5. Tez

5

Tez

Safety meant lurking on a rooftop until dark.

The saying If you can't control a situation, it will control you was drilled into me from a very young age. And at the moment, everything about this situation was beyond my fucking control.

If I wished to survive, I needed to get it back.

I descended to the market below and merged into the aisles. Coming back here was a risk, but so was hanging around in the street. The market was the only place where my mental dithering would not be immediately obvious—I joined the many being indecisive about buying another knife or an armlet.

The grim reality was that I was totally lost as to which realm to flee to. I desperately needed Realm Travel for Dummies , and I was pretty damn sure it didn't exist. Tossing the gatekeeper a few coins and saying, "surprise me" didn't seem a viable option.

So I followed Nemi as she flitted through the market. She landed on a rack displaying cloaks and chirped at me.

When did the hummingbird start providing fashion advice? I rubbed at the earcuff, which seemed to tingle in a weird way. Minutes later, I'd bought myself a new cloak with multiple interior pockets that I was sure to find useful. I stuffed the old, stained one into a trash bin.

Nemi must have been hungry, because she then flitted off to the food vendors. When she checked out the offerings for her sugar water, she fixed me with a beady stare. Which I expected. But after I bought her some, she moved on to another selling food not suited to a hummingbird.

Eating wasn't always about hunger. With a pang, I bought this realm's equivalent of a hamburger and forced myself to eat while my mind continued to buzz uselessly. My grandmother's deathbed wish that I follow my heart did not seem particularly useful. What the fuck did that mean?

My entire life had been about survival. The heart didn't factor into it.

When push came to shove, there was only one thing that I did well. And that was the moment when rational decision-making finally kicked in.

I didn't know how to follow my heart. But she'd trained me how to use my head.

The hummingbird hovered over me as I left the market and prowled down a side street. It took me valuable time to find what I sought. The upper-echelon thugs were somewhat wary after my recent efforts, and I had to stalk and lurk before I could pounce on one.

He was vaguely familiar, so I said, "Hello, again."

Clearly, he remembered me. He tried to pull away, but I had one hand on his throat, and I gave him a warning prick with the knife in the other. "What do you want now?" he demanded.

I told him, and he glared. But when I carved him a new ear piercing, he relented.

He slunk off when I let him go. I returned to the market, watching for the telltale glimpse of red capes. I was treading a fine line between getting caught by the Priesthood, and found by the one I sought.

I bought another sugary drink for Nemi and leaned on the border wall while she drank. Then I spotted movement from the nearby alley—the thug I'd harassed.

I tucked Nemi away and followed him.

The thug accelerated away, but I slowed down. Only feet away was a gap between buildings. I took a step closer, and a deep voice echoed from it.

"I ain't a servant to be summoned at your fuckin' will." Slade emerged from the darkness.

"Didn't know which door to knock on," I admitted.

The big shifter held something in his hands. It reflected in the dim lights that penetrated the alley—blue, and then green.

Ice traveled down my spine as he twisted the metallic feather slowly back and forth between his fingers.

"Heard your female accomplice met a rather bloody end," he said. "That why you changed your mind?"

I regarded him evenly. "I didn't say I'd changed my mind."

His blue eyes flicked to mine. "Then why are you looking for me?"

"Looking for work elsewhere. Thought you might hook me up."

He assessed me. "You got Gretik problems?"

"Why you asking?"

"They're sniffing around your dead friend like demented Bumblespiders."

I fought to keep my features stoic. If he thought he'd benefit from selling me out to the Priests, he'd do so in a heartbeat. I was playing with fire.

My heart was in my mouth when I said, "My Gretik issues began and ended with her."

His gaze flicked to the spot where Nemi sat very still against my neck, before they dropped again to the feather. "Birds often flock together."

"We weren't the same kind of birds," I countered. "So?"

His vivid gaze narrowed, before he offered, "Got no love for the Gretiks. Crazy bunch of fuckin' zealots. But don't want them on my tail, either."

