Owned: Guardians at War by Bridie Henderson (2)

“Sure… wonderful… right.” Tracy frowned a little and cocked her eyebrow in bewilderment as she quickly followed after Deran and got the hell out of there as quick as she could. Just in case the woman tried to hug her or something equally as terrifying. She didn’t breathe easy until the SUV was outside the gates and they shut solidly behind them. Adalai drove as they followed behind Chase in his unmarked Dodge charger.

“So… that escalated quickly, don’t ya think?” Adalai murmured, his eyes widening. Tracy and Deran stared at him for a moment before Tracy broke the silence with an unfeminine snort.

“Yeah… it was definitely weird. Especially at the end there… a call would be wonderful? What the hell was that about?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Deran murmured from the backseat which he seemed to have taken full ownership of now. “She wants forgiveness. She wants to be a part of your life. Her heart was broken when she cast out her daughter and she sees you as her chance for redemption. Of course, she broke her own heart so she only has herself to blame but she knows that. She’ll take whatever she can get from you, even if it’s just a call.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Tracy asked grumpily.

“As Adalai can read negative emotions, I can read intentions. It is that way with all Vengeance Demon pairs.”

“Anastasia said something about you two being a pair. What did she mean by that?”

“It is what it is. Some Vengeance demons are born twins. Others, more commonly, are born several years apart. The pair can be male or female, but never one of each sex. They have a bond that supposedly unbreakable and they are bound for eternity.”

“What do you mean, bound for eternity?”

“It means that together they have the fundamental parts to secure justice. One can feel the negative energy and the other can judge intention. Together they can punish wrongdoing and dole out retribution.”

“Hmm, maybe you should be called justice demons instead of vengeance demons.”

“Yeah… I like that.”

“What else does this whole pair thing mean?”

“Well…” Deran was cut off by a growl from his brother but he rolled his eyes and forged ahead anyway. “It means that the soul-bond most supernaturals make with another, requires both of the pair to create.”

“Huh? You soul-bond with each other? That’s… er… well it’s disgusting.”

“For crying out loud Deran. You suck ass at explaining this shit. We do not soul bond with each other, dammit. We bond with a woman, or a man, depending on sexuality or whatever, but we share. For us, it’s definitely a woman and when we find her, we will mate her to us. To both of us. You see, we share. We don’t get involved with each other or anything incestuous like that. We both love and make love to one woman… understand?”

“Er… sure. So it’s like a perpetual threesome?”

“Exactly… kinky isn’t it?” Deran murmured with a wink. Who would have known the surly protector had a sense of humour, and a dirty one at that. If Tracy had to pick between them it would have been Adalai with that particular personality trait, as it was he was positively prudish when discussing the details.

“So how come you haven’t found the right woman yet? I mean you two have been around a while, right?” she asked, intrigued by their situation. It was so unfamiliar to her she found it interesting. Hell she had found it difficult to be involved with one man let alone two, especially two like them. Both tall, broad and intimidating in their own ways… it was enough to turn her on and have her pissing her pants at the same time.

“Who says we haven’t?” Adalai turned to her, taking his eyes off of the road and pinning her with them so she couldn’t misunderstand his meaning.

“Wh-what?” she stammered, suddenly hot and cold at the same time as a barrage of mental images of what he was implying flowed through her mind.

“Never mind… looks like we’re here,” Adalai swiftly pulled the car into an empty space outside a small, cosy looking cottage with a wraparound porch and a porch swing to boot. If anything it looked like a picturesque little home to raise a family but even from the car, Tracy could feel the darkness that pervaded it. It was the same feeling she used to get when she would walk by her Father’s house in Armstrong. It was different when she was inside the house. Being constantly surrounded, cloaked in darkness made you one of two things; embroiled in it or immune to it. Either way you became desensitised but once you stepped outside of it, if it hadn’t already blackened your soul it hit you every time you sensed it. Like an old friend, ready and waiting to usher you into its arms. It silenced the questions Adalai had stirred in her and she climbed out of the car ready to get it over with. Looking up at the wraparound porch where Chase was waiting she had to wonder what exactly they were walking into. Something told her it wasn’t going to be the simple assassination it was assumed to be. She could just feel it.

Chapter Twelve

Deran followed Tracy and Adalai up to the house, his eyes riveted on the little female mage in front of him. He couldn’t believe it. After all these years, all this time apart… he had reunited with his brother for better or for worse and they had found their mate. Just like that. It was more than he could comprehend. One thing for sure was that Lady Fate was a fickle mistress and just maybe she knew what she was doing. One way or another, she always had a plan. Quirky little fucker that she was. He watched Tracy’s face as she prepared herself to walk through the front door of the house of horrors before them. Strange how she had, from his understanding, barely left the little Hicksville county she had grown up in and the time she had spent there was violent and constricting yet she seemed to be so worldly. Like she had travelled the globe and lived a thousand lifetimes… though he had the sense that if she had those lives would have been filled with darkness and misery. Still, it seemed to him that she was much older than her twenty one years. Maybe it was just the romantic in him but the way she looked at the house in front of her, it was as though she saw the darkness and didn’t shy away from it, instead she seemed to embrace it but she wouldn’t let herself become victim to it. She was strong… strong enough to handle his and Adie’s shit anyway. Lady Fate definitely knew what she was doing. Now he and his delinquent brother just had to convince the little female mage of that.

Tracy closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before turning the handle and walking over the threshold. The smell of death hit Deran like a brick. It was that dank cloying smell that got inside your nostrils once and never really left you after that. Deran glanced at Adalai and saw the grimace on his face. Say what he liked about his brother, the man was talented beyond belief when it came to sensing dark emotions. In fact it was that talent that caused the rift between them. Adalai had a gift, a gift that he preferred to ignore despite the good he could do with it. Deran understood the toll it took on his brother but in his mind, a gift like that was meant to be used. His ability went beyond what was normal for a Vengeance Demon. Most were limited to the people they were surrounded by but not Adie. He could sense the latent emotions left by the dying in the places they had departed this world and travelled to the next. It was what made him so damn effective. At least it would be if he didn’t run from it. Though, Deran was pleasantly surprised to see that Adalai wasn’t running from it this time. His brother held his head high and heart closed as he walked into that house and faced the terror inside. Though it was a small speck on their shared history of disappointment it shone brightly. It wasn’t enough to redeem him but it was a goddamn start. The little mage was working her magic already.

“I don’t get it… something’s wrong here,” Tracy murmured, her forehead scrunched into a frown.

“I feel it too. Something’s off,” Adalai said, looking down the hallway in confusion. It was pleasant enough, with thick beige carpets and cream walls. The only problem with walls and carpets that shade was that the bloodstains were even more horrific in contrast. Right there in front of them, at the end of the hall, was a large crimson-brown patch that looked a little like an overzealous inkblot beneath the blood spatter on the walls. Whoever died there had been violently dispatched with silver blades. It was the only explanation for that much blood.

“What’s off? Other than the murders?”

“I don’t know… I can’t put my finger on it,” Tracy murmured, frowning at the blood spatter on the wall.

“I can. A Banshee died here… she was afraid… but, she was more afraid for her friends… they were shifters right?”

“That’s right. Teresa said Colleen was staying with some shifter friends that she met years ago. I never knew them.”

“Well, it was the shifters she was scared for… in the end, she thought of her daughter… she was happy to go to her, despite the pain, and she welcomed her death.”

“Well, at least that’s something.”

“I’ll say that’s something. I never knew you demons could do that… I could sure use a few of you on the force,” Chase murmured and Deran was surprised to feel the genuine fascination and honourable intention at his words. The shifter was sincerely impressed by a demon… who knew it was even possible.

“Yeah well… it’s no picnic.”

“That doesn’t make sense, though. Colleen was the target but if she died here then that would mean she was the first, unless she was hiding and trying to run out the door maybe?” Tracy said stepping over the bloodstain.

“No, you had it right the first time. This victim was killed first. Forensics identified traces of her blood in the other two victims’ wounds and as you can see here,” Chase said pointing to dark, tear shaped, droplets on the floor, “Whatever blade was used, the blood dripped from it as the assailant made his way into the house.”

“But if Colleen was the target, why would he waste time on the shifters? I mean, if it was you, wouldn’t you just kill the one you were meant to and get the hell out of dodge?”

“Maybe, or maybe the others witnessed it.” Deran offered following after them as they entered a small living room. There was no blood stains or spatter in here so he was starting to doubt his own theory. There didn’t seem to be a thing out of place in this room whatsoever. The chocolate brown sofas were covered in those stupid little cushions that women seemed to like so much and not one was in disarray. A glass coffee table rested in the centre of the room without so much as a coffee ring on it and there was simply nothing that screamed homicidal maniac. If the shifters had seen the murder and were killed before they could raise the alarm, surely there would have been some sign of struggle in this room.

“I don’t think that’s the case, buddy. Come through to the kitchen. I have some crime scene photographs on the table from earlier…”

“I ain’t your buddy, shifter,” Deran growled, but he followed behind him anyway with both Adalai and Tracy on his heels. If the hallway was the entrée the kitchen was certainly the main meal. It was carnage. There was blood everywhere. Spatters and spills, big and small… fucking everywhere. Two chairs sat centre stage conspicuously clear of blood except on the back and the front legs. They were facing each other in a way that made him think they had been staged. As though someone had set the scene and they were just an audience to it. He didn’t need to be a vengeance demon to understand the intention here.

“The wife was trussed up here and the husband opposite. The M.E. estimated they were both tortured in intervals for approximately six hours. The first victim got off easy, believe it or not.”

“I believe it… There is not just fear and despair in this room. There is a stubborn, steadfastness… the person who did this, he wanted something and they were willing to die, to watch each other suffer, instead of giving it to him. The husband wanted to relent, he wanted to give the man the information he sought but the wife… she wouldn’t let him. She wouldn’t bend, not even a little. Not even when he… by the gods… I need some air.” Adalai turned on his heel and ran out of the house as though he had hell hounds on his tail. It really was an amazing gift that he had and yet Deran didn’t envy him at all.

“Y’all going to tell me why you thought the first victim was the target?” Chase asked and Tracy gave Deran a look that said ‘you explain’ as she left the room to follow after his brother.

“She was on a hit list. The same hit list that me and my baby brother as well as a bunch of Tracy’s friends are on.”

“Okay… who wants you dead?”

“How long have you got?” Deran said simply, turning away from the kitchen and going back to the clean living room, away from all the destruction. He flopped down on the sofa and Chase took a seat beside him, the crime scene photographs in his hands.

“Look… I’m sorry for the way I reacted back at the Ascia estate. My Father was killed by a Demon and it really is just a reflex. I don’t judge people by their race. I’m not that kind of shifter.”

Deran pondered that for a moment. The truth was, he was that kind of demon. His Mother has been murdered by a human and since he’d had an inherent distrust of that whole species so… “Apology accepted… shifter.” Chase chuckled and leaned back, waiting.

“Okay, so it’s like this. There’s a whole bunch of theological bullshit that supposedly goes along with this but basically a militant group called the Resistance is attempting to gather power and dominate over weaker supernaturals and humans and from what I gather, they think that my brother, me, Tracy’s friends and a few unknowns are a threat to that and they’re attempting to take us out. Why we’re a threat, I haven’t got a clue. When we’re done investigating here, we’re supposed to go back to Texas where this woman called Alexa can explain the shit that goes with it. The first victim here… her sister is Alexa’s closest friend and when she was killed, Alexa sent Adie and Tracy to investigate as they were coming already to find me. So… I’m about a day further into this party than you are, buddy.”

“I thought you weren’t my buddy,” Chase said after a moment.

“I’m not… but I guess you can be mine.”

“Gee, thanks. A demon who will deign to be buddies with a shifter. Now I’ve seen everything.”

“Hey… I said you could be mine. This isn’t a reciprocal thing.” Shit. Was he actually starting to like a shifter? Must be something in the fucking water. He didn’t like anyone. Especially not shifters. Oh well… turns out he might not be that kind of demon after all.

“Sorry to break up the bromance in here but I need to look at those crime scene photos.” Tracy murmured stepping back into the room, her skin a shade paler than usual.

“Is he alright?” Deran asked.

“He is fine, thank you very much.” Adie muttered stepping in behind her, his pallor also a little sickly.

“We don’t have to do this here, we can just take the photos,” Chase murmured, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Tracy glanced at Adalai but other than that, neither of them made a sound. Typical. Of all the matings he could have been a part of, he was stuck with possibly two of the most stubborn fuckers he had ever known or met. Ah well, at least he had plenty of practice dealing with stubborn people. He had to live with himself, after all.

“Good idea. I’m hungry anyway. There’s a diner not far from here,” he said, standing up and moving towards the door, “well come on then. I’m not getting any younger here.”  Tracy glanced at Adalai who gave her a small nod and they followed him out the door with Chase the shifter cop on their heels. Once outside in the fresh, mildly polluted air of New York City, Chase announced that he would meet them at the diner in a half hour. Something about showering and whatever. So Deran, Adalai and Tracy made their way to the diner on foot and in silence. Deran wasn’t sure what they had discussed when they went outside but he had a feeling he needed to step in. They were just too damn quiet. Though they seemed to be together on it. As though they had mutually agreed to be silent. They arrived at a little, out of the way, diner with a retro theme. All red neon lights and white Formica tables. Hell he wouldn’t have been surprised if the waitresses were on roller skates. It took him back to a different time, a somewhat simpler, though by no means easier, time. Though when he considered that in the past 48 hours he had reunited with his brother, met his Mate and been in a bar fight with Vampire Guardians… it may have been an easier time after all. They secured themselves a booth in the corner of the diner with a clear view of the exit, just in case, and still Adalai and Tracy said nothing.

“Okay… I’ll give. What is it?” he asked eventually.

“What do you mean?” Tracy murmured, fiddling with a napkin on the table. Right then she looked so vulnerable, almost childlike in the way she fidgeted.

“I know that was hard for you both back there… we don’t have to go back, alright. We’ve found out what we needed to know. Your friend wasn’t the target. It could be completely unrelated.”

“I wish that were true… I could do what I planned. Go back to Texas, drop you both off and say my goodbyes… I could find a little piece of nowhere and start over.” Tracy muttered with a hard stare at the table as Adie shifted uneasily.

“I don’t understand…” Deran murmured, undeterred by her admission that she wanted to leave them. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t let her. A hundred and fifteen years he had walked the earth and now he knew she was his match, their match, he wasn’t about to let her walk. He just didn’t understand why she was under the impression that she couldn’t even if he would let her.

“I felt something else in there…” Adalai began looking mighty guilty about it, “I felt the emotions of the killer. He wanted the information, sure… but he wanted something else. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first. I couldn’t understand his motivations and then I… in the hallway where the banshee died… he knew her…”

“Right… so she might have been a target after all?”

“I just don’t know… whatever it means, I’m not going anywhere today. Teresa will want answers and I owe them to her,” Tracy said with a sigh and he suddenly understood. She had committed herself to getting answers and this complicated things. She didn’t want to fight, she didn’t want to wage a war or choose a side… she just wanted to be left alone. It saddened him but he understood it. She had been through a lot in her short life, more than most who had lived six times as long… still…

“I understand why you’d be upset about that, Catrasia, but for what it’s worth… I’m glad we need to stick around a little longer. It gives us more time to convince you of what we already know,” he said with a soft smile.

“Deran! Leave it!” Adalai scolded him. Damn pussy had always been afraid of putting his heart out there.

“What is that, exactly?” she asked dubiously, looking up at him from under her lashes.

“That you are our mate, Catrasia Ascia. You complete our triumvirate.”

She began to laugh, to which he just smiled knowingly while Adalai dropped his head on the table with a thud. Drama queen.

“You’re serious?” she squeaked, the smile dropping from her face in an instant.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“But… I…”

“Don’t worry, we have plenty of time to talk about it. For now, I may be mistaken but I do believe our shifter escort has returned…” he murmured, frowning up at the exit. Chase Collins was a changed man. Gone was the scraggy beard and long shaggy hair, the plaid shirt and jeans and its place was a grey suit, white shirt and no tie, a buzz cut and a clean-shaven maw. He hurried over and Deran stood up so he could scoot over into the corner. When he sat down he noticed Tracy and Adalai staring at the shifter as though he had sprouted a second head. Apparently, Chase noticed it too.

“What?” he murmured, frowning. “I’ve been on a sting the past couple of days, hence the beard and outfit. I am a detective you know… seriously, what the hell are you looking at?”

Adalai and Tracy glanced at each other before looking back at Chase and Deran had a feeling the figurative shit was about to hit the figurative fan.

Chapter Thirteen

“You’re on the hit list,” Tracy murmured, not seeing any point in beating about the bush.

“I’m on the what now?” Chase asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“She’s right. I didn’t see it before with all the…” Adalai waved a hand, gesturing at the shifters face, “but you’re a target of the Resistance as well.”

“Uh huh… and why would they want to kill me? I didn’t even know they existed until an hour ago,” he muttered disbelievingly.

“I don’t know… you’re the detective, you figure it out,” Tracy muttered in irritation plopping back in her seat as a way-too-chirpy waitress sauntered over. Her eyes travelled over Deran first before widening when they flipped to Adalai and really Tracy couldn’t blame her. One of the demon brothers was enough to send a girl’s libido into overdrive, the two of them together was overkill. All that smooth copper skin, those crimson eyes framed in dark lashes, proud, straight noses and square jaws… and it could all be hers… at least if she believed what Deran had said. Adalai on the other hand had made no mention of a mating, other than his explanation and off-hand comment in the car. She wasn’t even sure what she thought about it… her first, last and only relationship literally ended in destruction and that was just with one human man. Just thinking of the damage not one but two demons could do made her shudder. But then, judging by the feral look she was giving the foolish false red-headed waitress maybe she was more accustomed to the idea than she thought. When she caught the waitress’s eye she tilted her head slightly and the waitress obviously didn’t like what she saw as she quickly averted her eyes to Chase and asked for his order. Smart girl. When the waitress finally backed off and went to fill their orders of three coffee’s, a coke for Adalai, and four breakfasts Tracy felt the possessive urge leave her and a wash of shame took its place.  What the hell was she doing? She had no intention of staying with either of them. No, she had seen her future, it was exactly what she had always wanted… and there was no room for either of them in it. Despite what Deran had said, she had no right to be possessive over them… hell she didn’t even want them like that. Did she? But then, the Mating… it made the vision she had been shown make more sense… what that meant, she had no fucking idea…

“Here… look. That’s you, right?” Adalai asked Chase, stabbing his finger at a picture he had pulled from his pocket. Before they had left the cabin Alexa had given them a copy just in case. It made Tracy wonder if the little demi-god had a bit of Seer power inside her along with her affinity for pyrotechnics.

“Where the hell did you get that? Have you been following me?” Chase snarled as his eyes flowed over the candid shot of a man that could only be himself.

“Don’t be a moron. Look… see?” Adalai laid the rest of the pictures on the table and let Chase have his fill. The pictures had been recovered from a would-be assassin when he failed in taking out Teresa and Aden and from the corrupt Head of Halycon, the city of the Fae just a week before. There were pictures of Adalai, Deran, Alexa, Kaleb, Teresa, Aden, Chase and two other unknowns. There had been a picture of Colleen Avery as well but Teresa had chosen to keep it. Though Tracy couldn’t understand why. Why would someone torture themselves like that? Then again, she was here in New York investigating the murder of the mother of her family’s latest victim so… maybe she understood after all.

“Shit… how come your pictures not here?” Chase asked her, somewhat suspiciously.

“Because I’m the mastermind behind all of this. In fact, picking you all off one by one is too easy, I’m waiting until I have you all in one place so it’s more of a challenge,” she murmured sarcastically rolling her eyes as Adalai chuckled beside her. “They don’t think I pose a threat. I’m not a Witch.” She wasn’t lying… technically.

“Alright, you know I had to ask, Skippy. So… tell me more about the people who want us all dead,” he said simply with a quirked eyebrow. Adalai quickly filled him in on everything they knew about the Resistance and their infiltration into the Guardians as well as their motives. All in all, it really wasn’t much. A group of supes were bent on taking over the freaking world, one of them was called Jarax and he was a real son of a bitch, other than that it was pretty much speculation. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more Tracy thought it sounded ridiculous. If she hadn’t been a part of the battle at Red Rock and seen supes of all different races and demons of all kinds fighting side by side with her and her ‘friends’ as their common enemy, she probably wouldn’t have believed it. Apparently Chase agreed with her.

“I’m sorry but are you fucking serious?” he began incredulously, “You really expect me to believe there is a group out there that wants to enslave humanity so they can rule it? And that particular brand of madness has caught fire throughout not only high supe society but also those who are meant to protect us all, the fucking Guardians. That’s beyond stupid… that’s insane.”

“Look Chase, you can believe it or not, it doesn’t really matter. Either way, someone still wants you dead and we’re no closer to knowing the reason why while we sit here bitching about it,” Tracy growled, losing her temper not for the first time that day. Chase levelled a look at her but seemed to understand she didn’t give a shit what he thought so after glancing down at the picture of himself he gave her begrudging nod. The whole thing was eerily familiar, considering she had had almost the exact same conversation with Deran the night before.

