Silence’s angered stare collided with the other Sath’s, but she found unexpected kinship there. Underworld cultures around the globe knew of the Dragon Kings’ existence—part myth, part boogeyman. Here, where back alley violence was offered up in exchange for coin, the belief was very real.

  “You need money,” Wu said to Silence. “So out. Or you don’t fight tomorrow.”

  But the teasing violence in the stranger’s blue gaze was tempting. Shake the ramshackle bar to the ground. Together, they could threaten Wu until he gave up all his cash. Silence could spend her time on the hunt instead of fighting night after bloody night.

  The Sath were patient, tradition-minded people. Impetuousness was not in their bloodline. That her opponent behaved in direct contradiction to the practices of their people was surprising. That a repressed place in her soul responded to his temptation was even more surprising.

  Wu looked between them again, with a question stamped across his brow.

  “Uh-oh,” the stranger said. “I think Wu here just realized who he’s dealing with. You wanna take the chance on what gift I possess? We can play gods of old and see how long your bar survives. Just hand over some cash and we’re outta here.”

  “Shut up, freak,” Wu shouted. “Never in here again. Take four thousand from Kang and hope you make it out the back door. And you.” He stabbed a glare at Silence. “You go look for your precious piece of rock. You won’t get anything more from me.”

  Silence unhooked the cheap armor and enjoyed Wu’s flinch when it smacked the floor.

  “Gotcha, didn’t I?” said her opponent. He stood grinning, despite wrapping his arm around his stomach. “You don’t lose your temper often. That’s something, at least. I couldn’t get you to talk, but I got you to break your own rules. Fun times. Let’s do it again real soon.”

  He was still winning this contest. How was he doing that?

  The crowd parted as she tried to hide her wounded ankle. Blood was beginning to pool inside her boot, as if every other step landed in a squish of mud.

  “You forgot something,” came a taunting voice.

  He was holding her shield.

  Chugging across the fifteen-foot corral, he caught up with her, using a loping stride that managed to seem unhurried. He was quick, infuriating, and had the remarkable ability to jump back up after a hard fall. She’d recognized far too much in common after only a few minutes. But then, combat laid people bare. There was no hiding how one reacted to violence.

  Forget him. Just get the cash.

  Silence stood toe-to-toe with the huge bruiser Kang and crossed her arms. He fished wads of bills from a drawer underneath the bar. She grabbed the money and shoved it into the inside pocket of her heavy leather shirt. Eyes followed her every move.

  “I’m Hark,” he said, now shoulder to shoulder with her. “You can call me Hark, if you decide to speak. Or you can just say my name in your mind, with wonder and fear and maybe a hint of sexual curiosity.”

  He shoved the shield into her hands.

  “Another possibility would be saying thank you for helping intimidate a few bucks out of these bastards, or mention how I left my armor behind, or ask why I took it off in the first place, but I don’t think I expect any of that.”

  Dragon damn it, he was like the fabled Chinese water torture.

  “Which is fine. Not like I’m a stranger here in need of some guidance. Who to trust. Which dark corners to avoid so I won’t get a dick up my ass. That’s really not my thing. Is it yours? That’d be quite the sight. Have to admit it’s been a while—watching or giving. What d’ya say? That’d be a helluva lot better than sniffing man-sweat and trying not to get beheaded.”

  As she made her way through the throngs of patrons, onlookers, and waiting combatants, Silence did her best to tune him out. She’d trained herself in that skill a long time ago. Running from the Sath Leadership that had hunted her for years—that was one thing. Being able to keep quiet while doing so was quite another.

  She didn’t want to be a Sath. A hated Thief. Her greatest wish was to at least be able to walk across the sands of her homeland without the fear of suffering for her guardians’ unforgivable crime.

  Hark of Sath was not only a reminder of her traitorous clan but also oddly charming and frustrating. No matter what he said, he never lost his freaky clown smile or the dead void behind his rich blue eyes. He was a talking demon with a magnificent body and an unnerving way of sliding needles just beneath her skin.

  Even more unnerving was how that thought prompted her to remember the ancient Sath means of binding two lovers.

