The more Sybil researched into The Shadowslayer, the more convinced she became that the alpha-king had made a mistake in resurrecting him. Of course, one would never breathe that aloud; not unless one wished to join the pelts of betrayers that lined the royal rooms. The Loup Moreau Pack was different from the others. It was well-heeled. It was silent. It obeyed.
And yet, disloyal doubts grew in Sybil's mind by the day. She readjusted her spectacles now, peering at the dusty tome before her. Ares Shadowslayer, a wolf feared and worshipped in the dark days before Crescent City was even a gouge in the earth. She smoothed a page, hand clad in a glove to prevent the oils of her fingertips from staining the worn lambskin, and read a passage in a language that had died millennia ago.
In the first age, when the earth still burned with fire and the beast gods themselves were but sparks to be brought to life, The Shadowslayer walked. He smothered flames with the spilled blood of the Old Ones, hunting them in their underground dominions and revealing them to the light of the moon. Without mercy, his claws ran through these shadow dwellers, gouging out the hearts of the wretched and cracking the skulls of the debased. And when he was finished, his jaws opened wide to devour their unlit gods, who sat bloated with greed and vanity upon their obsidian thrones.
For in his rage, he was unyielding to sword or fang. Bloodlust brought to life, his hunger could never be sated. With each kill, his will grew stronger, pure despite the surrounding darkness as starfire is pure in the surrounding night.
Sybil sat back in her seat and blew out a sigh. This was someone who had destroyed gods. What chance did a mere king have at training him to a leash?
The door to the room opened and Royal Inspector Oliver appeared in view, his uniform so spotless that the brass buttons gleamed even in the dim lamps of the library. Sybil jumped up from her chair and sank into a curtsy, hoping guilt hadn't slid into her scent.
"It's time," he said, and gave her a curt signal to follow him.
She did, swallowing back fresh nerves.
Before this strange situation had morphed into being, she'd never so much as seen the royal inspector. She was only a lowly researcher in the magical branch of his division, and speaking to him seemed an offense to pack hierarchy in and of itself. It had taken her two weeks to ask for a magicked key to unlock the library cases that jealously guarded the rare books inside.
Inspector Oliver had fulfilled her request in the way of an indulgent master giving his whimpering wretch a pat instead of a kick. If nothing else, at least she was good at appearing too pathetic to even threaten. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been put through a submission ritual.
This fact gave her the courage to clear her throat as they walked out of the building and into the night. The alpha-king's mansion was just visible with its white columns and many lit windows. As they approached it, the royal inspector glanced at her. "Yes?"
"Sir, I'm not sure I can accomplish what you've tasked me to do. These written languages might be too recent. The Shadowslayer is very old."
"There's still a better chance he'll understand you over any of us."
"But... If I fail..." A memory flashed through her mind, a voice cracked with agony calling her name.
"Just keep quiet and do as you're told, and you won't get into trouble."
"Yes, sir." Sybil fidgeted with the books in her arms, although they were more for instinctive comfort than for reference material. She knew all she needed to, and ran through it while they reached the first of the tunnels that led deep underground.
The Shadowslayer's sarcophagus had been found two months ago. It was a coup for the Loup Moreau Pack, an ultimate weapon to keep ever-ready as the threat of a full-city war between the wolf packs loomed. Royal enchanters had worked day and night to draw this ancient beast from his slumber, and the royal inspector had been ordered to use his researchers to find all that could be learned about him. Sybil, quite unluckily, was the one who specialized in ancient texts and languages that sometimes proved useful in cases with magic, and found herself elevated to the much more prominent role of being a translator for the alpha-king whenever The Shadowslayer finally woke.
She didn't like it at all. A wolf that stood out from its pack was a wolf in danger of being seen doing something wrong. And the alpha-king didn't tolerate mistakes.
She and the royal inspector were now in the last tunnel, walking in utter silence but for their breathing. Even as Sybil's thoughts flickered like a moth beating itself against a lamp, Inspector Oliver guided her into the final curve with a light touch at her elbow. "The enchanters tell me he woke an hour ago, so he should just be cognizant enough for..."