“Right then. Let’s talk about something we can actually investigate, shall we?” Tracy murmured, pulling the manila envelope of crime scene pictures Chase had brought with him towards her. Without hesitation she opened it up and pulled the pictures out. The first was of Colleen, her bloodied prone form lying at an odd angle, her eyes covered in a milky film as she stared unblinkingly at the camera. A trickle of sadness and empathy echoed through Tracy but she shut it down as soon as she felt it. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel for Teresa’s sister, it was that no amount of empathy was going to change anything. It was a useless emotion, a drain on the senses… There were several more pictures of Colleen, some from different angles, some focussed on the blood spatter and close ups of her wounds. Tracy peered at them for a moment before deciding she couldn’t do anything with them. She handed them to Adalai who immediately picked out the close ups of the wounds and handed them to his brother. The second set of pictures was of the pristine living room. She skipped through those too until she found the ones she was looking for. Her heart crashed in her chest as the female shifter’s death lay in front of her in vivid detail. Her arms were bound to the chair behind her back and her ankles were secured to the legs of the chair with what looked like some kind of thin metallic rope, probably silver. Her body was shredded. In the pictures, Tracy could clearly make out cartilage, bone and tissue where the blade had cut so deep. One thing was certain, Adalai had been right. This woman had endured without telling the son of a bitch who did this to her anything. That wasn’t the part that had Tracy’s breath coming in small, fast pants or beadlets of sweat running down her forehead though. No. It was much, much worse.

“Bad, isn’t it? I have no idea what those markings are, but they’re on the husband as well. And then there’s the eyes… the M.E. said they might have been scooped out with some kind of cauterising implement but she’s human. Personally, I’ve never heard of a supe or demon that can do that…” Chase said with a visible shudder, as Adalai and Deran leaned in for a closer look with matching looks of disgust.

“It’s mage magic. It’s a simple spell, really, but it takes a lot of concentration and it calls to a deeper power than most can utilise,” she murmured through numb lips.

“What deeper power?” Chase prompted ignoring the warning look from Deran.

“Nothingness… the void… you see everything exists on multiple planes. Fae, Shifters, nymphs and whatever draw their magic from the earth or the physical plane. Banshees call their magic from the other side, the spirit plane. Witches use talismans that call magic from the shadow plane and most mage magic does the same just with a direct connection. In between those planes though there is a void.”

“What… like darkness?” Adalai asked, curiosity burning in his eyes.

“No. Darkness still exists. It is necessary in a way. How would you know what the light was without darkness to cast its shadows? The void is nothingness. Emptiness… Soulless…” Tracy finished, her voice taking a faraway quality, her eyes still glued to the picture in front of her.

“I don’t understand, have you seen this before? Catrasia, if you have seen this before you need to tell me. These people deserve justice,” Chase started heatedly, banging his hand on the table when she didn’t respond.

“Chase. Do that again and I’ll cut that hand off and feed it to you,” Adalai growled, his anger almost palpable as he glared at the shifter in warning.

“Catrasia, do you think you could tell us where you’ve seen this before?” Deran asked gently, slipping his hand forward and covering Tracy’s smaller one. She blinked, her heart finally starting to slow down.

“I’ve seen someone complete this ritual before but he isn’t responsible for this,” she muttered simply, her free hand fluttering up to the scar that marred her cheek.

“Why not?” Chase asked, obviously not getting the damn hint.

“Because I killed him eight years ago,” she muttered, closing her eyes briefly before standing suddenly, pulling her hand from Deran’s. “I need air,” she murmured, turning on her heel without another word and stalking from the diner. Why did she tell them that? No-one alive knew what she had done… no-one until now. Shit, shit, shit. She wasn’t standing on the sidewalk for a full minute before Deran came to stand beside her.

“You alright, Catrasia?”

“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” she snapped, walking a few steps away from him.

“No you don’t.” Despite herself, his candour made her smile. It may have been a hysterical smile but it was a smile nonetheless.

Chapter Fourteen

“You’re a bit of an asshole, you know that?”

“Yeah, I’ve been told. What’s the deal with her? Hell, what’s the deal with you guys?” Chase muttered, his shoulders slouching a little.

“Well, she’s been through a world of pain and she’s only twenty one. My brother and I are her Mates.”

“What, like… both of you? Shit. Hang on a minute if she’s twenty one and she killed someone eight years ago… fuck me…”

“Like I said… world of pain…” Adalai murmured, his heart breaking for her. She had never looked as damaged as she had just a few minutes ago. He didn’t know what it was that had hurt her but he damn well wanted to find out and kill it.

“Is that how she got the scar?”

“I don’t know… she hasn’t told me about it,” Adalai admitted though he was loath to do so. He also didn’t want to admit that up until yesterday he hadn’t even known she was scarred so he kept that one to himself.

“By the Creator, what kind of Mates are you?”

“The kind who only found out they were mated this morning so back off shifter,” he snarled, losing patience with the irritating bastard. Chase was about to make another, undoubtedly, annoying comment when the table began to shake and the effects of what felt like a small earthquake rippled across the diner.

“What the hell…” Chase began but Adalai cut him off, his blood running cold in his veins.

“Where are they? Come on, dammit!” Adalai clambered from his seat and raced out of the diner, the waitress shouting about the bill as he went but it fell on deaf ears. He scoured the sidewalk but there was no sign of his brother or their Mate. Nothing. They were just… gone.

“Down here,” Chase shouted from the mouth of dark, smelly alley and the instant he entered it he could feel Tracy’s presence. She had a signature like no-one he’d ever met. Emotionless on the surface with a storm brewing underneath. The longer he spent with her the more accustomed and somewhat addicted to the complexity that was her, he became. He felt his brother, felt his pain and concern… felt his downright rage… Adalai picked up the pace with Chase on his heels as he raced further towards the negative energy at the bottom of the alley. After a moment, he saw them. Deran with a blade in his side, fighting valiantly and Tracy defending herself with what looked like a freaking switchblade. Dammit! They’d left all of their weapons in the fucking car. It was a novice move he was hating himself for but there was nothing he could do about it now. A large white van was parked beside Tracy and Deran and from what Adalai could make out their attackers were trying to push them into it. Adalai was almost there, maybe twenty feet away when the tone of the fight changed. Suddenly Tracy was held in a headlock with a long silver blade at her throat and Deran was forced to lower the weapon he had stolen. Deran glanced up and caught his brother’s eye just before he allowed himself to be pushed into the van. Tracy was pushed roughly in after him and the doors were slammed shut just as Adalai and Chase reached the party. There were eight of them altogether and as Adalai got stuck into the fray, desperately trying to reach the van he watched two of them run to front. A moment later he was watching it speed away as he took hit after hit in the gut. The van was barely out of sight when he felt the pang of separation. His soul was still bonded to Tracy’s and though he didn’t need to be constantly touching her, like with the shifter bonding process, he did need to be in close proximity. Still, he had a feeling it was more of a psycho-somatic thing rather than physical need and might have had something to do with the fact that the only two people he cared about were snatched beneath his nose and he was currently getting the shit kicked out of him. Who the fuck were these guys? They weren’t Guardians. Their fighting styles were in no way militant, just animalistic and feral. Hell, if he hadn’t sensed the demon amongst them he might have thought they were a savage pack of shifters. There had been many tales of shifters, usually those with the affinity for hunting animals like wolves or foxes, who segregated themselves from society, formed a pack and preferred to live in their animal forms on the edges of civilisation only venturing out when absolutely necessary. Still, though many of these guys smelled like a lard armpit rolled in a shit sandwich it was a stench of the ‘I have an allergy to soap’ variety instead of the woodsy, outdoor living scent.

Adalai leant over, shielding himself as much as he could with his own body, pushing away the silver blades of the three men that surrounded him with his bare hands. The silver burned through his flesh but he wasn’t deterred. There was no way he was dying here whilst Tracy and Deran were only the Gods knew where… Deran would never let him forget it. He waited for his moment and sure enough a few agonising minutes later, a bloodcurdling roar came from his left as Chase let the animal that lived inside him loose. The sound distracted Adalai’s assailants for only a moment but it was all he needed. Pushing up from the ground he head-butted the first man, a shifter, sending him sprawling onto the floor with a yelp and, spinning on his heel, gripped hold of the other two, another shifter and a Covet Demon, and pushed his power into them both at the same time. He had never attempted it before but the further away Tracy and Deran got the more desperate he became. There was a split second where his doubts felt like they were coming to fruition as nothing happened but then he felt it. The old familiar sting of memories and apathetic torture from his assailants washed over him as he forced them to relive their crimes. He didn’t think he would be able to bare the strain of both of their actions as he made them repent for their sins. One lifetime of memories was difficult to bare… two was excruciating. Luckily for him, both men were fairly young so in all he only had a hundred years of death and destruction, pain and misery to survive before the men dropped to the floor in unison. He stood there panting looking down at the mentally broken men with no short amount of surprise. It had been a long shot but shit if he hadn’t pulled it off. He just wished his brother could have seen it. Maybe then he wouldn’t be such a disappointment to the older demon but still… he was used to it. He gave a slight shrug to nobody in particular and bent down to retrieve an abandoned silver blade which he then used to swiftly and mercilessly despatch the two men who were all but dead already. Then he turned in search of the third. He found him crawling away like the coward he was. Well, that just wouldn’t do… the truth was the power he felt creeping through his veins and the innate fear for his Mate was driving him faster and faster to the precarious edge of no return. Deran believed that Adalai didn’t use his ‘gifts’ as he called them because of a delicate constitution or some shit but the reality was much less fluffy and cuddly. The agony he felt with each passing of memories, each empathetic moment of pain, left him feeling stronger afterwards. As though he was feeding on that agony… like all the stories of demons the humans told each other in the dead of night with plastic voodoo boards in their laps. That’s what he was and he knew it… a human’s nightmare. Hell, his own father had tried to kill him before he was even out of the womb. He had to believe there was a reason for it because if there wasn’t… that was just worse somehow. He knew very little about his Father, other than that he was a demon-hating murderous human. Deran had always refused to talk about it unless he was drunk, which wasn’t very often. All Adalai knew was that his Father had slit his Mother’s throat when her labour began. She had worn a Fae glamour when she was with him but it didn’t hold up under the intensity of her pain and when her face and eyes reflected who she really was, his Father had taken it upon himself to end her evil presence. Deran had arrived to find his Mother dead, a sobbing, broken human over her bloodied form and Adalai moving under the flesh of her belly. The fight was over before it started and Deran had slain the human, cut open his mother’s womb and pulled his baby brother into the world. He had been a brother, father and friend for a long time but Adalai had always felt the resentment he harboured. Their Mothers death was Adalai’s fault. If he had come a day earlier she would have given birth in Tirralla, a demon city, and she would have lived. But no… he lived and she died and he had to continue living with the burden for the rest of his life. There was no way he was going to have Tracy and Deran on his conscience as well. He would find them… he didn’t know how but he would find them.

Adalai walked steadily with purpose though there was no hurry in his steps as he stalked the dazed shifter crawling away from him. A bright orange figure suddenly beside him caught his eye and he had to do a double take. It wasn’t every day you saw a tiger in the middle of New York City.

“Chase, I presume?” at least he hoped so or he was about to become cat food. The tiger huffed in what Adalai assumed was agreement and prowled beside him as they backed their mutual prey into a corner.

“Please…” The shifter had blood pouring from a wound in his chest where he’d somehow impaled himself on a silver blade when Adalai had head butted him across the alley.

“You can beg but there will be no mercy. You can cry and plead and I won’t bat an eye. But… if you tell me where they are I’ll do you the courtesy of killing you quickly.”

“I… I don’t know. I just… it’s just a job, I swear…” the shifter sobbed, pushing himself against the wall as though he hoped he’d be able to faze through it.

“A job for whom?”

“The fucking Venders. I work for the Venders…” Beside him Chase growled, his head low to the ground and his fur raised in obvious anger.

“Who the fuck are the Venders?” Adalai asked impatiently.

“They steal people. Supes, demons, angels… they either fight or they fuck.”

“What do you mean?” Adalai asked again, a sickening lump forming in his throat.

“They take supes off the street, the rarer the better, and they are either put into the arena to fight or hired out to the highest bidder. Trust me, your friends are already fucked. There’s nothing to gain from killing me… please… just let me go,” the shifter whimpered.

“That’s where you’re wrong. You see, I am a vengeance demon, though I’ve been told Justice Demon is a better name, and that is what I intend to receive. Justice. Where are they?”

“I don’t know, I swear. I only grab people, I’ve never seen their operation.” Adalai could sense the shifters pure, unadulterated fear but there was no sign of deception. He really didn’t know. Fuck.

“That’s a shame… You could have lived a few minutes longer.” There was nothing left to say, nothing left to do… except bury the silver blade he was holding deep inside the shifters flesh. The blade went straight through his throat before the shifter could react and Adalai was graced with a spatter of blood across his cheek and a sense of satisfaction though he was by no means sated. And he wouldn’t be. Not until he had murdered every single one involved in kidnapping his mate. Though a deeper, more worrisome factor was playing on his mind. They either fight or they fuck… that’s what the shifter had said. What the hell was happening to them now?

Chapter Fifteen

“Catrasia?”

“What?”

“Are you alright?”

“Hmm, I’m bound in silver and I have another dagger inside me. I’m just peachy,” she muttered, concentrating on manoeuvring her hands to the handle of the dagger that has pierced her side. The tip was grating against her rib and it must have hurt like a son of a bitch. After a few minutes of struggling she managed to edge the dagger out. It fell to the floor with a clatter, smearing blood as it went. She wasted no time in scooting around in the dark until she felt the blade between her fingers. Working quickly she began chaffing the silver rope against the blade.

“There’s no use in that. Catrasia?”

“I’ve almost got it… just shut up a minute…”

“By the Gods, woman, will you just listen? It’s enchanted. Only the person who put it on can take it off.” Tracy carried on for a few minutes creating sparks as the metal of the dagger scraped against the unyielding silver rope.

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, her voice shaking. “What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know… we should wait it out, get these ropes off and figure out who took us, why and where. Then we can – Catrasia?”

“I can’t just wait, Deran… Not here, not with… I fucking can’t!”

“Hey, just take a deep breath, okay?” he murmured, crawling towards the sound of her voice as the van they had been thrown in hit a pot hole, sending him careening forward. He landed with a thud as Tracy whimpered in fear. It wasn’t like her… he had seen her angry, upset, irritated… never scared. Granted, he’d only known her a little while but still they’d fought together. You could spend a serene lifetime with one person and never know them but once you’d fought beside someone there was a connection, a bond that was forged in the fight; a bond that meant you knew everything you needed to about a person. Apparently, though, there was more to Catrasia Ascia than he had thought, and he already thought she was fairly multifaceted.

“Catrasia?” he murmured again, shuffling towards her. He could barely make out her shape in the blackened van but a few moments later he could feel the warmth emanating from her and clearly hear her heavy breathing as she started to hyperventilate. “TRACY! Talk to me… please.” He wasn’t above begging especially when his mate was so afraid. He could feel her intention and it wasn’t to start talking…

“Don’t you dare, woman! Adalai will never let me live it down if you kill yourself jumping out of a moving vehicle.”

“It wouldn’t kill me…” she whispered but she didn’t move.

“Why are you so frightened? You’ve been in worse situations than this,” he murmured.

“How the hell would you know? You barely know me,” she hissed defensively.

“Because I have seen it in your eyes. You carry the darkness with you, it is a part of you just as it is a part of my brother… please, Tracy, tell me why you’re so afraid.”

He wasn’t sure if it were his words, his tone or her fear but she sighed, slowing her breathing and answered him. “The dark. I’m scared of the dark.” Huh? Well that was unexpected.

“I’m here… I’m right here, baby. I’ll die before anything happens to you.”

“Why? I wouldn’t do the same, you know?”

“I don’t believe that. You saved my brother’s life and you didn’t have to.”

“That was for my benefit. I would have let him die if I thought Alexa would let me leave without him.” she admitted with another sigh.

“Yeah well, he has that effect on most people. You didn’t though. You saved his life.”

“Doesn’t matter, if we don’t get back to him soon we’ll both die. We’re are still bound.”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t tell you? That’s how I saved his life or helped Elena save his life. She performed a spell that temporarily bound our souls together so his could heal. If we spend too much time apart our souls will tear… we’ll both be dead.”

“Well shit… you could have told me this earlier,” he muttered, re-evaluating the situation. Now he had to worry about his brother as well as the little mage. This day was just getting better and better.

“I thought you knew…”

“That would be a no. Alright… let’s focus on getting out of here. Maybe we should try rolling into traffic after all,” no sooner had he said it, the van began to slow down until it stopped suddenly and he was pitched forward. He landed on his face with a groan and Tracy landed beside him, her hot breaths panting against his cheek.

“It’s alright… it’s going to be okay, baby…”

“Don’t lie to me, Deran. They’re going to kill us. The Resistance want us dead, remember,” she whispered, sounding resigned. “I just hope they open the door and let some light in first. I don’t want to die in the dark.” Deran wanted to offer her some comfort, tell her that that wasn’t going to happen but she’d asked him not to lie to her and damn if he wasn’t a slave to her command. Before he could think of anything to say, any platitude to offer her, the van shook as the driver door opened and closed and footsteps travelled to the door. He could hear voices, male… at least three. Without the ropes he and Catrasia could take three, with them however… well, he was still willing to try. When the door was finally pulled open, allowing a stream of blinding light to filter inside he heard Tracy’s sigh of relief though he knew it would be short-lived. There were many more than three and they were all armed. Some with guns which he suspected were full of silver bullets and others with long silver swords. One even had a club with a silver tip. There didn’t seem to be a Guardian amongst them. None of them had the familiar insignia emblazoned on their jackets though in all fairness some of them weren’t even wearing a shirt so it didn’t mean much.

“Excellent… I’m glad to see you arrived in one piece.” A tall man, probably a shifter based on his size, sauntered towards the van with a sickly smile directed at Deran. He wore a tailored suit and his dark blonde hair was neatly styled with a clean shaven face and dark blue eyes. He didn’t look all that frightening but there was something about him that was unnerving. Something missing. Probably a soul.

“No thanks to your friends… who the fuck are you?” Deran growled uncertainly. Something didn’t feel right here.

“Oh… you don’t know me? You’ve been causing me so many problems lately I just assumed…”

“Yeah well, you know what they say about assuming things. Makes an ass out of you and… nope, just you.”

“Hmm, cute… let’s see how funny you are when you’re in the arena. And what do we have here?” The shifter asked, his eyes wandering over Tracy who Deran was unhappy to see had tear streaks down her face. She really was afraid of the dark.

“Leave her alone. If you touch her I swear-,” he began, his eyes flashing as the shifter reached towards her.

“Aww… is she yours? Well now she’s mine, just like you,” the shifter chuckled and turned on his heel, nodding to two of his men as he went. Both shirtless, one a Fae with ash blonde hair and purple eyes and the other a smaller shifter with greasy black hair slicked back and beady eyes that flowed over Tracy, they stalked towards her, gripping her arms and pulled her from the van as Deran attempted to stand and follow after them, cursing them at the top of his lungs. He needn’t have bothered and soon he was watching as both men paid the price for underestimating her. She allowed them to pull her from the van and set her on her feet without putting up a fight. In fact, Deran was certain she was playing the role of a frightened little waif. Then as though someone flipped a switch she spurred into action head-butting the Fae with a sickening crack and kicking the shifter squarely in the balls with a thud that had Deran flinching. Bad guys or not, no man liked to see another man taking one to the family jewels. A few shifters laughed as three more approached her, one drawing a blade but even they were too cocky. She was like a wild animal, her legs thrashing at them as one came behind her and wrapped his beefy arms around her torso. She used his grip to lift both feet off the floor and aimed her feet into the chests of the other two. Whilst she fought, Deran threw himself onto his back and shimmied his hands down the length of his body until he could get them over his feet. It was harder than he thought it would be. Movies made this shit look so much easier. Eventually, his bound hands were in front of him and he crawled out of the van, landing on his feet and ready to lend her a hand. He threw his hands over the shifters heads so the silver rope that bound them burned against his throat as he tried to squeeze the fight out of the little mage. By the Gods, what the hell are they feeding this guy? He was freaking huge. Tracy looked like a doll in his arms and Deran felt like nothing more than a flea as the shifter tried to shake him off. After a few minutes of struggling and listening to Tracy’s breaths get raspier and shallower the shifter finally started to waiver. The silver rope dug deeper into his flesh as blood began to pour down his chest. He finally released Tracy who fell to a heap on the floor, her arms still bound behind her back, and dropped to his knees. He gave a half-hearted attempt to pry the rope from his neck but it was useless. Using all of his strength and with a roar a shifter could have been proud of, Deran pulled his hands back as he pushed the shifter forward with his knees and watched as the thin silver band acted as a garrotte and shredded through the shifters flesh. All at once Deran found himself falling backwards as the shifters neck gave way and his head separated from his body, sailing through the air and landing at the feet of their host. Their audience had watched the scene unfold at their leader’s instruction and none of them looked happy about the end result but still they didn’t move. The leader, the tall blonde shifter in the sharp suit, drew his hands together in a slow clap as a smile filled his face. Deran didn’t like it.

“Well done… both of you. I expected resistance from you demon but your little friend… I am impressed.”

“Bite me, asshole. Who the fuck are you,” Tracy asked, all sign of weakness and fear gone. She clambered to her feet with little difficulty and Deran did the same, stepping over the headless shifter and standing beside her.

“Alright. I suppose an introduction is in order. My name is Abraham Vendrell. Welcome.”

“Vendrell?” Deran asked, understanding and dread flooding him. These weren’t the Resistance at all. He wasn’t sure if they were worse but he knew what they were capable of. Hell, they were the reason he was in New York.

“Ah… the penny has dropped has it?”