  By the Ritual of Thorns.

  It was easy to vow forever when there were only papers to sign and words to recite. What did the humans say? For better or worse. In sickness and in health.

  What a joke.

  The Sath equivalent of marriage involved pain and intense trust. To purposefully suffer in tandem was a bond no one could break.

  She gritted her teeth to keep the sound in. She’d never thought anything so absurd. The Ritual of Thorns? With any man? That only increased her fury at having been taunted by an untrained motormouth freak. She was not a woman to be owned.

  Yet she’d been collared as a Cage warrior for the Asters for five years.

  Most days that fact didn’t register, like something written in invisible ink across her mind. This stranger shook up her world. He was a free man making his own choices. Breathing his own air. Using his powers for whatever evil he did—and she was under no mistaken impression that he helped orphans and saved people from burning buildings. She simply envied that he had choices.

  “Well, now,” Hark said. “He’s an ugly fucker.”

  She jerked out of her reverie. Letting her concentration slip for a minute meant defeat—obviously. It also meant a moment when she’d nearly given into the temptation of screaming. Unleashing her frustrations for mere seconds would’ve been so satisfying.

  A member of Clan Pendray—all wildness and stocky Norse build—stood in the rear exit. Hark, for all his chatter, was absolutely right. The man was an ugly fucker.

  Silence widened her stance and gripped the leather handle inside her shield.

  The Pendray crossed his arms. “I’m surprised, Silence. You let this dickweed bruise you up pretty bad.”

  “I did get her, didn’t I?” Hark nodded. “Yes, I did. For a while, anyway. She’s like a fish or an oyster or something. They’re both quick and slippery. Unless oysters—no, they’re not quick. Anyway, have you ever tried to take her down? I didn’t see your name on the tournament slate. Maybe … you’re scared?”

  Still the same gibberish, but Silence frowned. Hark had assumed a stance that matched hers, ready for another fight. His eyes were steady, assessing, dark with suspicion. He was a lucky jester with the rough education of a transient, and that meant knowing a threat when it stood before him. Silence had unwillingly received the same education.

  The giant Pendray tensed, then relaxed as three human men flanked him. “I’d rather take her down in other ways.”

  Hark laughed. The sound was like a bullet firing. “I’d lay my money on you losing your prick before getting it into her pussy. Want to give it a try? Dragon Kings can only be killed by decapitation, but you’re just that: a Dragon King, not a fucking starfish. Body parts don’t grow back. Oh, hey—more sea creatures.”

  Hark’s keen blue eyes roved over their opponent’s scarred face. Silence noticed the man’s drooping shoulder, too, as if it had been dislocated too often. She already knew Hark would see that. He was too damn annoying to miss something she’d picked up on.

  “Ever heard of Damien Hirst?” Hark continued coldly. “He cut up cows and called it art. Bet he’d have a field day with you and make a little money on the side.”

  Although shorter than the Pendray by an inch or two, and lacking a good thirty pounds of muscle, Hark seemed to set others off balance with his manic stream of words. Her muteness served a similar purpose. People didn’t know what to do with one or the other.

  The Pendray shifted to block most of the doorway. “Way I figure, that money is mine. I know a Thief when I see one. You stole my gift and threatened Wu with powers that ain’t yours.”

  As if putting up with the ignorance of a child, Hark shook his head. “She’s collared, dipshit.”

  “No way. I’ve seen you fight before, bitch. You didn’t do that on your own.”

  “I was verbally tormenting her, which can add vigor to anyone’s fighting style. On the other hand, I’m Sath, too. I’m not collared. And for the moment, all I’m taking is half of the four grand she’s got shoved in her shirt.” He glanced at Silence with a salacious yet annoyingly charming grin. “Don’t think I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Not a chance,” said the Pendray. “Neither of you is getting out of here with my money.”

  “Forget it, you Reaper piece of shit, or I’ll prove that I’m an outstanding Thief.” In a heartbeat, Hark’s smile became fixed and cadaverous. The tension in his lean body shimmered in waves she could almost feel. Cold waves. Powerful waves. “You’re not getting any of our cash, so fuck off and get out of the way.”

