her methods may be harsh, but she will save us from the old world's fate."

I noticed he dressed much plainer than most of Cicil's population. His winter robe was decorated with dull greens and browns, colors I was familiar with in the mountain forests.

"Those rebel fools may preach a patriotic speech, but we mustn't forget they fight to reclaim the wealth she has distributed amongst us common folk. We mustn't forget how she lessened our taxes, removed corruption, even turned the lycans to our allies. And mark my words, young miss, this is only the beginning. We must support her, worship her, do all we can to show her we recognize these changes and are grateful."

"Grateful for letting the lycans loose?" a voice from behind us called out. I looked back, spotting a man marching toward us, his bearded face set in a deep set frown. "Do you have any idea how many people have died because those monsters are running free? The rebellion groups will save us, not some psychotic bitch who seduced and murdered our king." His bright yellow jacket matched the beads braided in his hair.

My preacher's expression soured. "I wouldn't speak too loudly, good sir. The queen has a way of finding those disloyal to her. As for the rebellion groups, she will soon crush them."

"You lowly filth disgust me," the bearded man hissed. He stepped closer, leaning so close to my preacher their noses brushed. "You better watch what you say too. The rebellion has a way of making an example of men like you."

"I'd be honored to be a martyr then."

The bearded man balled his hands into fists. He pulled his arm back. My preacher didn't flinch.

Cyrus caught the man's arm mid swing. He turned on my ex manager, glaring. Cyrus leveled him with a cold glare. "I know rebels aren't all that great with numbers, but I'll point out you're at a disadvantage here."

The man yanked his arm away. "We'll see how you all love your ruler when you're being eaten by lycans," he growled softly as he turned, marching down the street. "All worship the savage queen."

Cyrus nodded. He took my hand in his, tugging me along with him. I leaned back, just managing to whisper in the preacher's ear before he pulled me away.

"Your loyalty will be rewarded."

The man stared as I was dragged down the street. I shot him a conspiratorial grin, giving a small wink.

"All worship the Savage Queen..." he murmured.

I was smiling all the way to the market. Cyrus cast a wary glance over his shoulder as he guided me through the crowds.

"What are you so happy about?"

"I just solved a problem," I said, all but skipping along behind him. "Anyway, where are you taking me?"

"Here." He pulled me into a shop. It took me a moment to recognize it. Last time I was there, the place was filled with whips and muzzles. Now it sported jackets, pouches, and water-skins. However, the man sitting in the corner was unchanged. He stood, towering over both of us.

"Cyrus!" Roshaun laughed, spreading his arms out to embrace the man. "And My Queen, incognito, I assume?"

"Uh, yes," I answered, unsure of why Cyrus brought me to the leather shop. I glanced around. Hopefully, the collapse of the training industry hadn't hurt his business too much.

"We have important business underground," Cyrus said. The leatherworker released him with a grin.

"Right, right, I won't hold you up then."

"Thanks, Roshaun."

I followed him through a covered doorway into the back. My nose was immediately overwhelmed by the scents of tanning chemicals and salt. We hurried between racks of curing hides, turning through a workshop roughly twice the size of the shop until Cyrus abruptly stopped. I stepped beside him and looked down.

There at our feet was a trapdoor. A cast iron latch rested on the wood, though it was unlocked. Cyrus looped his hand through the heavy ring attached to the center, lifting the door up and open. He shot me a self-satisfied smirk.

"In Preene, the underworld is literally underground," he explained, reading my unasked question in my expression. "The old world cities had no space for public transport, so they ran trains underground. When Cicil was built they buried them, but didn't fill them in." He stepped in the hole, then turned to take my hand as I entered after him.

"The subways," I said. He nodded.

The man produced a metallic stick from his pocket, squeezing a gel handle similar to the electric whips the trainers used. A light shone from the end, illuminating the stairs below. Cyrus began to lead me down. "This building was built on an old station. Claw and I already dug up some of the others around the city, so the lycans can come as soon as we locate our target."

About halfway down, I began to make out a light shining from around a corner. "How did you even find these?"

Cyrus laughed. What I thought was the end turned out to be a landing, marking where the stairs took a turn. "Find out? I found out there was an above ground. I grew up here."

