The guards milling at the alley did a double take as he and Ainayl strolled down the pitch black, empty street towards them. None of the dirty faces were familiar, but all of them held a menacing air born out of desperation.
Newly hired muscle, but green, Apoch noted, taking in their scrawny builds as they brandished newly acquired weapons threateningly. He might’ve worried about them hurting themselves if they continued their ridiculous display, but that would mean he actually cared.
Ainayl had remained behind him, but in his field of view out of respect after Apoch had extracted the brute and Salas’ remains from the whore house. He hadn’t mentioned his relief at the Warlord coming voluntarily, but it wasn’t a far flung notion to assume Dek had been taking it out on his hide that Apoch had refused to return.
Inside more of the hired gang members loitered, a few approaching him to confiscate his weapons and do a full, though not thorough pat-down to check for more blades. With a nod from one of their seniors they stepped back, and Apoch turned to Ainayl expectantly.
“I’ll guard your weapons, Warlord,” he responded without having to be asked, offering a deferential nod of his thick skull.
“That’s the Warlord?” One of the urchins whispered to an older brother as Apoch passed them. “He doesn’t look that scary to me.”
Apoch stilled, and every person in that room stepped back, preparing in their own way for bloodshed. The threat lingered in the air long after he continued past, that relieved silence broken by the sound of the youth who had run his mouth being cuffed upside the head. Hard.
Dek had not invited Apoch into his office previously, and yet he knew where it was regardless. Opening the door he sauntered in without knocking, glancing at the two other souls that occupied the room as he took seat in front of the massive desk.
Leaning against the wall to Dek’s right was a female dressed in fighting leathers, two wicked swords strapped to her hips. Her piebald braided hair was sleep-mussed, expression irritated and impatient as she glared at him. She was short, but muscles were visible everywhere her skin was exposed.
Occupying the only other chair was a male larger than even Apoch, his pose casual. Thin dreadlocks bleached to sepia fell to wide shoulders, his yellow-toned eyes full of cunning. Dark brown and subtle green dappled his skin, his facial structure too sharp to be human.
Both of them screamed danger.
Ignoring the posturing, Apoch tossed the bagged skull onto the desk as a greeting.
“Imi,” Dek pondered, tilting his head as he studied Apoch with narrowed eyes, ignoring the gory trophy. “What did we do to the last arrogant shit who decided his balls were bigger than his brains?”
“Locked him in a cell with his children and that prized breeder he was smitten over, I believe. Let them starve for a few weeks before butchering her in front of them, then served her up slow roasted with a side of vegetables. Potatoes and leeks if I recall. They gobbled her up like little piggies.”
Apoch grunted, clearly unimpressed. “Speaking of which, I’m hungry. It’s rather rude to let your guest of honor starve.”
Dek’s features darkened, motioning to the other two. “Our guest of honor,” he mocked sourly. “Is the new gang boss of the city, King.”
“King?” Apoch repeated sardonically, glancing to the other warrior who gave a nonplussed shrug.
“The boys chose it, not me,” he explained, the chair creaking as he shifted his muscled bulk.
“King has big plans, ones we’ve allied over. Now that the territories have been consolidated under his rule, he’s graciously accepted my invite to attend this meeting.”
Apoch had not looked away from King as Dek explained his presence, and he watched as a smile that promised forthcoming pain stretched his elfin features. Apoch knew it was not bravado, and he returned it in kind.
“You think you still have power, Warlord? You’re no one any more. A failed General that was only that because Zidaii thought you were something special.”
Apoch let him have his moment to gloat before he turned his attention to Imi, and boredly commanded, “leave us.”
Dek gave a laugh that abruptly cut off as Imi pushed off the wall and headed for the door without sparing them a second glance.
“You too, Bune,” Apoch added, addressing King by his true, given name.
He too, complied without hesitation.
The soft click of the door was perilous as they were left alone.
Soundless tension stretched out, thinning to an anxiety-ridden precipice as Dek processed the betrayals and scrambled for a means to regain control over what had become a deadly situation for him.