His voice faded. Dimly, Sybil felt his hand tighten into a painful grip, but shock left her quiet as they both stared at the massive doors ahead. Blood splattered the double-paned windows set in the steel; one had spiderweb fractures throughout the glass as if something had struck it. A pool of blood had leaked underneath the door, nearly black in the harsh overhead lights.
The royal inspector swore. "Stay back."
She did, shaking as he unsheathed his execution dagger. Just then, the door opened and one of the pack guards greeted them, sweating and bloodstained.
"What happened?" said Inspector Oliver, voice clipped.
"He changed over. That Shadowslayer creature. What he turns into... Javais is furious. He lost ten of his best men. Three of the enchanters are dead, as well. We only caught him because he didn't know how to work the elevators. Broke the damned controls for one of them. Smashed them barehanded."
The royal inspector ran a hand through his hair. "And the alpha-king?"
"Whole and unhappy that this Shadowslayer holds no respect for the power of his crown." The guard's voice remained carefully neutral.
"Show me this bastard."
Sybil hurried after them, clutching at her books even tighter as the stench of blood grew choking. What she stepped into was nothing short of a horrorscape. Lumps of flesh glistened on the floor, vaguely recognizable as torn-apart bodies. There were jaws ripped off. Teeth scattered like pebbles. Bloody trails left on walls. Another crimson trail led to a doorway, and growling came from the other side. When the guard stepped through it, Sybil had no choice but to follow.
Her first impression of The Shadowslayer was of heaving muscles dripping with sweat and blood. They'd restrained him in adamantine chains, leaving him kneeling and bound in his human form. He remained still, unresisting, but watched them all with hateful eyes.
Alpha-king Moreau already stood there in the small room, and Sybil dropped into an immediate curtsy even though his gaze swept over her and landed on the royal inspector. "Magnificent, isn't it? He tore them into rags."
Sybil didn't dare watch him, and so her gaze stayed on Inspector Oliver, whose mouth tightened for a fraction of a second before he responded. "Yes, Your Majesty."
The alpha-king approached the bound man, then, and everyone else in the room fell tense. He was as tall and regal as anyone in his position should have been, with a beard shading to grey and a suit cut to show off a physique still fit and slim. And yet, when the two faced each other, it was not The Shadowslayer who seemed diminished.
"Turn up the lamps," said the alpha-king, and an enchanter quickly obeyed, flicking her fingers until the shadows receded to the corners of the room. The mythic figure was now exposed in full.
After all his exploits, Sybil was surprised by how he appeared less grizzled than the alpha-king before himâperhaps thirty or so, in peak vigor and strength. He met the alpha-king's stare in full, as if the humiliation of being chained like a dog meant nothing to him, nor the vulnerability of being naked and trapped in his skin in a roomful of guards bristling with weapons. The color of his eyes seemed light against the blood slicking his face.
"Speak to him. Introduce me if he seems to understand."
The alpha-king hadn't looked away from The Shadowslayer, and it took Sybil a breath to realize the words were directed at her. Feeling ready to faint, she squeaked out, "Yes, Your Majesty."
When she eased toward The Shadowslayer, the bound man turned his gaze upon her. She bit her lip at the sight of a cut beneath one eye and how tight the chains looked against his flesh. A beast he was, and one that must have been terribly confused.
Sympathy drove all hesitation from her voice as she said, "Ares Shadowslayer?"
His eyes only narrowed slightly.
"Can you understand me?"
In the continuing silence, she decided it was better to fumble on rather than admit defeat so soon. "It's been a long time since you were put to sleep, and I'm the only one who can speak a language close to yours. You're in the territory of the Loup Moreau Pack, and the one behind me is its leader, Alpha-king Moreau."
When The Shadowslayer's gaze flickered over to the alpha-king, Sybil knew he had understood, and felt some of the tension leave her body.
The alpha-king understood the significance, too, and quickly said, "Explain to him that he must swear fealty to me to avoid being killed for coming onto this land without permission."