“What’s going on, Deran? You know him?” Tracy asked quietly, a frown wrinkling her forehead.

“We’ve never met but your demon knows me very well. At least well enough to mess with my operations in the city and now he must pay the price. He’s cost me a lot of money. Unfortunately for you sweetheart, you are part of that price.” Vendrell said, smiling wider. He kicked the shifters head at his feet away from him and began walking towards Tracy. Deran stepped forward, shielding her with his body, his eyes pinned on the incoming shifter. Vendrell rolled his eyes and with a wave of his hand signalled four of his thugs to subdue Deran. He didn’t go down without a fight, kicking out and pushing, hell even biting, but a few shifter charged punches to the gut and a blade to his throat and he was on his ass. Powerless.

“Don’t you fucking touch her Vendrell… I swear by the Gods it’ll be the last thing you-,” Deran took another punch to the gut and grunted, cutting off his threat. Tracy stood still, glaring at Vendrell defiantly as he continued to prowl towards her and Deran took the moment of reprieve to get a good look at his surroundings. They were in some kind of warehouse. Sawdust and empty pallets were strewn around haphazardly and crates lined each wall. There was a metal corrugated door that the van had driven through but it had since been chained shut and Deran was willing to bet those chains were made of silver. Other than that there were two doors. One up a small flight of stairs behind Vendrell and another to their right. There were maybe eight more thugs besides the ones currently pinning him down, a mixture of shifters, Fae and maybe a nymph or two. That was all to be expected really. He knew that outside of the supe cities many different species came together, formed lasting bonds and families, in one way or another and Vendrell’s little crime family wasn’t race specific. However, there was one thug who stood out amongst the others… a demon. He’d thought he sensed a demon when they were accosted in the street and chased down the alley but he’d taken a few hits to the head at that point, there was no denying it now though. The demons crimson eyes contrasted with his pale skin, glowing like embers in the middle of his face removing any doubt that the convergence of supes and demons had indeed happened when he hadn’t been paying attention. They were working together and though it was something he’d always wanted to see, demons accepted in supernatural society, it didn’t bode well in this situation. Maybe he had been too quick to write Vendrell off as a separate threat to the Resistance. Though he was still on the fence as to the Resistance’s existence, the presence of all these different kinds of beings in one place, working towards a common goal, lent credence to the theory.

“I was planning on sending you to one of my whorehouses, little one, but I don’t think you’re the type to go easy, hmm?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Tracy snarled, her eyes flitting around the room like a caged animal as Vendrell came to a stop in front of her. He chuckled at her outburst, a chilling sound that would have had an average woman pissing her pants but not Catrasia Ascia. She stood tall and proud, still searching for a getaway like the fighter she was.

“I probably wouldn’t get much money out of you, anyway. My patrons despise damaged goods,” Vendrell murmured softly, running his finger over Tracy’s scar. She flinched back growling but it only served to excite Vendrell more. Shifters liked the hunt and Tracy was acting like defiant prey. “Ha… you are feisty. I like that. So here’s what will happen to you, little one. You will go into the arena along with your demon here and when some of that stubbornness has been beaten out of you, I’ll take you into my bed. You will my personal whore and you will be grateful.”

“I’d rather die, asshole,” she grated, her chest rising and falling with each angry breath.

“Oh, you will. You will. But not until I say you can,” he chuckled again and turned on his heel, nodding his head at the demon and two others as he went. They surrounded Tracy, treating her with the caution she deserved but with her hands bound behind her back she too was quickly subdued though she fought with everything she had in her. One grabbed her feet as another held on to her upper body with the third wrapping his arms around her waist as they carried her bucking body through the door to the right. Deran attempted to climb to his feet and go after her, earning a fist to the jaw for his trouble but he needn’t have bothered. Less than a minute later he was being dragged to his feet and thrust through the same door. It led down a dirty corridor that stank of piss and up a short flight of stairs. He could still hear Tracy shouting profanities so he was relatively calm as they led him through another door but then they forced him to turn to the left and she had clearly been dragged to the right. He fought to get to her, calling on his power but the silver blocked him from feeling anything but a glimmer. He couldn’t feel his captor’s intentions nor could he influence them in any way. As he was kicked and punched and had his head struck against the wall he came to a stark realisation. Unless things looked up, it was getting less and less likely that he and Tracy were going to be able to fight their way out of this.

Chapter Sixteen

“Get your damn hands off of me, you ugly son of a bitch!” The shifter Tracy was screaming at backhanded her across the face causing blood to pool under her tongue and a dizziness to overtake her senses. Before she realised what was going on she was thrown into a blindingly white room, covered in gleaming tiles. She knew they were tiles from the sound it made when her head ricocheted off of the floor.

“Clean her up. She’s fighting in an hour,” the shifter with the penchant for beating tied up women murmured something else and suddenly her hands were free, aching but free. She tried to turn and kick his ass but from out of nowhere she took a boot to the ribs and as she was still gasping, her rib bones reforming inside of her as he left the room, his friends leaving with him.

“Son of a bitch,” she muttered, spitting blood onto the pristine, white floor.

“Shhh, they’ll hear you. That would be bad for all of us,” a soft, scared and feminine voice sounded from behind her and she rolled over, her aching hands coming up to defend herself if necessary. What she saw though wasn’t in the least threatening. It was sickening, defeating but not necessarily threatening. There were eight women, some of them were girls really and more disturbingly still, some of them were human.

“Who are you people?” Tracy asked, scrambling to a stand.

“Whores, fighters, pets… whatever you want to call us sweetheart,” said another, slightly older voice. “You better get ready. If you’re late, they’ll beat us all.” The voice was coming from a blonde woman with large green eyes framed with dark, purplish bruises and a cut along her jawline.

“Who are these people? Why did they take us?” she asked, still not moving.

The blonde stared at her in disgust, “will you shut the fuck up and get ready or I’ll kill you myself,” she ground out through gritted teeth.

“Fucking try it, blondie,” Tracy snarled. If this woman thought she was just some push over that could be bullied she had another thing coming.

“Stop it! Please… my baby…” the first woman spoke again, her hands patting at her belly which when Tracy looked again she could see was proficiently rounded. This girl was about ready to drop based on the size of her.

“That’s not your baby, Megara. It belongs to him. Just like we all belong to him. Best you remember it and save yourself the heartache.” The blonde woman muttered, turning away from them all to sit at a small table at the back of the whitewashed room which Tracy thought must have been some sort of communal bathroom. There were six shower stalls on one side with no curtains and not even the illusion of privacy, a row of toilets on the other, a small table and chairs at the far end of the room and makeshift bedrolls thrown on the floor.

“Megara, right?” Tracy asked after giving the blonde a scathing look, “Look if I get ready for whatever, providing you show me how to do that, will you tell me what the fuck is going on here?”

Megara looked about Tracy’s age maybe a little younger, but there was an age to her eyes that Tracy could relate to. Also an innocence that Tracy envied. She looked around surreptitiously, as though she was waiting for another of Vendrell’s men to burst in or one of the other women to call her out, but eventually she nodded and gestured towards a shower stall. Reaching in, she flicked on the water before turning to a small cabinet beside the stalls. She pulled out a pair of white shorts, white underwear, white sports bra and a white tank top and held them out to Tracy.

“It’s a good job white is my colour, I guess,” she muttered, taking the bundle with an eye roll.

“It’s what we all have to wear when we fight.” Megara murmured, moving back towards the shower.

“They make you fight? Like that?” Only a sick, crazy bastard would make a woman as pregnant as Megara fight. Then again, she’d met Vendrell and he wasn’t exactly the epitome of virtue.

“They try… the girls have been taking my fights and in return I tend their wounds. I was a nurse before I was brought here.”

“You’re human,” Tracy meant it as a question but it came out as a statement. Still Megara nodded.

“Yes… but it doesn’t mean I can’t fight, Like I said, I was a nurse. I know exactly where all the main arteries are.” Ah… the human had backbone. Tracy snorted despite the fact that Megara was trying to pull her shirt over her head.

“Why do I need to shower? It’s a fight not a parade.” She grumbled, but still a deal was a deal so she didn’t say anything else and just let the human strip her bare and push her into a freezing cold shower.

“They like us clean for the same reason we have to wear white,” Megara murmured, “They like to see the blood.”

“Who the hell are these guys?” Tracy asked through chattering teeth as cold water chilled her bones.

“The Venders. They run most of the sex trade here in the city. They take people that won’t be missed. Immigrants like Saskia over there,” Megara nodded to a tall, dark haired woman playing cards with a shorter, fuller figured one. “Or they take tourists, like me. Drug addicts, the homeless… we all just disappear… as though we never existed.”

“Okay… but why?”

“The oldest motive in the known universe… money. He makes money on every fight. Gets his punters to place bets on who will win and each fight charges admission. That’s what we are… his cash cows.”

“The men are the same?”

“Yeah… why?”

“I have a friend, we were taken together.”

“Probably dead by now. The men are put in for death matches,” the snarky blonde called out. She had been sitting at the table quietly, pretending to ignore them, but obviously she had been listening to every word.

“What the hell is her problem?” Tracy growled, stepping out of the shower and dripping water all over the cold, hard tile.

“Don’t mind her none. That’s Amelia. She’s been here four years, the longest out of all of us. She’s made more friends and lost them to this place than anyone has the capacity to handle. She’s allowed to be a little bitter,” Megara muttered under her breath as Tracy pulled the white clothes over her damp flesh. She could relate to Amelia’s misery. Hell, she’d felt the same way for twenty-one years. Wait… did that mean she didn’t now?

“So, do we get weapons in these fights?”

“Yeah, but don’t get any ideas. Human or otherwise you’re still susceptible to electricity and the fence surrounding the pit is wired. They won’t let you out until you drop the weapons.”

“Great… has anyone ever tried to escape?”

“Lots of people. Vendrell calls for us all to be assembled outside the pit and makes us watch as they’re executed. He makes examples out of them. Of course, some of us would rather die than continue living like this but… I guess I feel like I need to live for this little one.”  She murmured, lovingly running her hands over her belly.

“Who’s the Father?”

“The devil himself…” she shuddered violently, a breath tearing from her lips. “He said he liked the way I cried…”came her tortured whisper. “Listen… what is your name anyway?” She pushed Tracy down on to her knees and began braiding her hair. It stirred long lost memories of another woman doing the same many years before. It felt peaceful in a way. Peaceful enough that Tracy became relaxed enough to be honest.

“Catrasia.”

“Pretty. Listen to me, they’ll put you against a man first. The idea is that you get the fight beat out of you. Take the beating, don’t try to fight it, they’ll go easier on you.”

“Don’t worry about me, Megara. I can handle my own.”

“Call me Meg. I’m sure you can but for how long. The more you win, the more you fight… they just keep coming.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. I don’t plan on being here very long.”

“Yeah well, none of us planned on it.”

The door suddenly swung open and the same shifter from earlier stalked into the room holding a pair of silver cuffs.

“Times up Catrasia… I hope I see you again,” Meg mumbled sadly, seemingly resigned to the fact that Tracy wasn’t coming back.

“You will. Now listen to me Meg, that baby is yours and only yours. Don’t let anyone else tell you any different.” Tracy wasn’t sure what made her say it, there was something about the human that gave her the urge to protect her. It was probably the baby. Babies do weird shit to women, she thought, apparently I’m no exception. The shifter cuffed her hands and attached a leash (no shit, a goddamn leash!) to the metal chain that ran between them and he used it to pull her through the door. He tugged roughly on it every few seconds so the moment she got her footing she lost it again, sick bastard. Eventually, after what felt like forever trying not to land on her face, she was pulled through another door into a long dark corridor. What was different about this one was the sound of a crowd just beyond the door. A loud voice calling through a megaphone broke up the monotonous jeering that filled her ears and suddenly a trickle of fear flowed through her. It wasn’t the sounds of what could have been hundreds waiting for her on the other side of the door it was the fact that for the first time in forever she felt truly alone. Perhaps she had spent too long surrounded by people who claimed to care about her, maybe she’d gotten too used to it. She just knew that it wasn’t good for her. She never used to need anyone. Yet, as she was forcibly dragged closer and closer to the crowds on the other side of the door she found herself wishing that just this once, someone would come for her. Someone would be there for her… someone would save her. Still, if wishes were fishes this place would stink. Closing her eyes a moment she quietened the panic that was bubbling up her chest and held her breath as the door was finally opened and she was pushed through it. She was standing at the top of a flight of stairs in the opening to a small stadium with crowds of men and women dressed in their finery jeered and cheered as the announcer proclaimed her arrival.

“A new addition for your entertainment this evening, ladies and gentleman. A rare talent found within our very city! The first and only of her kind, a female mage! And she has a thirst for blood. How will you bet? Will she be victorious against our prolific shifter, Cedric?” The crowd went wild for the commentator but it was his choice of words that confused and frightened Tracy. A female mage? Only a few knew what she was and out of those few there were only a handful that she didn’t trust. Someone had betrayed them and she had a good idea who. Anastacia… that two-faced, double crossing old bat! That was why she had suddenly become so damn accommodating. It was all an act. She even agreed to give them Chase so she would know roughly where they’d be. Unless Chase was involved as well? Ah crap. Adalai…

“Weapon?”

“What?” Tracy had become so distracted by her vehement hatred for her own grandmother and, dare she say, concern for Adalai, she hadn’t realised she had been led down the steps to a square fighting arena; the pit, she guessed. It was a fitting name for it. It was essentially a silver faraday cage, only square and with tighter poles preventing exit. As she drew closer she could hear the faint buzzing that could only be electricity being conducted through the metal, begging to be touched so she could become a tender piece of meat jerky.

“Weapon?” her captor asked her again, looking at her like she was a moron. In all honesty, she felt like a moron. She had ignored her instinct telling her something was off with Anastacia and now she was being forced into a fighting ring with some guy who was probably three times her size, whilst Deran was only the Gods knew where and Adalai was with a potential traitor. Not to mention the fact that they were no closer to discovering the motive behind Colleen and her shifter friends demise. Yep… moron was pretty fitting. Shaking herself out of her downward spiral of self-pity she looked at the array of weapons her leash-holder was pointing to and almost smiled. At least something was going her way.

“I’ll take those,” she muttered, trying to look afraid. If he thought she could use them proficiently he might give her something else just to screw with her. Apparently, her ploy worked, either that or her guard really didn’t give a crap. Whichever it was, she watched him push a button attached to the outside of the cage and immediately the buzzing stopped, he then opened a doorway built in to the cage, pushed her inside and threw the short swords she’d indicated down on the ground in front of her. She sneered at him as he waved his fingers at her, closing her inside the ring which really was just a cage set on top of a cement floor with the added décor of blood splatter covering every inch. Just lovely. The crowds were going nuts, bloodthirsty bastards, as she stood there alone in her white shorts and tank top, two short swords by her bare feet, surrounded by men and women desperate to see more blood spilled on the cold cement ground. She was tempted to look down at her feet and hide from her new audience but she had promised herself a long time ago that though she might feel fear she wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing it. So, steeling herself against their judgement, she squared her shoulders and held her head high, waiting for whoever she was meant to fight. She didn’t have to wait long…

“Facing the new addition to our little family is a fan favourite… ladies and gentleman, place your bets for Cedric!” the commentator yelled and the jeers and degrading shouts she had been listening to suddenly turned to cheers of admiration and encouragement. Tracy heard one particularly loud woman calling for her evisceration and she turned her head to pin the obnoxious bitch with a stare. The woman just stared back with a cruel smile and a raised eyebrow with a look that said, ‘I’m going to enjoy watching you die.’

“Nice crowd…” Tracy muttered, turning back to the pit in time to see a freaking bear of a man entering the opposite side. Had she said three times the size? More like six. He cocked an eyebrow as he looked her up and down, then rolled his eyes and shook his head as though she wasn’t much of a threat. To be fair, he was the size of a third world country so she didn’t think she would be much of a threat either, but his instant dismissal of her ruffled her feathers anyway. She kept her eyes glued on him as she bent down and picked up her short swords. They weren’t as fine as the ones she had gotten from… as her usual ones… but they were sufficient enough. They had a handle, a sharp edge and a point, pretty much the only requisites for a short sword. One was weighted slightly heavier than the other but after a few moments of turning them over and twirling them around her fingers she had them figured out. The behemoth, Cedric, was fingering a cruel looking mace as the cage door was closed behind him with a clang. Cedric moved to the right, clutching his mace with both hands, an anticipatory grin on his face. He really was a big bastard, almost seven foot tall and nearly as wide. His bald head shone with sweat under the bright lights of the arena and his thin lips and beady eyes were twisted into a sneer as the commentator announced the start of the fight. Tracy held onto her short swords and walked to the left so that she and Cedric were circling each other. The crowd was screaming for her death after a few moments bored of watching them prowl like the caged animals they were and after moment or two Cedric got bored and charged towards her, his mace raised high. She stood there for a second, watching as he came closer. Was he serious? His whole body was vulnerable to attack because he had both hands raised above him like he was chopping wood. Was this a trick? She planted her feet, prepared for anything and waited until he was less than a foot in front of her before she dropped to the ground, rolled forward and thrust one sword into his abdomen and the other into his thigh. Blood spattered over her face and the once clean, white uniform as she skidded beneath him clambering to her feet once she was clear. Sure enough, the oaf dropped to his knees, with a look of aghast horror before he face planted on to the floor, his blood seeping out in a crimson puddle around him. Tracy clutched her swords tighter, ready for the next fight as an eerie silence filled the room. Why were they so quiet? Every member of the crowd was watching her with an open mouth and wide eyes… at least that’s how it felt. Her heart was beating fast as she moved to the centre of the pit, her eyes searching for the next threat. That couldn’t be it, surely? All at once the crowd began talking and shouting. Some were cheering but many more were sneering and heckling at her. Anger at their contempt of her had her reacting without much forethought. Making a sound somewhere in between a shout and a war cry she threw one of her short swords at the wire fencing surrounding the pit, causing it to spark with little lightning bolts and white-hot flashes as the metal conducted the electricity. The audience closest to it shrieked and yelled in fear and agitation as the rest of them just looked on and laughed. As though her righteous fury was funny… she’d show them funny. She cried out again and brandished her remaining sword, daring anyone to come and try it.

“Put it down or you’ll stay in there,” a guard called from outside the cage. His eyes filled with mirth as though he was explaining the fundamentals of life to a fucking child.

“Come and make me,” she snarled, her voice not sounding like her own. The guard raised an eyebrow at her before turning to look at Vendrell who was peering down on the arena from a small booth at the top of the arena. Like it was an ice hockey stadium and he had a VIP box, sick bastard. Tracy saw Vendrell give a nod and then the doorway to the cage was thrust open and the condescending guard entered, armed with a long metal pipe… was that a cattle prod? Seriously? She stepped back as he waved it in front of him, activating it so it crackled with energy as if to emphasise her realisation. She moved back and held her sword forward. She could feel her power just beneath the surface, begging to be free, but the faraday cage of silver wouldn’t allow it. The Guard had closed the doorway behind him but that didn’t mean it was locked, did it? Maybe she could use his hubris against him. Eager, maybe too eager, she charged forward and aimed low. The guard parried her blow with his cattle prod and reached forward with his other hand, gripping the fabric of her white vest and some of her flesh as well as he pulled her closer and aimed a head-butt right at her nose. She managed to turn in time that his forehead only connected with her cheek but it still rattled her brain a little. Pulling her sword up she was able to slash across his chest, forcing him to release her. All the while the crowd was going wild. Some shouting for her death and others for her victory. There was something hypnotic about it. Hearing hundreds of people shouting your name and caring if you lived or died… but she knew it was all false. It could have been anyone in that arena and they would have still been singing the same song. They didn’t care about her and she was glad. Who needs enemies when you’ve got friends like that?

The guard recovered from his blow to the chest and came forward once more, though much more weary this time. He made to charge forward and she turned to face him. His baton came up as her sword came down and with a slick slice of her blade she managed to cut his wrist, forcing him to drop the prod. Not resting on her laurels she thrust the sword into his shoulder and cracked a smile and he fell backwards. She looked up at the crowd then, walking forwards and hovering above the supe with her sword aimed at his heart. The same woman who had smirked so cruelly at her earlier, with her impeccable clothes and perfectly coiffed hair was staring at her in fear… Yeah, that’s right, bitch! I’m coming for you next. With a grin any demon could have been proud of, Tracy raised her sword, ready to end the supes life and grinned wider as it began its descent. Then she was on fire… Not fire… she was being struck by lightning and it was coming from every-fucking-where. Her lower back, her hip, her shoulder, her thigh… she managed to turn ever so slightly, her blade falling to the floor with a clatter, and she laid eyes on several more guards who had snuck through the other doorway whilst she was distracted. Shit… rookie move, Tracy. Rookie fucking move.

Chapter Seventeen

“Hey, baby… you alright?”

“Deran? What happened?”

“Well… from what I heard, you made Vendrell a lot of money out there so he put you in here as a ‘reward’.”

“Where am I?”

“The male quarters, from what I can tell.”

“Huh… okay. Why do I get the sense this isn’t a good thing?” She asked, finally sitting up and glancing around. This room was the mirror image of the women’s room. White-washed walls and floors covered in tile, several shower stalls on one side, a table and chairs and bedding thrown everywhere. The only difference was the size. It was about three times as big. That, and the dead bodies strewn everywhere.

“Er… what happened?” she asked, looking at the carnage with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, I think Vendrell threw you in here to teach you a lesson in obedience and these guys were meant to be your teachers,” he muttered with a frown.