  Silence had collected initial reasons to dislike the Sath stranger, but her respect for him increased tenfold. She permitted a tight grin and prepared for another fight—one that would make their tournament fight look like a good-natured scrap. Because despite outward appearances, this man Hark was no fool.

  3

  They could kill the tall asshole. Hark enjoyed taking down arrogant idiots as much as the next guy, but what was the point? There were simply too few Dragon Kings left in the world. Maybe a couple thousand? Tops? The Five Clans were so secretive. To admit that his hesitation was a lingering kernel of morality irked him, probably as much as it irked the intriguing mute to fall on her ass.

  “Forget it, Konnor,” said one of the human sycophants. “We want drinks and women.”

  Another man, with meaty forearms and really unattractive chrome dental work, nodded like a lobotomized guard dog. “Yeah, these two won’t get far when Wu puts out word he’s pissed as all hell.”

  Hark grinned, feeling bold and way too reckless. “Step out of the way, or this gets as ugly as the lot of you. My current favorite thought is crushing your pelvis and both femurs.” He met the Pendray named Konnor face-to-face. “Then … you’d be shorter than me because you’d be confined to a wheelchair. I’ll apologize now in case I don’t have the chance later—you know, when I’m laughing too much.”

  “How the hell do you expect to do that?”

  “I hid a nighnor in the alley. It’s the best. Who doesn’t love a skull encased in iron? It’s the weapon that keeps on giving for about three thousand years.” He shook his head sadly. “Those poor Egyptian slave bastards.”

  “In the alley.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Outside the door I’m standing in front of?”

  “You have a keen grasp of spatial dynamics.”

  “And how are you going to get there, you thieving little fuck?”

  “Dragon damn, you’re thick.” Hark glanced at the quiet woman, who had raised her brows in obvious interest. For her, that was practically flirting. “I just went four hundred rounds with this wild child, and we’re growing very angry.”

  The Pendray growled with an animalistic power that began to coalesce in Hark’s bloodstream. A cloud of silken gray mist was gathering at the corners of his vision. He grinned when the woman adjusted her shield. Very nice. Defensive. Ready to do awesome, violent things. The best part was how her smile was broader now. That was like calling one tear a river, but it was a smile nonetheless.

  “Anyway, I want a steak,” Hark said, ticking off the list. “A bed. This woman in bed with me. And I want a really good long fuck. So, I could rip your powers from your head while she castrates your buddies here. Or you can shrink away like teeny tiny cowards. Either way, let’s get on with it. She’s gonna be much harder work than the lot of you. I might need all night.”

  The man had a fast swing. Hark would admit that. More like, he had to give him that after one punch sent him sprawling.

  He rubbed his jaw, which hurt like a motherfucker, and laughed. Dragon damn, he loved making people lose control. Nothing better in the world.

  That included sex. After all, what was sex but losing control?

  However, a couple serious beatings hadn’t been on his agenda for the evening—if he was ever so stupid as to make agendas. Konnor drew back his leg. The kick was stopped dead with the clunk of heavy leather against metal. Boot against shield. The woman followed up the defensive move with a spin that landed her on the offensive. She caught one man after another across the mouth. The jagged shark-tooth serration made them very ugly and very bloody in short order.

  From his position on the ground, Hark took a deep breath and let his gift take over. He became a Thief, which meant he gathered the Pendray’s berserker rage into every cell. Vaulting from the barroom floor, he landed square against Konnor’s chest. Momentum propelled them through the exit. They collided body to body on the brick alley. Hark scrambled away and stood. He never lied about something as precautionary as keeping his nighnor within reach of a gangbang-waiting-to-happen. People didn’t believe him because the ancient weapons were so rare, and because he sounded like a man prone to bluffing rather than brawling.

  Too bad for them.

  The skull felt right in his hand. Solid. Heavy. Deadly.

  Konnor took one look at it and stumbled back, then loped down the alley.

  “Toldja,” Hark said to himself, most satisfied by having broken the man’s pride.