The sheer hypocrisy of the words made Sybil hiss in a breath, but she knew better than to question him. "He wishes you to become part of the pack and swear loyalty to him. If you don't, you will be killed for trespassing."
The Shadowslayer cocked his head to one side. The chain around his neck tightened at the movement, but he didn't flinch. "What king takes the loss of his loyal men so lightly that he will keep their killer?"
Stunned at how he'd already perceived that much of the alpha-king, Sybil remained silent.
"He doesn't care about them, yes? Only that they uphold his rule." His voice sounded deep and rough, like primordial rock scraping against itself.
"I can't tell him that. He'll hurt you for questioning him."
"Then tell him he handles power like a boy just discovering how to rub his cock."
"I..." Face flushing, Sybil turned toward the alpha-king. "He doesn't seem very impressed with either option, Your Majesty."
"What did he say?"
Now beet red, she repeated The Shadowslayer's words, and watched the expressions change in the men around her.
The posture of the alpha-king had gone stiff. "Tell him every creature can be broken, legendary or not."
Sybil repeated the words dutifully, and watched The Shadowslayer flash his teeth.
"Torture means nothing to me."
Then he turned his face away and ignored any further attempts at conversation.
Outside the room, the alpha-king's voice grew hard. "Restrict food and water. No beatings or mutilations, yet. He's too rare to lose."
To Inspector Oliver, he said, "Keep your underling here. Have her go in and ask if he's ready on occasion."
Sybil gnawed on her lip as she was ushered away from the room. No, she didn't like this at all.
Later that evening, after she'd had the piece of bread slathered with mustard and dressed with a thin cut of venison that was allotted to all lesser pack members, she visited The Shadowslayer again.
He acknowledged her with a glance. "You're alone."
"The alpha-king isn't a fool. He doesn't expect you to break immediately."
"Not a fool, yet he thinks you loyal to him?"
"He doesn't think anything. He knows I'm a coward too afraid to work against him."
When The Shadowslayer only looked away, she hesitated and then knelt to be at eye-level with him. The act seemed to surprise him, because he turned to her again.
"Please," she said, suddenly desperate for him to understand the danger of his situation. "He's cruel and he hates looking like a fool. If the warrior he resurrected refuses to serve him, then he'll gladly let him die, and not quickly. You see, I... I once knew someone who scrawled a joke about the alpha-king on the side of a building. It was such a silly thing, but it was discovered and his death lasted for weeks. They made it public, and encouraged all of the pack to visit him so they could see how he suffered."
She looked up from her fidgeting hands to find The Shadowslayer intent on her.
"Who was he to you?"
The words slipped out of her like a confession. "My brother. He was only fourteen. I was twelve."
He dipped his head as much as the chains would allow. An acknowledgment of her loss.
She realized a thread of connection had flickered into being, and tried to tug on it. "Please. I've seen what he does."
"And you don't wish that upon me."
"No."
The shadows in the room hid his eyes from her. It was impossible to tell what he thought. "I bow to no one."
And again, The Shadowslayer fell silent.
Three days passed. The Shadowslayer remained in his chains, a pitcher of water kept in sight to stoke his thirst, and ignored all attempts to speak with him. The alpha-king lost that greedy gleam in his eyes, and what filled its place left Sybil shaking.
In frustration, she returned to her books, hoping to glean hints of what would persuade The Shadowslayer to live as a chained dog rather than die as a wild wolf. What she found only further roiled her nerves.
His resolve was infinite, for they had put him through the fires of hell and he had survived to remember every moment. Moon-blessed in body but scarred in soul, The Shadowslayer was left with a savage rage that not even celestial light could cleanse and transform. The realms of the shadow gods slaughtered in his bloodthirst soon withered into graveland, for he crushed their crowns of cinder and pitch as mercilessly as he had crushed their skulls. In his fervent hatred, he was unswayed by promises of power. He was pure. He was unrelenting. He was unstoppable.
