Master

by R Phoenix

  If the name Isaiah meant something to a sycophant like the Butcher — or perhaps that was just an act — then he should’ve been aware of the mad seer. Though what he would think of Liam’s consorting with the vampiress remained to be seen.

  “You wanted this?” Azrael continued to ask, his surprise becoming more and more apparent.

  Liam didn’t like the brazen little milk-fang.

  The Butcher seemed to be aware that his companion wasn’t being polite. “Lady Desideria does incredible work,” the man himself said with an appreciative nod as he regarded the pup. “No blood magic in the world can do something like this.” He sounded impressed, but Liam wasn’t certain he was buying the praise.

  Still, it was an effort to be friendly, supportive even, and Liam could appreciate that.

  Isaiah did make a face then, making his disapproval more than known.

  Liam shot him a cautionary look. It wasn’t a matter to speak of in front of guests, let alone when they should’ve been showing a unified front. Liam continued to stroke the fur along Caleb’s spine, but his pup remained tense, uncertain. “My slave’s blood is particularly sweet,” he remarked. “But if you are not comfortable…”

  Azrael did not look comfortable. “That’s quite all right. I wouldn’t want to impose.” The vampire glanced at the Butcher, who crouched down to Caleb’s level just then, clapping his hands together to invite his pup over — clearly less bothered than his associate.

  Caleb cast a wary look up at Liam, who nodded to him.

  “Did you pick him for that?” the Butcher asked, no venom in the words like he’d come to expect when his sire spoke of Caleb. The question was legitimate, for all intents and purposes. “So you could have a dog you could drink from?”

  The pup went to the Butcher, tentatively wagging his tail but still not getting too close. He was acting apprehensively, like a kicked puppy who didn’t know who to trust, which was a shame. He hadn’t acted like this before. He’d been so… joyous and eager.

  “I was bored,” Liam said plainly. “I found him, and when I tasted him, I knew he was to be mine.” There was also the fact that he still hadn’t quite forgiven Caleb for trying to pull a flamethrower on him that day. He flashed a toothy smile at the Butcher. “It was my understanding that human pups were popular here, but I discovered not all were as creative as I was in pushing the envelope.”

  Isaiah schooled his expression more successfully this time, but he still didn’t look pleased.

  “Bored?” the Butcher asked with a laugh, trying to coax Caleb closer by rubbing his hands together. “I thought you had a business to run. How do you get bored…?”

  Caleb slowly edged closer, tentatively nudging the Butcher’s hand with his nose. He always was a sucker for scratches behind his ears…

  “The business is nothing new,” Liam said, watching. “I have been doing this for centuries. The only things that change are the political climate and the players on the field.” He inclined his head toward the Butcher, who seemed oblivious to the fact that he was being insinuated, too busy petting Caleb and scratching those doggy ears, just the way Caleb liked it too.

  It didn’t escape Liam’s notice that Abel Boucher was less interested in the pup and more in the craftwork done on him by Lady Desideria, but seeing Caleb respond positively to the touch was still somewhat of a relief. It meant the pup’s spirit hadn’t been broken completely by his sire’s meddling.

  “Well,” the Butcher finally said. “I suppose I shouldn’t cast stones. I have a pair myself who would prefer I spent more time on them than conducting my business. Not like this, mind,” he added, giving Caleb a final pet on his head before straightening up from his crouched position.

  Caleb gave another little wag of his tail, some of the tension bleeding from his body as he returned to Liam. Liam smoothed his fingers along that fur, letting him curl up at his feet instead of returning to the dog bed.

  “Perhaps if we can come to an accord, you will have more time to spend with your pair as well,” Liam suggested lightly. He glanced at the vampire and witch, assuming they were who the Butcher was talking about, then looked back at the half-witch.

  At least Isaiah looked pleased then, now that they were getting back down to the matter at hand. He had promised to let Liam handle operations here for the most part. Now that Liam had the Butcher’s attention on him, he wouldn’t squander it.