The room at the bottom of the stairs was long, narrow, and lit with a mixture of flickering electric lights and camp fires. But by far more shocking was the thirty or so makeshift tents set up along the wall, no doubt housing for the people who wandered between them.

Cyrus glanced to me. "Ever wondered why there are no homeless on the streets of Cicil?"

Some of them stared as we walked past. Most simply ignored us. They were dressed in worn, stained clothing, most likely discarded by the wealthier members of society, as appeared to be the case with most objects in the camp, including the food.

"I feel so bad for them," I whispered.

"Don't," Cyrus snorted. "It's a lifestyle. Most could get out if they wanted, others live it so they don't need to hide their illegal activities."

"So are..." I lowered my voice. "Are these the people we're after?" I didn't consider myself a good judge of character, I had been fooled too many times to think myself less than naïve, but these people appeared more impoverished than threatening.

"No, most of the people here are harmless. It's the ones a few stations over that we're looking for." We hopped into a ditch with three metal rails which extended in either direction through tunnels. He started down the left-hand side. "I know someone in the black market that arranged a meeting with the guy we're after. He's supposed to have a couple children."

"Right..." I sighed. We walked in silence for a few minutes, him guiding me by my sleeve, me occasionally tripping over one of the rails. Eventually, I learned to walk behind him. Then, I got tired of the quiet.

"So, you lived down here?"

"Yeah, for a long time I was underground more than above it. Fell in the wrong crowd, got in league with the wrong groups, started nicking stuff from the palace, so on..." I felt his arm move, which I assumed to be a shrug. "Until Roshaun took me on as an apprentice. It was there I discovered I wanted to be a manager... After I discovered I sucked at leatherworking, that was." He laughed.

I chuckled. Add that to the list. Cyrus was fearless, actually got on well with the lycans, especially Cerberus and Crimson Claw, and was good at managing money and sneaking into places he wasn't supposed to be. I thought perhaps getting to know him better would make me trust him more. I wasn't sure if it was working or not.

"Where were your parents for all this?" I questioned, though I had a feeling I knew the answer.

This time Cyrus's snort held a kind of bitter humor. "Most folks down here aren't the parenting type. I doubt my mother even knew who my father was."

"Oh," I bit my lip. My heart sunk for him, even though he simply confirmed my suspicions. The underground world of Preene reminded me far too much of the ghettos of Askance. "Sorry to hear that."

"I'm certain my childhood wasn't any worse than yours."

I paused. Was he showing sympathy for me? I couldn't remember anyone else doing that, ever. No one who really meant it, anyway. They usually told me they understood how hard it must have been, but they didn't. And here Cyrus was, so easily acknowledging my captivity without comparing his life to mine. The irony was of everyone born without a drug, he was the one who could best comprehend us.

It made me want to punch him in the back of the head. It felt like self defense. It felt like he suddenly knew me too well, like he had gotten far too close.

But instead, I wrapped my free hand around my waist and walked in silence once more.

***

The next station we reached was nothing like the first. Certainly, there were a few tents, and the people were equally raggedy, but the atmosphere was completely different. Malice hung in the air like the cigar smoke I choked on. I could immediately taste the sin on my tongue as well as spot a dozen substances illegal in Askance. There were quite a few crates lying around, some being used as seats, others broken up to feed a barrel fire.

"There," Cyrus pointed to a woman with a half shaved head, smoking a cigarette on a scorched barrel. Besides being a little rough and uncolorful by Preene's standards, she looked rather normal. I wouldn't give her a second glance on the streets aboveground. She lifted her head at our approach.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"Hey Cye, brought a little friend I see," she laughed in a voice ruined by the smoke. It bothered me she used the same nickname for him as Alice did, almost as much as knowing she willingly allowed herself to become addicted to those rolls of tobacco. Didn't she see, being here of all places, what that had caused humanity to lose?

"Is he here?" he asked, all business, nothing like the cheerful, overly expressive Cyrus I knew.

She stood, flicking away her cigarette and waving us to come. I caught the woman's sideways glance to him as she passed, the way her eyes appreciated his strong arms and defined features. But she didn't know him, not the real him, not the one who was friends with lycans and served the Savage Queen.

