Shay snatched back her gardening shears. They were supposed to be her secret defense weapon.

--not that they were proving useful. They were being practically ignored by a toothy Croatian guy. It’d probably be the same against toothy vampires, too. But they were all she had!

There was a huge misunderstanding going on. Her employee pin was obviously Tyvan’s-- but it was crazy-important to a degree she had seriously underestimated. It was also the same pin she tried to return to him. Why was he so insistent that she keep it?

Shay took in a deep, shaky, breath. Just a misunderstanding. To get out of danger, she just had to clear it up. So as terrified as she was, she tried to speak slowly-- calm and clear.

“W-where is Tyvan?”

He was somewhere in the building-- he had to be! There was a meeting! He’d vouch for her, for sure!

Dajik snorted a short laugh before giving another order. One of his men walked over to the curtain, drawing it open.

There were two guys at the other end of the room. And she recognized them both.

They were bound, blindfolded, and gagged. The black person was tied to a chair. His friend had his wrists chained to the ceiling, his face and sandy-blonde hair wet with blood.

The boys she saw at Heidi’s nursery...

“You are good in speaking,” Dajik said, “You make good choice.”

With a snap of his fingers, the thug took a metal rod and swung it at the blonde boy’s leg.

It broke-- it surely broke. It bent at an unnatural angle while the boy twisted and writhed and screamed a muffled scream.

Shay opened her mouth to cry-- to yell out. All she managed was a breathless gasp and the sting of burning-hot tears in her eyes.

“But vukòdlak,” Dajik said. “Ah, what is English? --werewolf make wrong choice. But still good. Many bones to break. Many songs to hear.”

Were... wolf?

Shay watched in horror as the blonde boy’s leg started to mend. Dull cracking noises, the bending and mending of flesh. The boy took in deep breaths, still twitching.

His leg was still red and swollen, but it had returned to its unbroken shape.

The black guy bit at his cloth gag, snarling and trying to get free. His chest seems to swell-- his legs too, stretching and tearing up his skinny jeans. But he couldn’t do anything with how tightly he was bound.

Dajik returned his grinning gaze to her, filled with a promise of violence.

“You are thief. And you are liar. What song will you sing?”

“I’m not a thief,” Shay cried, “and-- and I’m sorry!! I didn’t know!”

She didn’t even know what she was apologizing for. For using the Song family name? For looking for Tyvan? For her stupid fake ID that was absolutely not worth 20 dollars?!

She clutched her gardening shears in both hands. Breaths short. Heart pounding. Her entire body shaking.

“How did you get snake?” Dajik asked, his voice lower and quieter... “ANSWER!”

“T-tyvan! He gave it to me. I swear!”

“No,” Dajik sneered. “Only Mister Valorum uses golden snake.”

“It’s-- it’s true,” Shay sobbed-- “he really did.”

She shut her eyes. She pushed herself against the couch cushions. She hid her face behind her arms.

Dajik gave another order.

And Shay.

Felt.

So...

Sorry.

“Stani!”

The room suddenly went quiet. What Dajik said... did it mean ‘stop’?

Shay slowly opened her eyes.

The shears in her hands...

--they were... glowing?

The soft light didn’t even last another two seconds, fading away entirely as if she was imagining it.

But when she looked up, Dajik’s two thugs had their backs to the wall, staring with wide eyes.

Dajik leaned over, still smiling, but not with his eyes.

“So you tell truth. Maybe say sooner?”

----------------------------------------

Meanwhile, Tyvan Valorum had an odd feeling.

He did not appreciate odd feelings.

Likely, something was transpiring that he was about to find decidedly tiresome. Hopefully, it wouldn’t ruin the rest of his evening...

He excused himself from his companions and walked into the hallway.

...and he stopped in front of the room that smelled the most like blood.

Was the violence yet ongoing or was it merely negligence?

He politely rapped on the door.

“Šta sad??!” came the gruff response.

The voice belonged to the public house’s owner, Davor-- who commonly went by the affectionate diminutive, ‘Dajik’.

“Good evening, Mister Jurić,” Tyvan said. “Is there a problem?”

The door opened to an open-armed Dajik, smiling as if he had cause for great celebration.

“Mister Va-LOR-um!” he said, “Good, good. I have girl!”

Tyvan stepped into the room... and, with great confusion, beheld the sniveling form of Yan Xue, sitting on one of Dajik’s filthy couches. The entirety of her being was awash with the scent of fear.

“What in the seven hells are you d--”

The child attempted to leap across the room, banging her knees on the low table.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Tyvan caught her. Oddly enough, that expunged his desire for abject violence.

She was distraught. He considered depositing her back onto a couch, but he was highly doubtful that the furniture covers were properly sanitised.

“Is good!” Dajik said, “New pup, good for tribe. Many years since new pup.”

“Such is not the case, dear friend,” Tyvan shook his head, “Yan Xue is not part of ❴The Kingdom❵.”

“No?” Dajik frowned, “Is not or is not yet?”

Tyvan glanced down at the miserable girl crying into his expensive jacket. It was inappropriate to discuss her station with her present.

Why was she present?

Dajik’s establishment had a minimum age requirement for entering.

But to make her stop crying...

“Dajik, get this girl something to eat... something... that girls like.”

Rings. Did Dajik’s kitchen serve onion rings?

“Oh, you are on good luck,” the bar owner grinned. “Special treat, today only.”

He spoke excitedly to one of his guards, who immediately left the room.

“Tyvan,” Shay whimpered, “I want to go home.”

Yes, that would do. He was tempted to take her back to Elysium, himself. Unfortunately, he still had business matters that needed to be discussed.

Kingdom matters.

Yan Xue was no part of that and would never be.

