by Jory Strong
Jewels glittered in the low lighting. It took money to play here, not as much as in the buildings across the street with their private entrances and suites so the rich and powerful could do exactly as they wished with no audience and no threat of discovery, but enough to make this a favorite of the younger sons of wealthy families, many of them guardsmen.
Ahead a crowd gathered in front of an open-faced dungeon. As Rebekka neared she heard girlish laughter, then several female voices shouting in unison, “Twenty-eight!”
It was followed by the sound of a whip cracking, by delighted giggles, and another count. “Twenty-nine!”
At “Thirty!” the crowd began wandering off, the show complete.
Rebekka’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of the Lioness, Kala, chained to the gray wall. Her back was raw hamburger with tawny fur mixed in, her tail striped with blood and bent at odd angles, cut and broken by the whip. Clear, curved nails extended from human hands, claws unsheathed in reaction to the pain.
A human woman stood admiring her work, hands bloody as they caressed the whip she held. Her friends protested when the bouncer went to Kala, unlocking first one manacle and then the other. He ignored them, and when Kala slipped into unconsciousness as he scooped her up in his arms, they, too, wandered off, reliving their fun in animated conversation.
Hate raged in Rebekka, listening to them. For a shimmering instant she allowed herself to imagine healing Kala, making her purely Were so the Lioness could hunt down these women and slaughter them.
The force of the desire to see it shocked her. A chill swept down her spine, stripping away some of the shield she’d managed to erect against the demon’s mention of her father. A single act of violence was all that was required to turn her gift into a thing causing pain and suffering.
Kala’s low moan allowed Rebekka to block out thoughts of the demon and once again escape into purpose. She followed the bouncer to a camouflaged door and keyed in the code, opening it so he could enter. After placing Kala facedown on a blanket left ready on the floor, he asked, “You want her tethered?”
Rebekka glanced at the restraints set in the floor, then at Kala’s stillunretracted claws. Healing unconscious Weres and animals was always dangerous.
Awake she could touch emotion, instill calmness and trust long enough to repair damage and end pain, though she rarely needed to do so with the prostitutes since they knew her. But without the connection, she risked being attacked with the sudden return of her patient’s consciousness, especially when rage and remembered suffering would be at the forefront of their minds.
Kala moaned again. “Can you stay a few minutes and hold her arms to the floor?” Rebekka asked as she knelt next to the Lioness.
The bouncer answered by crouching down and pinning Kala’s wrists. Though he appeared fully human, he was stronger than one. A big cat of some kind, she guessed, but like the reasons for his being in the red zone, he wouldn’t reveal his animal form unless forced to.
Rebekka placed her hands on Kala’s back and closed her eyes. She called her gift to life by willing flesh and muscle to mend, urging skin to be covered in sleek fur.
When it came to those trapped between forms, she could heal their injuries but couldn’t alter how they wore the mixture of animal and man. She could offer those like Kala a choice between appearing fully human or fully animal, but it came with the risk of being punished by the vice lord. And beyond that, few wanted to live out the rest of their lives in animal form, or take a human’s when they saw little advantage to it.
The Lioness returned to consciousness with a snarl, with a furious struggling that ended when her head whipped around at the sound of Rebekka’s voice saying her name, projecting calm and urging her to relax and allow healing to take place.
Kala subsided, claws retracting but body remaining tensed in pain. “You can let me go now.”
The bouncer looked to Rebekka for conformation.
“We’ll be okay alone,” she said.
He released Kala and stood. “How long?”
Rebekka fought the anger that came with knowing he meant how long until Kala can be sold again. She hated that in using her gift, those who worked in the brothels would endure more in a night than they could otherwise. That seeing Kala return to the dungeon, restored to health, perpetuated the belief among humans that Weres could take more abuse and would heal rapidly from it.
The pure Were did heal by shifting between forms. Rebekka’s bouncers were rarely injured severely enough to need her.