“Did you really think,” Apoch began in a tone of lethal calm, canting his head as he studied the growing uncertainty in Dek’s eyes. “That you could purchase what blood had already bought?”
Dek squirmed uneasily, weighing his survival odds before capitulating, his posture wilting. “Look, you publicly snubbed me. I couldn’t let that slide; any sign of weakness and I’d be gutted. You know I could’ve sent more muscle to drag you in, it was simply for show. You have to know this is true.”
A contemptuous smile ghosted Apoch’s lips. “Which is why you’re not bleeding all over this gaudy carpet, and instead we’re having a discussion.”
“And is that what this is?” Dek hedged, trying to keep the edge of desperation out of his voice. “A discussion?”
“It could be, depending on the answer you give,” Apoch drawled, letting the threat hang in the air.
“You’re one of the oldest of us; centuries old, if the rumors are true. Chosen specifically by Zidaii after he brokered our freedom, you helped establish the foundation of the slaving operations.”
The slave master choked down his surprise that Apoch had knowledge of a part of his past very few knew, suspicion crossing his features at the subject matter.
“It isn’t that hard to believe, then, that the Warchief also put Salas into place as Lord Saurel. As a spy perhaps, or to have some influence in the machinations of The Pact’s human counterparts.
“But something happened, something changed, didn’t it? We went from controlling the terms through fear and intimidation to our authority being undermined until it was nonexistent. The power shifted to the greedy, self-centered humans who have forgotten why the Pact is in place to begin with. Zidaii survived a lot— centuries of slavery and battles too great to be numbered— yet he couldn’t survive the one thing he never expected; betrayal from within.”
He let the amicable mask fall, letting the other male see the murderer that existed at his core. “And then there’s you. You’ve been very, very good at surviving where others have failed, Dekarabia.”
Dek stilled at hearing his true, demonic name. Somehow, Apoch knew the truth— that he was not a cambion, but a full-blooded demon. Apoch’s race had succeeded in nearly obliterating his kind, and had continued to develop those skills against the Archfiends. Despite his earlier taunts, Dekarabia knew regardless of eschewing the title or not, he was currently being addressed by The Warlord.
Which meant this wasn’t discussion at all; it was a sentence.
“It’s interesting that when I told you I had found Salas, you didn’t ask how I had come across that knowledge. Do you want to know now, who double-crossed all of you?”
Apoch leaned forward and rose slowly, approaching his desk and placing both palms upon the top, as if it were his own.
“The assassin, right before I slit her throat.”
“I can give you anything you desire,” Dek opened with, a tremor running through hands wadded uselessly in his lap.
“The name of every demon, cambion and human presiding over The Pact.”
The male recoiled in horror, a thousand excuses and pleas flashing across his features before the storm of emotion settled onto the one Apoch was afraid it would come down to: silent resignation.
The same expression Salas had worn to the very end.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“So be it,” he seethed, and Dek didn’t put up a fight either as his sentence was executed.
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“I don’t understand,” Imi repeated again.
Apoch stared up at the ceiling, mesmerized by the dried blood spatters the servants had failed to notice when they had cleaned up his mess.
He had bathed again, every inch of him scrubbed with fine horse-bristle brushes and masculine soap, his skin luminous from the oil that had been poured and kneaded into it. Not a trace of Dek’s blood remained on him, not even under his nail beds.
Yet he could still smell it. Years and years of blood of every kind. Demon. Cambion. Human.
“Warlord,” Imi’s voice cut through his thoughts, focused his attention back to the present.
“It means,” he began sluggishly, closing his eyes to study the inverse pattern on the back of his eyelids. “That Dek was intentionally restricting us of breeders. And if he was considered the Favored— the most successful slaver trader here— then at this rate our kind will be extinct within the next century. Maybe less.”
“He didn’t even try to hide it,” Bune added, his voice a steadfast cadence that Apoch had always found soothing. Gone was the obnoxious swagger, leaving a quietly confident male whose mind was as sharp as his fighting skills. “At this rate he should’ve been losing money, yet his coffers have only grown.”
“Investments, perhaps?” Imi asked, her voice altering directions towards Bune.
