Rowena laughed.
It was rude, certainly, and out of place in the undercity. Levity and joy seldom found purchase here, so she drew a few stares from their fellow prisoners. Quickly their eyes slid away. None of them strayed close, giving her current companion a wide berth. This man must be a troublemaker, judging by the number of fresh scars marring his arms and shoulders. The others likely preferred not to associate with him, lest they attract attention from the authorities. Such concerns mattered to her not at all since a target had been marked on her back since birth.
The Vega legacy was beyond twisted, and the tyrant’s father had brought him to the undercity as a boy, instructing Tycho to pick a plaything. It was unbelievable that he hadn’t killed her with his fascination over the years, though he’d skirted dangerously close to the edge. Oddly, his interest never waned, though there were respites when he was busy. The tyrant always returned to plague her. Always. There had been times when Rowena wished her life would end. Now, however, she refused to die before she brought the tyrant low.
The only question was how.
But this man had been observing in incredulous silence; it was rude of her not to reply. “What can you do to stop it?” she asked, as her amusement subsided, swirling away like dirty water down a drain.
“Hell if I know. But it seems like you’re no more resigned to your fate than I am. Maybe we should team up.”
Intrigued, she took a closer look. This one hadn’t been born in the undercity. Too much muscle, too defiant and strong, even bearing the marks of punishment. He’d been here less than a year, she reckoned, not long enough to accept his fate. Perhaps he’d been banished for some petty crime, a shame if that were true, as he’d—suddenly, she narrowed her eyes. His features seemed familiar somehow, as if she’d seen him somewhere before.
In a moment, recollection sparked in her brain. She’d glimpsed him in passing before the conclave. This was the Ash Valley lieutenant who’d gone missing after one of the battles. Gossips had argued whether he was a prisoner of war or a traitor incited by some petty personal grievance. It seemed she had the answer, not that it did her any good.
“You’re Animari,” she whispered.
He cut her a sharp look and moved closer, his voice deep and low. “How do you know that? Your people don’t have enhanced senses.”
Rowena raised a brow. “My people?”
“You smell like an Eldritch.”
The Animari couldn’t know what a comfort that was—to learn that she smelled more like her mother than the Golgoth who’d viciously ravished the woman who bore her. But there was no denying that half of her nature either. She had no Eldritch gift, and her sire’s brutality lived and breathed in her; she was subject to the same blood rage after every battle. Since the Animari was a stranger, she didn’t confide her thoughts.
Instead, she said, “Then neither of us belongs here.”
“Right there with you. I’ve memorized the patrol routes and times. The guards really aren’t the problem, though.”
“No, it’s the fact that we’d have to make our way up through all the tiers, and none of the citizens would lift a finger to help us. We need to be invisible or we need to foment a rebellion. There’s no middle ground.”
“I’ve been called a sneaky bastard in my time, but I suspect we’d get caught at some point. Does that mean you’re up to rouse some rabble?”
“Beats certain death,” Rowena said.
She didn’t touch people casually. The tyrant had taken too much from her, too often, and without consent for her to offer such contact readily, but for some reason, she extended a hand to the Animari who’d proposed the partnership. “I’m Rowena.”
“Slay,” he said, shaking her hand firmly.
That’s right.
In Ash Valley, she had heard the name and promptly forgot it, as she cared only about serving Prince Alastor’s interests. Sometimes he’d asked her to repeat the local gossip, so she kept her ears open. There had been a minor scandal, something about this man’s lover marrying someone else and suddenly becoming one of the pride leaders. A power move, it sounded like, more than a love match.
She made a snap decision, regarding Slay steadily. “Under the circumstances, I won’t say it’s nice to meet you, but it is convenient. I could use an ally. Tell me a little about yourself so I can assess your strengths.”
“Wow, that’s direct. Hm. Let me think… I don’t know that I’ve ever been asked to sum myself up like this before.”
The scrutiny intensified as they spoke. Other prisoners would sell them out in a heartbeat if they overheard any talk of rebellion. “It would be better if we spoke privately.”
“Here?” Slay glanced around their accommodations with a dubious air.
“There’s an alcove around to the side. Too narrow for sleeping but we can talk without being observed at least. The guards know about it so you can’t use it to kip off work, but the others…” She jerked a chin at a prisoner whose gaze skittered away when she glared. “Won’t bother us. Come on.”