“You killed them.” It wasn’t an accusation, just a fact that she was stating. She was hardly the best person to judge someone on the basis of right and wrong.

“No, actually… I made them kill each other. Maybe that’s worse somehow?” he mused, cocking his head to the side.

“How did you do that?”

“My power is intention as I told you… like Adie can send his power out to make others relive the emotions of their victims, I can manipulate a person’s intentions… change their minds on a few… crucial matters.”

“But… the silver… how-,” she asked, forcing herself to sit up.

“Doesn’t affect me, or Adie either, unless it’s directly touching our skin.” He gave a shrug, “Being a demon should have some benefits, I guess.”

“Can’t you manipulate the guards?” she asked, hopeful.

“I fucking wish… they’re all wearing charms. They know what I am and what my gifts are so they’ve protected themselves against me… didn’t think to protect their slaves though,” Deran muttered, manoeuvring himself a little closer to her. “There’s something I need to talk to you about…” he seemed nervous

“What?” she asked dubiously, leaning back a little on instinct.

“There is too many of them out there for us to fight our way through without using our abilities…”

“Right. So what’s the plan? Wait until we’re not in chains?”

“That might take a while and you said that you and Adie are at risk of soul tearing…”

“Okay… what are you getting at Deran? Spit it out,” she muttered, irritated by his reluctance to get to the goddamn point.

“You, Adie and I are Mates… we are bonded in a way that is deeply rooted in the soul. Triumvirate bonds work a little differently to couples.”

“Different how?” she asked, despite herself.

“Well, when one member of the pair engages in… certain activities… with their Mate and the third is not present… it creates some sort of beacon.”

“I… don’t get it.”

He sighed, somewhat impatiently… almost embarrassed, “It’s designed to make sure that a triumvirate comes together properly. Imagine if the pair split up in search of their Mate but both need to be present for the bond to be felt… this way, when… certain acts… are performed, the third in the triumvirate is summoned to their position.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Depends… what do you think I’m saying?”

“I… I don’t know if I… Deran, I…” she began stuttering moving away from him in a rush, doing her best to ignore the dejected look on his face. “I… I don’t think I can,” she whispered, her eyes wide with fear.

“I know it’s less than ideal circumstances and I would never force you into anything, Catrasia… is the idea really that repulsive to you?”

“What? No… it’s not that… I mean, it is, but… ah shit. I… when I was… I’ve never…”

Deran’s hurt expression cleared as understanding bloomed within him. “Hold on baby, I’m not suggesting we get down and dirty, right this second. I’m not an animal… well I mean, I wouldn’t say no, so maybe I am but, that’s not what I meant.”

“It’s not? I don’t understand,” she murmured, her heart rate slowing ever so slightly.

“I was talking about a kiss,” he said, shaking his head as though he were the idiot.

“A kiss? Just a kiss?” she asked, her heart in her throat and her hands shaking.

“Just a kiss, baby. Hopefully it will be enough to get through,” he said, leaning back against the wall, his hands in his lap… apparently doing his best to appear as unthreatening as possible.

“Okay… okay, okay, I think I can do that,” she said, moving forward, without giving herself a chance to back down. Without thinking she leaned in, quick as a viper, and pressed her lips to his in the quickest kiss since light spread. She pulled back, her eyes wide to see him attempting to hide a grin. “That wasn’t right, was it?”

“Close your eyes, Catrasia,” he whispered, sitting up a little.

“I… I,” she muttered, beginning to panic once again.

“Hey… do you trust me?”

“I… yes?” she phrased it as a question but apparently, it was good enough for him. Gently, slowly, he placed one hand on her cheek and the other into her hair.

“Close your eyes… you’re safe with me,” she wasn’t sure that was true. Her body might be safe but her sanity? Her heart? He moved closer, his handsome face so close to hers she could almost taste his scent with every shallow breath she took. Without making a conscious decision, her eyes fell closed as he moved closer still. It felt like an eternity stretched between the moments it took for his lips to finally meet hers. His taste was dark, sweet and exotic as he gently closed his mouth around hers. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, for the longest time as he gently swiped his tongue along the seal of her lips, encouraging her to open to him. When she did, she was all in. The heat he inspired in her took over, broke through whatever fear was holding her back, like a bout of temporary insanity. Her mouth opened and she thrust herself towards him, her breasts pushed up against his chest as he gasped inside her mouth. Her hands found their way to his hair, pulling towards her and his own travelled down to her back, clutching her to him as though his next breath depended on it. She lost herself in that kiss, every worry, every fear, melting away… she had never wanted anything more than his touch at that moment, never needed anything more. Gods… she’d never felt anything like it. Their lips parted and she gasped for air as his mouth worked its way to her throat, licking and gently biting her with such tenderness she thought she might cry. Her hands fluttered onto his shoulders… skin on skin on skin… so many sensations and all of them beautiful. Her actions became more urgent as heat pooled in her core… she needed more, needed something from him that she couldn’t define… he seemed to understand, pulling himself onto his knees, still holding her body to him. Gently, as though she were made of nothing but air, he laid her down on the cold tile floor… it was almost a relief from the heat burgeoning between them. His mouth worked its way down her chest as he pulled her dirty vest up and-

Suddenly, he was gone. Crouching above her, a feral look in his eyes and she scooted away confused and embarrassed, until she realised the reason for his sudden departure. They were no longer alone in the tiled prison cell.

“Well now… Vendrell’s not going to be too happy about this,” a smug looking guard muttered, surveying the damage Deran had wrought on the other prisoners. Damage she had completely forgotten about. “Back down, dog… or she’ll be the one to suffer.” He said after a moment, pulling out a wicked looking cattle prod from behind his back. Deran didn’t appear to be willing to back down and now that her mind was returning to her, she realised how precarious his position was. All these dead slaves… Vendrell was not going to be happy.

“I killed them,” she said, standing up. Hell, what was she doing? She was a selfish, self-serving bitch… she didn’t risk herself for anyone. And yet, she just kept on talking. “It was me.”

Deran growled, standing up in front of her, apparently, still unable to form words… she wasn’t far off herself. “No… me…”

“You expect me to believe that you killed these men?”

“Killed Cedric, didn’t I?” she muttered, belligerently. The guard seemed to consider that for a minute.

“Alright… I’m sure Vendrell will be excited to hear all about it… get moving,” the guard smirked, gesturing out the door with his cattle prod.

“No!” Deran shouted, rushing at the guard with a primal roar. The guard raised his cattle prod, connecting with Deran’s chest but the demon didn’t stop, even as he grunted in pain, her back going rigid as he tackled the guard to the ground. “Go!” he screamed at her and she started moving. She made it to the door as the Guard continued alternating between striking Deran with the prod and electrocuting him with it. She was on the threshold… freedom just a breath away… ah shit… she turned back, ignoring Deran’s shouting and brought back her foot slamming it home into the guard face, almost smiling as teeth and saliva scattered before her. Deran looked up and though she had expected him to be as excited about their escape as she was, he glanced over her shoulder… resignation in the lines of his face.

Chapter Eighteen

“For that little stunt, you’ve earned yourself another fight, my dear. I don’t normally like my fighters to fight two days in a row, over saturates the crowd, but for you I’ll make an exception,” Vendrell scowled, giving her a rough push into the female cell. Tracy barely held on to the temptation to spit in his face before he closed the door. Groaning in frustration when she heard the bar slide shut… locking her in.

Shit! “Shit!” she cursed allowed, barely holding in a tirade. Turning around she came face to face with Meg, her eyes were assessing and her face confused.

“What?” she murmured, still hot, bothered and volatile.

“All this blood but… I’m not seeing any wounds. You’re a supe? You healed?”

“Yes. No, and didn’t get any,” Tracy muttered with a smug grin in Amelia’s direction who was looking at her with much more apprehension than she had before.

“Who did you fight?”

“Some guy called Cedric?” Tracy said, moving to the side of the room so she could sit down against the wall and think about a new plan to get the hell out of there. Meg came with her, waddling. Her swollen belly stuck out of her otherwise skinny body… like a snake that had swallowed a basketball.

“Oh my God! And you won? He’s gonna be so pissed,” Meg murmured, covering her hand with her mouth.

“He’ll have a job. He’s dead,” she couldn’t help her attitude. She was riding on a high, her lips, her throat… her entire freaking body was on fire. Adalai had to have felt it… hell, she thought maybe everyone had felt it, the sensations were so powerful.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head? Look up at the light,” Meg muttered, thudding down on the floor beside her.

“I’m f-“

“Just do it. I didn’t ask for a running commentary,” the pregnant woman muttered, placing her cold hands on Tracy’s chin as she jerked her head this way and that. “Hmmm, doesn’t seem to be any sign of concussion. Do supes even get concussions?”

“Hell if I know… I doubt it,” Tracy replied, barely able to open her mouth in the position Meg had contorted her head.

“So cool…” her words were almost breathless, filled with awe. It was… odd.

“You were captured and imprisoned by Supes… why would you think anything about us was cool?” Tracy couldn’t help but ask, incredulously.

“I’ve been here a year almost. Met a few supes in that time who were good people and I figure there are as many bad supes as there as bad humans,” she replied with a shrug, finally releasing Tracy’s chin. Apparently satisfied. “So are you a shifter? Is that why you’re so hyped?”

“No and I’m not hyped… okay, I’m a little hyped but it’s not because of the fight. Remember my friend? I saw him. He’s alive,” Tracy murmured, a little taken aback by Meg’s easy acceptance of her supernatural status. It wasn’t a ‘what the hell are you, freak?’ it was just curiosity. There didn’t appear to be anything malicious in it at all.

“That’s good! Wait… saw him? Or saw him?”

“Sorry, was there a distinction there?”

“Ha… saw him, huh?” she said with a giggle.

“Seriously… how are you so damn happy? I think you’re the one with a concussion,” Tracy said, leaning back to assess the pregnant woman. Maybe it was the pregnancy… wasn’t that supposed to mess with people?

“Can’t be miserable all the time… takes up too much energy. I learnt that after the first month or so,” Meg said with a shrug. “Why don’t you clean up? I’ll get you some fresh clothes.”

“Sure,” Tracy muttered with a bemused frown. This human might just be crazy. After bracing herself through another cold shower, which was effective in more ways than one, she felt more like herself. Clean clothes, white ones of course, and a glass or two of shower water later and she and Meg were once again sat on the tile floor, leaning back against the wall.

“So-,” she wasn’t sure what she was about to ask but she was interrupted by the sound of the metal bar swinging up and the door opening. Two guards stepped in, each carrying a tray of foul smelling food. The guards dumped the trays on the floor, on which there were nine bowls of weird looking soup. No-one moved, no-one spoke… not until the guards had left and the sound of the metal bar swinging down felled the room. Then it was freaking pandemonium. Meg attempted to stand, her swollen stomach getting in her way as the women pushed each other to get to the soup. Tracy, realising that she had better get in quick if she wanted to eat, did the same, elbowing in and taking two bowls. Once she had extricated herself and returned to Meg, handing her one she turned to find a bitchy face towering over hers.

“You took my food,” Amelia growled, the well-defined muscles in her arms and shoulders flexing.

“You weren’t quick enough,” Tracy muttered, on her guard.

“What did you say to me?” before Tracy could say a word, Amelia was pulling her arm back, readying for a punch. Her fist flew out of nowhere, heading straight for Tracy’s face but she was too quick. Dropping low, Tracy took great satisfaction in hearing the crack of Amelia’s knuckles against the wall. Amelia gave a shriek that would have made a Banshee proud, her face reddening as she staggered backwards. All eyes were on Tracy as she sniffed, took her seat against the wall and cautiously lifted her bowl to her lips. It tasted foul… absolutely disgusting. Hell, for the first time in a long time she was glad her body had been conditioned to starving because there was no way she was eating what was in her bowl. Amelia had retreated to the corner, nursing her broken hand as she pulled the smallest bowl of soup towards her, silent tears rolling down cheeks in obvious pain and despair.

“Hey do you want this?” Tracy murmured to Meg who shook her head in disdain, looking at the bowl of slop as though it were about to jump out and bite her. Could well have been, in retrospect. With a sigh and an eye roll, Tracy stood and walked over to Amelia, the human flinching backwards though her eyes spoke of bloody murder.

“Here, you can have it,” she murmured, placing the bowl on the ground before the woman.

“I don’t need your charity, bitch,” she snarled causing Tracy’s face to deadpan.

“Whatever. Eat it or don’t. I don’t care,” she muttered after a moment, turning away and moving back towards Meg. Less than a second later and she heard the bowl scrape across the floor as Amelia’s hunger got the better of her.

“That was kind of you,” Meg murmured, giving her a smile in between slurps.

“Not really… that stuff smells like shit,” Tracy muttered. “Besides… I think I broke her hand.”

“You’re not the first, I doubt you’ll be the last. Amelia makes it a habit with newcomers.”

“Wow, thanks for the warning,” Tracy muttered, re-evaluating the dirty blonde, who was grinning beside her.

“Figured you could handle it… you did kill Cedric, after all.”

“You- Were you testing me?” Tracy asked, a smile curving her lips as she leaned back to look at the human… reassessing yet again.

“Maybe,” Meg murmured with a grin. “Don’t worry, you passed.” Her face turned serious as she placed a hand on Tracy’s knee consolingly. Her expression and the gentle tapping of her hand forced a chuckle to erupt from Tracy’s lips as she shook her head.

“You might be insane. Do you know that?”

“Well, everybody has a cross to bear,” she murmured, with a shrug. Insane, indeed, Tracy thought, her hand absentmindedly rubbing her chest.

Chapter Nineteen

Adalai clutched at his chest. The pain had started a mere annoyance but as the hours ticked by, one after another, and Tracy and Deran felt further and further away from him, it had bloomed into a constant stabbing just below his heart. Once again he pulled the phone Chase had given him from his pocket and dialled Alexa. Once again it rang and rang... No answer. He knew he should have been concerned for the little redhead but all he could think about was Tracy... instead of worried, he was angry. She had told him they wouldn’t be alone... That she'd be there if they needed her... so where the fuck was she? He stuffed his phone back in his pocket as aggressively as possible with a huff.

“Are you alright?” Chase muttered, looking at him out of the corner of his eye as he pulled the car over outside a human police precinct.

“Peachy. Why are we here?”

“I saw some CCTV cameras in that alleyway. Might tell us where they’ve been taken, might not. Either way, I need to get my hands on that footage before anyone sees it.”

“Right… humans,” Adalai nodded, climbing out of the car, his long legs unfolding onto the sidewalk. He repositioned his sunglasses as Chase walked around the vehicle towards him. Scaring humans with his crimson irises was one thing, scaring a lot of humans who all happened to be heavily armed was another. “That was odd, wasn’t it? I mean, I don’t spend too much time in human societies but I was under the impression that supes still steered clear of showing themselves so publicly.”

“Yeah, well, it’s been happening more and more often over the past few months and Vendrell is one of the biggest culprits. That sting I was on before I met you guys?”

“Lumberjack, right?” Adalai nodded as Chase led him up the stone steps to the revolving glass doors leading to the human punishment and protection service. It all looked a little too… civilised for Adalai’s liking. Justice wasn’t as clean as the ivory doorway suggested. It was a dirty business, cold and soul-destroying. That wasn’t reflected in the building he was walking into and it made him uncomfortable.

“What? Well, anyway, I was undercover trying to find a way into Vendrell’s operation. He runs a criminal organisation of shifters; they abduct people off of the street and either force them into prostitution or into an underground fighting arena. There’s been an increase in abductions lately, my sources on the street have reported several homeless, known drug addicts and the like being taken by people in a white van.”

“Alright… so where the fuck is he?”

“If I knew that, buddy, we’d be there already and I’d be biting his throat out around now.”

“Fair enough… where do we start?”

“With the footage,” Chase’s voice had dropped to a murmur as he weaved his way through the precincts bull pen of desks filled with paperwork and disgruntled looking cops. The emotions being thrown towards them were almost overwhelming. Adalai could feel distrust, anger, fear, but mostly… hatred. And it was targeted at Chase.

“You’re not the most popular around here, are you?” he muttered, watching as Chase gave a long suffering sigh, though his shoulders remained straight and proud and Adalai could feel the frustration rolling off of him in waves.

“Part and parcel of the gig… they think I tampered with evidence and helped a cop-killer get away with murder.”

“Did you?” Adalai asked, walking beside the shifter, already knowing the answer to his question. Hell, he could feel it so strongly, Chase might as well have been shouting it at him.

“Sure did. In here,” Chase opened a door with the words Det. C. Collins emblazoned on the glass and ushered Adalai inside.

“You know, my friend Alexa was a cop,” Adalai murmured, his eyes taking in the disarray of Chase’s office. Paperwork was piled high covering every inch of the desk and even some of the floor. A post board covered one wall and it was littered with mugshots and profiles of missing people.

“Yeah? That’s the one in Texas, right?”

“Yeah… are all these people missing?” he muttered, running his eyes over the pictures. Men and women of all ages, some young enough to be children, even by human standards.

“Yeah… I believe most, if not all, were taken by Vendrell’s men. Here, look at this,” Chase had sat at his desk and was tapping away on a keyboard, his eyes glued to the computer monitor in front of him.

“How did you get this?” Adalai asked, moving to stand behind his shoulder and observe the camera footage in the alleyway.

“Hacked into the cities security mainframe. There’s your brother,” Chase jabbed at the screen and Adalai watched as Deran moved into shot. He was talking… no surprise there, his brother was always talking. Tracy’s dark hair bobbed in and out of view as she stood just outside of the cameras periphery. She was visibly angry… or maybe it was fear? He couldn’t tell but she didn’t look happy. A minute passed and Deran reached out to touch her shoulder. Adalai felt a pang of jealousy mixed with sadness as she flinched away from his brother, coming fully into the frame as she did.

“You know, for Mates, you guys don’t seem to be all that close,” Chase observed, raising an eyebrows.

“It’s… complicated,” Adalai muttered, annoyed that the shifter was right.

“Ain’t it always? Ah… who’s this?” Adalai watched as a white van pulled into the end of the alleyway, growling when Chase stopped the recording.

“Keep your panties on, Demon,” he muttered, zooming in on the Van’s exterior. He tapped away on his keyboard again for a few minutes, clicking his mouse here and there until the licence plate became legible. “Got it,” he murmured, writing down the letter and number combination. He started to come out of the image but Adalai stopped him.

“Wait, what is that?” Adalai pointed at something on the side of the van. A marking that obscured the otherwise white panelling. Chase frowned and then started working his devil magic to make the image clearer. If Adalai hadn’t been so frustrated and fearful of the time that was ticking by, he might have been more impressed. He fidgeted impatiently from foot to foot, his hands wringing together as he waited… and waited. Eventually, after a freaking eternity, Chase clarified the image of… was that a pig? “What the hell is that?”

“Some sort of logo. Vehicle must be commercial,” Chase murmured, pressing a button on his keyboard. The sounds of a printer in the corner of the room loading was the only thing breaking the silence as they both squinted at the image. “I don’t recognise it but when we get out of here, we’ll search through the database. Might get lucky unless it’s out of state.” With that, Chase tapped away and the recording zoomed out, picking up where it had left off. Adalai watched as both Deran and Tracy turned towards the sound of the van doors opening. They watched warily for a moment until Deran pulled on Tracy’s arm, clearly feeling the men’s intent. Tracy went for her weapon, unwilling to run as Deran was trying to make her. Pulling free a flip knife from her boot she raced down the alley… towards the danger. Damn crazy woman. He watched as she leapt into the air, as graceful and deadly as a panther, her blade arcing into the chest of one man and then another. For a moment, he forgot he already knew how it ended, as he watched her fight thinking that she might just make it out of there. Deran was fighting one man, focusing his gift on another, the subject of which started fighting his friends but was quickly dispatched by them. Tracy was squaring off against one man, a tall man with crimson eyes… fuck… Demon. He was about to say as much when another man, eyes a bright shifter yellow, appeared behind Tracy, thrusting a gleaming dagger through her back. She staggered forward, lashing out with her knife as blood spattered the sidewalk. Deran took a silver blade to the side and as they were overcome and bundled into the van, Adalai watched as his own image appeared on the screen, fighting to get to them. Fighting and failing. His breaths were coming in fast, shallow pants as he did his best to maintain a hold on his anger.

“Calm down, buddy. We’ll get them back. Did you see that Demon?” Chase murmured, rewinding the video to show the tall, black clothed man, his red eyes focusing on Tracy.

“Yeah… there was a Fae too, fighting with my brother. I could sense the demon in the alleyway. He’s one of the dead,” Adalai growled, his hands shaking with the need to strangle someone. He watched, once more as the video played and the shifter that had stabbed Tracy wrapped his beefy arms around her delicate throat, holding a blade to her as she was forced into the van after Deran. Once again, he watched as he failed to reach them. Deran had been right… he was just a fucking disappointment. He moved away, turning to stare out of the window as his mind replayed the events again and again. He was so lost in thought and self-recrimination that Chase made him jump when he tapped his arm a few minutes later. Adalai turned back to the screen to find it blank.

“Where is it?”

