by Amy Sumida
“I was fascinated,” Slate went on. “This beautiful woman with the most delicate hands”—he lifted one of my “delicate” hands and kissed it—“was supposed to be one of the most vicious beneathers in our world. Then I saw her kill and knew it was all true.”
Our audience murmured appreciatively; they'd seen me fight too.
“And that was an even greater turn on,” Slate announced.
“I imagine it was with you, you fucking brute,” Drago said affectionately. “But truly, Ms. Elaria, you are breathtaking; in the arena and on the stage.”
“Thank you,” I said even though thanking him for appreciating the way I killed to entertain him left a sour taste in my mouth.
“If you ever tire of the gargoyle, let me know.” Drago winked at me. “I'd even be willing to buy your freedom.”
I blinked in surprise and felt Slate tense beside me. Buy my freedom? If that were possible, I had five men who'd be willing to put up a lot more than this ryū could.
“You're lucky we've known each other for so long, Drago,” Slate said casually, but his silver eyes had turned to steel. “Or you would have found your insides on the outside for that comment. Elaria is not for sale. Not to anyone.” He sent me a look that destroyed my new hope for a peaceful release.
Drago laughed but the other men shifted uneasily. Slate may put on fancy clothes and pretend to be civilized, but Drago was right; Slate Devon is a brute. And brutes don't take kindly to other men flirting with their women.
“Easy now, darling,” I purred as I slid my hand over Slate's phenomenal chest. “No one's going anywhere.”
“I'm glad you're finally accepting that,” Slate rumbled at me.
Beneath my fingers, something tingled, and Slate's frown deepened. I frowned back. What the hell was that? I stared at him suspiciously; that tingle had the distinct feel of magic to it, and we both knew it couldn't have come from me. Slate seemed to reach that same conclusion a few seconds after me, and he shifted his stare around the room. Interesting; so it hadn't come from him either. I slid my gaze over the other beneathers; searching for any hint of magic use from them. I sensed nothing, but that wasn't so surprising; what with that stupid collar around my throat.
“I think it's time that I got my songbird home,” Slate said suddenly. “Please, stay and enjoy yourselves. I'll see you all at the Games tomorrow.”
They murmured startled—and in some cases, knowing—goodbyes as Slate hurriedly escorted me from the room. He kept giving me strange looks as we navigated the club and then even more as we waited for his car to be brought out by the valet. As soon as we were safely inside the Maserati, he turned to me.
“That wasn't me,” Slate said.
“I figured that from the look you gave me.”
“So, what was it? Who was it?”
“I haven't the foggiest. It was just a little zing; maybe it's nothing,” I said despite the unease curling in my belly. “Maybe someone's magic flared, and we caught the overflow.
“Little zings are the beginning of bigger zings,” Slate muttered as he started the car. “And I don't let just anyone zing me.”
I giggled. Slate's eyes shot to mine. He realized what he'd said and then started to laugh with me.
“Perhaps it was nothing,” he agreed.
But as Slate pulled away from the Quarry, another zing ran along my skin; in a circle beneath the silver collar. I bit my lip and held my tongue. If it was coming from me, it could mean that my magic was fighting the restrictions of the collar and the last thing I wanted to do was alert my jailer of the fact. Little zings are the beginning of bigger zings after all.
Freedom might be closer than I expected.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When Slate had so casually said he'd see everyone at the Games, I hadn't realized that meant he'd be hosting another get-together in his private viewing box at the arena. I was, of course, expected to attend.
In a rare show of generosity (insert eye roll here), Slate allowed me to pick out my own dress for the party. I went with black lace over silk; the most modest of the fancy dresses that filled my closet. I felt more like myself in it. Stronger. More confident. I made the rounds on Slate's arm as if I had every right to be there—as if I wanted to be there.
The topic of conversation was the same with every group; the earthquakes. Slate may have kept things hush-hush on that front but his vague explanations of shifting plates and possible new faults didn't fool these beneathers. They knew something was up. Still, they wanted to believe him. They wanted to feel safe even if they weren't. So, they let Slate weaved his lies and speculated behind his back. Surely the Zone Lord would be more upset if it were something terrible.