It was different for the prostitutes who couldn’t change. Rebekka’s function in the brothel was a guarded secret known to few outside those connected to them.
A hard, cold fist wrapped around Rebekka’s heart, squeezing mercilessly, whispering in a demon’s voice, telling her that using her gift extended pain, allowed for the oily spread of human evil.
No! she told herself, slamming the door against the insidious doubt caused by Abijah’s words. What happened in Were brothels was no different than what she’d witnessed when she lived with her mother among human prostitutes.
“How long?” the bouncer asked again.
“I don’t know.”
He scowled and gave Kala a hard look. “I’ll be back in an hour if you’re not out on the floor.”
Kala shrugged, though the hiss of pain following it revealed that it cost her. The bouncer turned and left the room.
Rebekka placed her hands on Kala’s back again. Closed her eyes and resumed concentrating on the weave of flesh and muscle, the return of fur.
Time ebbed and flowed, meaningless except her strength drained away with it.
Exhaustion returned like pounding surf as she used the last of her reserves to mend the bone in Kala’s tail and close the gashes left by the whip.
She would have stretched out on the floor if the Lioness hadn’t guided her to the cot kept in the room for use after a grueling healing.
“Thanks,” Rebekka murmured.
“I’m the one who should be thanking you. Do you want a blanket?”
“I’m fine.” She wouldn’t be allowed to sleep long, but if she was lucky, it might be a while before another emergency arose.
Kala knelt next to the cot. Rebekka forced her eyes open. Like Feliss, Kala looked fully human from the front. She was beautiful and sleek.
And very interested in Levi, who worked as bouncer, guard, or bartender, depending on the need.
“Is he working tonight?” Kala asked.
Rebekka didn’t need to ask who. “No.”
Feliss was the only other person beside Rebekka who knew Levi’s brother had been held in the maze, and even she didn’t know Levi had also once hunted there, or that he’d played a part in today’s destruction of it. Like Cyrin, when Levi was a prisoner, he’d had the head of a lion. In human form, he was unrecognizable even to the brothel clients who also visited the gaming clubs and had once watched him on big-screened television sets.
“He’s working another job?” Kala asked.
“No,” Rebekka said, deciding she needed to tell Kala something or the questions would never end. “He’s in the woods but I don’t know where.”
“And Feliss? Is she with him?” It was said in a light tone, but the look in the Lioness’s eyes didn’t match it.
Only years spent among Weres kept Rebekka from reacting to the hidden menace with fear. “She’s in Dorrit’s lineup tonight.”
Kala’s nose wrinkled. Her lips pulled back in a show of distaste and disdain that was shared by all of the prostitutes who no longer had to work in the brothel catering to the lowest class of humans and Weres.
The Lioness leaned forward, the intensity of her gaze warning Rebekka she’d have to be careful not to let her body tell the truth while her words said something else.
“I heard a rumor today,” Kala said, whispering despite it only being the two of them. “I heard Levi intends to buy out Feliss’s contract and set her up somewhere as his little snack.”
Kala made a show of licking her lips.
“I don’t think the rumor is true,” Rebekka said, and thought she must have done a credible job of lying when Kala leaned back and cocked her head, then shrugged and stood.
“I’m glad. She’s prey and always will be. Bad enough he takes what she offers him, but for Levi to elevate her above the other females he mounts and treat her like a mate . . .” Kala’s lips pulled back once again in disgust. “It’s perverse.”
Rebekka closed her eyes as Kala left the room. Sleep descended, claiming her until she was roused by a bouncer from Dorrit’s house.
“You’re needed,” he said, accompanying her through the dungeon and then the passageway connecting the two buildings.
Rebekka heard drunken sobbing and pleading well before she reached the parlor. When she got there, two bouncers held a man between them. He was on his knees, begging for his life.
Dorrit stood in front of him, boar tusks and small black eyes in a round human face giving the impression of cold savagery. She lifted her hand, halting Rebekka and the bouncer in the doorway.