  “I will take a scotch as well, if we’re to be talking about accords that you imagine will let me retire early,” the Butcher said. He cast a look at the Conti witch, who was still nursing his double. If he hadn’t been a vampire, the wrinkle in the enslaved witch’s nose might’ve gone unnoticed by Liam, but he saw it. “On second thought, wine would be great, red and dry,” the Butcher corrected himself.

  The curious exchange wasn’t something that passed unnoticed, and Liam glanced at Isaiah. For a moment, their eyes met, and it felt more like he was on the same team as the man again instead.

  “Of course,” Liam said.

  “I will take a glass as well,” Isaiah said smoothly, which was odd considering the vampire didn’t usually drink human beverages of any kind. But then, the whole night was odd, so what was one more thing?

  Liam took two wine glasses from the large cabinet and selected one of the better wines from his supply.

  “I believe this is something you both might enjoy…” He opened the bottle, pouring the glasses and presenting a glass to each with a flourish.

  “Thank you,” the Butcher said politely, taking the glass and swirling the wine around before taking a seat at long last.

  Liam had half expected him to sidle up to Isaiah, but the half-witch elected a chair away from everyone else, including his own companions.

  “There are a few things I’d like to know before we talk business, if that is what this is about,” Abel Boucher started, as he took a sip of his wine. “For starters, which of you is running the business, so I’ll know who to address…”

  “Liam is in charge of regional operations,” Isaiah said without hesitation.

  Liam almost started, surprised that his sire was going to entrust anything to him after questioning his every move of late, but he hid his response behind a smooth nod. “Isaiah is involved, but I head the aspects of our business that may affect you and yours.”

  “But you started the business?” Abel asked of Isaiah.

  “Centuries ago,” Isaiah said dismissively, setting his untouched glass of wine on the nearby coffee table. “Liam took over the expansion here, near the heart of the…” His lips curled up into something close to a sneer. “New world. He has the patience for it.”

  The Butcher smiled amicably at that and looked at Liam, as if assessing him. Liam could begin to understand why the man had such a reputation. He was a shark — efficient, ruthless, and unapologetic.

  “And yet he’s bored,” the man said, smile unwavering. His gaze shifted back to the pup, who gave a pitiful wag of his tail at the attention of all three of their guests being shifted upon him once more.

  The jab was like water off of a duck’s back. Liam only petted Caleb’s fur and waited for his guest to continue.

  “But do share. I’m curious to know what your plans are and how I may be of assistance,” the half-witch cued.

  “It is more of how we may help one another,” Liam replied. “Both of us expand our businesses at an even pace, and there are certain points where a mutual respect and understanding could be useful. Consider, for instance, if your men must travel through territory my men patrol.” And deal in, though he wasn’t going to say that. “Instead of engaging in bloody skirmishes, we could perhaps come to an accord of sorts, reducing any loss of life and profit.”

  “At what cost to me?” When Abel stopped playing his witch games, he was startlingly to the point, which would make this much simpler — and quicker.

  Good.

  “None,” Liam said, following the half-witch’s lead. “There is no cost to e
ither of us to simply… stay out of one another’s business, is there? I shall not infringe upon your territory, though I would ask safe passage. All I ask is that you do the same, and we will avoid unnecessary conflict.”

  “And if we have… common interests?” the Butcher asked after barely having had time to process the offer on the table.

  Isaiah scoffed. “Do not be foolish, young witchling,” he said. “You are being frank, so we shall be frank as well. It is simple: we have no desire to collaborate with you. You stay out of our business, we stay out of yours, and it will allow both our enterprises to prosper unencumbered by each other.”

  Something seemed to rankle in the Butcher then, a twitch in his pulse, but his expression remained as pleasant as it had been. “I have no desire to partner up with anyone who will outlive me tenfold. It seems hardly good for my health,” the man said deadpan, boldly calling his sire out.

  Isaiah’s expression didn’t change.