I’m not a victim anymore. I’ve been taught to read. To resist. To fight. Maybe if she chanted that in her head often enough, she’d fully believe it, no longer fighting echoes of her past that left her feeling impotent. Besides, she wasn’t a prisoner. Not truly.
The Animari followed her without question, and really, she needed to talk to him about that. Because people in the undercity would turn in the blink of an eye, treachery rewarded by a little more grain in their ration pack. For now, though, his faith served her purpose. She led them to the niche she’d mentioned, more like a fissure in the wall barely big enough for the two of them. It was dark inside, so she couldn’t make out his features.
He seemed to be leaning against the wall, giving her as much space as possible. “You wanted me alone. Here I am.”
“Be careful who you talk to,” she warned. “You can trust me, but you’ve no way to verify that. If you go around mouthing off about rebellion—”
“They’ll kill me,” he finished.
“As long as you know. A while back, before Prince Alastor liberated me, there was an underground—”
“The whole damn city’s underground,” he cut in.
Rowena stifled an impatient sigh. “Would you listen?”
“Sorry, go ahead. I should put that in my self-assessment. Impulsive, don’t think before I talk. Hot-headed.”
That was way more honest than people usually were. In her experience, folks were more likely to gloss over their faults and polish their strengths to a dazzling shine.
“Noted,” she said. “Anyway, I had contacts with people who were slowly laying plans. But before anything came to fruition, they were betrayed. Mass executions. I would’ve been among them, if not for Prince Alastor.”
“Saving you like a hero in a storybook.”
Rowena glared in his general direction, assuming he meant that in a mocking sense, but in the end, she decided not to quarrel with a new ally. It didn’t matter if he made fun of her for idolizing the exiled prince. There was much to admire—from Prince Alastor’s kindness, his dedication, his determination to do right by his people, no matter what it cost him. She’d seen the consequences time and again, the result of a body pushed too far by his implacable will.
“The point is, I propose that we comply with all instructions and act resigned to our fate while I put out feelers to see if the old movement survived the purge. We can’t do this alone.”
“Understood. I’ll be a model prisoner,” he promised.
To her mind, that wrapped everything up for the time being, but she kicked the convo back to him out of courtesy. “Anything else you’d like to discuss?”
Slay decided that sounded like a challenge, as if Rowena had already decided that he was the brawn of this operation.
“Fair is fair,” he said. “You asked me to catalog myself for your benefit. Shouldn’t you do the same?”
“That’s a valid point.” She paused, and when she bit her lip, thoughtful, he could see her perfectly well in the dark, another benefit of jaguar senses.
In fact, it was better in complete darkness than in the flickering lights inside that didn’t allow his night vision to kick in. Here, he could discern the delicacy of her features. Her face was wide across the cheekbones, narrowing at her chin, and her mouth was currently pressed into a contemplative line.
It’s weird, right? He sympathized with her struggle. Probably she didn’t think about such things too often either. Nobody went around like, hm, what am I good at?
“I’m calm in a crisis. Logical. I make critical decisions quickly. I am difficult to intimidate and I have an exceptionally high pain tolerance.” The cold way she proclaimed that last trait sent chills down his spine.
What did these assholes do to her so she knows that without a shadow of a doubt?
“Damn. You’re tougher than you look.”
“I pride myself on it.”
“Then I guess that’s all for now. We’ll find out more about each other as this unfolds, huh?” Regardless of how it all panned out, it felt good encountering someone who wasn’t steeped in the system to the point that they had no hope left.
Slay felt for the rest, but he’d had no luck gaining traction starting a rebellion on his own. The other prisoners slept and worked and ate enough to keep body and soul together. A few of them had reported his clumsy attempts to stir them up, resulting in additional reeducation. He was too damn stubborn to be convinced of anything through torture, though. All it did was piss him off and make him start keeping a mental murder list. As he trudged through a day, he ticked guards off in his head.
Killing you first. Then you. You, next. Timms, especially, was a despicable son of a bitch.
“We should get back inside,” Rowena said, stepping out of the alcove.
“Coming.”