Gathered into the small space was a collection of other humans. Most were bleary-eyed from drink, rounded up from the bar and brought in to serve as witnesses.
Few of them were looking at the man. Instead they feasted on the lined-up prostitutes, stared with tongues darting out to moisten their lips as they fantasized about being able to afford sex that was more expensive than what was offered in the bar.
“The vice lord Allende is tolerant,” Dorrit told the kneeling man, receiving murmurs of agreement when she glanced around. “But this is your second offense.”
With a signal from her the prostitutes moved, parting in the middle to reveal a woman lying on the floor behind them, her body curled in a fetal position, her face a bloodied, broken mess.
One of the gathered humans vomited, spewing beer onto brown tile at the sight. Rebekka gave a cry, recognizing Feliss, but was stopped from rushing forward by the bouncer’s grip on her arm.
Dorrit turned everyone’s attention back to the kneeling man by saying, “The vice lord Allende is tolerant but a second offense can’t go unpunished. Put him out.”
The man began struggling then. Fighting in earnest.
Those brought in from the bar or pulled from the rooms moved deeper into the parlor, as far from the front doors as they could get.
Dorrit pressed her thumb to a pad. She was one of only a few who could open the doors once the locks were engaged at nightfall.
Unlike the humans who played in the Victorian clubs with names like Sinners, Envy, and Greed, the Were bouncers didn’t arm themselves with guns or wear padded protection to step out into the night. They threw the brothel patron to the mercy of the predators, lingered for a moment before stepping inside, doors closing and locks engaging behind them.
The humans who’d pushed to the back of the parlor rushed forward to enjoy the free entertainment. The Weres were less obvious, yet their eyes darkened and flickered with satisfaction, and more than one of them wore a hungry expression as outside feral dogs and wolves attacked, tearing and shredding and growling as they made sport of their meal.
Rebekka went to Feliss. Anger swelled inside her with the knowledge that the human whose screams ended abruptly died not because of what he’d done, but because he lacked the money to pay for the damage to Allende’s property.
A hand settled on her shoulder. Dorrit said, “You’re broadcasting your emotions, Rebekka. Wherever you’ve been these last few days, it hasn’t been good for you. It’s made you forget there are always eyes watching and mouths ready to spread gossip.”
Fingers dug in, adding to the warning. Rebekka looked up and saw a hint of compassion in the brothel madam’s face. Admitted, “I’m exhausted.”
“I’ll have Feliss taken to your room. You can take care of her there and stay to get some sleep unless the need for your services is urgent.”
Dorrit glanced at the unconscious prostitute. “Feliss can remain out of the lineup for the remainder of the night if she chooses.” A shrug said it didn’t matter. In the end, the debt owed Allende would be paid.
Four
THE pack members gathered in the clearing, called there by the deep, coughlike roar of their alpha. Men and women and children slid silently from the woods, some in their jaguar form, most in a human one.
At his father’s left, his hair and skin still wet from a morning swim, Aryck frowned, noting the absence of the four adventurous Jaguar cubs who so often found trouble—and a fifth, Caius, a Tiger born to a Jaguar female. When this was done, someone would have to find and chastise them for straying so far from camp they didn’t hear Koren’s summons.
The bloody clothes of Daivat’s victims lay piled on the ground in front of the alpha. Aryck had brought them back not to serve as evidence, but so they could be thrown into the fire at the center of the challenge circle to ensure nothing remained of the dead man and woman.
Murmurs arose from those gathered as the scent of human death and Daivat’s involvement reached them. Tension built—in anticipation, in dread—stirred to life by what the clothing represented. Threat.
Sound flowed into silence when Daivat arrived, shifting easily from his jaguar form to his human one. Several of the lower-ranked females edged closer, jostling for the attention of a male in his prime, some of them seeking only transitory pleasure while others were ripe and fertile and intent on gaining a permanent mate.
Daivat ignored them, sending a challenging look to Aryck instead.