Then the arena fights began.
They started small; working up to the main event. I didn't watch most of them. I wasn't as bloodthirsty as most people believed. This wasn't my idea of entertainment. Instead, I watched the people in the room. In particular, there was a couple of hooded figures who kept to themselves. I saw the flash of a cellphone camera coming from their direction a couple of times, but I dismissed it as unimportant. Slate didn't seem bothered by them which meant that either they were his employees—taking pictures of people he wanted watched—or they were people he didn't mind watching me. Either way, I had no doubt that he knew exactly what they were up to. He saw everything, after all.
“Here he is; the mighty Cerberus!” The male announcer shouted. “Hound of Hades!”
My attention jerked to the window. I slipped through the crowd and found a spot against the glass. You could see everything from up there; every nuance of Cer's smiling face as he strode out onto the sand. Every bulging muscle as he flexed for his audience. I shook my head with a grin; the idiot was enjoying himself. There wasn't a dog alive who didn't enjoy a good scratch behind the ears, and the hellhound was no exception. He was eating up the adoration.
All Cerberus had on was a narrow piece of fabric wrapped around his hips. He looked like an ad for men's shower gel. His gaze ventured up and found me; his eyes widening before he started to wave happily. I laughed and waved back. I couldn't help it; he was like a deadly puppy.
“My champion is looking good, don't you think?” Slate edged up beside me; forcing me to either squish myself against the window or accept the pressure of his body along mine.
I didn't let myself be squished. “He does. That gorgeous dumb-ass.”
Slate chuckled. “He's built for battle. You can't fault the beast for finding joy in its nature.”
“No; I don't fault the beast.” I turned to look pointedly at him. “Not that one, anyway.”
“Are you going to ask for his freedom again?” Slate tucked a strand of hair behind my ear; focusing on it instead of my glare. “We might be able to come to an arrangement.”
“Slimy, Slate.” I grimaced at him. “Really slimy.”
“I was teasing. We both know that Cerberus won't leave without you.” He kissed my cheek and lingered long enough to whisper. “We're being watched, Spellsinger; remember your role.”
I don't know what came over me. I suppose I just cracked. All that weird attention; the constant false affection. The clothes. The makeup. This ridiculous charade. I wanted something real; an honest response from him.
I caught Slate around the waist and used my body to shove him against the glass. As his eyes widened in surprise, I pressed myself against him, grabbed the back of his neck, and pulled his mouth to mine. It was more violent than enticing; an angry press of flesh and teeth. His tongue pushed its way into my mouth. I tasted blood and it wasn't mine. But Slate's arms wrapped around me instantly and lifted me deeper into the kiss. He was groaning. No; growling. He licked at the blood as if fighting me for it and then tangled his tongue with mine. I tore my mouth away from his and stared at him; the both of us panting.
“How's that?” I snapped. “Was I believable?”
“I believed you,” Slate whispered; his eyes gone serious.
Sla
te slowly slid me down his body; setting me gently on my feet. I realized with a guilty flinch that the fight was already happening behind him. The entire wall of windows was lined with Slate's guests; their eyes darting from Cerberus' show to ours. Several smiled at me knowingly before returning their attention to the giant, three-headed dog in the arena and his victim.
My face flushed as I pushed at Slate's arm until he moved enough for me to catch a glimpse of my best friend tearing a wendigo in two. Body parts and blood went flying as the crowd roared. I scowled at it; my gut twisting at the carnage and the delight of the beneathers watching it.
As Cerberus roared in victory, I turned away and hurried to the bathroom; the private one in my bedroom. I didn't want any of the guests hammering on the door and—
“Elaria?” Slate's voice carried through the bathroom door as I heard him shut the bedroom one.
“Damn it! Can't I get a few minutes to myself?” I growled.