“Leaving too soon!” Dajik chuckled, “We have wolf song to hear!”

Tyvan tilted his head. Then he glanced over to the opposite side of the room.

Interesting.

The two non-threats sitting on the chairs were, in fact, captives held in restraints. One had already been subjected to torture. And despite both being members of ❴Sleeping Forest❵, neither belonged specifically to a wolf bloodline.

“Brother-Dajik,” he said, “I’m assuming those are deserving of their situation?”

“Da,” came Dajik’s instant response.

“Don’t let this get back to me.”

“My lips are being sealed,” Dajik said, smiling proudly.

That somehow sounded incorrect, but Tyvan couldn’t explain exactly why that was.

“Tyvan,” Shay whispered. “Can you do something about them?”

Tyvan grimaced deeply, “What? Why?”

“Just... it’s not right,” she said.

“Is right,” Dajik said, chuckling. “One lie, one bReAk bone!”

“Broken bone, Dajik,” Tyvan corrected. That was the proper English phrasing. He knew that much.

Dajik nodded readily, “Ohh, oh’kay.”

He snapped his fingers and his guard lifted up a snapped section of rebar.

Yan Xue frantically pulled at Tyvan’s sleeve.

“Tyvan, make him stop!” she cried.

“Stop what?”

A muffled cry of pain made Tyvan glance over. The hanging young man had suffered a strike to their knee-cap.

Ahhh. Hmmm...

“He’ll be fine,” Tyvan assured her.

“Such is not the case, Mister Valorum!” Dajik countered, “We break every bone. We go to bay. We throw into sea. Mirno more!”

“Worry not, Yan Xue,” Tyvan said, “Many members of the Pack are aquatic by nature.”

“Not vukòdlak!” Dajik laughed. “We use towel and pour water on face. Is war crime!”

Seven hells...

Tyvan took a deep breath. Yan Xue was obviously displeased by the impending deaths of the two young pack members. And, despite the rudeness of the notion, he was in a unique position that he could avert such fates.

He let out a frustrated sigh. “Dajik, the sins accrued by those two-- can they be forgiven?”

“Oh! Oh, yes,” Dajik grinned. “We play game! Life or death game!”

Hm. Tyvan liked games.

“Tyvan,” Yan Xue whispered, “he’s trying to trick you.”

“Tricks are a common mechanic of play in modern games,” he replied.

“No tricks,” Dajik said. “We play head or back-of-head!”

He revealed a large but common coin.

“That’s... not a game,” Tyvan frowned.

“Is game!” Dajik insisted, “Penalty if lose.”

“Tyvan~” Yan Xue mewled.

Tyvan took his handkerchief out of his breast pocket, placed it on the cleaner-looking couch, and sat her down.

“I’m doing this for your benefit,” he said-- “or... so I believe.”

And so Dajik began explaining the rules for his game... which was interrupted by the timely arrival of delicious snacks.

Spiced dough balls, savoury and a little sweet. Freshly fried.

By that time, Yan Xue had stopped crying-- but she still appreciated them nonetheless.

Dajik had excellent taste.

Unfortunately, as a result, Tyvan had ignored most of Dajik’s explanations. A gaudy glass cup with a purple liquid had been moved to the low table-- the reason for its presence, unknown to him.

By then, Dajik had flipped his coin several times. He adamantly explained that the first few flips were a precursor to the actual game. Then, he insisted that the game could only be won by the first player to score 5 of 9... then 6 of 11 and so on.

“What’s happening?” Yan Xue asked Tyvan in a quiet voice, “Are you using magic?”

“No?” Tyvan frowned.

It was an odd notion. Why would any degree of magic be appropriate for a dull and overly simplistic penalty game?

Finally, Dajik tossed his coin across the room and began to flip a couch cushion-- then a familiar pair of... gardening shears?

The last of the spiced dough balls were consumed.

“I enjoyed these,” Tyvan said, “What are they called?”

Dajik turned up from flipping his subordinate’s shoe, his confused frown replaced by an honest smile.

“You like fritule?” he said, “Special recipe. Family recipe! Is Croatian festival food!”

“It’s good,” Yan Xue said.

Tyvan nodded in thought, “I can’t decide if it’s better than what you usually serve-- pala...činke, was it?”

“Palačinke, yes!” Dajik said, “Palačinke is favorite Croatian dessert.”

“Can we go home now?” Yan Xue asked.

Tyvan took a breath and nodded, “Yes, of course. Dajik, have these young men set free. Eventually. And alive.”

“One more coin flip?” Dajik asked, wringing his hands and smiling innocently.

“Another time,” Tyvan waved.

He picked up the glass on the table and drained it. It had an unfamiliar, bitter flavour.

“Odd... what kind of alcohol was that?”

Dajik grimaced, making the knife-scars on his face look even deeper than usual.

“Was Wolfsbane poison,” he said. “Was punishment for game.”

“Did I... lose?” Tyvan asked.

“No?” Dajik said, “But maybe you die soon? Sorry. I send flowers.”

“...No,” Tyvan said calmly, “I don’t think I will-- but I’m grateful for the sentiment.”

“Tyvan!” Shay said frantically-- ah, she was crying again. “Tyvan, you have to purge!”

“I’m not going to do that,” he replied.

“Use staff bathroom?” Dajik suggested, “Very clean.”

That was nearly a lie. But the notion of ‘clean’ was subjective.

“And you,” Tyvan glared, “Why did you try to poison me?”

“Ah, sorry, sorry,” Dajik chuckled. “I make more fritule. Kuća časti~! It is on a house.”

Hm. That seemed fair.

“I’ll forgive you on account of our friendship,” Tyvan said. “Come now, Yan Xue. I’ll have Briar Rose send you home.”