On the fourth day, Sybil was summoned by the alpha-king. She threw up in the elevator ride up to his quarters, but the guards didn't even make her clean up the mess before dragging her into a sleek office.
Royal Inspector Oliver was already thereâwhat was left of him. He sat in a chair, throat cut and blood drying as a dark red river down those shiny brass buttons. The alpha-king sat on the corner of his desk, idly playing with the inspector's bloodied execution knife.
"I don't stand with incompetence," he said, eyes fixed on her.
Sybil started screaming, and then she couldn't stop.
He didn't use the knife on her, at least, though the first slap from him split her lip. She howled for mercy even before his second knocked her spectacles off. By the third, she was whimpering for it. It would have been easier to take if he'd shouted or swore, giving her some measure of his rage and how much of it was left. But he remained impassive while beating her until her knees buckled, and when she tried crawling under the nearest table to get away, he only followed in silence and kicked her in the stomach. It knocked the breath from her, and then she could only gasp like a gutted fish, the points of his fine leather shoes mere inches from her face. One twitch on his part would be enough to knock out her teeth.
"I expect results. You were given every resource, and he won't even speak to you. If you weren't the only damn wolf that can understand him..."
"Forgive me, Your Majesty," she whispered, agony stabbing through her torso at each word. "I'll try harder."
Without her spectacles, he was nothing more than a blur, yet the shoes before her shifted, as if he debated whether the lesson for failing him needed to be continued. She didn't move. She didn't even dare whimper.
"Very well," he said, finally. "Try again tomorrow morning. It's your last chance."
Wasn't one supposed to feel gratefulness in the face of mercy? She only felt a cold lump in her chest while crawling near enough to kiss at those regal shoes like any guilty inferior spared from more.
Guards took her back to the room she'd been staying in, the one next to The Shadowslayer. All those ancient books waited for her desperate attention, but it hurt to breathe and her face throbbed. Instead, she curled up on the lumpy pallet that was her bed, vaguely surprised that she was so dry-eyed. Then she thought of the royal inspector's body, and unconsciousness stole over her, bringing with it older horror in the shape of memories.
"Sybil?"
A familiar voice shivered through her down to her bones. Claude's voice.
"Water. Please, Sybil. I need it." The words sounded as withered as dead weeds. He had been hanging on the wall for days.
Sybil blinked back tears and tried very hard to keep focused on his faceâhis face, which was still recognizable. "I can't give you any. They won't let me."
"Please."
"IâI..." She could do it. There was a fountain not far from there, and no one else lingered nearby. She could leave and return with a cup, and fill it, and then climb the wall and...
But each word stoked the terror rising within her. If she were caught, she would end up on that wall next to him. That mangled, broken body would be hers.
Shame hunched her shoulders as she whispered, "I can't. I'm sorry."
Then she reached up for him even though he hung a good three feet above her head. Her fingers brushed the trails of blood dripping down the wall, and came away sticky. He had been without water for so long that his spilled blood was as thick as tar.
"I'm sorry," she repeated, glad that she couldn't see his eyes in the stark moonlight, glad that she couldn't see what he thought of her cowardice.
He coughed, a guttural one that made her lungs ache to hear it. "Please. Water."
Water.
The word rang at the edge of Sybil's mind as her eyes opened to darkness. It was night. Somewhere in the outer rooms, she heard the guards deep into a game of jackbones. They were laughing to themselves like there wasn't even a man dying of thirst in the next room. She blinked once, then again, feeling a strange sense of resolve take her.
Her body ached from the alpha-king's brutality, but she moved with determination, feet silent as she stood and slipped into the room that held The Shadowslayer.
He remained quiet when she stepped inside, but the lamps picked out how his muscles shifted with each rasping breath.
The water pitcher still waited in his sight, and she picked it up and brought it over. Realizing there was no easy way for him to drink from it, she knelt, fear and anger tightening the muscles in her stomach.
Chains clinked as The Shadowslayer raised his head enough to look at her. The light turned his eyes into ink and ice as they studied her battered face.