“Deleted and wiped off the mainframe, but I burned a copy. Just in case,” Chase muttered, opening the drawers in his desk and pulling free a laptop, a spare gun clip and some papers. Adalai understood then why his fellow officers distrusted him so much. Once or twice, destroying evidence might go unnoticed but to do it regularly? People were bound to get suspicious. Who was the cop killer though? And why did Chase take it upon himself to do it? Weren’t that what the Guardians were for? At least, that’s what they used to be for…

Less than an hour later and Chase was pulling his car into the Ascia estate. Adalai might not have been the Witches biggest fans but if they could help in any way he was sure as shit going to suck it up. That, and Chase hadn’t exactly given him much of a choice. He peered out of his window, wondering just how much he could trust the shifter he was with as he prepared to dive head first into coven politics and posturing. So similar to Demon society and yet worlds apart. He was climbing out of the car when he felt it… a tugging sensation from somewhere deep within. Need and desire and pain and envy flowed through him as he staggered backwards, using the car to prop himself up.

“You okay, dude?” Chase muttered, walking round the car to frown at him uselessly.

“He… she… they’re… I feel them!” he gasped, clutching at his core, attempting to assuage the fire within. Well shit… here I am worried sick and they’re getting their freak on. Figures.

Chapter Twenty

Deran woke up with a start… how long had they been there now? He sensed it had been at least one full night but the lack of windows in the room meant he wasn’t certain. With a sigh he leant back against the cold white tiles in silence, alternating between running his finger over his lips and banging his head against the wall in frustration. Why had she done that? Didn’t she know that he would have taken the punishment, even if it meant his death, for his actions? Why did she do that? He replayed the moment, over and over in his mind just as he had before his weary bones forced him to rest. She had stood, shaken and confused about the wondrous moment that had passed between them and just like that, offered herself to the mercy of the guard. When he had fought the guard down and given her the chance to escape, she’d hesitated, turned back and helped him. All this from a woman who claimed to be selfish… she described herself as cold and self-serving but she was the farthest thing from it in his eyes. A little damaged, a little broken but pure as holy light beneath it all. His heart thumped at the taste of her lips that still lingered on his tongue… by the Creator… she tasted like honey, sweet yet slightly bitter. Refreshing and wholesome yet decadent. One thing he knew for certain… before he left this world for the next he would taste her mouth again. He wouldn’t settle for anything less. His thoughts were cut short when the door swung open with a clunk and three guards walked in, their batons raised and their faces grim. Deran thought his certainty might be tested a lot sooner than he planned. He reached out with his power, trying to read their intent at the very least but it just bounced back to him, as though it ricocheted off of an invisible wall. He grunted as he stood to his feet, the sting from his multiple electrocutions still resonating in his bones. He eyed their batons cautiously as they walked towards him, one on each side and the other directly in front. He was cornered and feeling more than a little feral… a dangerous combination. He lunged forward, taking a baton to the side from one guard as the other whacked him upside the head. He did manage to push the third guard into the wall with a bone crunching thump, however. Still, his efforts were wasted as the others subdued him, their batons and booted feet winding him as he was forced to his knees and a pair of silver cuffs were latched around his wrists. The supe he’d shoved against the wall walked forward and took great pleasure in balling his fist and letting it fly. Deran felt his cheekbone break beneath it as his head whipped to the side, though it healed within seconds. A chain was attached to his cuffed wrists and he was led from the cell fighting every step of the way. Eventually he was pushed down a corridor, the sound of a crowd yelling and cheering at the end of it. He didn’t have time to wonder what that meant before he was pushed through a door, the pit looming before him. A large man stood inside the cage, blood dripping from an open wound on his bare chest as a small, dark haired figure lay in a heap on the floor in front of him. His heart stopped beating as he began forging forward, ignoring the feel of the batons against his back and side as he dragged his captors down a small set of steps to get a better look at the person on the ground. It wasn’t Tracy, it was a female though, her face contorted in a mask of pain as she clenched her eyes shut.

“And here we have a new fighter! Apparently he is eager to get started! Ladies and Gentleman, please welcome our new challenger onto the floor. Be warned, he might not look like much but he is a Demon on the inside!” the words reverberated around him but he couldn’t tell which direction they were coming from… it seemed as though it was coming from every-fucking-where. He watched as two guards opened the cage, one holding up a cattle prod threateningly towards the injured man as the other dragged the beaten woman out by her shoulders. She was unceremoniously dropped on the floor as he was pushed towards the opening to the pit. The announcer shouted for the crowds to make their bets as a guard thrust a dagger in his hand. He was then pushed into the cage, all the while, his eyes stayed on the brunette woman. Another guard came and picked her up, roughly throwing her over his shoulder before he carried her away. All he could think was… I’m so glad that wasn’t Tracy. Before he could consider if that made him an asshole or not, he felt a piercing pain in his side. Whirling round he gripped the injured man’s arm, head-butting him in the nose and sending him flying into the wire cage.

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted at the human, his crimson eyes flashing with irritation.

“I’m sorry… no choice,” the man spoke with a foreign accent but his voice was too thick with pain for Deran to properly place it. Besides that he didn’t exactly have time to ponder the nuances of his linguistic cadence… the man charged, his blade out before him and his eyes wild. Deran dodged his attack easily, much faster than the human but he found himself staggering nonetheless. Gripping his hand to his side he realised he was still bleeding. Why the hell wasn’t he healing? The man charged again, aiming low, and Deran realised that he would have to fight if he wanted to get out of this damn cage alive. There was no option to talk it over or refuse. As long as they both continued breathing, the human would continue to charge at him. Using the edge of the cage, Deran prepared, leaping over the human and sending him crashing into the silver bars with a grunt as he landed in front of him. Gripping his dagger, he pulled the human to his feet and- he couldn’t do it. This man was innocent… instead he dropped the dagger, the frightened man’s eyes wide even as attempted to raise his knife and stab Deran for the second time. Blocking the human’s attempts, Deran pulled back his fist and punched the man in the face, his blood spattering in thick, hot drops. Again and again, Deran hit him until the man went limp and fell to the floor, unconscious. Deran could hear the crowd screaming for him… their Demon, as he took a step away from the human after kicking away his blade. The crowd had been cheering, revelling in the bloodshed and gratuitous violence but as he stalked to the other side of the pit and stood there, the cheers quickly turned into jeering and heckling. They weren’t there to see a fight… they were there to watch someone die.

“Fuck you, you sick Bastards,” he shouted, turning and pulling on the silver cage bars. “You want him dead? Then come in here and face me!” his words were tough but he was in agony. The wound in his side was more than just a mosquito bite, he knew that much. Something was wrong… very, very wrong. The crowds continued to shout and jeer undeterred by his animalistic rage. He wanted nothing than to unleash his power and watch them all slaughter each other… to feed them a taste of the impotent rage he felt and direct at the ones they sat with. But not Vendrell… no, he had something special planned for that son of a bitch. Deran roared at the crowd once more, a primal scream of injustice and insanity. He was so caught up in his fury at their lack of compassion, lack of any kind of humanity, that he didn’t hear the cage gate swinging open or the four guards coming in behind him, he barely felt their hands on him as they gripped his shoulders and kicked out his knees from under him. When he did come back to himself, a least enough to make sense of what was going on, two guards held him in place, whilst a third forced a silver dagger into his hand. The silver burned, small sharp barbs on the handle stabbing into his palm, and he attempted to drop it on instinct but the guard wouldn’t allow him, enclosing his hands around Deran's clenched fist, with the dagger inside it. Deran was confused for about a millisecond until the fourth guard picked up the human by the shoulders and showed him to the crowd, his feet still dragging on the floor and his face a bloody mess. Deran started fighting harder, with every strength he had but it wasn’t enough… he forced himself to keep his eyes open as the human was thrust upon the blade in his hand, forced himself to offer the man some form of dignity in death. By the creator… he was going to massacre them all. It was the last thought he had before something hard and cold jabbed him in the side of the head and everything went black, the cheering of the arena the last thing to fade away.

Chapter Twenty-one

Tracy’s eyes snapped open as the door to the cell flung open. She found herself crouching in front of Meg, her body reacting before she could give it any conscious instruction. The guards, however, were not interested in Meg, or in her. Instead, the little brunette that had been selected for the last fight was dragged in and dumped on the ground. The closest guard kicked her in the stomach when she didn’t move fast enough and just like that, Tracy was on her feet, stalking towards the guard. He just smirked at her as he walked out the cell and slammed the door shut behind him. She was muttering expletives under her breath as she turned around, only to see Meg on the floor beside the girl… Rebecca, Tracy thought her name was Rebecca. She was a human, maybe seventeen… and she was not in good shape.

“Can I help?” she asked Meg, not sure what to do. The rest of the women had backed up against the opposite wall, as though Rebecca’s injuries might have been contagious and it was irritating her. Not Meg, though. She was on her hands and knees, pregnant belly and all, assessing the girl’s wounds with a look of pure concentration.

“Water. Get me some water. Under the clothes, over there, there’s some bandages, lighter and a needle and thread. Bring them to me,” she ordered, not taking her eyes off the girl as she moved her hands to apply pressure to one particularly deep, gushing wound. Tracy did as she was told, picking up one of the dirty slop bowls and washing it beneath the shower before filling it. She found the pile of medical supplies under the clothes as Meg had indicated and hurried over with them.

“Right, apply pressure, here… with your hands,” Meg was looking at her expectantly but she was at a loss.

“I don’t… what?”

“Do you want her to die?”

“Well, no but…” did she care? Was she caring about people she didn't know now?

“Then do as I say,” Meg ordered, her voice taking on a much stronger quality than Tracy had ever heard in her. Tracy did as she was told, yet again. And gently pressed her hands onto the wound, wincing when the girl cried out and Meg ordered her to press harder. Blood was escaping through her fingers, leaking out onto the floor and forming a large puddle. Rebecca’s skin was whiter than snow as she gasped breathlessly.

“Stay awake, Rebecca… you hear me?” Meg kept talking to the girl as she used the lighter to sterilise the end of the needle and deftly poked the thread through. Then she was back, using the water to soak a bandage as she cleaned the area around the deep wound. It wasn’t much use, she wiped it clean and a second later it was overflowing with blood once again. “I need you to hold the wound together so I can sew it, like this,” Meg murmured, placing her fingers on Rebecca’s side, pushing the wound together. Tracy nodded, placing her hands where Meg’s had been. Her heart was beating incredibly fast and her fingers were almost numb but she stayed where she was, not daring to move as Meg worked. Quickly, methodically, Meg pushed the needle through Rebecca’s skin. The girl cried out and threw her hands out but Meg was too quick, clutching her hands and placing her knee on top of them. It was obvious she had done this before and Tracy wondered just how many times the young human had patched up women only to watch them die in the Arena a little later. It was… well, she wasn’t sure what it was but her respect for Meg sky rocketed. Ten minutes later and the wound was sewn together. Very little blood was escaping it, Meg had done her job that well. It wasn’t perfect by any stretch but at least Rebecca wasn’t about to bleed out. She had passed out about half way through the procedure so whilst she was still out, Meg got to work on a second, less severe gash in her arm before cleaning away as much blood as she could and bandaging the wounds up tightly. The bandages, Tracy realised were made from torn pieces of fabric… the needle was one that was used for sewing clothes… the lighter was a disposable. Meg hadn’t been given these things to care for the girls, she had foraged them from somewhere. She had chosen to help these women, not because she was told to but because she thought that she should. Crazy…

Meg washed her hands under the shower and then took a seat near the wall, close to Rebecca who was still unconscious on the floor.

“Wow… I can’t believe we just did that… well, you just did that. She’ll be okay now?” Tracy asked, exhilaration and adrenalin coursing through her.

“Honestly? I don’t think she will,” Meg murmured, running a hand through her blonde hair.

“What? Why?”

“The wound on her side looks like it went through her kidney. She’ll bleed out internally,” Meg muttered, staring at the girl she’d just given a death sentence.

“But… then why did-,” Tracy asked, confused.

“Because everyone deserves a fighting chance. I had to try, right?”

“I… I’m not the best person to ask about that sort of thing. If things look pointless or too difficult I tend to run in the opposite direction,” Tracy muttered dejectedly, her eyes falling on Rebecca as well. She didn’t move except for the laboured rise and fall of her chest. She might as well have been dead already.

“Probably saved you a lot of heartache,” Meg murmured, swiping at her cheek, “but I reckon it probably kept you from the good things in life as well.”

“Maybe…” Tracy murmured, uncomfortable. She hadn’t meant to be so honest but it was like she had been spiked with truth serum whenever she was around the pregnant human. Must be the baby, she thought, eyeing Meg’s stomach somewhat distrustfully.

“I know that when I do get out of here, I and my baby are going to move somewhere warm. She’ll feel the sun on her face and the wind in her hair. I’ll teach her how to cook and we’ll paint together. Maybe I’ll meet a nice man I can settle down with, only if she likes him as well, of course. When I get out of here, we’re going to live everyday…” Meg’s voice trailed off as she smiled to herself, her hands coming up to stroke her belly and the child within lovingly.

“Sounds good to me, Meg. I’ll do what I can to help you get there,” Tracy murmured, reaching out to take Meg’s hand. She didn’t know what it was but there was something about this human that caught her off guard. Something she felt the need to protect. When she did get out of Vendrell’s hell, she was taking Meg with her. As soon as she thought it, she knew it was true. “How the hell did you end up here anyway?”

“I came to New York on vacation. Always wanted to see the big apple, you know? I was supposed to come with my boyfriend but I found out the douchebag was stepping out on me the week before, so I came on my own. I know, I was an idiot, right?”

“Not at all. I moved here by myself a couple of months ago… felt right at the time.”

“Yeah well, I went to this club one night called The Havana. I was just trying to get out of my head for a bit, dance the night away. I met this girl and we got to talking. We were drinking at the bar and the next thing I knew I was waking up in the back of a van…” Meg gave a shrug as though it just was what it was and didn’t matter now.

“What did she look like?”

“The girl? Er… blonde… average looking really. I remember her dress more than her face. Beautiful, it was. Red halter neck and she had the body to fill it as well. I remember thinking I would never be able to pull off a dress like that.” Chloe. Tracy frowned, was it possible? She had been a bitch, the one and only time Tracy had met her but what would her motive be? It didn’t make sense, and yet someone had sold her out to Vendrell… still, she was betting her money on Anastasia on that one. Maybe they were all in on it. The whole off the New York Coven… it would certainly explain why Vendrell had been operating without issues for so long. Of course, that just meant that Adalai was probably in more danger than she was. The pain in her chest worsened ever so slightly but enough for her to have to breathe through it… Gods she hoped he was alright. That demon was an asshole but if died so did she… soul bond and all. That’s all it is, self-preservation… what else could it be?

They spent the next few hours talking about… well, about shit. Meg was born and raised in the countryside. She’d woken up in this place and hadn’t seen the sun since. She said that was what she missed most. Being outside. They talked about their childhoods, though Tracy mostly asked questions. Meg seemed to notice but didn’t seem to mind. She answered every weird question Tracy threw at her with a smile and the patience of a saint. Her favourite movie collection was Star Wars, her favourite music was Country, much to Tracy’s disdain, she loved to swim, hated parties, loved history, hated bugs… In between talking, Meg would periodically check on Rebecca’s condition, feeling for a pulse and counting the beats.

“She’s getting weaker, isn’t she?” Tracy murmured, when Meg sat back with a resigned sigh.

“Yeah, she hasn’t got long left. Her pulse is thread-y and her heart’s beating too slow,” Meg whispered, blinking away unshed tears. She feels for every single person she treats, Tracy realised. This human might just be the strongest and bravest person she’d ever met and judging by her species vulnerability to so much, she probably had the least reason to be. Or maybe it was because of those vulnerabilities, those weaknesses, maybe that was why she was so brave and so strong… she had no option to be anything else… Tracy thought on that for a while, thinking of her own aversion to weakness. She thought about how much she feared it and how much of a coward it had made her. Here was Meg, this special human, pregnant and extremely vulnerable in so many ways… yet fearless. What did it mean, though?

Meg yawned loudly and leaned a little lower, resting her head on Tracy’s shoulder as she drifted asleep. Tracy was caught off guard at first and torn between sitting like a statue and extricating herself out from under her but after a few minutes she relaxed. What was it she had been thinking about fear?

The next morning or evening… she wasn’t sure. The lack of windows and sunlight had thrown her internal clock off balance. Hell she might have only been there, in that place, for an hour and she wouldn’t have known it. It felt like days though… When she did blink away the sleep in her eyes she realised two things. Meg wasn’t resting against her shoulder anymore and Rebecca was dead. She scrambled up, eyes darting every which way, feeling sudden relief when she saw Meg stepping out of the shower, freshly washed and dressed… in fighting gear.

“What the fuck?” she muttered, walking towards the blonde.

“I’m due to fight in a couple of hours. Thought I’d get ready now,” she whispered, her eyes wide.

“You’re not fighting,” Tracy said adamantly. “What are you supposed to do? Sit on them?” Tracy muttered incredulously. Meg had told her that she was called to fight every now and then but she hadn’t really believed anyone could be that callous. Surely not.

“I can still fight,” Meg muttered, her hand cupping her belly even as she spoke. She really didn’t have long before that baby decided it was time to see the world, Tracy thought, stripping off her dirty vest and shorts and flinging the shower on. Within five minutes she was dressed and ready and Meg was braiding her hair once again.

“You don’t have to do this for me, Tracy.” Meg murmured, her fingers working gently through the knots in Tracy’s hair.

“I know. I want to. I… I’m going to protect you Meg, you and your baby,” Tracy said, twisting round to look at her, wanting Meg to see that she meant every word.

“I know you’ll try,” was all she said, with a grateful smile.

“I think my Mother used to braid my hair like this,” Tracy murmured suddenly, closing her eyes at the sensation and the long buried memories.

“You don’t remember?” Meg asked, gently.

“Not too well. She- she died, when I was five.”

“Oh I’m so sorry. I lost both my parents in a car accident when I was little as well. It doesn’t get any easier but I do handle it better now,” she murmured.

“How? How do you handle it?” Tracy whispered, her mouth seeming to have a mind of its own.

“I guess I just think of what they would have wanted for me. They would have wanted me safe and happy. So if I spend all my energy mourning for them all the time, I would be denying them that.” Meg gave a shrug. Right then, she was neither safe nor happy. Being a slave in Vendrell’s sick little games… she didn’t deserve it. Nobody did. Not even me, Tracy thought. As the thought crossed her mind she felt an odd sense of relief… like she had just absolved herself of some past sin that had weighed heavily on her. She didn’t understand the sensation but she was grateful for it. Hell, she was really grateful. When Meg had finished, they sat against the wall, waiting with Rebecca’s dead body still in the centre of the room like some macabre decoration.

Chapter Twenty-two

“Fucks sake!” Adalai shouted at the computer screen where the picture kept warping all over the joint and he couldn’t make out a word.

“Dude, you need to calm down a little, okay. Your emotions are causing that to happen, remember?” Chase murmured, nodding at the flickering monitor.

“I know, I just… it’s been three days, Chase. They could be…” he trailed off, his breath catching in his throat as he imagined all the possible things that could be happening to them. If he’d just been faster… stronger… fuck!

“You can’t think like that. Besides, with that bond thing you demons have, wouldn’t you have felt it?”

“That’s true…” Adalai murmured after a moment, internally talking himself back from the ledge.

“So, you think they’re in this area?” Chase murmured, putting a map on the table in front of Adalai. He looked and shrugged his shoulders.

“I know they’re close, that’s all. And east of here… there’s too much silver, wherever they are, its preventing me from feeling the connection as fully as I should. And they haven’t… er- connected with each other since,” Adalai said as he looked over the map for somewhere to put his eyes. Dirty humour and innuendo, he was a master at that stuff, but talking seriously about any of it… separate matter. That shit was private.

“When you say connected…?” Chase murmured, his mouth quirking up in a smirk.

“Shut it, Shifter,” Adalai growled, pinning him with a crimson eyed glare.

Chase held up his hands, that smirk still firmly in place but he seemed to be dropping it, until, “doesn’t it bother you though?”

“By the creator… really? You’re asking me about this now?”

“Well, if they’ve been able to get down and dirty then maybe they’re not in immediate danger.”

“They didn’t get- it wasn’t strong enough for that. They’ve done it to use the connection to our advantage,” Adalai muttered, his cheeks reddening ever so slightly.

“How does it work, exactly? Just addressing the itch of curiosity. When I’m with a woman, I don’t like other men so much as looking at her, let alone… the other thing,” Chase said, taking over control of the laptop before Adalai’s emotions set it on fire.

“It’s a shared bond, alright? When we are with our Mate the experience is intensified. It’s a three way connection where each of us will feel the other two’s emotions, their needs, desires… every sensation is multiplied because it’s being felt by three people. Besides, I’m not the jealous type,” he lied about the last part. He wasn’t jealous that Deran and Tracy had obviously done something together, he was jealous that he hadn’t been there to join in. Still, priorities…

“Hi, guys, can I help?” Clara, the bookish looking Witch stuck her head round the door, a large tray of sandwiches in her hands.

“Depends, can you find a needle in a stack of needles?” Adalai grumbled, running his eyes over the map. Chase had identified every building big enough for Vendrell’s operation in a twenty mile radius in red. Added a green circle for those that were to the East of Woodbury and a black cross for the ones that they’d already ruled out. Last night they had spent hours scouring through back streets and abandoned warehouse buildings in search of the correct one but they hadn’t turned anything up. Not one sign of them.

“Sorry,” she murmured, fidgeting nervously as she walked into the room.

“No need to apologise, Clara. He’s worried and he’s an asshole at the best of times,” Chase muttered, staring at the computer screen as he flicked through company logos that could have anything to do with a pig. So far, they’d come up empty on that one as well.