"I'd rather avoid being interrogated." I wasn't lying. "I need to put some distance between me and them." Also, true.

He watched the feather flicker in the sunlight. Then he said, "Just so happens Victor is pulling up stakes for a bit, and he's leaving my father in charge here while he moves to another stronghold." He paused, as if for effect. "In another realm."

The bastard was clearly going to make me ask, so I did. "Got any openings?"

Slade straightened and met my eyes. "You'd be working for me. You know the score. Don't go gettin' yourself into deep shit, because I won't be digging you out."

I matched his stare. "Acceptable." It wasn't, not really, but it was what I expected.

He offered a single, brief dip of his chin. Then he led me deeper into the alley.

The big shifter had turned his back, but I was under no illusions. As I followed him, I was aware of others falling in around us.

Only time would tell if I would become one of them, or die by them.

I had traded a jungle for a swamp.

Drosfi had been lush and humid, but in the five hours that I'd been in Antlin, it had yet to stop raining.

By raining, I meant sheeting down. If I raised my hand, I could barely make it out through the downpour. The puddles and hand-dug ditches that ran everywhere indicated that this was a frequent occurrence.

Nemi was distinctly unimpressed. She kept twittering at me and fixing me with beady stares, and I didn't know if it was due to the rain, or my life choices. Did hummingbirds worry about life choices? She'd already darted out to feed from several flowers and returned without seeming to get wet at all. I assumed she was ducking the raindrops, but I had no idea how.

It wasn't a talent I possessed, apparently. My cloak had an oiled surface that repelled water, but in this deluge, the rain soaked my pack and worked its way in around my hood into the shirt beneath.

I was so fucking tired, and vibrating with a tension that could get me killed if I wasn't careful. To join Slade, I had to prove myself all over again. So I moved through the pouring rain, aware of the lean mercenary shadowing me to my right. Others spread out in our wake, and Slade's large frame moved along the street to my left.

The big shifter had hit Antlin running. Apparently, the minor underlord who ran this city for Victor had not done a thorough job of it.

Slade was determined to whip the locals into shape, and make them understand that everything they did began and ended with our almighty bossman. We'd already paid a visit to four bars, three crystal dealers, and a casa de putas —brothel. Word of our heavy-handed presence spread like wildfire.

The night traffic along this street was busy enough to keep me wary, but the locals knew hunters on the prowl when they saw them and avoided us. Mostly. So far, I'd only had to kick one up the side of the head.

The idiot had been lucky it was me and not Slade. My new boss took the zero-prisoners rule to new heights. So far, his kill tally for these streets was six. By the light in his eyes when he ran his claws into them, he relished this part of his job.

Slade was ruthless and vicious, but far from stupid. It made him one very dangerous shifter to work for. His men respected and feared him. Trust never entered the equation.

In the mouth of an alley, he pulled us into a group—twenty mercs, ready for mayhem.

"Got one more hit planned for tonight," he growled. "A Poletuber plant along the river. The crop grows really well in this swamp. Dealers have been sending proceeds in to us, but considering the size of the operation, I think they've been skimming profits. Poletuber juice is selling for top currency right now."

"Would like some of that juice for myself," one merc, a Dire, growled. "Last time I scored some, I sampled every female in two brothels."

Coarse laughter all around. Slade's blue eyes gleamed. "We shake more profits loose from this manufacturer, and we'll drop you losers a vial or two. We deserve some entertainment."

I listened, and absorbed. There was so much about these realms that I didn't know, and any comment could reveal as much. "Poletuber juice" went into my mental file as an aphrodisiac. It didn't surprise me that the obsession with sex expanded well beyond the human world.

We approached a large, single-story building on the outskirts of the city, and Slade sent mercs out to each side to surround the place.

"You four, with me," he said, and this time, I was included in his head nod.

The other three mercs eyed me up—a newcomer, delegated to accompany the boss. It boosted me in their world order, and I knew they wouldn't like it.

They'd better get used to it. I was going nowhere but up.