“It’s possible,” Bune hedged dubiously. “I’d need to look into this more, get access to all his financial records, but I’m leaning more towards bribery.”
“What’s your gut feeling say?”
Apoch puffed a laugh that went unnoticed as his two veteran companions carried on. When he was Warlord, his closest advisors and officers had been those whom he had fought with, suffered with, bled with. The ties that bound them together ran deep, and so when he had abandoned the warfront, they had left with him without question. Imi and Bune had been two of those warriors, and when he had asked of them favors, neither had hesitated to take on their assignments.
They had been working on this for years, and now all he could focus on was her. Strange how fate had dropped a little human into his life as the reality of their race’s survival came into question. She was the catalyst that had sprung the trap Apoch had been carefully building, but now he wondered if it had all happened too soon.
Or too late.
As he dragged a breath in he caught the faintest hint of what he had been unconsciously searching for; amber and vanilla. Like it had indeed bonded to his sinuses. Distracting him from the pervasive iron, from the chronic frustration he had been in a constant state of. Distracting him from the current conversation and its larger issue.
What’s your gut feeling say?
“How much do either of you know about The Pact?” Apoch broke in, lowering his head and opening his eyes to catch the two share a glance at the abrupt shift in subject.
“That it was a truce Zidaii brokered before we could win the war against the humans.”
He nodded absently, sucking his lower lip in-between his fangs as he gathered his thoughts. “A decent summary, but not exactly.”
“Zidaii had his beginnings as a warrior-slave to the humans first king, Janius, nearly five hundred years ago. The Warlocks, who were on the losing side of the first mage war, had enslaved the first of our kind and conscripted them to fight against the demons. It was no real loss if we were killed, but to their surprise, we were good at battle. Very good.
“The humans got complacent, letting Zidaii’s battalion wander further into the forgotten lands once the demons had been exterminated from near the newly established Tzarren City. Away from the tethers of their Warlock masters, Zidaii found more of our kind while continuing the genocide. He built an army through alliances with the wild tribes as the humans expanded their city and began their precious wall across the narrow peninsula.
“On the day the last brick was laid in fresh mortar, Zidaii returned. Only the few hundred Cambion that he had been dispatched out with had grown into the thousands. The Warlocks knew that while they might be able to control some, that many was well out of their capability.
“Faced with such odds, the humans agreed to Zidaii’s terms; that as a free people, they would continue to be the forward shield against the still-present demon threats, in exchange for a tithing of women every year to replenish our ranks that were lost in battle.
“The treaty nearly fell apart then and there, when he demanded payment immediately. King Janius was brash, and Zidaii knew better than to trust his word. The only human he did trust was a Captain by the name of Isenius, whom boldly left the false safety of the wall to promise Zidaii the tithe would be fulfilled while his King and country watched on.
“He was to deliver them personally in a few months. Only the next time Zidaii saw Isenius, it was at the head of the Royal Army as newly appointed Commander.”
“So he was betrayed by his only human friend,” Imi concluded, tapping the armrest of her chair in irritated judgement.
Apoch paused, brows scrunching together as he looked away from the two, lost in the memories of Zidaii’s ruminations. How the old male had always been nostalgic rather than embittered when he talked of those times.
“One of the clans who had joined Zidaii had been obsessed with the art of murder. The original creators of the infamous House of Shadow; my Masters,” he spat that final word venomously, upper lip peeling back from his canines in revulsion. “Became Zidaii’s most lethal weapons, targeting the Warlocks attached to King Janius’s army. They were the biggest threat to us, he had said.”
“Not Commander Isenius and his officers?” Bune queried, and Apoch pointed at him, giving credit for voicing what seemed to be a critical oversight in any strategy of war.
“Yet we still ‘won’. Conveniently for all, the last of the Warlocks were exterminated, and Commander Isenius was allowed to retreat with the remnants of his army.”
“Whoah whoah, wait. Wait,” Imi interrupted, jerking to the edge of her seat in disbelief. “You’re telling us Zidaii had the humans by the throat for a second time, and just let them go again?” She scoffed, tossing her head as she added: “Were he and Isenius lovers?”