Silence. It went on long enough that I was certain he'd left. I sighed in relief and splashed cold water on my face.
“It's only blood,” I whispered to my reflection. “Just another death; one among thousands. Let it go, Elaria. That beneather signed up for this. He knew he'd be fighting Cer. Let it go.”
But damn it; I had so many new faces to add to my list of sins; Laestrygonian, Gorgon, Dybbuk, Troll, Riksha it went on and on. Now, I was gathering Cerberus' victims too. Purging myself was one thing, but this was becoming torture. I had to find a happy medium. A happy medium between being numb and being a fucking pussy.
I choked back a sob.
A soft click startled me. I yanked open the bathroom door and found an empty room. But I had a feeling that it hadn't been empty for as long as I'd thought.
“Fuck.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I have no idea how much of my little self-rally session Slate had heard, but he didn't mention anything to me on the ride to the Quarry later that night.
After the fights had finished, he'd asked me to change into something sexier. I had to admit that the dress I'd worn to his little soiree wasn't appropriate for singing in a nightclub. I put on a slinky gray number with slits in the sides so high that it came with a matching pair of silk shorts to wear underneath. I figured that Slate couldn't damage it as he had the other dress and it had the added protection of the shorts. Not that I intended to get into another hallway altercation with him.
The Zone Lord was strangely distant after we arrived at the Quarry. We were late because of the guests at the arena; several of whom had followed us to the nightclub. He had a waitress settle them in his private lounge while he walked me backstage. How many days was he going to entertain these people? Right; the earthquakes. The questions. The fake romance. Slate wanted to keep the Zone calm and focused on his new girlfriend instead of the earthquakes. The best way to do that was to give the top beneathers a good show. The gossip would trickle down from them.
“It's fucking packed tonight, Boss!” Eli exclaimed as we strode down the hallway toward him.
“Indeed,” Slate murmured. “Take care of her.”
Eli looked at me with wide eyes. “Um; yeah. Sure. I got Elaria's music ready and waiting. She gave me a list last time.”
“Binx will be posted outside the hallway; he has orders that only I am allowed back here tonight,” Slate went on. “If you see anyone else coming down this hallway, grab Elaria and get into the control room.”
“Yes, Sir,” Eli whispered.
“What the fuck is going on, Devon?” I hissed.
“I'm having a disagreement with a couple of gentlemen. It's being handled.” Slate squeezed my hand. “You're fine; get out there and sing.”
“Who's Binx?”
“My brother.”
“You have a brother named Binx?” I asked in shock. “Your parents must have been some interesting people.”
Slate's shoulders shook a little as he turned away, but he didn't let the laughter loose, and he didn't say anything more. I scowled at him as he stomped down the hallway. The stone thudded under his boot heels.
“You in trouble?” Eli asked me.
“Always.” I winked at him.
Eli gave a little relieved laugh but his eyes remained worried. “Well, you heard him; get out there. They've been waiting for you.”
The dance floor was already full of eager bodies; restlessly moving to whatever Eli had been playing as they waited for me to give them what they really wanted. The music they needed to be able to gyrate all their troubles away. The song ended and faded into silence. I stepped out onto the stage and every face there turned to me eagerly. Two seconds later, they were shouting and clapping.
“Well, this is a surprise,” I said into the microphone.
They laughed; the ones closest to me calling out encouragement and praise.
“You know; I haven't done a lot of singing simply to entertain people. I mean; the non-bloody kind of entertainment.”
The crowd laughed, but I saw Slate tense; his head shifting to stare at me over his shoulder. His back was to me. I'm not sure if it was deliberate. He was speaking to Susan—the kitsune. But something I said had caught his attention. Slate held up a hand to her as I went on.
“This has been special, and I'm honored that you've come out to share the experience with me.” I smiled brightly. “I even have a song just for you, my new underground friends.”
I winked, and they went wild. Slate smirked at me and went back to talking to Susan. Oh, really, Zone Lord? You think you can ignore me? We'll see how long that works for you.