I was aware of a scurry of motion above our heads as we walked straight up to the front entrance. The guards posted on the roof either ran to inform their boss—or if they were smart—just ran. Some of Slade's mercs climbed the ladder to chase the guards down.

I'd run faster if I were them.

Slade himself tossed aside his cloak as pale fur with vivid stripes sprouted over expanding muscles. He used brute strength to smash straight through the front door.

The guards on the other side took one look at us, and bolted. There was clearly a limit to how much bravery money could buy. We spilled into the foyer—and caught sight of the production plant through large windows along the hall beyond. Huge vats lined one wall, and the workers all wore masks.

Slade ignored the double doors leading into the plant and continued down the hall instead. A particularly foolish guard tried to stop him at a door—Slade shredded his throat with one swift slash.

We sidestepped the gurgling body and entered the office.

A tall, very thin male rose from the desk within. His face was devoid of color—but on closer inspection, that faint, greenish hue was likely his natural skin shade.

It did turn slightly more yellowish as he glowered at Slade. "What is the meaning of this? You have no right?—"

"I have every right," Slade growled. He was half transformed—jaws just long enough to display long teeth, arms huge and fur covered, hand human but with curved claws—and seemed able to hold himself like that. An impressive mix of beast and man towered over the owner. "Underlord Victor owns this place. And you've been holdin' back on him."

There was no mistaking the skin going paler now. "I submit monthly revenues," he protested.

"This fuckin' place should be making twice that," Slade snarled. "You've been skimming ever since Victor came on the scene."

The male's eyes narrowed as he ventured into the realm of stupid. "We reported to the local underlord, who reported to Brock. Not to Victor. He's fortunate we are sending anything at all."

Slade moved so fast I couldn't see his attack—and the plant owner found himself dangling by the neck from a massive fist. "Victor has taken over Brock's empire. If you wanna fuckin' live, I suggest you reconsider."

Most of my past bosses would have just sheared off something vital. Slade was a fascinating combination of snide commentary, brute force, and calculated action.

It was effective. The fight seemed to drain out of the owner. The fact his face was now blue from lack of oxygen might have had something to do with it.

"Am I clear?" Slade inquired.

The male tried to nod. He certainly couldn't speak. Slade dropped him, and he hit the chair so hard it rocketed into the wall.

Slade stood over his slumped form. "To make up for currency you scammed off us, I am collecting your oldest daughter. Got a whorehouse that is looking for a barmaid. She will work there for the next year."

The faintest spark of outrage fired in the owner's eyes. "She is due to wed in a month. A profitable match."

Slade shrugged. "Should've thought of that before you cheated Victor. She will be returned to you at the end of the year." He pushed his face closer, and huge fangs dropped from his upper jaw. " If you behave."

The male shrank from him, but still managed an outraged, "He won't want her after that!"

"Not my problem," my new boss pointed out. "You have two other daughters. I have more whorehouses—and they aren't all looking for help at the bar…"

The owner lowered his eyes. He was beaten, and he knew it.

Slade strode to a cabinet on the wall. It was locked, but he inserted a claw and broke the hasp. The door swung open to reveal neat rows of racks. The vials housed within them were filled with a pink fluid.

Slade selected a handful of vials and turned away, tossing one to each of us. "Spread the love," he ordered, and we followed him back out.

The rest of his men awaited us in the street outside. The vials were received with enthusiasm as Slade picked up his cloak, shook it off, and backtracked, heading for the casa de puntas we'd so recently tuned up.

I handed my vial off to the Dire walking closest to me.

"Don't you want any?" he asked.

I was suddenly hyperaware of Slade, who strode along just in front of us. And my memory replayed something useful—he hadn't kept a vial, either.

"Don't need it," I stated.

The Dire barked a laugh. "What, your superpower is a six-hour hard-on?"

Six hours ? "You'll wear the skin right off."

He laughed. "Rapid recuperation is my gig. Of course, you ain't a shifter." He popped the lid off the vial.