Then again, maybe she did know him. Maybe she knew another side of him, the Cyrus that had grown up in the subways. She knew the underground Cyrus, the man I was just learning hid underneath the wannabe manager.

"What's her name?" I asked as she led us to a different part of the station.

Cyrus blinked, staring down at me in confusion. He knew I didn't care much for names, especially of people I considered unimportant, and this woman was definitely of no consequence to me. "Uh... Rachella," he answered back.

I frowned. I already decided I didn't like Rachella. However, the name she introduced next made me forget all about her and any possible relationship she could have with Cyrus.

"Here he is Cye, Mr. Khomakov."

My skin went cold, but my blood was boiling. My head suddenly hurt so bad I felt it was going to explode and when it did, I was going to gouge this man's eyes out with the claws I now had for fingers.

No wonder Cyrus told me this was a mission I would have special interest in. Over half the children made some mention of Mr. Khomakov, or ‘Mr. Khom’, in their past, none of them pleasant.

He was wearing a flamboyant pink shirt. In the old world, pink had been considered a feminine color, but Preene didn't have such prejudices. His skin was wrinkled and tanned, as well as sported a series of tattooed words. Of the few I read I found them to be symbols and passages from several old world religions. His dark eyes scanned over us, me more closely than Cyrus.

"Rachella said you have business." He examined me head to toe again. "I assume you're wanting to sell her?"

I stepped back. How did he know? Had Cyrus said anything? Was this part of the plan?

"Yeah," my ex manager replied without hesitation. I choked down a sharp breath. Was this part of the plan? Why hadn't he told me?

Was this a plan, or was he really selling me out?

"She's a skin-giver, no negative side effects, and has yet to show any degeneration," Cyrus continued on, "So I'll want top dollar for her."

Should I be panicking? I couldn't decide if I should run or not, or howl. If I howled, the lycans waiting would come running. Unless he lied about that too...

"I want to feel it first. I'm not about to go believing you got a class A adult giver without some proof."

"But the addiction-"

"Son," Khomakov fixed him with a hard stare, "I've got so much shit running through my system it all blends together now. One more hardly matters."

"Right," Cyrus sighed. "Alright Sophia, touch him."

I tipped my head. Sophia? Maybe he was just acting out a plan...

"Come on Sophie..." he growled.

Even if he was though, I couldn't touch another person. I already played that game with my addicts and learned it was far too dangerous, even if I won.

"I can't..."

"Damn it Sophie." He pulled something from inside his coat, something sleek and metallic, something I hadn't seen since Estil. I gasped. The gun was pointed in my direction. "Don't make me ask again."

He had a gun? When did he get a gun? I was with him since this morning, when we ate breakfast in the hall with the lycans. Surely they must have smelt it, something different on him. Unless it had always been there, tucked away.

But Cerberus knew what a gun smelt like. If Cyrus had it on him, he would have known. He would have told me, warned me.

Unless he thought I would do something harsh. I had only seen guns used against lycans; he knew I would turn against anyone who had one. Maybe he hadn't told me because he knew I was liable to have Cyrus executed without thinking.

If Cerberus trusted him enough to ignore the fact he carried a gun, the most threatening weapon to a lycan, then perhaps I should afford him my trust as well.

The glove I pulled from my hand weighed more than a mountain in my mind. I reclaimed my steps forward, reached out, and tapped the exposed skin of Khomakov's forearm.

The man waited a moment. Then he drew in a sharp breath, shuttered, and exhaled on a smile. "That's some potent stuff she's got there. She put me in a good mood. I'll give you whatever you want for her."

"Three of your other kids, my choice, sound fair?"

"Perfectly." Khomakov grinned. Rachella had disappeared off somewhere, thankfully, so it was just Cyrus and I that followed him back into the tunnels.

I expected him to lead us to another station, maybe back above ground. But the place he brought us was neither; it was a train. The rusted metal hung off the frame. The windows were boarded up with rotting wood. Discolored paint chips crackled under our feet as we stepped into its compartments.

The first three we passed through were like ratty living rooms, each containing several men chatting or lounging on the couches and chairs. They gawked at me, but I didn't care, their interest was more a danger to them than it was for me.