“By the creator…” Clara’s harsh whisper drew Adalai’s attention and he snapped his eyes to look at her. She stood with her tray of sandwiches hovering a few inches above the table as she stared at the crime scene photographs from Colleen’s murder. Adalai had all but forgotten about them, about the murder altogether.

“Sorry,” Chase murmured, standing up to remove them.

“Wait. I know him,” Clara muttered, her eyes not moving from the picture. “He’s a shifter. I used to sell him herbs from my garden. They were for his wife, she had such a terrible pregnancy,” Clara finished, her voice catching as a fresh tear plopped on the table.

“Wait a minute-,” Chase began but Adalai cut him off.

“What pregnancy?”

“They had a baby boy. Erm… Thomas I think they called him. He’d be about three or four now, I should think.”

“There was no evidence of a child in their home. When was the last time you seen this child?” Chase asked, getting out a notebook and going full on cop mode.

“Years, er… it’s been about two years. Ollie used to bring him up to see me because I’d helped her with her pregnancy… is she-“

“I’m sorry, Clara. She was killed at the same time as her husband,” Chase said, his eyes kind but firm. Anyone would have thought he’d done this before, Adalai thought wryly. He didn’t envy the man his work. He could only imagine how soul destroying it must be, to have to tell people that their worlds had just been torn apart. That they had just lost something that could never be replaced. He didn’t ever want to be the one on the receiving end of news like that.

“So, where’s the child?” Chase murmured after he assisted Clara into a seat. She seemed shell-shocked. Adalai understood that. Death wasn’t something people could acclimatise to naturally. He was a vengeance Demon, was literally put on the earth so he could gather bloody retribution, judge, jury and executioner, and yet, death affected him greatly as well. Despite how much of it he had seen.

“Do you think it’s connected to Tracy and Deran?” Adalai asked, biting his lip.

“I think it’s suspicious that we checked out the crime scene and not an hour later they were taken, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“So, that’s what the killer was looking for, the child… I guess that explains why the husband and wife didn’t spill their secrets to save each other…”

“Yeah, that’s the only thing I can imagine that would stop someone from ending their Mate’s suffering,” Adalai murmured, glancing back at the crime scene pictures. “Clara, if I show you a picture of one of the victims, do you think you could tell us if you recognise any of the symbols on his body?” Clara’s eyes widened and she visibly paled a shade or two but she nodded her head. Chase frowned but he handed her the picture anyway. She stared at intently and Adalai focused on his gift, feeling her emotions… mostly disgust, some fear…

“I don’t recognise the symbols themselves but it looks a little like blood magic,” she murmured after a minute or two. “Could be Mages.” Chase nodded as he took the picture back but it was Adalai who replied.

“Yeah, we knew that. Tracy said it was something called Void Magic though. You heard of it?”

She nodded, her eyes wider than they had been before and exemplified by her glasses, “Dark magic. It’s- it’s used for taking power, if the stories I heard as a child are true.”

“Well, if that doesn’t sound like the Resistance, I don’t know what does,” Adalai muttered, looking pointedly at Chase with a quirked eyebrow. He opened his mouth to ask another question when the door opened with a thud. Chloe stalked in, all blonde hair, ruby red lips and nasty attitude.

She dumped a pile of papers on the table, giving Clara a look that could have curdled milk before announcing, “Grandmother told me to tell you that she has arranged a meeting with the local shifter chief for this afternoon. You are both welcome to join. These are the names of local supes that own businesses in the area, she thought you might want to cross reference them with whatever you have.” Without waiting for a response, she flicked her hair over her shoulder and sauntered out, her hips swaying in an exaggerated fashion. Despite her bravado, Adalai could clearly feel her emotions beneath all that attitude; insecurity, fear and shame…

“That’s ones got issues,” he muttered, turning to the pile of papers she had unceremoniously dumped on the table.

“You have no idea,” Chase murmured, delving back into his computer screen. The next time Adalai looked up, Clara was gone and Chase was swearing at the computer screen.

“Hey, look at this,” Adalai passed him the paper he was working on.

“What am I looking at?”

“The names I’ve highlighted, anything familiar about them?”

“Hmmm… huh? These are- shit, let me check something,” Chase muttered, his brow furrowed in confusion as he turned back to his computer. He opened up a new search tab on the NYPD database and got to work. A moment later and he was practically brimming with excitement. Adalai, on the other hand, was just impatient. “You definitely found something, buddy.”

“Yeah, I figured… you care to share or are you keeping me in suspense because you have a death wish?”

“Sorry. The names you found, each own or should I say owned small businesses in the area.”

“As in they don’t anymore?”

“No. Each of them sold their businesses within the last 12 months to a corporation called ‘New Age Subsidiaries’…”

“Never heard of it,” Adalai said, shrugging a shoulder.

“Nobody has, that’s the point. It looks like a shell corporation but it’s going to take some time to trace it back,” Chase murmured, sticking his tongue out a little as he tapped away.

“That’s great but what does it have to do with Tracy and Deran?”

“Maybe everything… you noticed the surnames were the same as some of the people on the missing persons list I gave you right?”

“Yeah, that’s why I highlighted them,” Adalai muttered sarcastically but Chase didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, within four weeks of these people going missing, so far I’ve found six, no make that seven, family members who sold their businesses, and remember all of these are supes. Seems like one hell of a coincidence doesn’t it?”

“It does… but why wasn’t this seen before? Surely, if it was that simple, someone would have noticed?”

“Maybe… I’ve been focusing on abductions of low risk victims, tourists and drug addicts… these are high risk victims, upstanding and local. Still, someone in missing persons should have noticed, supe or not,” Chase turned round then, with a frown.

“You saying someone in the police department is helping to cover this up?”

“Maybe… or maybe it’s something a little more supernatural than that…”

“Magic…”

“Yeah… whatever it is, let’s go find out. Anastasia’s meeting is in a half hour, I’ll warn you though, Shifters around here aren’t huge fans of Demons.”

“Is anyone?” Adalai muttered with a sigh as he picked up his paperwork and prepared to follow Chase out of the room. Finally feeling as though they were making some damn progress. He just hoped they were working quickly enough.

Chapter Twenty-three

The door swung open with a clunk and a guard, fair skin and purple eyes, stepped inside. He looked from Tracy to Meg in bemusement.

“I’m taking her fight,” Tracy said, stepping in front of Meg with a confidence she didn’t feel.

“Vendrell won’t be too happy about that,” the Fae muttered, even as he stepped forward to place the cuffs on Tracy’s wrists. “Still, I’ve got no need to see a pregnant woman die today. You ready too?” he looked over Tracy’s shoulder and she turned confused to see Amelia step forward, her blonde hair thrown back in a messy pony tail and her still injured hand wrapped in some of Meg’s makeshift bandages held against her waist.

“Why is she coming?” Tracy asked with a frown.

“That’s who you’ll be fighting,” the Fae said with a sick grin. As he latched cuffs onto Amelia’s wrists, ignoring her wince of pain, and connected chains to both of them. Tracy glanced back at Meg, her face a vision of pain and anger as she shook her head in apology. She had known…

“Who said it was your turn to fight?” Tracy murmured to Amelia as they were led from the room. Her cold eyes glanced upwards as though she were asking for strength from above before she looked back at Tracy.

“It’s my turn to fight every time its Megara’s turn to fight. I think Vendrell hopes I’ll get to kill her one day… as it is, some stupid idiot always volunteers. You can’t be angry at Meg though, sometimes she’s pitted against one of the men, but I have to be ready to fight anyway.”

“I’m not angry with her… she’s just doing what she needs to, to protect her baby.”

“Foolish, is what it is. You really think if that baby gets to be born she’ll be able to protect it in this place?”

“She won’t be here much longer,” Tracy muttered with confidence.

“Yeah because someone will put her out of her misery and kill her,” Amelia spat, venom in her tone.

“Not if I can help it.”

“What makes you think you’ll be coming back from this fight? You got lucky with the punch but I’ve survived four years in this shit hole. I ain’t about to be put down by the likes of you,” Amelia sneered, her lip curling back to reveal yellowing teeth.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Amelia, but I will if I have to,” Tracy murmured, looking the woman square in the eye. She didn’t relish the thought of fighting her but she meant what she said.

“Easy girls, this isn’t a death match. Just a fight,” The Fae murmured with a chuckle, as though he were leading little children to a sand pit and simply explaining the rules of the game. Still, whether it was what he intended or not, she took comfort in his words. At least this woman’s death wouldn’t be on her conscience. There was a time when she wouldn’t have cared, wouldn’t have even thought twice about it, but all of the slaves here, they were just like her. Prisoners held to the whims and sadistic desires of a cruel despot. She might not like all of them, see exhibit Amelia, but she felt a kinship with them nonetheless. They were all just trying to survive. The guard opened the door to the arena and the shouts and cries for blood drowned out the rest of her thoughts.

“Ladies and Gentleman, there has been a change of competitor for the next match,” Vendrell’s voice boomed through the arena and even through the microphone, he sounded pissed, “Fighting for the second day in a row is our very own female mage! Is she really what she claims to be or just a fraud? She will be facing our long time champion, Amelia! Place your bets, ladies and gents. Who will reign victorious?” Tracy allowed herself to be led down to the steps to the pit below. Amelia was escorted to the other side as she was pushed towards the opening.

“Hey, where’s my weapon?” she muttered to the guard but he just smirked at her as he uncuffed her and pushed her into the pit. A moment later she was joined by Amelia. She was also unarmed. Where they supposed to have a fist fight? If so, the woman was massively outmatched. Her punches might hurt a little but only as much as a bee sting and Tracy would heal within seconds. It just didn’t seem fair. Vendrell got back on the microphone, stirring up the crowd a bit more before announcing that no more bets could be placed. The klaxon sounded and Tracy found herself just staring at Amelia dumbfounded. What the hell were they suppo- Suddenly, a metal crate above them opened and two metallic items fell into the pit. By the time, Tracy had realised that one was a blade, Amelia had already grabbed the silver knuckle duster and slipped it over her uninjured hand. Tracy ducked low, picking up the knife in a smooth motion, her brow furrowed. If this wasn’t a death match, what the hell was it?

“Come on!” someone shouted from the crowd, distracting her for a second, when she turned back, she came face to fist with Amelia. The silver knuckles she wore split open Tracy’s cheek and she went down like a tonne of bricks, hitting the concrete floor with a resounding thud. Spitting blood, she clambered to her feet, twirling the knife between her fingers. She dodged and ducked as Amelia came at her, again and again. The human was relentless. Eventually Tracy was irritated enough to attack. She feinted to the left and brought her knife down on the right, slicing through Amelia’s arm. Amelia shrieked, a high pitched wail, as she staggered backwards, her blood spattering the concrete in a macabre pattern. Shaking her head a little to clear it, Tracy stalked left as Amelia staggered right. Amelia gave a war cry from out of nowhere as she suddenly charged forwards. She grabbed Tracy’s shirt with her injured hand as her silver knuckles jabbed over and over again into her stomach. Tracy was winded, almost beaten, and she considered surrender. Perhaps if she held up her hands, the crowd might be satisfied. She listened to the sounds of their chanting, listened to them calling for her head, and knew it wasn’t true. This might not be a death match but they wouldn’t be satisfied until they got one. She pushed her foot out a little and felt herself falling backwards. Using her own momentum, she gripped hold of Amelia and pulled her back with her. Amelia yelped as Tracy grunted with pain and continued rolling backwards until she was above her. She screamed, a deep guttural roar as she punched Amelia in the face, straddling her waist and pinning the offending silver knuckled hand beneath her knee. Frantically, Tracy reached for the knife she had dropped during the struggle until her fingers found purchase. She thrust it forward, barely stopping before the blade pierced her heart. She was less than an inch away from victory… she could win this fight but then what? Panting she made eye contact with Amelia, her eyes wide and primal.

“Do it. Fucking do it!” Amelia shouted, the vein in her neck popping. Tracy shook herself, focusing again on the blade in her hand. Only a couple more inches… The crowds were roaring, chanting her name… they wanted to see her win… she only needed to move her hand.

“Keep them safe,” Tracy glanced upwards in confusion to see Amelia’s resigned and pain-filled face. She blinked once and in the milli-second that her eyes were closed Amelia reached up with her injured hand, gripping the hilt of the knife and Tracy’s hand with it. With a strength she shouldn’t have possessed, Amelia pushed Tracy’s hand, forcing the blade into herself. Tracy cried out, releasing the blade in shock as Amelia gasped out, her hand slowly falling away as blood pooled around the wound, dripping onto the concrete. Tracy shook her head, not comprehending or refusing to understand what she was seeing. A small tendril of blood slipped from the corner of Amelia’s mouth, her upper body convulsing slightly as she fought against the death she had granted herself. Tracy reached out and pulled the knife from her chest, discarding it without much thought as she placed her hands over the gaping hole it left behind, just as Meg had shown her.

“Amelia, what have you done? Why did you-,” she couldn’t get her head around the woman’s sacrifice… why would she do it? Look after them, she’d said… what the hell was Tracy supposed to do with that? Her heart was pumping faster and faster with each passing second as she pushed down on the wound, Amelia spluttering beneath her. Her movements getting slower and weaker… until they stopped. Her blue eyes stared at nothing as her life force drained away and Tracy was left alone in the pit. It took her a lot longer to die than Tracy thought it should have. Shouldn’t a woman be granted a painless death after suffering so much misery? Amelia hadn’t been granted that… she had suffered greatly at the end and Tracy’s blood covered hands were a testament to that. She sat there, still straddling Amelia’s broken corpse for a moment, the sounds of the crowd had long faded into the background and that was where they stayed as she looked down at her hands, rubbing her fingers over her palms… seeing the evidence of her crime there. What have I done? What did they make me do? Just like Chris… Someone grabbed her but she wasn’t in the state of mind to be taken anywhere. She reached out, her reflexes working overtime, and grabbed hold of the knife as she turned, dropping her shoulder. She thrust forward, the knife hitting the guard in the chest. His purple eyes just about popped out of his head as he gave a garbled cry and fell to the floor. She was up and heading towards the gate before he even hit the ground. Her bare and dirty feet slapping against the concrete though she could barely feel them. Barely feel anything but rage. Outside… she was out of the pit. She tried to call on her powers, tried to summon them to her but something was stopping her… she wasn’t wearing any cuffs, she wasn’t in the cage… why wouldn’t it work? The knife, she realised, still clutching it in her hand. She had a choice then… drop the knife and use her power… reveal herself to everybody… or keep the knife and take her chances. She didn’t have time to choose carefully as a silver blade rushed towards her… she turned, dodging it and thrust her knife into the guards throat, twisting it with a animalistic shriek. She turned around to see another guard attempting to circle behind her… a shifter, big and beefy, each leg wider than her waist. She ducked low, her knife ready and poised… he moved forward and she thought perhaps she had chosen wrong… her knife against this guy looked like a needle but she was committed now. She dove forward, raising her knife and… she was on fire. Her whole body felt like it was encased in flames. She shrieked loud but nothing escaped her mouth. She convulsed on the floor, her shoulder and hip cracking against the concrete as her body juddered and jerked. She could smell burning above the usual scent of blood, sweat and death. She mouth filled with blood as her teeth bit through her tongue. She wanted to scream, wanted to tell them to just end it and put her out of her misery… anything as long as it stopped. As though she’d spoken out loud, blissfully, mercifully it did. Her body shook for a while after as cuffs were hooked to her wrists and her knife was kicked away. She was lifted to her feet and dragged forward, her head hanging low as her mind swam with thoughts of pain and despair. Not again...

She saw the next few minutes as flashes, her consciousness fading in and out. A corridor, a dark room, a cage… chains… When she opened her eyes, back in her own mind she found herself chained to some sort of bar above her head. Her shirt had been ripped from her body as had her shorts, leaving her hanging by her wrists in only her underwear. She was freezing, her teeth chattering as she tried to look around her in the darkness.

“h-hello?” she murmured, through the black. Her heart thudding maniacally and her breathing erratic.

“Catrasia?”

“Deran. By the creator… where the hell are we?” the sound of his voice calmed her a little. Not much, but a little.

“Some sort of holding cell, I think. You alright?”

“I… I killed someone…” she whispered, shame hurtling through her as she remember the pained look on Amelia’s face. “I didn’t mean to… maybe I did, I don’t know.”

“Me too, baby. There was nothing we could do about it,” he said with conviction she didn’t feel.

“How do you know that? You weren’t there,” she said, a single solitary tear falling down her cheek. She was so cold, she thought it might freeze on her face.

“Because if you could have done something, you would have. Just as I would. The only people to blame here and the ones holding us,” he said, shifting around wherever he was. She could hear his chains rattling as he moved.

“Are you alright?” she asked, needing to hear his voice again.

“I’ve been better. Why? You worried about me?” even in the dark, she could hear the triumphant smile in his voice.

“Maybe… talk to me, Deran. I… I don’t like it in here,” she whispered, hoping he understood. The darkness was grating on her. If she hadn’t been so exhausted and in so much pain from the cattle prod electrocution, at least that’s what she thought it was now she was thinking clearly, she might have passed out from fear.

“What do you want me to talk about?”

“You and Adalai… why aren’t you closer? Why did you leave him?”

He sighed, a long and drawn out sigh. She figured he didn’t want to talk about it and she was about to ask a different question, anything so she didn’t have to concentrate on the darkness, when he started speaking.

“It was years ago… I told you I wanted to join the Guardians. I really wanted to do something good. You know, my Mother was a dancer and my Father was a criminal… not the most noblest of beginnings but they were good hearted people. They didn’t deserve the hands they were dealt. It was all because of what they were. Demons. I hated that… hated that they were looked at as less than who they were because of what they were. When my father was killed, my Mother took on extra work. Not just dancing but anything she could… stripping, sleeping with strangers… sex comes naturally to demons, we’re hedonistic bastards at the best of times but I know that she did it for me. When she met Adie’s father, she settled down some. Her sister died when she was a child so she could never find a mate, still, I think she loved him in her own way but… well you know how that ended. Then it was just me and Adie. I tried my best, I really did but… hell, I was all alone. I didn’t know what to do with a child let alone a teenager… When we realised what his gift was, how good he was at it. not just feeling people’s emotions but feeling the emotions left behind… we started working together as solvers in the demon cities… we would investigate, find the culprit, punish them, though mostly that was Adie’s job. A special Demon brand of justice. As twisted as we can be, most demons operate on an eye for an eye philosophy. Of course, Adie’s ability to make people relive their crimes from their victim’s perspective was perfect for that. He hated it though. It hurts him, you know. Every time he uses his ability it costs him in some way. He started to shy away from our work and I… well I needed him. There were people to save, people who still needed protecting. So I manipulated him. I screwed around with his intent, made him believe he wanted to do the job even though I knew he didn’t. Everything worked for a while but then Adie kept getting in trouble. He was stealing and selling things on the black market… people were sniffing around, Guardians. I knew that if I continued to screw around with him, I’d lose him for good. But I couldn’t stop either. I was angry… he had this gift and he didn’t want to use it. I left. Left him to sort out his own shit so I could sort out mine. I still regret it but I… I thought I was disappointed in him but… I think in the end, I was disappointed in myself. I started working as a protector then, working with at risk women and girls… homeless, prostitutes, strippers… anyone who might need protecting. Found out I could do the job without him and it just made everything worse really. I didn’t reach out to him, couldn’t face him without getting angry and disappointed all over again. Until you forced me to, anyway.”

“Well, I knew it would be my fault,” she murmured, smiling when he chuckled in surprise. “I think you should tell him. He’s an asshole but I think he’d understand.”

“Maybe you’re right… we’ll need to get out of here first though.”

“Yeah… there’s a girl in my cell. Meg. She’s pregnant. I… I really like her. She’s… well I don’t know what she is but I’ve never met anyone like her. She makes me smile and she tries to save people even when there isn’t any hope. I think you’d like her,” Tracy murmured, thinking about the little blonde human.

“Sounds like I would. Look at you, making friends all over the place,” he said with a chuckle.

“It’s hard for me, you know… making friends,” she whispered. It felt like a confession. Some guilty sordid secret she should have kept.

“You? Never!”

“Asshole. I thought Adalai was the one with the sense of humour.”

“Ha, very funny.” She smiled into the darkness, surprised to find that though it still bothered her, she could handle it a little better. That was until the torture started…

Chapter Twenty-four

Adalai took a seat in the Shifter’s office, Anastasia sitting beside him and Chase leaning against the window as the Shifter chief adjusted himself in his chair. It wasn’t what Adalai had been expecting for the base of all Shifter politics in New York… he thought he would be walking into a hunting lodge of some kind, animal skins strew everywhere and raw meat covering every surface. As it was, it looked like most offices… pale walls, blue carpet and generic art on the walls. One large mahogany desk sat in the centre, a few filing cabinets lined the wall and a television sat on a stand in the far corner. Not what he was expecting at all.

“What can I do for you, Anastasia?” the Chief murmured, adjusting his tie. It looked a little ridiculous on his large frame. Like a giant dressing up in human clothes. His barrel chest breathed in and out rhythmically as his eyes assessed Anastasia. There wasn’t any malice behind his stare but plenty of distrust and caution. Adalai adjusted his sunglasses as he felt out with his gift, confirming what he thought he saw. The shifter wasn’t showing any signs of deception, at least not yet, just weariness.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Logan. I appreciate it. I wish I were here under better circumstances but unfortunately I need your help.”