My attention was on Slade, and as a result, I only saw the Dire through my peripheral vision as he dumped it onto his palm. And I didn't see it at all when he jerked his hand toward me?—

Nemi offered a warning chirp, but she was too late—the Dire poured the last of it onto my bare arm where it extended past my cloak.

His eyes gleamed gold as I slammed him up against a building wall. The hummingbird hovered near his face, scolding him.

"I fucking told you I wasn't interested," I said through clenched teeth.

"Hey, it'll help you loosen up," the Dire squeaked. "It's not a big deal. Back off."

I glared at him, but it hadn't been much. Perhaps it would just give me interesting dreams.

"You're lucky you still have a dick to dip," I snarled, and released him.

Casting me a sour look, he drifted to the outskirts of our group. I'd taken four strides to catch up with Slade when I found out why Poletuber juice was so revered.

Between one breath and the next, a pulse of pure heat swept through me. And in that instant, I was so painfully horned up I could barely walk.

By the staggering gait of the mercs around me, I wasn't alone. Slade just cast me a glance from beneath lowered lids. I thought one corner of his lips curled up.

Nemi offered a worried twitter. Shit. The last thing I needed was to be exhausted, and so fucking horny that my mind was shot.

My survival with this crew relied on me being in perfect and precise control. This was the furthest thing from it—a betrayal from within. As another pulse shot through me, I cursed. The merc to my left had his hand on his crotch, rubbing while he groaned. "Ain't gunna make it to the bloody brothel," he muttered as he began to hump his hand.

"One early won't matter," stated another, with his hand busy beneath his cloak. "It lasts for hours."

Hours of losing control over one's body in the presence of lethal mercenaries. Even if we were supposed to be on the same side, it wasn't something I wanted to be doing.

I needed to get away from them.

After our visit a couple of hours earlier, the casa de putas's management was unusually eager to please. Slade took us in, and the owner's wife was very attentive. Understandable, considering it would be a while before her husband could walk.

"I want them all, for the entire night," Slade told her. And she nodded as if that was the best idea in the world, instead of denying her an entire night's proceeds.

The mercs pounced eagerly on the waiting females. One sidled up to me, and her hands slipped under my cloak. One stroke and every nerve I possessed burst into flame.

"Ooo, you're an eager one," she purred, and then fluttered her eyes at me. "I'd ask if you want me, but I have my answer." She leaned close, brushing me teasingly with her breasts. "Say please, and I'm yours."

My stomach clenched. Her request rang like a subtle power play. I wanted to get my rocks off. Very badly. And for just a moment, I wanted to lose control. To just let the night unfold…

But it was all rather pointless if I ended up dead. Which I just might, if I ceded control to the Poletuber juice. Buried in lust, my guard would drop…

So I gritted my teeth, and hissed, "I always call the shots. And I don't say please. Ever." My earcuff kept tingling, as if I was allergic to the metal, but all I could think of was that I had to get out of there. My pelvis arched helplessly into her hand, but I grabbed her wrist and removed her fingers from what throbbed beneath them.

She pouted. "What's wrong?" Her eyes followed Nemi, and the hummingbird darted out from my shoulder to scold the prostitute with a series of angry-sounding chirps.

I looked across the room and met Slade's gaze. It was fastened on me, assessing. Yet he'd waved away the female attentions himself.

"Just not my idea of fun, sweetheart," I drawled, and moved toward Slade. He watched me approach, his lids dropping.

"You got sleeping quarters for me?" I asked.

"You aren't staying?" He looked from me to Nemi hovering around my head, and back again. Both his expression, and his voice, were totally deadpan.

"This isn't my kind of party," I said.

"You don't like females?"

I took a deep breath. My survival depended on developing a connection to this guy. And sometimes the truth was the best way to break down barriers. "I don't like losing control. And this juice is all about that."

He detected the honesty in my reply, and his eyes lit sapphire. "Be back by dawn, boys," he called to the mercs vanishing up the stairs.

"Aww, boss, won't be done by then," one dared complain.

Slade pinned him with a glance. "Not negotiable."

Reluctant nods all around.