The next two, open to each other, were fashioned after a playroom. There were four kids in each, six to eight by the looks of them, all clothed in little more than sacks. I bit my tongue to keep from blurting out, I wasn't sure what I would say. Maybe I would howl. But I couldn't howl, not yet. I needed to know where they all were first.

And if Cyrus was worthy of my trust.

"These are all blood-donors," Khomakov explained with a dismissive gesture of his hand. "Most will make you feel good, one way or another. Those two over there," he pointed to a pair of girls watching us, "The twins have a pretty minor effect, but they'll help you stay awake for hours. Problem is they start wailing if you separate them. I'll give you a two for one if you want them." He glared in the direction of another with particularly long, ratty hair, "And he'll make you giggle at the stupidest of jokes. Just don't eat anything first or you'll puke your brains out."

"Right, right," Cyrus said as if he was actually considering some of them. He better not be considering any of them. "Got any more? What about skin givers?"

"Just the two out back. One's a skin-giver."

"Let's see them."

Khomakov grinned. "Looking for the best huh?" He waved us on. As we passed through the playrooms the children scampered away from us, their wide eyes trained on their captor. The last of the compartments was by far the bleakest, lit by neither candles nor electric. Dark walls that appeared scorched framed the barred cages surrounding us, two of which were occupied.

The boy looked up at our approach, a seven-year-old with hair and face so filthy it was impossible to tell what color they were supposed to be. The girl, perhaps slightly younger, remained laying on the floor, seeming not to notice our presence.

I remembered a time I was like that, a point in my life I no longer cared who came into my cage to poke me.

"He gives you a nice rush, makes you feel like superman. You'll get stronger, long term... and stupider too," Khomakov laughed. "He's more of a hired goon's type, if you know what I mean." He gave the boy a disapproving glare, as if it were his fault his drug came with such side effects. "He's a blood donor, but his skin's so damn brittle it cracks if you so much as poke it. As for her-"

He paused, glancing over the girl. She appeared to be sleeping, though she could simply be feigning it to be left alone. The man seemed to come to this conclusion too and opened the door. His boot pressed into her side, moving her, then swore under his breath. Her body shifted, but stayed in the same position, stiff.

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter what she did. Bloody shame, what a waste of money," he huffed. "I was hoping to unload her before she kicked the bucket."

"Mr. Khom?" A small, timid voice spoke up. It took me a moment to realize it came from the boy. "What's wrong with Amber?"

"She's dead."

The boy burst into tears. The man growled at his wailing.

"Shut up!"

The boy stuffed his fists into his mouth, quieting his sobs. His chest heaved as silent tears continued to roll down his cheeks, falling off his chin.

"So, 'fraid I got no skin givers for you," Khomakov said, herding us out of the room and through the playrooms. "Would you be interested in hearing about some of the others?" We stopped in the first of the lounge areas.

The men surrounding us had needles full of red liquid. A few were injecting it in their veins, while several others were passed out on the couches. But I couldn't bring myself to care about them, I was too busy trying to erase the image of the girl laying on the cold floor in the back, to forget about her curly red hair and cute upturned nose.

She reminded me far too much of Alice, and it scared me. It shook me to the core of my heart.

"Well, I really was hoping for a couple of skin givers," Cyrus said. "Say, why don't I front her to you for a few weeks while you find me some. I know they're pretty rare."

Khomakov's black eyes grew as wide, his eyebrows scrunched up close to his hairline. "You would do that? Why?"

"Truth be told, I got a couple of guys asking me to track down skin givers for them, but I don't have your connections. I got lucky stumbling across her, but none of them could afford a fair price, so I figured a trade for some cheaper merchandise would be my best shot at getting my money's worth." He shrugged. "But I don't want her eating my profit while I'm waiting around. Figured that can be your problem."

Khomakov grinned. "Ah, I get it now. Sure thing. Don't you worry, I'm a man of my word."

Cyrus gave a smile in return. "Oh, I'm not worried in the slightest." He twirled his gun around his finger. With that, he stepped out of the train and disappeared into the darkness.

What? He was really leaving me? I fought the panic rising in my chest, the sudden feeling of constriction. I had to trust him. Cerberus trusted him.