"I shouldn't be doing this," she said, cupping her hands and dipping them into the water. "But I am, anyway."
Then she eased her hands to where he could reach them, keeping her gaze on the drops trailing from her fingers.
His head lowered, and for one breathless moment, she imagined his teeth ripping her fingers from their sockets in rage. Instead, she felt the scrape of his unshaven jaw and the heat of his breath. His first drink was a cautious sip, as if he remained suspicious of her intent. The next was a greedy gulp that drained the rest of the water from her hands, and she quickly refilled them. The sense of power that emanated from him, bound and desperate as he was, was incredible, and she was stunned again at the audacity of anyone trying to leash this creature to their will.
After her hands had been emptied again, he licked her palms as if intent on getting every last drop. Then he shook his head. "No more. Too much will make me sick."
The movement, small as it was, shifted the collar enough to reveal how it had scraped his neck raw.
It was as if the small act of rebellion on her part had crumbled the rest of her obedience. She reached for the chain nearest to her, aware of his attention. The key for unlocking magicked book cases worked just as well on his restraints, opening the locks with ease. "If he can't tame you, he'll settle for breaking you. Then he'll kill you."
"I don't break."
Her fingers continued to move quick and sure, snapping open another lock. "Claude said that, too."
As soon as the final chain fell free, she eased back, unsure of what he'd do.
He stood slowly, flexing his muscles. Suddenly the room seemed even smaller. When he spoke, his voice came out as a growl. "Stay here."
Without further warning, he changed over. A gasp caught in her throat. She had seen ancient depictions of The Shadowslayer in his wolf form, as different from the werewolves of today as a mammoth pagan statue was from a carved marble bust. He was huge, balancing on his feet like a man but rippling with muscle and bristling with fur. Lupine eyes glared at her. A long red tongue licked at a muzzle filled with bone-crushing teeth.
Sybil curled into as small a ball as possible, hoping those savage hunting instincts wouldn't first sup on her.
But The Shadowslayer's ears already pricked toward the doorway, and then he bounded through it on all fours. Sybil gnawed on her fingers, hardly daring to believe he could outmatch armed guards.
Then the shouts of panic started, and so did glimpses visible through the doorway. The first guard didn't have time to scream before fangs sank into his skull and cracked it in two like a walnut. The Shadowslayer roared, froth dripping from his jaws, and lunged as a second guard tried to pull out his spelled dagger. Claws slit him open from thigh to throat, and ropes of intestine slid to the floor.
After that, Sybil ducked her head in her arms and prayed. Every part of her trembled even once the screaming stopped. Then a hand shook her shoulderâa hand wet and hot. She blinked at the bloody fingerprints left on her shirt, and then at The Shadowslayer. He was back in human form, having already pilfered pants and shoes from one of the guards.
"All dead?" she mumbled.
His reply was to lick the blood from his mouth.
"Alpha-king Moreau..."
"I'm hunting him, next. He goes up, somehow. Away from here."
"Yes, with the elevators. But he has guards and they have guns. How can you possibly..."
He didn't wait for her to finish, instead pulling her upright and urging her along. She had to take two steps for every one of his. Despite his brutish build and height, his hand remained surprisingly light at the small of her back. "Do you wish to give him the killing wound?"
"What? No."
"Not even for..." His other hand made a quick gesture at her face, and she winced as much as her swollen flesh would allow. It must have looked very bad.
"No."
When they reached the first of the tunnels, he eyed them, but Sybil led him to the elevators.
"No, that leads outside. If you want to go directly into the alpha-king's mansion, you have to go up."
He stared at the metal doors in bafflement. Sybil felt like it was someone else's hand, not hers, that flipped the right switches to open it.
Inside and so close together, the tang of blood that slicked his skin grew apparent. Sybil was shocked at how calm she felt. "I'm bringing death to him. Even if I survive this, I should be hanged as a traitor."
The Shadowslayer only growled, eyeing the walls around him. "You'd rather he lived?"
"It's not about what I want. It's about the natural order of things. I'm not worth an alpha-king's life."