Rigid and aching, I followed Slade out the door and back into the night. With Nemi once again on my shoulder, I trailed along in silence as he took us to the stronghold.

It was a smaller place than the one in Drosfi. Moss clogged the walls, and the rain cascaded off the steep roof to form puddles throughout the courtyard.

The guards at the front gate dipped their chins to Slade. It was a relief to get under cover, and we shook water off our cloaks.

My entire body trembled with the power of what coursed through me, so it was all I could do to not rub myself against the closest wall. Slade must have picked up some of it.

"Poletuber juice is powerful stuff." He eyed me. "You may come to regret your choices." Then he guffawed at his little pun.

"All I regret," I ground out, "is not bashing that fucking Dire in the cojones ."

The big shifter's lips twitched. "I assume that refers to balls. Mashing takes them out for weeks. Better just to fuckin' remove them. Castration heals faster."

I made a mental note not to trade disciplinary lore with Slade.

"You can get even by stealing his bunk," Slade noted. "Around here, you fight for prime space. He's just moved up to semi-private. Think he can move back down."

We passed rooms filled with double-tiered bunks and paused at one with only six inside it. By the gear scattered over the mattresses, they were all taken.

Slade grabbed a pack off one. "That's yours."

I glanced around. It was a bottom bed in the middle of the room. Instead of tossing my pack on it, I strode to the upper bunk in the far corner.

Slade leaned on the doorframe as I tossed the gear off it, and onto the mid-tier empty one.

"Cricker's good with a knife," he noted.

"So am I." I hung my cloak on the bedpost and pulled myself onto the cot.

Slade barked a laugh and waved at me. "Your funeral."

"Nope," I said. "His."

I was wet, exhausted, horny as hell, and had an annoying bird fixing me with a stare that accused me of being an idiot.

Okay, maybe the last was my overactive imagination.

"Showers are down the hall." Slade smirked. "Do what you fuckin' have to—just be ready to roll by morning."

I gritted my teeth and nodded to him. He turned and left.

It was all I could do not to jack off immediately. I'd never been in so much discomfort. But my grandmother's teaching was deeply ingrained—control wasn't just something you trotted out when convenient. It was a lifestyle choice.

As Nemi flitted around the room, I ran my fingers through my hair. My eyes caught on a dark spot on my sleeve.

My grandmother's blood.

As a lust killer, it didn't do half bad because it cleared my head, enabling me to heft my pack and cart it down the hall to the showers.

I envisioned separate stalls in a brightly lit space, but of course, the reality was a row of nozzles along a stone wall. At this time of night, however, they were unoccupied. Fortunately.

The moment I stripped, and that hot spray hit my boner, I lost it. Exhaustion and the events of the last twenty-four combined with that damned juice's ability to produce an animal driven entirely by need. My fingers worked with a desperation I'd not experienced before.

But it wasn't blind lust. The woman I'd seen on the street rolled into my mind with a seductive sway of those hips, and the glimpse of her luminous eyes from within her hood ignited my imagination—and something else that I wasn't willing to acknowledge. Instead, I envisioned those lips wrapped around me. Lightning shot from my spine to my cojones , and I came apart within seconds.

And then, again.

The third time, I tried, with desperation, to rein it all in. And failed.

The fourth, I almost had it.

The fifth left me leaning against the stone, shaking with exhaustion. Nemi chirped from her perch on the faucet. I avoided her stare, turned off the water, and staggered back to the cot.

I got my rocks off for a sixth time, and I was now lying on the damp blanket, staring at the ceiling and gasping for breath.

Chico Tez was still erecto . That was some juice.

I rolled beneath the blanket. With a sense of futility, I went at it for a seventh time. On the fading waves of that, I arranged myself with my back to the stone wall, and no fewer than three knives close at hand.

A tiny sentinel settled herself on the bedpost near my head. The moonlight coming through the single window caught the gleam of her alert eye.

I closed mine and allowed myself to finally slide into a wakeful slumber.

At some point, Cricker would return. And I'd have to fight for the rights to my bunk.

I had little doubt I would win.