  “But if what you say is true, and we want the same things, it is only a matter of time before we both want something only one of us can have. If these… skirmishes—” Boucher made the word sound alien just by speaking it with such emphasis. “—are what you wish to avoid, I’d be less worried about where we are now and more worried about where we are going,” he explained, painfully diplomatic even if his voice had taken on a steely edge. “I’m mortal, my friends. I do not have the luxury of centuries, or waiting and seeing what will happen. I have made plans far in advance to maximize my revenue, I will not let any accord with long standing vampires derail my business.”

  “People tell me you are more reasonable than your nickname implies,” Liam said, his voice mild as he massaged the half-witch’s ego a little. “Would you prefer to take your chances? Have us strike out at one another, foolishly expending lives? I am not wasteful, friend. I may be immortal, but not all of those who serve me are.”

  “No. What I meant to say is that I will need assurances of where your business is headed,” the Butcher said, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. “A turf war would be bloody and costly, but we are evenly matched as it is. The odds of victory are not unfavorable now,” the half witch said, rational and cool. “If I agree to your truce and proposed accord, what is to stop you from taking advantage of this charity to grow big enough to crush me down the line and take it all…?” He held a hand out as if offering the words up as something to take. “Or for me to grow beyond the proportions you can manage, for that matter? Promises don’t buy either of us assurance,” he added pointedly, having another sip of his wine.

  “I am born of a time when a man’s word meant something,” Liam said stiffly. “It still does.”

  “I’m half-human. You can imagine how much the word of another supe means to me.” Boucher remarked. The fact that he spoke such treasonous words out loud, in the presence of people who were not necessarily his friends or allies, told him much about the Butcher, and how he’d made it this far. “But tell me your proposal first, and we can talk of promises later.” He dispelled some of the growing tension by at least opening up to the idea of cohabitating the same territories.

  Liam reasserted himself, purposely not looking at his sire to see the disappointment there. “I intend to expand to the south and the west. That leaves plenty of room for you to branch out in the north and the east.” The two areas were fairly comparable as far as prospective business ventures went, which was something Liam had carefully considered before deciding the ports would be more beneficial than his standing with the ‘wolves.

  The man put his wine down on the table next to his chair and he locked gaze with Liam. “Wouldn’t you prefer the north with all its wolves?”

  “Yes,” Liam said without hesitation, even though he didn’t know why the Butcher would guess as much. “But I suspected that as a half-witch, you have no interest in the south with all the witch elite who would not give you the time of day. Consider it a gesture of my goodwill toward you… and yours.”

  His eyes flicked over the Conti witch, who snorted softly and finished off his drink in one gulp.

  Liam looked back to take stock of Abel Boucher once more. The man was harder to read than his witch slave, and Liam could feel Isaiah’s judgement looming over him at the tipping point of the conversation.

  “Half-human or not, you are a capable businessman, and I would prefer to be allies rather than enemies. If I wanted to damage your operations, I would have already begun to push. I have not,” Liam ventured casually.

  “How forthrightly noble of you.” Boucher answered promptly, even if he sounded unimpressed. “I’ve vested interests in the witch communities and have laid groundwork. I’d be ill-pleased if it was all for naught.”

  “Then what would you prefer?” Isaiah inquired, speaking up at long last again in support of his childe. “We are open to suggestion and compromise, but not like this, where Liam gives you his thoughts and you inform us of how or why they will not work for you rather than offering alternatives.”

  “The south, obviously.” the Butcher said, casting his sire a sidelong look that bordered on looking tired. “I’m happy to take the east, but I have a side business of human trafficking in the slums in the southwest district,” he added. “I will not compromise on that, but I am willing to cap that enterprise so it will not grow beyond what it is now, which is hardly profitable,” he started before he continued to list off, “The west contains most storage facilities. I will need access without having to worry about my merchandise being lost en route, and I will allow you use of the harbor for shipping in return for that.”