But I couldn't see this as anything less than a betrayal.

The moment he was gone, Khomakov descended upon me like a vulture, the goons he spoke of not far behind. "I don't think you'll be needing this down here. It's not all that cold," he said, pulling my winter coat from my limbs. His eyes scanned my leather suit with more appreciation now that the bulky clothing had been removed. "Seems you're all covered up, you can stay up front with us." He shoved me into one of the low-lying tables. The corner caught my shin, causing me to trip and fall on a couch. Now I fought tears of pain as well.

From my new position, I noticed a woman I hadn't seen before. She lay passed out in a reclining chair, a smoking cigarette hanging between her skeletal fingers and several empty syringes scattered around her. My attention was quickly drawn away by the two men sitting down, one on either side of me.

"Well hello there gorgeous, what exactly is it you do?" one cooed, his rotting teeth nearly touching my ear. I swallowed.

I needed to remain calm. Yes, this may be exactly like my life in Askance. Possibly Cyrus had betrayed me. But I suffered through both before, and I hadn't had Cerberus then. I knew the albino would track me down as soon as he discovered I was missing. I just needed him to return from the mountains. This wasn't permanent, a day or two at most. I just needed to wait. In the meantime, I could gain control of the situation.

Deep breath. Steady. Calm, cool, collected, confident. I could do this.

"I make you feel really, really, really good," I purred, leaning in to the one who had spoken. Never mind the fact his teeth were black and yellow, or that his breath reeked more than his clothes. "No catches. Not even an overdose. I've never killed anyone before."

"I don't believe you," the other said, though I could see by his crooked smile he was intrigued by the idea. His skin was broken by open sores and bruises healing in discolored patches.

"Well, why don't you try it yourself, then? Let me prove it to you. If you're brave enough, that is..." I leaned against him. I wondered how many I could get to pass out before they realized what I was up to. But first, I needed him to touch me long enough for that.

I really hoped I wouldn't need to kiss him.

The compartment rocked with a dull thunk. Everyone paused, looking up toward the sound. Another, then two more. Then... silence.

Wood was ripped from the glassless windows. A massive canine head thrust through the splintered opening.

Suddenly, the entire train was rocking with the force of the lycans. They clawed their way in, tearing wood from the metal framing or pushed their way through the narrow doorway. The children screamed. The addicts conscious enough leapt to their feet, grabbing whatever weapons were within reach. A table leg. A knife. A chair. None were a match for the lycans' strength.

The woman and I were the only ones who remained seated, her passed out and me dizzy with relief. They came. The lycans were here.

A flash of white. I looked up, finding my hellish guardian not six feet from me, fur flowing over thickly muscled limbs as he overpowered three humans.

"Cerberus!"

He turned to me and froze. A deep snarl rose in his chest as his upper lip lifted to reveal predatory teeth. Sharp metal pressed to my jugular.

The woman was missing from her chair.

"Stand down, dog," a surprisingly deep, gruff female voice barked. Cerberus growled, but sat down. His haunting eyes followed her movements as she repositioned herself closer to my side. A short knife dug into my skin. "Khomakov's an idiot. I knew the rebellion would draw the new queen underground."

Cerberus stood up, snarling. The blade pressed harder to my throat. "Get back!" she warned. He chuffed, then roared.

A sickly wet clunk. The pressure on the knife relaxed, allowing it to glide harmlessly over my neck. A second clunk, louder and heavier than the first. I chanced glancing back.

Cyrus stood there, saber in hand. The weapon's edge was buried in the wood behind it. Below him, the woman lay, head cut separate from her body.

He glared down at me. "I hope you trust now that I would do anything for you."

"I never-"

"I could see the hurt in your eyes. For someone constantly putting on a show, you're awfully bad at recognizing acting."

I didn't know what to say to that. It was true; this wasn't the first time I had been fooled by my own game. Knowing he had simply been acting a part, working a situation to enact my orders, it changed everything. I wanted to hug him and kiss him.

And poison him to death.

I turned to Cerberus, who dropped back down on all fours. "You're supposed to be in the mountains..." I had to say something or risk looking like a scolded child. It didn't work.

"My Lady." My hellhound gave a nod of his head. "The mountain pass is clear."