The clapping, frantic intro of Julian Moon's “Pomegranate Seeds” started; revving up the Quarry's energy in seconds. Beneathers started bouncing on their heels; their excitement already at an explosive level. Then I started to sing.
As soon as I mentioned the Devil, the women shrieked in delight, and Slate glanced at me again. He tried to turn away further, but Susan slid around him and moved toward the window. Slate obligingly followed.
The song was obviously about Persephone and Hades; how he kidnapped her and took her to the Underworld. But there was a twist on the old story; a hint that Persephone had turned things around on her captor and wrapped the powerful Hades around her little finger. Instead of becoming a slave to the God of the Underworld, she had become his queen.
I loved this song. It came closest to the truth. Persephone and Hades were family friends; I knew their story as well as I knew my own. Their myth was wrong; there had been no abduction. They had loved each other from the very start. If anyone had done any stealing, it was Persephone taking Hades' heart. But I wasn't singing to set the record straight. I was sending the Zone Lord another message. I couldn't seem to stop.
I stared up at Slate as I sang about getting my way in the end; about the power a woman has that a man can never take away from her. His eyes heated like those of Hades himself and his chin lifted in challenge. I smiled brightly back. Keep playing with me, Zone Lord, and you'll find out what the blood of a siren can do for a girl. Sirens were the ultimate seducers, but once you gave in to their call, you were dead.
That is; unless you were strong enough to survive their song.
Slate's stare clearly expressed his opinion on his own strength. But the way he turned on his heel and strode off in the middle of my song told me another story. The Zone Lord was getting spooked.
Then I saw them; the hooded figures that had been at the arena party. Slate wasn't spooked; he was distracted. Was this the disagreement he'd mentioned? Were these the men he was protecting me from? He stalked over to them and began a heated conversation. The way he jerked his hands and scowled reminded me of another argument I'd witnessed. The one that had nearly cost me my life.
I smiled wider; working the crowd and celebrating the music with them as I shot glances up at the trio. The hoods. The flashes of a camera. Slate's brother guarding me. It all led to one conclusion; these men wanted me dead. Why? Who the fuck were they? My bo
dy shivered with raging curiosity and a touch of fear. I was helpless here. If someone wanted to assassinate me, this would be a perfect time.
But I hid my anxiety under smiles and songs as I continued to entertain Slate's customers through two, hour-long sets. Slate had determined that three sets were too much for me, and he was right. No one should have to do three hours of singing; not even an immortal. But the crowd was hungry and demanding. I was barely able to gulp down some water between sets. When the second hour was over, they pounded their feet and shouted until I gave in and sang one more song.
And I was glad I did. Because near the end of the song, a woman fought her way to the stage. She waved her arms wildly—like everyone else—but something about her caught my eye. Her blonde hair was slicked back in a ponytail and there wasn't a lick of makeup on her. She gleamed purely among the painted throng.
Sara.
I nearly said her name into the microphone; I was so damn shocked to see my Shining One friend. Sara beamed at me as I sashayed over to her. I crouched down as if I were singing to her, and she flung her hand up to me like a fan. I grabbed it frantically and felt her slide something into my palm. She winked at me and disappeared into the crowd.
I tucked the paper into my cleavage and finished the song. As I sang, I searched the audience for any other familiar faces. My heart pounded. Was Torin there? Declan? Was I moments away from being in their arms? If I saw one of them, I'd fling myself from the stage and take my chances with the damn collar. I had enough confidence in their abilities to know they'd get me out alive. Damn; I hadn't realized just how much I'd missed them until that very moment—my eyes strayed up to Slate—and just how much I resented the Zone Lord for keeping me from them.
Slate looked down as if he'd felt my anger, and his forehead creased in curiosity. He even cocked his head, but I looked away. As soon as I had met Slate's gaze, a tingle had gone through me and my anger had faded. I tried to access my magic but nothing came; the collar was holding strong. Come on tingles! This would be an awesome time to short out my collar! But my magic remained smothered, and I didn't see any of my men.