Aryck met the gaze with a cold one, uncaring about the females who openly courted another male after having presented him with swollen vulvas earlier in the day when he was in jaguar form.
Daivat’s fingers flexed in subtle challenge. Rage flared to life in his eyes as a female Jaguar emerged from the woods and rubbed the length of her furred body against Aryck’s before changing to human form, her bare breast pressed to Aryck’s arm.
Aryck resisted the urge to step away from her but couldn’t remain quiet. “This isn’t the time or the place for your overtures, Melina.”
She purred and pressed a pebbled nipple to his upper arm. “Later then, when this matter is settled.”
The deepening of her scent indicated she was aroused by the prospect of violence, by the thought of two dominant males fighting in her presence as though they fought over the right to mount her.
Several male human-formed Jaguars standing nearby hardened in reaction to her heat-scent and sultry voice. Aryck’s cock stirred, making him glad he’d pulled on loose shorts rather than coming to the clearing naked in preparation for changing form. He wanted to give Melina no encouragement.
Across from them Daivat’s expression darkened with hatred and jealousy when Melina’s hand settled on Aryck’s belly. Aryck captured her wrist and squeezed in warning. “Not now,” he growled. “Not later.”
He turned his head to give Melina a deadly stare, Jaguar to Jaguar, one that ordered her away from him. One she couldn’t refuse.
Her eyes flashed, resenting him even as he knew his ability to resist her only increased her hunger for the feel of his cock thrusting inside her.
He regretted taking her in the past. He’d only coupled with her for a season, and not exclusively, but that didn’t matter to her.
She’d now reached the age when the Jaguar soul wanted to breed. But unlike the other unmated males in the pack, he had no desire to answer her yowling calls or to end up with her as a permanent mate.
True jaguars took no life-mates; they bred and separated, with the duty of raising the cubs to adulthood falling entirely on the mother. Among Jaguar Weres it was different, nature’s way of keeping them from indiscriminate breeding.
When a child was conceived, a bond formed between the parents. It was nearly impossible to break.
If he was foolish enough to cover her and sire her young, then he’d never be free of her.
He understood the co
mpulsions driving Melina. And because he did, he tried to avoid her in jaguar form despite his father’s attempts to throw them together.
Deep inside him the beast soul longed to pair, to find a female and claim her thoroughly, completely, in every way a male could take the mate who belonged to him. The man’s soul wasn’t far behind in wanting a woman to call his own. But even though beast and man, instinct and rational mind, agreed the one they wanted for a lifetime wasn’t among the pack, when he wore fur, scent became a prime motivator, as did the powerful, natural urge to procreate.
He wasn’t so vain as to think Melina’s interest in him was only because of his prowess when it came to lovemaking. One day this pack would be his with his father’s blessing, or he would leave it to claim a different territory, taking many of its members with him when he did so.
It was their way. It spread their rule over the lands few humans dared venture into and prevented battles of dominance between fathers and sons, as most often, bloodlines ran true and those who ruled were born to it.
That Daivat, too, might one day lead a pack of his own made him a worthy mate in the eyes of many of the females. His father was Nahuatl, the pack’s shaman. And a bloodline filled with telepathic alphas was strong on his mother’s side.
Like Aryck’s mother, Daivat’s had gone to the ancestors. And though her bones were never recovered and placed with those in the ancestral cave, Nahuatl knew of her passing through their mate-bond and because he was shaman.
Koren straightened to his full height, signaling the beginning of the proceedings. With his foot he nudged the clothing on the ground, releasing more of its scent. “I call Daivat before me to answer charges of law breaking.”
Daivat crossed the circle boldly, skirting the fire blazing hot in its center as if he had no fear of what its being lit meant. He stopped beyond the shredded clothing, nostrils flaring and eyes holding defiance as he spat on the bloodied trousers in challenge and insult.
The muscles along Aryck’s back and arms rippled as the Jaguar rose inside him, instinctively preparing to defend the alpha or enforce his will.