She slid by him, close enough for him to feel her body heat, pausing to add, “That reminds me. It’ll be less suspicious if you act like we’re fucking. That’s the most plausible reason why two people would sneak off for alone time.”
Speechless, Slay watched her go. Suddenly, his head was full of filthy images. Other prisoners would imagine that he’d taken her fast and hard up against the wall, and she seemed fine with that speculation. It left him feeling off-kilter, not least because he’d heard Dom fucking Pru exactly that way as he passed by—fine, semi-stalked the two of them like a demented weirdo. His head buzzed with unwanted memories; he was still stuck on Pru while she’d moved on. Hell, she was the only person he’d ever been with, starting from when they were teenagers. He’d been careful with their encounters, afraid of letting the mating bond kick in before he locked down his mother’s approval. In retrospect, life was too short.
I’m such a fuckup. Not this time, though. The stakes are too high.
Since Rowena was small, he caught up in a few strides. “That’s fine with me. You sure you’re good with how that pretense goes, though? Because I’m Animari, and cats are territorial.”
“You need to be possessive for the pretext to be convincing?” She tilted her head, appearing to consider the matter. “It’s fine with me, but I’ll warn you that reports may get back to the tyrant, and that…could be catastrophic for you. He claimed me when we were young, and I’ve never been able to convince him that my consent is required.”
Slay’s breath went in a rush, leaving him sick to his stomach. To him, it sounded like she’d been Tycho’s pet, entirely against her will. And didn’t that fucking answer all his unspoken questions about how she knew that shit about her pain tolerance. He’d only seen photos of the bastard, but Slay imagined Tycho Vega hurting her, and—the rage surprised him, a violent rush of it so powerful that his head crackled with it.
“Trust me,” he bit out. “If that asshole summons me, I’ll find a way to kill him, even if I die doing it. This is the right move.”
Rowena lifted a shoulder in a graceful shrug. “If you’re not afraid, so be it. To be honest, I wish I could see the expression on his face when he hears that I’ve taken an undercity lover when I never once caved to his overtures, whether it was pain or pleasure, offers of wealth or freedom. More than once, I said I’d rather die than be his concubine, so he should get on with it.” Her next words were hard as stone. “I might be the only person who’s ever refused him.”
Slay heard what she left unspoken—that Vega hadn’t heeded that rejection. And he had no damn idea what to say. Words of comfort seemed wrong, so he settled for recognizing her warrior spirit.
“And you’re still standing. Something tells me you’ll be his downfall.”
In the flickering rushlight she met his gaze squarely. “I’m counting on that. And like you, I don’t much care if I die in the attempt.”
He bit back a protest. It was one thing for him to talk about throwing his life away, but he was a major screwup. From the sound of it, she’d served Prince Alastor and fought in the war alongside him while Slay languished in this damn dungeon complex. The world wouldn’t miss a fuckhead like him. Somebody like her, on the other hand, that’d be a real loss.
But he didn’t know her well enough to ramble about all the reasons she should live on, and besides, whenever he tried to find the right words, he always sounded like an asshole. Sometimes it seemed like he’d been given only two settings, angry and contrite. At least that was how it always went with Pru.
“We got this,” he said, because confidence was the easy choice.
She smiled at that. “I think I like you.”
“Give it time, I’ll change your mind.” That wasn’t even a joke.
So he was dead shocked when she laughed, a full and throaty chuckle. “Yes, it’s official. I’m delighted to be fake-fucking you, Slay.”
“Uh, me too. For sure.”
In utter bemusement, he trailed her back to the bunkroom, where most of the other prisoners had already settled in. There was no room for them to sleep next to each other, but also no way in hell that he’d allow anyone else to get near her, if she honestly belonged to him. Time to make it look convincing. He nudged the man closest to the far wall with his foot.
“Shove over.” He jerked his head toward the archway. “Or I move you. And you do not want that because I’m not feeling friendly.”
With a muttered curse, the others shifted outward, leaving space for him and Rowena near the back. He put himself between her and everyone else while she studied him with evident amazement. Leaning close, she whispered, “Is that the sort of thing you meant? Because I rather enjoyed it.”
A shiver of surprise traveled up his spine. When was the last time anybody praised him for following his instincts? What the hell am I supposed to say?
“Good,” he finally got out. “Because there’s more where that came from.”