  The gray haze of Konnor’s rage obscured the neon techno-glitz of a thousand signs in Chinese and English, which advertised everything from ice to underage boys. Nothing in Kowloon was ever dark, which was a fine, fine thing.

  He hated the dark.

  Standing in the doorway with a different smile—perhaps genuine amusement—the woman watched him with her head tipped to the side. She’d strapped the shield across her back. Her body was haloed as if by the bloody rays of a metallic sun. The men she’d fought were nowhere to be seen.

  “Now you show up. Take down a couple humans, did you? That’s all? While I was out here on my own, making a full-grown Pendray pee his panties and run away.”

  She stepped out of the doorway. Without her silhouette, dingy light from the back of the bar spilled into the alley. She was ridiculously graceful. And calm. And self-possessed. Basically, despite the fact they’d been born to the same clan, they were entirely opposite. Manic to quiet. Blue eyes to black.

  Man to woman.

  Well, that had nothing to do with their shared clan.

  “Time for that steak,” he said. “Or pig. Or whatever dead animal we can scrounge. You up for it? Wanna troll these bright and nasty streets for something tasty?” He lifted his brows. “Or maybe you want to find a hotel and do something tasty?”

  She met him with as much arrogance and confidence as she had when facing Konnor. Her ankle must have been killing her, and would for at least another couple hours as supercharged cells and ancient magic took hold. Hark wasn’t hurting anymore. Damn, it was good to be a freak on the edge of extinction.

  She smelled as bad as he did, which wasn’t particularly sexy. Sawdust and blood and metal. Yet she kept her black eyes on him as if she could solve any puzzle simply by staring it to death. Maybe she could. He’d seen stranger things, but he didn’t feel like being her experiment. Neither did he want her to leave. Leading with his dick wasn’t usually his MO. Their fight, however, had started the launch sequence. As soon as he’d mentioned fucking her, he hadn’t been able to get his mind off thoughts of making her gasp, moan, cry out.

  The triumph of it.

  At last she dropped her gaze. It felt like … relief. She’d elevated that spooky intimidation thing to the realm of pure genius. Instead she studied the nighnor. It was stupidly heavy. He liked the surprise of using it against opponents who assumed a wiry fuck like him couldn’t hold it, let alone wield it with any skill. Those opponents were now cripples.

  She ran her hand over the weapon’s seductively glossy surface. A wistful look softened her angular features until she appeared less like an angered goddess and more like a woman, lovely and approachable. But if she was so approachable, why was he riveted to the spot, waiting for her to make the next move?

  He rolled the unique weapon in his hands, petting it as she did. The iron surface was worn smooth by countless palms over unknowable years. A family relic—in that it must’ve belonged to some family, at some time.

  Not his, naturally. His brother was long dead, and Hark’s only inheritance had been a bag of random junk and one fuck-you-up nighnor. Dragon damn, he hated being Sath. The other clans called them Thieves, but they might as well have dubbed them “Hoarders.” Trinkets, bobbles, artifacts—things he’d stolen and things he’d acquired legitimately, only to have a deal go through. He liked to reassure himself that his debts wouldn’t be debts anymore if he could bear to part with the junk. The truth was he owed more than he could pay without sacrificing life and limb. He hadn’t been fighting in that lowlife bar as a masochistic hobby.

  The woman’s fingertips brushed his. This was way better than trying to buzz each other’s limbs off while writhing among lowly deceased rodents. Most things were. But this was especially …

  Huh. The word was slow to come to mind.

  Pleasant?

  His thoughts had turned so damn syrupy that he expected a sweet taste when he swallowed.

  “You could at least tell me your name. In my head I’m just calling you her, she, that chick, and some shit you probably don’t want to hear. Or more like, I don’t want to say them because, at last, we’ve achieved peace and harmony. It’s so new to me. I might be getting light-headed. Say something shocking so I can return to the unpredictable chaos of my life.”

  She grabbed his hair with one hand, then slapped his cheek. “I’m called Silence,” she grated out. “Now please, for the love of the Dragon in the fiery Chasm, shut the fuck up.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11