“The Pact wasn’t a treaty, it’s an alliance,” Bune mused aloud, piecing together the little hints Apoch had been giving over the history lesson.
His eyes widened, focus snapping back to the Warlord. “Dek?”
“Dek was not a Cambion. His demonic name was Dekarabia, and he was one of the first Zidaii tasked to establish the slave trades for our kind.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Bune mumbled, pinching the bridge of his aquiline nose as he wilted in his chair. Imi looked like she had been gut-punched.
Not all demons had been eradicated, some had been smart enough to know their odds of survival if they did not join their offspring, like the nightmare demon Bune had used to contact him with. They were few in number and easily identified, or so they had believed.
The idea they could hide- no, were hiding in plain sight was nearly impossible to believe, but what was even more preposterous was the notion of an alliance between the humans and demons— their literal mortal enemies.
“Were you ever going to disclose you had me maneuver into position to be second for a fucking demon?”
With intentional slowness, Apoch turned his entire focus onto Imi at the insubordinate tone. The female visibly flinched, gaze dropping to the floor in submission.
“I had assumed our side of this had been losing power to the humans,” Apoch continued, ignoring her biting remark. He tapped the financial ledger before him. “But maybe that wasn’t the case after all.”
“You were his second, Imi,” Bune tried carefully, dropping his hand to assess her.
Apoch observed the way Imi scowled at the gentle accusation. “He wasn’t exactly forthcoming, since apparently he was an immortal who had no plans on going anywhere.”
“Zidaii never opened up about any of this either,” Apoch offered, dissipating the tension between them all. Imi looked back up to him with a new appreciation for his conflict.
He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the freshly waxed desk. “If he didn’t include you in his plans, then there’s a chance whatever this organization he and Zidaii were affiliated with might. Mind you they may not, but I’m hoping if you continue like nothing has changed with Dek’s passing they will, because I’m running out of threads to unravel. I need you to stay, but you also need to understand what I’m asking; your loyalty to the death.”
“You’ve always had it, Warlord,” she replied without hesitation, her eyes hardening with resolve. They both knew what life he had saved her from all that time ago, and though Apoch had never perceived it as a debt, she did.
He gave a short nod, shifting to Bune. “Then I need you here as well. If they do contact Imi and it goes sideways, you’re her out, and also her line of communication. Continue this charade as King.”
Bune threw his head back and laughed. “What makes you think it’s a charade?”
That gave him pause. Apoch had never asked Bune about his past, it was one of those unspoken rules to not pry unless it was offered. Now, though, he wondered if Bune had once been a little gutter rat himself, barely above an animal as he did anything to survive before showing up to join their ranks in the desert.
Perhaps he was building the family he never had growing up.
“Then it’s settled,” he finished, pushing to his feet and heading for the door. “I’ll be back within a month. If something happens before then, send that nightmare demon you’ve got in your employ, Bune.”
“What aren’t you telling us,” Imi asked quietly. Apoch froze with his hand on the knob, turning his head just enough to regard them out of the corner of his eye.
“If we’re in as deep as you say we are,” she added. “I think we have a right to know.”
There was no valid reason not to tell them the truth about the girl, neither one had ever betrayed him. Yet he hesitated, blood thrumming as he weighed disclosing his personal ordeal. He knew they would have his back and would not judge, but the less that knew about her at the present, the better. He would tell them later on, but not now, not yet.
He prowled out of the room and closed the door behind him gently.
Bune rubbed at his chin in thought before those wolfish eyes slid to Imi. “Well, that was interesting.”
Imi tilted her head in agreement, lips pursed. “I’ve never seen him that distracted before, that restless. Any ideas?”
He grunted noncommittally, thinking back to the day Apoch had returned from hunting down the bitch assassin who had killed Zidaii, her head dangling by dirty, tangled locks in his grasp. He had looked so troubled, so lost. Everyone had assumed it had been because of the murder of his mentor, but now Bune wondered if it had been because Apoch had somehow caught wind of The Warchief’s secret, darker dealings.
The last time he had seen Apoch this conflicted, their whole world had changed with him too.
It was a good thing then, that he was preparing should the worst happen this time around.