“Help with what?” Logan sat forward, his muscles bulging beneath his shirt. His emotions spiking a little with incredulity. Apparently he was less than impressed that Anastasia would ask him for help. Didn’t matter, Adalai had every intention of getting the information they needed, one way or another.

“My Granddaughter has been taken,” Anastasia began.

“Chloe? I’m sure she did something to deserve it,” Logan muttered, leaning back in his seat.

“Not Chloe… Catrasia. Sara’s daughter.” Anastasia replied curtly, her brow furrowing.

“Sara? I didn’t know she had a daughter,” Logan muttered with a frown.

“Well she did. She’s dead now.” Adalai said, losing patience. “Look, Shifter, I don’t care what issues the two of you have or what it will cost. My Mate and my Brother have been taken by a group run by a Shifter called Vendrell. We have evidence that several other shifters here in New York have fallen victim to him. I need you to help me find him.”

“Vendrell? Never heard of him,” Logan growled, his cheeks reddening a little. Even without his gift, Adalai could see the deception in his face.

“You can’t lie to me, Shifter. I know you know him. Tell me where he is and I won’t kill you,” Adalai said, standing up to his full height as he removed his glasses.

“Demon. You dare bring a Demon here?” Logan turned to Anastasia, standing up and slamming his hand on his desk in fury.

“Calm yourself Logan. Adalai sit down. There is no need for this. Logan, you clearly have some information that will help us. Why won’t you give it to us? Or are you forgetting how I helped you, not too long ago?” Logan seemed to stop at that. He ran a hand through his thick brown hair, his brow furrowing as he seemed to consider his options. Eventually, he took a seat, though he moved back from the table, readying himself to stand at any moment should the situation turn. Adalai sat back down as well, though he wasn’t happy about it.

“Look, say I do know something… if I tell you, I will be putting every shifter in New York at risk. They are my priority, Anastasia, not your demon-loving Granddaughter.”

“Talk about my Mate like that again and you’ll find yourself without a tongue,” Adalai growled, gripping the edge of his seat in an attempt to hold on to his anger.

“Well you wouldn’t get much out of me after that, would you?” Logan sneered, his eyes bright and daring.

“You don’t need to talk for me to get what I want,” Adalai replied, leaning forward.

“By the creator, this is ridiculous. Logan, I am not here as a Shifter, I am here as a police officer. Shifter or not, if I find out you have withheld information in an active investigation I will not hesitate to arrest you. Now tell us what you know. No-one will know that we got the information from you,” Chase finally moved away from the window and stood up to the man, clearly irritated.

“You would dare threaten me, cat? In my own office?”

“I could take you in if you prefer?” Chase murmured, tilting his head, the animal within showing itself for a moment. Adalai was really starting to like this guy.

Logan seemed to consider that for a moment. Consider how it would look if anyone found out he was talking to the police… “Fine… Vendrell is a shifter, as you know. He’s been snatching up shifter pups for the last couple of years though we don’t know why. He holds them to ransom. Sometimes it’s just for money, others it’s for property or items of value. I’ve tried to put a stop to it… when I did, my son was taken. He’s a reporter for the post, started sniffing around his own self because the kid thinks he’s some sort of fucking hero... worked with a demon who screwed him over. Next thing I get a phone call.”

Anastasia sat back and Adalai could sense the understanding in her mood.

“What is it?” he asked with a frown.

“Three months ago, Logan called me. He asked for my assistance and discretion. In light of what has happened Logan, I hope you will understand why I cannot keep the second part of my promise.” Logan nodded, though he didn’t look pleased about it. “Jason was badly injured, silver had been implanted inside him and he had been cut open everywhere… so much blood loss. I was able to use my magic to remove the silver from his wounds and enable him to heal himself. It took a lot of power but I believe he is doing well,” She finished, giving Logan a pointed look.

“Your son was taken and abused like that and still you’ve done nothing? And you look down on me for being a demon?” Adalai spat the words out, a dirty, sour taste remaining in his mouth.

“What could I do? Vendrell let him live. He didn’t have to. Even after I paid what he asked for. He threatened my daughter… said he would turn her into his sex slave… she’s only fourteen. He has people watching me, I’m sure of it.”

“Where is he?” Adalai growled. He understood the man’s predicament but it didn’t mean he agreed with his actions. Still, had he a daughter who was under threat like that… no, he’d still fight. It was something he just felt deep in his soul. If he did indeed have a soul… maybe it was just his gut.

“I don’t know. I can only tell you where I picked my son up and where I was told to drop off the money and the deeds to our holdings,” Logan murmured brokenly. There was a man who felt like he had no good options.

“Here, mark them down,” Chase withdrew the map he had colour coded and laid it out on the desk. When Logan had finished circling the two places… one in the south side of the city that looked like some kind of park and another, a warehouse in the East, right in the zone they had identified. Adalai’s heart leapt as he grabbed hold of the map and turned to the door.

“Demon, for what it’s worth… I hope you find your Mate. I know what it’s like to lose one,” Logan murmured. Adalai turned but Logan was already staring out of the window. He gave the shifter a short nod anyway and then he was out the door, Anastasia and Chase on his heels.

“Where to first?” Anastasia asked, climbing into the driver seat. Adalai and Chase gave her matching looks that said, ‘er… what are you doing?’ but she just rolled her eyes and gestured for them to hurry up. For just a moment, Adalai saw Tracy in the old witch. They were related after all. With a shrug and a sideways glance at each other they did as she so subtly suggested. Sitting in the passenger seat Adalai gave directions to the warehouse building. If they were in either location, that was the likeliest one.

Twenty minutes of shitty New York traffic and they were there. Adalai stepped out of the car first, scanning the area with his gift. He could sense two people inside the closest building, boredom and dissatisfaction rolling off of them. Without conferring with anyone else he stalked towards the building, ignoring Chase’s disgruntled growl as he headed through an open panel door large enough for a van to get through. His heart beating fast he made his way inside, keeping his eyes and ears open. He could hear two men talking and the sounds of a football game in the background. Following the noise he headed through the warehouse, his hands balled into fists. He hadn’t had the presence of mind to grab a weapon nor to care that he was walking into a potential shit storm without one. The warehouse was pretty bare, just a few boxes and some lifting equipment dotted around the otherwise expansive loading bay. Definitely enough room for a van, he thought to himself as he neared an office and the voices within. Without forethought or planning he kicked the door open and stalked inwards towards the shocked and annoyed men sat within. The closest to him jumped up, reaching for the blade in his belt but Adalai shouldered him out of the way with enough force to topple an elephant. He charged forward, the second man, a pudgy looking shifter with wide yellow eyes, stood up and attempted to get away as Adalai’s glasses fell to the ground. It was one of the rare times that Adalai was happy to have demonic eyes that sent shivers through the people he looked upon… they served him well in situations like these. He reached out, wrapping his fingers around the man’s throat and lifting him a foot off of the floor with ease.

“Where are they?” his words came out through gritted teeth as he breathed heavily through his nose, the fury inside him fighting for release.

“Wh-who?”

“My mate and my brother… a demon and a female mage,” he murmured, slamming the man into the wall behind him.

“I… I don’t know where they are… I… please,” the man gasped, barely able to speak through the pressure around his throat. Overwhelming fear and dread permeated the air around the man but there was no deception… nothing to suggest he was lying. With a growl, Adalai dropped him and turned towards the other man who had just clambered up from the floor.

“You… tell me where they are,” he said again, moving towards the man who had managed to retrieve his weapon.

“Dead already,” the man spat, raising the long curved blade he held, pointing it at Adalai’s chest.

“You lie, Nymph…” Adalai rushed forward, not caring about the blade threatening to impale him. He ducked low, charging the man, his head and shoulders hitting him square in the stomach. The man grunted and his blade dropped to the ground with a clatter. Adalai wasted no time in wrestling the man into a position where he could read him… he saw snippets of women, injured, broken and beaten… lying on the bed in tears, he saw flashes of a cage covered in electric bolts and bloodied bodies lying within… he saw the back of a blonde haired woman sitting on a desk seductively running painted fingernails down the chest of a shifter… he saw the same large Shifter, yellow eyes gleaming as he gave instructions about getting rid of a problem… Deran’s face in profile… the cage again… “Where is this place?” he shouted, the man wailing with agony as he was forced to relive his rapes and cruelties from his victims’ perspective.

“Stop… make it stop…” he murmured, his eyes staring at some unseen horror.

“Tell me where,” Adalai shouted, his eyes wild with the influx of power that came with his abilities.

“Seven-,” the man started but he was cut off when Chase shouted Adalai’s name from behind him. Adalai twisted away from the man in a low sweep as the pudgy shifter lanced forward with the Nymph’s discarded blade. Adalai moved to stop the shifter but he was too late. The blade sliced through the Nymphs chest, one clean, concise movement that left the man dead and Adalai’s hopes destroyed. Adalai turned towards the pudgy man who was attempting to retrieve the blade from the Nymph’s chest, his eyes wide with terror. And terror is what he should have felt. Without consciously deciding on his actions, Adalai moved forward gripping the man by his throat again, only this time he had no questions. He squeezed as he poured his gift into the man… the only crime he was guilty of was doing nothing whilst others suffered but it was enough and it was a crime punishable by death.

“Why was Vendrell after my brother?”

“Caused p-problems… took out s-some men protecting a w-whore. P-Please, I didn’t do anything. I-I just work here…”

“Doing nothing makes you as bad as the ones who do the deed,” Adalai hissed, his face contorting with rage as the man choked and spluttered, until he did no longer. There was a faint crack, the bones beneath Adalai’s hand crushing and then the man was still. Adalai dropped him to the ground, turning to retrieve the blade that pinned the Nymph to the wall before he buried it into the shifter, just for good measure. He stood there, panting and raging, nothing coherent running through his mind as he fully realised how close he had come to finding them… how close and yet how far.

“We found something out here,” Chase said to him after a minute and Adalai nodded though he wasn’t really back in his right mind at that moment. He took a few minutes to breathe and get his shit together before following after Chase. A few minutes later he was standing beside the Shifter and staring up at a large logo with a pig on it. The pig was surrounded by large green and yellow writing which said, ‘Linnear’s Wholesale Groceries and Produce.’

“Alright, let’s spread out. They have to be here,” Adalai murmured, turning on his heel to do just that. He took a doorway through a corridor that came out to another loading area. There were a few doors leading off of it but they only led to offices. Slowly but steadily he came to the realisation that wherever Tracy and Deran were, he wasn’t going to find them here. He vented his anger, pushing papers and computer monitors off of a table, kicking the table over with a roar and punching the wall until his knuckles broke through the plaster. Gods! Why was he such a fuck up? Had it been he who was taken, he was certain Deran would have found him already… Then again this wasn’t his fuck up was it? He wasn’t the reason Deran and Tracy had been taken… Deran was. His sanctimonious brother had played the hero once too often and now Tracy was paying the price. That son of a bitch! A deep-seated rage flooded through him as he leant against the splintered wall, sliding down what was left of the plaster until he sat on the floor, his head in his hands. The minutes ticked by as he felt sorry for himself and livid with Deran there on the office floor. When the fog of loss and anger finally lifted he just felt angrier at himself than he did at his brother. How could he lose his shit like that when there was still work to be done? He gathered himself together for the second time and left the office, making his way back to the front of the warehouse where Chase and Anastasia were waiting for him.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find them,” Chase murmured, patting him on the shoulder. Adalai could only nod as he climbed in into the passenger seat, knowing he was in no shape to drive.

“Look what Anastasia found in one of the back offices,” Chase muttered, climbing in the back seat and thrusting a piece of paper towards him.

“New Age Subsidiaries,” he murmured, frowning at the memo in his hand. “So Vendrell definitely owned this building,” he said.

“Yep and now we know what the pig logo stands for, we’ll do a search when we get back to Woodbury. We’ve got a good lead here, buddy.”

Could have been a better one, Adalai thought, once again thinking about the information he almost had…

Chapter Twenty-five

Deran grit his teeth as another burst of freezing cold water rained down on him from above. Tracy had gone deathly quiet a few minutes before, the frigid air and cold water getting too much for her fragile body.

“Tracy? Catrasia!” he shouted, desperately trying to get her attention.

“Mmm…” Tracy moaned, her chains jingling slightly.

“Come on, baby. You need to stay awake. You can’t go to sleep okay. Try and move around,” he called out into the dark but the only sound that met his ears was the rushing water from above. “Tracy, dammit!” he shouted. Suddenly, a ray of light shone over them before the light flicked on. He squinted against it, his eyes acclimatising to the brightness. When his vision cleared he turned to Tracy to find her hanging limply from her chains beside him. Her almost naked body had a blue tinge to it and her lips were almost purple. Vendrell walked in, followed by a few guards.

“Leave her alone, dammit,” Deran growled, rattling his chains.

“Hmmm, little baby’s asleep… wake her up,” Vendrell murmured ignoring him as he spoke to one of his men. The guard, a yellow-eyed shifter stepped forward and shook Tracy by the shoulders. Her head lolled dangerously but she didn’t wake. The shifter frowned, pulling back a hand and slapping her around the face with it… still nothing. She didn’t even stir. Deran was starting to panic but the fact that her chest still rose and fell kept him from falling off of the precarious edge. He strained against his silver cuffs but it was no use. Vendrell took a step forward, pushing his guard out of the way. He withdrew a small silver blade from his pocket and ran the edge of it along Tracy’s face, slowly, his eyes on Deran the entire time. He ran it down the length of her body, over her breast until he got to her waist. He gave Deran a sick, twisted smile as he sliced her open, the blade leaving a thin ribbon of blood behind it. Still she didn’t move. Vendrell was practically pouting like a spoiled child who’d just heard their first rebuttal.

“Well, it’s no fun torturing her if she’s not awake to scream about it,” he murmured, turning his attention to Deran. “I suppose you will have to do.” He clicked his fingers like some sort of wannabe king and his men snapped to attention like the programmed sheep they were. He was turned around so he was facing the wall and he heard the sounds of swords being drawn. He had no choice but to close his eyes and wait for the pain to end. Slice after slice, jab after jab… his back felt like a playground to their devices. Cut, bleed, heal; cut, bleed, heal; eventually he zoned out of his mind and focused on the pattern. The wound in his side had healed over but the pain had not ceased… the best he could guess was there something silver still lodged inside it and it was making the fresh wounds they made on his back heal slowly… very goddamned slowly.  Throughout it all he kept his mouth shut, kept from shouting out even though he wanted to, needed to… other than his wincing, the gentle scraping of Tracy’s chains as she hung limply, and the grunting of Vendrell’s men as they sliced and swung again and again. When it was over he wasn’t sure how much of him was left. He had his own fair share of scars but these would take his flesh to a different level of fucked. He was just glad Tracy had been spared… may the Gods bless her narcoleptic little soul.

                                                               *******************

Tracy woke up to the floor dragging beneath her, it rushed under her feet like a flowing stream that she was swimming the wrong way in. She blinked lazily, her eyes attempting to find purchase on the flowing concrete beneath her but they simply wouldn’t. The river was running to fast. Suddenly it stopped beneath her… there were sounds, scratching and screeching… too loud for her sensitive ears. Then the floor was flying again, faster this time… she felt weightless… until she didn’t. Her body crashed into the wall with an ear-splitting crack followed by a high pitched squeal as she slid down the tile, in what felt like slow motion. She lay there shivering for a long while, drifting in and out of the black. A voice called to her, badgered her as something was thrown over her body… more talking, too many words that wouldn’t cease their jabbering. There was fear in that voice. Something in the back of her mind told her she knew that voice… needed to protect it and yet the black beckoned her. Her body began shaking all over, so fiercely she thought she might shake apart, that her bones might rattle loose from her skin. Her muscles clenched and spasmed, the white tiles and the fabric covering her felt like razor blades and shards of glass beneath her skin. It felt like years before the violent shaking simmered down to a rigid quake. She opened her eyes to find a familiar blonde head hovering above her.

“M-Meg?” she muttered through chattering teeth.

“Hush, it’s alright… we just need to get you warmed up,” she murmured, a soft smile on her face. “It’s a good job you’re a supe, you know. If you were a regular human you’d be dead already and then I’d never get to repay you for saving my life. I just couldn’t have that on my conscience,” she continued, her head bobbing up and down as she rubbed up and down on Tracy’s arms. Gradually, bit by bit, the feeling in her arms and legs returned to her. She stopped shaking altogether except for a perpetual tremor in her lips and Meg helped her to sit up.

“So… what happened?” Meg asked her after a moment of silence passed between them.

“A-Amelia is d-dead,” she grated out in reply.

“I gathered, seeing as you are not… did she suffer?” Meg added the last, her tone dropping from its usual chirpy octave. She tried to hide it but Tracy could see the pain in her eyes.

“No, it was quick… in the e-end she wished for it. She wanted peace and she made s-sure she g-got it,” Tracy mumbled, her head falling back against the wall.

“Good… that’s good. I think she’s been wanting to go for a long time, she just didn’t have the courage to end it herself.”

“Well s-she d-did, in the end…” Tracy said, placing a shaking hand over Meg’s.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Tracy… I knew it was a possibility if not a probability and I didn’t say anything. I’m so sorry,” she whispered suddenly, seemingly adversely affected by the small comfort Tracy had attempted to offer her.

“Hey… c-come on now, it wouldn’t have made a d-difference. I would have fought for you anyway,” Tracy murmured, reaching around to hug Meg to her with one arm.

“Why? You barely know me… does a baby bump really grant me so much loyalty?”

“That… and I’m a s-sucker for blondes,” Tracy muttered with a grin, her heart lifting when Meg chuckled beside her.

“What happened after the fight? Why were you so cold? You know, purple is not a good colour for you.”

“Vendrell wasn’t h-happy with me… I don’t know why but hell, does he need a reason? I ended up some cell with an over-excess of cold water. Weren’t too bad, Deran was there. And I passed out so, you know… that helped.”

“I’m sorry Tracy… if you hadn’t fought in my place you wouldn’t have suffered so much,” Meg mumbled, dropping her head onto her knees as though she was trying to curl up in a ball… as much as her baby bump would allow.

“I told you already, woman, even if I knew what was coming, I would have done it anyway. You- You’re my friend,” Tracy murmured awkwardly. She felt her cheeks growing hot and if she hadn’t been so embarrassed by her admission she might have been glad of the extra warmth.

“You’re my friend too,” Meg replied, leaning into the hug once more.  Tracy leaned back as well, closing her eyes to await the next torture with a smile.

Chapter Twenty-six

“Ladies,” Vendrell walked into the room with a sour grin on his face. It was a smile that was attempting to hide his anger but Tracy could see it. Hell, she could feel it, it was fucking palpable. “It has come to my attention that some of you are doing a little too well out there in the arena and as a result I’ve decided to shake things up a bit. Tonight, in about two hours in fact, there will be a double death match. Two of our best fighters from your little group will face two of our best from the men and only one of you will walk out. I am more than pleased to announce that you, witch, will be one of them.” Tracy expected it and it didn’t concern her. What did was the other female she would be facing. She didn’t want to hurt any of them… especially after Amelia. She’d made a promise, at least to herself, and she’d be damned if she didn’t keep this one. Still if it was one of the older women, one of those that yearned for death as Amelia had but didn’t have the will to meet it by their own hand she supposed she might be able to live with that. “The other is you sweetheart.” Vendrell murmured, turning away from Tracy and smiling at the one person Tracy hadn’t expected.

“No!” she yelled, her own anger rising to meet his. “You can’t. She was put to fight yesterday.”

“She was, but some other bitch took her place, remember? Besides, what made you think there were rules? I run this place and what I say is Gospel. Remember your place, witch!” The fact that Vendrell hadn’t believed she was what he had been told she was, was perhaps her greatest hidden weapon but right then she nearly told him, nearly showed him despite the silver that weakened her, as Megara began to sob silently, her hands cupping her bulging belly.

“I’ll kill you, you know? I’ll look down on you as you bleed and I’ll smile. My face will be the last thing that you see and it will be laughing.” She spat, feeling a deeper hatred for him than she ever had for her family. Even her Father had never inspired such vehemence inside her.

“Hmm, you can tell yourself anything that makes you feel better but first you’ll either die protecting her or you’ll kill her yourself. One way or another you will break, witch.”

“That is your child. You would kill your own baby?” she asked, unable to suppress her disgust. He just laughed at her.

“That is just a bastard. No child of mine will ever be born to someone without supernatural blood. I have always made sure of that.” The truth of what he was became crystal clear then. He never intended for Meg’s baby to be born. Never intended for it to see the light of day. Tracy had the strong suspicion that if Meg didn’t die in the arena then Vendrell was going to kill her himself. Well, she wasn’t going to make it easy on him. Even if she had to die, Meg was going to survive the pit and get the hell out of here. She wasn’t sure how but shit if she wasn’t going to try. “It’s so exciting! I just can’t wait,” Vendrell murmured offering them another sick smile as he sauntered out the door, closing it with a thud behind him.

“Oh my God…” Meg mumbled leaning against the wall and sliding down it, her hands wrapped protectively around her belly.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay… I swear, Meg. I won’t let you die out there.”

“I know you’ll try, but I can’t let you die to save me either… not when he’s just going to kill me anyway… I’m just a human remember…”

“Bullshit! I’ve known worthless people Megara, and most of them were supes. Besides I don’t give a shit what you are. You’re innocent and so is that baby. I don’t know how yet but somehow I’m going to get you out of here.”

“You’re sweet… I want you to know, Catrasia, it doesn’t matter what happens out there… you’re the best friend I ever had. If my baby survives and I don’t, I want you to promise me that you’ll look after her just like you looked after me. Promise me you’ll protect her.”

