12. Scythe

Chapter 12

Scythe

Eleven years ago

I 've always been big for my age, but it doesn't take full effect until a growth spurt in my early teens. Seemingly overnight, I shoot up a foot, and the men and women at the parties my dad takes me to start talking to me differently.

It's no longer a cooed, "What a pretty boy," but a silken, "Come here, love."

I'm too big to sit in anyone's lap anymore, and instead, they want to sit in my lap.

On Thursday nights, Dad makes me walk around the edges of the fighting ring and I have to run my fingers through my elbow-length silver hair in just the right way. He walks behind me, watching out for anyone who might get too bold. He teaches them with a quick fist. My protector in all ways but the most important one.

Something lovely and golden spreads through my chest every time he swats a beast away from me. But it's always quick to fade. I admire him in a lot of ways. The way he commands a room, the way other beasts seem to grow smaller in front of him. I want that effect on people. I want people to be scared of me too.

But instead of cringing away from me, beasts lean towards me.

I'm like a lure. Like a flower that beckons to be touched, one female told me. Or like a worm, dangling off a sharp metal hook ready to catch big, nasty fish, as one male told me.

A few potential clients beckon my father to where they sit on the black leather couches on the other side of the ring. The VIP area.

There's a group of males and females, and the wealthiest of them are a feline couple who sit thigh-to-thigh on the long couch by themselves.

"Come sit," the female says, gold rings twinkling on her fingers as she shifts to the side and pats the leather.

"If you want time with him, you'll have to pay for it," Dad growls. He names his price and the male feline nods. The cash is exchanged, and I dutifully squeeze in between them.

"This is, like, real silver silver?" the female breathes, raising her hand in question. "I wasn't expecting that. Can I touch it?"

"Yes," I say, leaning down to get my comb from my bag.

"Oh, his voice," she titters, before taking the silver comb Dad got for just this occasion. "It's like warm honey."

"His official debut is Saturday night," Dad says, and I might've thought that was real pride in his voice, but I think that's pride for the money he's going to make. "He'll be the main auction. A big crowd is coming in for it."

"Do you know what to do with it?" the male asks, jerking his stubbly chin at my crotch.

"I've seen videos," I say smoothly. Dad has been preparing me. Plus, I had Sex Ed in school just before he forced me to leave. "I'm not stupid."

"Of course not," she says. "How can such a handsome boy be stupid? Can we afford him?" she whines to her partner. "Oh please, Donald, can we?"

"Saturday night," Dad huffs. "Come and bid on Saturday night, but for now, you can… look at him."

More money is exchanged, and I am escorted into a room with a red couch, a bed, a cold spa big enough for my shark and not much else. The door closes behind me and the couple sit at the edge of the bed, holding hands and excitedly waiting for me. I set my bag down and begin a routine Dad made up for me a long time ago.

By now, I've learned how to turn it off. Savage calls it when I ‘turn cold'. A place like the deepest ocean, where all is black and there is no light. No nothing. A place where I can float in a void and nothing can hurt me. So when other beasts reach for me, when they pet my skin, or stroke my hair and whisper things they should not whisper to a teenage boy, I am not hurt.

I am not dirty.

Until afterward anyway, when I switch myself back on and remember what happened to me. What I did.

Saturday night comes, and I am prepared with the utmost care. Dad pays for a hairdresser and it's the first time my hair is trimmed and dressed with an oil that makes my silver shine even brighter. I am presented on a bright stage in only a pair of brand-new black jeans, my bare, oiled torso shining under the hot overhead lights. My heart thunders like a pack of horses on a field because I cannot see the large audience I stand before. It's a black sea of murmuring voices, and the only other person on stage with me is a tiger in a professional black suit, standing at a lectern, pointing into the crowd with a large hand.

The beasts and humans in the audience, rich and influential politicians and businessmen, place their bids, and I try to keep track of the voices and the white paddles with numbers, but everything is a blur. My palms sweat, my throat grows dry, and it takes everything in me to remain still. This is my future. The future my father has planned. Did the Wild Mother really intend nothing more for me?

The auction ends suddenly with a round of thundering applause, and I'm brought back to reality and ushered off the stage by males who smile with too much teeth.

My father receives me with open arms and a beaming smile that I cannot ever recall seeing on his bearded face.

"My boy," he says with glee, thumping me on the back. "We will be wealthy until the end of our days!"

"Fengari," says a deep, draconic voice from behind us.

Hastily, Dad pulls away and brings me forward by the shoulder. A dragon strides towards us and I know it because it's obvious. Seven feet of lean muscle, long black hair, and dripping in gold and silver over an expensive tuxedo.

"Kneel, boy," he commands. The winning bid of the night, and my first patron.

I quickly oblige him onto the hard wooden floor. "My name is?—"

"I do not care," he says in a voice of obsidian rock. "You will respond to whatever I see fit to call you. Is that clear? Do you know how to obey, shark?"

I look up at his massive height and the scent of his power fills my nose. Dread floods my every vessel. My stomach tightens.

"Yes, my lord."

"Good shark." He turns to my father. "He is a fine specimen, to be sure. But he better be worth the money, Fengari. We leave in ten minutes for my brother's house. Drakos Estate."

"Oh, he'll be worth it." My father's tone is a warning, the flash in his eyes an overt threat cast over me like a midnight curse.

My father goes to ask questions from the auctioneer while I go to collect my bag. A tiger from the shadows stalks up to me, his steps slow and measured in the way of apex predators respectfully approaching another predator. Strange, foreign tattoos pattern his cheeks and down the sides of his pale face, giving him an unsettling look. Pitch black hair is neatly oiled and tied back. He is not a territory leader, but perhaps someone equally important by the gold Rolex around one wrist and the fancy, charcoal two-piece suit. He's a little older than me, but I can't tell by how much. How does someone so young become so wealthy? Does he, too, have someone who sells him?

"You have the look of a man who speaks in sonnets to the moon." He has a slight Middle Eastern accent.

I am so taken aback by his statement that I stare blankly at him for a moment.

"People underestimate you," he continues. "Do not make the mistake of underestimating yourself."

It takes me a moment to recover from my shock. "I don't understand what you're saying."

He bows. "I'm saying that my name is Marduk, and I would like to be your friend."

I offer my hand on reflex born of years of practice. "A pleasure to meet you, Marduk. I am Scythe Kharkorous."

He does not take my hand. Relieved, I lower it.

"I'm not in the business of buying flesh," Marduk says matter-of-factly, clasping his hands in front of him. "There are different types of monsters in the long grasses of the world, shark-friend, and I am the one who eats them."

I am taken aback by his frankness. I think I like it.

"When it is time, when your spirit no longer submits to lesser beasts, come and find me. Alas…" Marduk smiles then, but it's not a smile I'm used to receiving. It's aware. Like he sees me. The real me behind the silver hair and perfect skin. Behind the large muscles and the honeyed voice. And for the first time in my life since Savage was born, I don't feel so alone. "I do not think I will have to wait long."