"But I am?" He raised an eyebrow at her.
It was her first glimpse into the figure behind the myth. The "Ares" of Ares Shadowslayer, whose muscles could shake with weariness as much as anyone's, and who could laugh at something funny. Someone who lived, and thought, and dreamed. Someone who was so much more than a mindless weapon.
Sybil looked at him and found herself answering without hesitation. "You weren't born into this. No free wolf should be reduced to this life."
The elevator doors opened, then, and she caught a flash of movement before The Shadowslayer lunged into the room. She pressed her back against the nearest wall and waited there in the elevator, muffling her ears against the howls of pain and the cracking of bone. Then the gunshots began, and her shivering strengthened as she expected furious guards to jump into the elevator and grab her. Why hadn't she taken anything with her? Slitting her own throat would be far kinder than any death given to her by the alpha-king. Even as she fretted, silence descended except for gargled choking. No one came to the elevator doors.
"Ares?" she said, voice hesitant.
There was a ragged scream, and then wet ripping noises that left her stomach lurching. She stepped out into the room, anyway, trying not to retch. Blood now spattered the imposing walls and elegant furniture. Guards lay broken and lifeless. Gunsmoke drifted heavy in the air.
She found Ares in the alpha-king's office. The alpha-king's decapitated body still sat in the chair behind the desk, the flesh at the neck ragged as if Ares had torn off the head with his bare hands. Sybil tried not to look while inching around to where The Shadowslayer stood, facing the glass panes that revealed Crescent City in full.
He stared out the vast windows, confusion filling his face at the endless glitter of lights. Even from this height, the distant array of car horns reached them. Perhaps the lust for power and the greed for gold had remained the same, but the world was very different from what he remembered. He was a ghost brought back to a life he knew nothing about.
"Ares," she said again, this time in a soft tone.
He looked over.
She held out her hand to him. Despite the carnage that surrounded them, her fingers didn't tremble. "I'll help you."
Later, she studied the waxing moon from the grimy little window of a motel. "It doesn't look any different, seeing it from no man's land. I've always wondered if it would."
"There are humans, here," said Ares. He sat on the bed, licking a gash on his arm. "I smell many of them."
"Yes. The wolf packs share the city with them. They made many of the things that are new to you. Things to make up for their lack of magic."
"They always were clever." He looked away long enough to cast an admiring glance at the gun stolen from one of the guards.
Sybil watched the easy way he wrapped a strip of fabric around his wound to keep it clean, the muscles in his arm rippling as he tested the tightness.
Then she looked out the window again. Fear made her heart pound hard. How would this all end? Without rules to cage her life, the sky seemed too vast and the buildings around her too tall. She saw three food carts along the street, three to choose from when she was used to a crust of bread for most meals. Freedom wasn't thrilling; it was overwhelming.
A hand catching her chin startled her, and she found herself looking up into Ares' face even as he studied hers critically.
"You never had this stitched," he said, thumb light beside the cut in her lip.
"No."
"Because you never thought you'd live after tonight. Either by his hand or yours."
Startled at his perceptiveness, she sucked in a breath. "What am I supposed to do without a pack? I don't know how to live, just how to do what I'm told."
"Who told you to free me?"
When she bit at her lip out of habit, the split there opened up again. At that, Ares growled softly and startled her again, this time by licking at the blood before it could trail past her chin. It wasn't a predator's touch.
As she stared at him, wide-eyed, he said, "Show me how to walk through these lands and I'll show you how to live."
"And afterwards?"
Something changed in his gaze. "Even legends grow lonely."
Wonder stole through her at the idea. Keeping company with a warrior of myth. A berserker wolf. A god killer. What right did a little researcher have to that? But even as the thought came to her, Sybil dismissed it. She had ripped free of her old life, such that it was, and things like rights and laws no longer held meaning.
When she spoke, her voice was soft yet clear. "And even wolves born in cages wish to run."
And Ares Shadowslayer gave her a smile that was a man's, not a legend's.