“I won’t need to, she’ll have her mother for that,” Tracy said firmly though Meg’s words squeezed her heart.

“Promise me! Please. I can face whatever’s coming if you promise me,” Meg insisted but Tracy just couldn’t. It would be admitting defeat and she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“You won’t have to face anything. Listen up, guys. This is what we’re going to do…” thinking quickly Tracy laid out a quick plan to the other girls, there were only six of them now. Rebecca had lost her Deathmatch and she had killed Amelia herself. Some of them were reluctant but Tracy convinced them that Vendrell wouldn’t want to lose them all. No. He would see some sense of reason, she was sure. As long as Meg could stay here, Tracy could go out there, win the fight and come back, protect Meg, protect the baby, and get them the hell out of there. She wasn’t sure how she was going to pull off that last part but this was at least step one. They spent the next two hours getting ready and by the time Vendrell returned they were steadfast in their approach.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked softly, his eyes running across each female, all dressed in their white fighting gear with matching looks of stubbornness on their faces.

“I will fight by myself, Vendrell. Me against two men. Meg will stay here. We won’t kill your child for you, you fucking coward,” Tracy muttered, walking forward, her wrists held out in front, ready for her cuffs.

“Hmmm… could be interesting, I guess.” He murmured, pulling a set of cuffs from his waistband and placing them snugly on her wrists. She was immediately suspicious of his lack of fight but he began pushing her out of the door towards the same guard that had taken her to her first fight in the pit so she was cautiously optimistic.

“Kill them all,” Vendrell murmured to the guard, shattering her illusion with those three words.

“No!” she yelled, straining against them to get back inside, back to Meg and the baby.

“Wait! I’ll fight… just don’t hurt them… please,” Meg stepped forward, her cheeks pink and streaked with tears, her rounded belly poking beneath her shirt.

“Hurry up before I change my mind and punish them for your insolence,” Vendrell growled, roughly shackling another set of cuffs onto her wrists and pushing her down the corridor as the other girls began to cry and wail in misery. Tracy wanted to join them. She’d taken a gamble, and nearly gotten them all killed in the process. Even the guard looked relieved that he didn’t have to massacre a group of defenceless, weapon-less women. One thing was certain, whatever happened next, Vendrell needed to die. Moving down the corridor she gripped Meg’s hand with hers. It was a useless action, she knew that, but she found herself doing it anyway and taking comfort in it herself. Who knew? Of all the people she’d met in her entire life, none of them had affected her much as Megara, the human. Funny how she, in a world of extraordinary beings had made the most unexpected and astonishing connection with someone without any powers to speak of, without anything particularly special about her except her amazing heart. She couldn’t die here. Not like this. Tracy wouldn’t allow it. They reached the door to the pit faster than usual, still clutching each other’s hands.

“Ignore them, Meg. Just focus on me.” Tracy murmured as Vendrell threw the door open and the sounds of cheers and jeers hit them in a wave. Tracy held her head high as she walked down the steps and she was proud to see Megara do the same. Supernaturals obviously didn’t have the monopoly on bravery. In fact, Tracy was certain that Meg had more courage in her pinky finger than every damn supe in the arena, herself included. Before she was really ready, Tracy was standing in front of the cage door with Meg beside her. They didn’t get to choose their weapons this time, instead the cage door was opened and Vendrell was the one to push them inside. He came in with them carrying a microphone and Tracy thought that maybe she could overpower him, kill his damn ass, then she’d get out of there. She’d take Meg somewhere safe, find Adalai and then they’d come back for Deran and burn this place to the ground. Vendrell wasn’t taking any chances though. He held a small silver knife up in front of him and gestured for Tracy to step back, closer to the wire fence surrounding the pit. Tracy could hear the buzz from the electricity pumping through it so she was reluctant but when he brandished the knife at Meg and her unborn baby she found herself walking backwards and gritting her teeth, waiting for the agonising burn but it didn’t come. Mere seconds before her flesh touched the charged metal, the buzzing died and other than a little static shock she only felt the cool wire against her. Vendrell came forward and pushed her hands above her head until they were secured into a set of thick cuffs she hadn’t noticed before. He removed the other cuffs and leash and she was left to stand there, vulnerable and open, as he did the same to Meg. For a moment, Tracy had the sickening notion that he was about to do the unthinkable when his knife hovered over her swelled belly but he didn’t. He walked away and she breathed a sigh of relief as Meg sobbed silently.

“Meg… what are you going to call her?” she asked, unsure what else to say but certain that she needed to keep her distracted from their dire situation.

“What? Erm… Angel.”

“Angel huh? That’s pretty. Why?”

“Because she’s kept me alive. She is my Angel.”

“That’s sweet. How do you know she’s a she? Could be a boy,” Tracy murmured as Vendrell moved to the other side of the cage, preparing for the male fighters.

“No. A mother knows. She’s definitely a girl and she’s a fighter.”

“Sounds like her Mommy.”

Meg was silent for a long moment before she spoke again and when she did, Tracy wished she hadn’t. “You never promised me, Trace. Please, promise me now,” Meg begged, her eyes seeking Tracy’s in desperation. Tracy was about to relent when the faces of the men she was to face came into view.

“Ah fuck…”

“What is it?”

“Deran.”

“Your friend? That’s good isn’t it?” Meg murmured, a ray of hope entering her voice. Truth was, Tracy didn’t know if it was a good thing or not. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her and he would rather die than harm a pregnant woman. She didn’t know how she knew it, she just did. It was an undeniable fact that she felt deep in her soul. No that wasn’t what worried her. It was the fact that Vendrell had said only one would leave the pit alive and now she was faced with the prospect of losing not only Meg, her friend, but Deran as well. Though, truth be told, the absence of Adalai was starting to eat at her, threatening to overcome her from the inside out. It left her weak and slightly dazed… she wasn’t sure she would be the one to survive this fight. Even if she somehow did, how the hell was she supposed to live with it? Gods, now would be the perfect time for a packet of cigarettes and five bottles of vodka… and she didn’t even drink spirits. Deran and another man, a Fae judging by his platinum hair and purple eyes were fastened into their own cuffs before Vendrell moved into the middle of the pit looking way too happy with himself.

“Ladies and Gentleman. Thank you for joining us on this special occasion. Tonight, for your viewing pleasure we have a very special, once in a lifetime, event. Four of our greatest fighters will battle to the death and only one will survive. Odds are as follows: Megara, a mere human whore with no special skills to speak of other than a thirst for life and the will to fight for her unborn bastard… forty to one! Craig, a Fae from the famous Halycon city where he fought against slavery until he became a slave to his own urges here… Three to one! Deran, a Vengeance Demon who has yet to lose a fight… two to one! And last but by no means least… Tracy! The witch who has claimed to be a female mage but is yet to show us any sign of her power, she has the added benefit of psychosis to assist her in any fight! Four to one! You have three minutes, ladies and gentleman, Make. Your. Bets!” Vendrell revelled in the excited cheers of the crowd as he threw his hands up in the air. Then with one last sadistic smirk at Tracy and Meg he left the cage with a flourish of his hands. A roar of voices screaming their bets and weighing the odds of survival for the four of them inside the pit swept across the arena and once again Tracy was struck by the level of depravity people could sink to. These people made her family look like the goddamn Brady Bunch. Sick fucks. After a few suspenseful minutes a klaxon sounded and Vendrell was back on the microphone.

“That’s it Ladies and Gentleman. The bets have been placed. Now it is time to find out who amongst you is a lucky winner and which of our fighters will live to see another!” Once again the klaxon rang out, tolling like a death bell and all at once the silver cuffs that held them in place were released. Tracy jumped in front of Meg as soon as her hands were free, her eyes on Deran and the Fae, Craig. She had expected them to start fighting immediately but something was wrong. Deran was moving slowly, sluggishly even, one hand clutched to his waist like his life depended on it. Now that she was looking at him properly, he looked pale and clammy though there was a wild unpredictability to his eyes that she had never seen before. A look that would have been more suited to his brother. Craig looked him over for a moment with a raised blonde eyebrow. Sensing he was being watched, his purple eyes came up to meet Tracy’s. He looked her up and down, sizing up the threat she posed before he looked over her shoulder at Meg who was doing her best to look strong. Her protruding belly, however, only made her look vulnerable despite the steely resolve written all over her face. Craig looked down at his feet for a moment seeming to battle with himself and Tracy thought he might have reservations about slaughtering a pregnant woman for the entertainment of the masses but when he looked back up she knew she was wrong. His jaw was set and his eyes had a resigned but determined gleam in them. Tracy didn’t blame him. He just wanted to live. Hell, they all wanted to live. A chorus of jeers and boos echoed through the crowd as they hungered for the blood that had yet to be spilt and in retaliation a crate hovering above the pit opened and its contents were released into the centre of the cage. Altogether there was a silver hunting knife, a short sword, and a dagger the size of a toothpick. Three weapons, four fighters… these fuckers just weren’t playing fair.

Tracy’s eyes flicked to the short sword at the same time Craig’s did and after debating her options for a millisecond she dove for it. Craig did the same but at the last second, seeming to find some strength, Deran charged at the Fae. He thrust the both of them into the silver wire cage groaning when it made contact with his skin. Craig was quickly able to turn the tables aiming his elbow into Deran’s gut but her demon had given her enough time to swipe the sword in one hand and the dagger in the other before rushing back to her position guarding Meg. Turning she thrust the dagger into Megs hands and told her to protect herself if she needed to with just a look. When she turned back she saw that Craig had picked up the hunting knife and was stalking towards Deran. The demon was panting, his pallor sickly but he didn’t show any signs of backing down. He staggered to his feet, prepared to face his death head on as the Fae came closer. Craig lashed out with the knife which Deran artfully dodged as he aimed his fist square into his face. Craig’s nose exploded with blood as his step faltered but he didn’t relent. He faked left and almost faster than the eye could track, drove his hunting knife upwards to the right, hitting Deran in the shoulder. Deran fell down with an anguished yell and the Fae fell on top of him. Tracy realised, as the Fae straddled her demon that she was about to watch him die. Maybe once she would have been okay with that. She would have been able to live with it, look at herself in the mirror and survive it, but not now… that demon meant something to her. She wasn’t sure what but she knew she couldn’t just let him die like that. Hell, she stood to bat for him once already, right? Why break the habit? Craig raised the hunting knife above his head, the silver glinting in the florescent lights and without another thought she called to Deran and threw the short sword down beside him. He didn’t miss a beat in picking it up, his fingers wrapping around the blade as he shoved the tip into the Fae’s neck. Craig’s eyes widened as his free hand went to the blade. Deran was breathing hard as he watched the Fae stand up and stagger backwards, the sword halfway inside him as blood fell from his lips. The Fae turned and pinned her with his eyes, condemning her for causing his death as he coughed and spluttered. Some of the crowd were cheering as others consoled themselves for their lost bets by throwing glass bottles at the cage. We’ve done it… we’ve survived. No sooner had Tracy had the thought, Craig, still gripping the hunting knife had moved forward a step. It all happened so quickly after that. Deran attempted to stand, using the wire to pull himself up despite the pain it caused as Craig gripped the handle of his knife and in one last attempt to avenge his oncoming murder, he threw it. Tracy saw the blade coming towards her, aiming for her heart and on instinct alone she moved aside. The blade sailed behind her as the Fae fell to the floor, the sword still buried in his throat as his blood was added to the spatter covered ground. Tracy breathed a sigh of relief and turned to see if Deran was alright but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead his horrified gaze was glued to something behind her. No. Not something. Someone.

“No…” it was a whisper. Tracy went cold as she spun on her heel to see Meg leaning against the wire fence, her eyes focused on the handle of the blade that was buried in her chest as a red inkblot began burgeoning out in a spidery pattern. She looked up then, confusion and pain in her eyes as a thin rivulet of blood fell from the corner of her mouth. “Meg. Meg, no…” Tracy leapt forward, her arms encasing the human, her human… her friend. Gently, as the crowd yelled in revelry, she lowered her friend to the floor. Deran crawled over, tears in his crimson eyes. He awkwardly pulled off his white vest, flecked in the Fae’s blood and balled it up, pushing it under Meg’s head.

“T-Tracy… p-promise… p-promise m-me,” Meg’s broken whisper didn’t make sense. How can I make that promise now?

“Don’t be stupid Meg. You’re going to be okay. Right, Deran? She’s going to be okay. We can fix this… you can heal dammit! I can heal you. I can!” Tracy was shouting now, tears falling in fat drops, burning her cheeks. She didn’t care. She didn’t even notice. Instead she started pulling Meg towards the gate of the pit, screaming for someone to open but when Meg cried out, a soft, broken keen she was forced to stop.

“N-no… human r-remember… P-promise… m-my Angel.”

“I promise, okay. I fucking promise. But you have to promise me. You have to promise that you’ll be okay. I can’t protect your Angel if you’re not here to give birth to her.”

“No t-time… t-take her…” Meg gripped Tracy’s hand tighter and pulled it down to her bulging belly. “Love her… t-tell her… m-my f-f-friend… f-family…” Tracy screamed, shouted and begged but no matter what she did, her friend wouldn’t say anything else. She wouldn’t move. She wouldn’t blink. She wouldn’t breathe. Overcome with rage at the life she had given up on, the life of her baby she had refused to live for, Tracy lashed out, slapping her vacant face but still there was nothing…

“Take her…” the words fell from her lips but they weren’t hers. It was as though they had come from outside herself but Tracy heard them loud and clear. Deran placed his hands around her shoulders, trying to pull her away but she pushed him off with more force than she had intended. More strength than she knew she possessed. She knew what she had to do. Knew what her friend had asked of her. She didn’t allow herself to think of what she was about to do, didn’t let herself consider the consequences… instead she pulled the small dagger from Meg’s dead fingers and pulled up her vest to the rounded belly beneath. There was no movement. No kicks of happiness. No eagerness for life. But she had to try. With one swift incision, Tracy ran the dagger across the base of Meg’s belly as though her hand was being guided by a higher power. Once she had sliced the skin Tracy pushed it back and sure enough, there inside a small blood-covered pearlescent sac of amniotic fluid, she could see her… Angel. With a steady hand, Tracy slit the sac open and reached a hand inside. She felt a hand, an arm and then the baby’s head as she dropped the dagger to the floor with a clatter. Breathing hard as sweat poured down her forehead she felt Deran hovering behind her. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, barely breathed but she was grateful for his presence. She reached her other hand inside Meg’s belly and then with a slight tug she pulled the precious bundle out into the world. At first, the tiny being was still, her body and face covered in pinkish amniotic tissue and other debris that Tracy didn’t want to think about and Tracy’s heart stopped.

“Please, Angel… I promised your Momma… please…”

“Let me…” Tracy growled in protective defiance but reluctantly she handed the eerily still and silent bundle to her Demon. He had pulled his balled up vest from beneath Meg’s head and laid it on the dirty floor. He put the child on it and lowered his head. First, using his little finger he cleaned some gunk out of the infant’s nose and then he swiftly bent down and placed his mouth over the baby’s mouth and nose and gently he blew in some air. Leaning up he placed his large hand over Angel’s tiny chest as Tracy’s eyes flicked from his face to the baby’s and back again in quick succession. She was ready to scream in frustration, anger and pain… so much pain… when she saw the corner of his lips quirk up. Deran looked up at her with a light in his eyes and before she could get excited she heard it. The soul-wrenching, heart-breaking, beautiful cry of a new-born baby.

“You did it… Deran you did it…”

“No. You did it. Here,” wrapping Angel in the dirty vest, Deran handed her over to Tracy, helping her to support her head.

“Hi Angel… your Mommy loved you so much. Gods… Meg, she’s so beautiful. I wish you could see her. I wish you could hold her…” Tracy turned to her friend as her body grew cold in its final resting place and crawled to her side. “Your Angel, Meg… she’s so perfect. I will protect her with everything I am, the way I couldn’t protect you. Gods… I’m so sorry…” Tracy rocked back and forth as she repeated those words again and again, cradling Angel in her arms as her fingers fluttered over Meg’s face. Through all the years she had been abused and mistreated she had never felt so utterly desolate and yet so full of hope as she did at that moment. Her friend was gone… but Angel was here. Too many emotions, emotions she had hidden from for so long flooded through her, making her body and mind numb whilst simultaneously setting fire to every nerve ending she owned… Oh Meg… what the fuck am I supposed to do now? I’ve always got a plan, always got an option… what the hell am I supposed to do?

“Catrasia…” Deran’s warning growl came from behind her and all of a sudden, the crowd she had forgotten was watching burst back to life. She would later realise that they had always been there, shouting and jeering, though some of the weaker-stomached had left when the pregnant human they had bet against was cut down in front of them. Brave enough to call for her death from the other side of a wire fence but too weak in their convictions to stay and watch as her light was brutally snuffed out. She hated them. She felt it all. So long she had been running from emotion. Emotion made you weak. Emotion gave you a vulnerability that others could exploit but now… holding a motherless child in her hands as those that would see her harmed called for more blood she was no longer afraid of the feelings that engulfed her. These callous bastards had made her feel and they were going to reap the rewards for it. Cradling Angel in one arm she reached for the dagger. Angel’s umbilical cord was still in the amniotic sac inside Meg’s womb and Tracy held the dagger under it, preparing to cut it but Deran stopped her.

“Wait, baby. Here.” Deran pulled the hair tie from Tracy’s hair and gripped the end of the umbilical cord close to Angel’s stomach as tight as he could. He nodded to Tracy and she swiftly pulled the dagger up, slicing through the cord like butter. With movements as quick as a lightning strike, Deran had tied the hair tie around the end of the umbilical cord and made sure that it was safe to release it. When he did, they both stared for a moment but nothing escaped the severed cord so with a shared breath of relief they turned towards the crowd as they chorused ‘fight, fight, fight,’ again and again.

“Ladies and Gentleman. The rules have not changed. Only one can survive the pit tonight! Who will it be? The demon? The Witch? Or the bastard child of a whore?” Vendrell called out gleefully on his microphone. He hadn’t been disturbed in the slightest by his own child being viciously pulled into the world before she was ready. At that moment, Tracy vowed to the Gods and any who could hear her that she would be his end and that end would be slow and painful and merciless. Just like Megs. But right now… she had a promise to keep.

“What do we do, Deran?” she murmured, clutching Angel as though the baby could somehow save them.

“We live… but in order to do that, you have to kill me.” 

“What! That isn’t happening. Forget it,” she snapped in disbelief.

“Catrasia, I don’t know if you’ve noticed this but I’m not exactly at my best. There is a piece of silver inside me and I can’t get it out myself.”

“What? Okay… why do I have to kill you? I don’t understand.”

“You’re not really going to kill me… at least I hope not but you are going to stab me. Then you’re going to get the metal out so I can heal. Got it?”

“No! What if I’m not quick enough? What if I do it wrong?” I don’t want to lose you too. It was on the tip of her tongue but despite everything they had just survived she couldn’t say it. Not here. Not in this place with her dead friend at her feet and a new-born in her arms. If she said those words, it made it possible…

“Tracy, listen to me. You just cut a baby out of a human and saved its life. You can cut a piece of metal out of my side and save mine. You can. I know it. Now, do it.” Tracy began to shake her head but Deran was too quick. Like a freaking ninja he gripped her hand, the one still clutching the thin dagger and thrust it into his side, just above his hipbone. He gave a ragged breath as the crowd screamed, some in fury, others in elation, and fell to his knees. Oh my… you stupid son of a bitch! She could have slapped him she was so fucking angry but her concern outweighed her wrath. She knelt in front of him, Angel snuggled safely into her chest, her little hands curled into soft fists and her heartbeat thrumming against Tracy’s skin as she slept soundly despite the roaring of the crowds. What that might mean, suddenly swept through Tracy’s mind and she had to fight a crawling sickness as it clawed its way through her stomach. Priorities, Catrasia! Angel was safe, for now. Deran on the other hand was about to bleed out and leave her alone in the pit with a baby to protect. Not going to happen. She pushed him onto his back and straddled his thighs as the crowd called for her to finish him off. He looked up at her with a cheeky glint in his eyes as she manoeuvred herself to get better access to his wound.

“Adie’s going to be… so… jealous,” he said with a smirk and the ridiculousness of his comment whilst they were in their particular situation, both covered in blood with death on the horizon and a baby between them had her laughing. Albeit hysterically, almost maniacally. Still, she’d never thought that she’d laugh again and the small action made her heart thump for him. Damn demon! Doesn’t he know this shit is serious? So why was she still smiling? Maybe I’ve finally lost my fucking mind… yep, that’s the one. She ripped the dagger out of his side and the smile ran away from her face. Still holding Angel tight with one arm she pushed her fingers inside. Deran grimaced, gritting his teeth against the invasion but he didn’t make a sound. She dug around for a minute, her fingers slick with his blood and was about to give up when she felt the edge of a thin piece of metal. In order to grip it properly she had to dig a little deeper. Deran did grunt in pain then, his knuckles turning white and his face ashen as she gripped the end. In one smooth motion she pulled it free and the relief Deran felt was visible. Panting he nodded when she looked to see if he was alright and sure enough when she glanced back at the wound, the edges were already starting to seal themselves together. It would take a fair while longer for the inside of his body to heal and the silver faraday cage would slow the process but as long as nothing else happened he was going to live. If only everybody had been that lucky, she thought, looking down at Meg’s pretty face, her deep blue eyes glassy and unseeing. A stark reminder of her failure.