  Despite the fact that Liam hadn’t divulged the nature of their conversation when he had invited Abel Boucher, the man seemed to have put a lot of thought into this regardless, and neither of his companions seemed to be surprised by any of it either.

  “How is that for a compromise?” the half-witch asked, cocking an eyebrow as he looked between his sire and himself.

  Liam chuckled. “The lines will not be easily drawn, but I am glad you are open to a peaceful resolution, my friend. I believe we can identify and respect one another’s boundaries,” he said with a nod.

  Maybe if they got this agreed upon, Isaiah would leave, then Liam could try to make sense of how complicated his life had become.

  “I’ll have my lawyers draw an initial agreement up and send it your way,” Boucher said, with no hint of irony or jest in his voice.

  Liam couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, but he responded equally neutrally, “I will look for it. Is there anything else you would like to discuss while you have our undivided attention?”

  “Actually,” the Butcher said, casting a glance at Caleb, “there is.”

  Liam’s hackles rose, but he only arched a brow.

  Caleb looked between them a little doubtfully, but he didn’t quite cower.

  Liam said dryly, “I somehow doubt you want him to open a vein.”

  Boucher smirked but said nothing on the topic of Caleb’s blood. “The collar. Where did you get it?”

  “I had it commissioned,” Liam replied, running his fingers along the smooth leather. “There is a witch who does leather work, Thomas Mirza. He does quite a good job. Would you like to see it up close?” He’d already had the chance to do so, but Liam would humor him to keep his goodwill.

  “Please,” Boucher said eagerly, but he didn’t move from his seat even one inch.

  Liam petted Caleb’s head then shooed him toward the half-witch. Caleb looked warily at the man but went straight to him, headbutting his hand in a silent bid for more scratches behind the ears.

  The Butcher obliged him, but only to the point of getting his fingers hooked around the leather of the collar. He ran his thumb and index finger along either side of the leather and forced Caleb’s chin up at an awkward angle to get a better, closer look at the handiwork.

  “Thomas Mirza, you say, hmm? Interesting spell work,” Boucher pointed out.

  Caleb stole a glance up at the m
an, and there was a more human-like curiosity there than he’d seen so far. It was another relief, even though Liam wasn’t going to comment on it. It wasn’t as though he’d told Caleb what spells had been woven into the stitching… or that spells had been woven into the collar at all.

  “One of Jabir and Arabella’s brood.” Liam nodded.

  “Naturally,” the Conti witch said dryly, provoking a smirk in Boucher, who said nothing about the prolific couple of witches.

  “Thank you,” Boucher said, releasing the collar and adjusting it properly around Caleb’s neck. “I may have to get a pair made myself.”

  “I will send you his contact information,” Liam said, rising smoothly. “I am certain he would love to craft custom collars for your pets.” He smiled, ready to see them out before fickle witch nature would make any of them change their minds, even if he was not quite looking forward to speaking to Isaiah privately about all of this.

  At the very least, Boucher hadn’t seemed repulsed by his pup, which shouldn’t have been a highlight, but it was…

  The man and his two companions took the hint well enough, standing as well. It would be easy enough to get through the inane chatter that came at the end of a meeting and see them out, but this had gone relatively well.

  Thank fuck.

  The last thing he’d have wanted to do would be to fail and make an enemy out of Abel ‘the Butcher’ Boucher in front of Isaiah…

  Chapter Six:

  Zain

  It just wouldn’t work. As he walked through the building and waded through groups of pack members playing cards and hanging out, Zain knew keeping Caleb there wouldn’t work. Human pup or not, they’d never trust him.

  Hell, if Zain heard the words “mercy-killing” whispered behind his back one more time, he might lose it.

  There was nothing wrong with Caleb. His pup was happy and sweet when he was lost in that world where there was nothing to worry about but pleasing his alpha and his master. Sure, there were times when Zain wanted more human interaction with Caleb, but his pup wasn’t a miserable freak.