Woman moved through the crowd, dresses running the gambit from elegant to slutty. From courtly woman promising vile things of darkness and degradation done with a touch of pain, to strutting whores in miniskirts and hooker hooves their confidence born in twenty-dollar fucks against cars. No matter their bodies or dress, the scars carved into their souls boung them as one, their shared history a sorority no one wanted to be part of. Perfect white teeth gleamed in the candlelight, their dead eyes staring at the world through a sharks give a fuck. Dangerous, with knives for fingers, their caress always drew blood.

Muscled men were woven through the crowd, the aura of trained fighters radiating off them. It was a taste in the air, raw violence and naked aggression, a brush across the skin, a razor tongue of copper cutting the tongue. It was familiar to Cesare; he swam in that aura at Primrose. Wearing black suits and ties, they were cut from the same testosterone poisoned mold.

“Sorry kid, private party,” a man said as he came at Cesare. A lean shadow in the candlelight, his black suit made him more shadow than flesh. The bulge at his side defined how dangerous he was.

Seeing the disturbance, other guards cut through the crowd, moving to back up their brother. “I was invited.”

The guard’s eyes ran over Cesare, from his black combat boots to faded jeans and hoodie. “Sure, you did. Listen, I don’t want any trouble, and given the crowd we got in here, you don’t want to start shit. Turn your ass around and ….”

Drawn by the eyes of the crowd, the Governor made his way out of the crowd. Seeing him coming, the guard swallowed. The moment snapped into being around Cesare as the guard made a grab for his arm. Just trying to show he was doing his job, nothing more than wanting to look good for his boss.

The moment didn’t care, and the animal that was Cesare cared even less. Cruelty bloomed in his heart; the violence that forever simmered under the surface of his soul whipped into a tsunami of need. Cesare’s hand flowed over the man’s fingers, gripping and twisting with brutal intention and delicate malice. Whining high and scared, the guard followed where Cesare led, pain overriding everything.

Seeing the fight, the guards’ hands dove into jackets for the guns riding their hips. Guns are lethal, deadly, and beautiful, the genesis of humankind's need to kill. Their one weakness is the man behind the machined steel. Stepping behind the guard, Cesare used his meat as a human shield. His knife slid open with a quiet click, the point coming up under the guard’s chin in silent threat. Freezing, the surrounding guards stopped, looking at each other in uneasy indecision.

“I think that’s enough,” the Governor said as he stepped into the no man’s land between Cesare and the uncertain guards. “Caine is a guest.” His words stopped the guards, their hands coming out from their jackets free of the death that slept there.

Stepping back, Cesare slid the knife up his sleeve while pushing the guard forward and away. Jerking back from Cesare with a convulsive jump, the guard turned and faced him. White eyed and shaking, the man gripped his gun with one hand while quick stepping back into the ranks of his friends.

Smirking, the Governor came forward; he was going to lay his hand on Cesare in a show of power. Proof he’d tamed the feral child born from concrete and violation. Hesitating, he read the violence snapping in Cesare’s eyes. If he pushed, he’d lose his hand. Sure as midnights grace, no one and nothing was close enough to stop it. A glittering smile tugged at the man’s lips, a slight dipping of his shoulder in understanding of a fight won. Payback would come, but not tonight.

“I’m glad you could make it. Sorry for security, their professionally paranoid,” the Governor said as he smoothly changed his stance, making it seem as if the silent fight never happened.

It had all gone down so quickly, only a few had known it was happening. In a rustling wave, gossip traveled through the room. Eyes darted to Cesare, amusement lighting dead souls at the child who thought he belonged here.

The Governor came to Cesare’s side, leading him into the depths of the party with the wolf owning the territory between the two men. With a wary look at the monstrous beast, the Governor moved back, keeping a healthy distance between himself and the dangerous wolf.

Cesare was a prize poodle, and the Governor wanted to show off. There were no introductions, no questions asked of him or wanted, his thoughts and needs were below interest. He wasn’t a person to them, just a dog good for only how it died. His eyes glazed after the third one meet and greet. No one cared about a whore’s mouth unless it had a dick in it, a fighter wasn’t different.

With an offhand comment to enjoy the party, the Governor threw him away with the casual authority of a pimp, flesh just another currency to the businessman. It was so familiar Cesare didn’t even waste a thought on it. When you’d been thrown away your whole life, one more doesn’t make much of a ripple.

Walking through the crowd, Cesare passed the warring clouds of cloying perfume battling for supremacy in the air. The women studied him with lifeless, snake eyes, calculating if he was worth the time to flirt with. His age didn’t matter, their asses had been cracked years before they'd reached Cesare's age, pimped out and sold to pay the hungers of monsters with faces of mommies and daddies. Only his blood and what bleeding him would pay mattered. Gorillas in suits watched the game, lips twisted in vicious smiles. Cesare was a gimmick, a novelty to bring in the stupid.

Cutting through the last of the crowd, Cesare opened the door to the balcony. The icy winter wind sliced through his clothes, a small price to pay to strip the rotting smell of the perfumes away. He shared a relieved look with the wolf as the door cut off the sweltering heat and noxious air.

Cesare had eyed the balcony since he caught sight of it during the dog and pony show. No one wanted to brave the teeth of winter when a warm house was behind them. It was more than that, the people inside hadn’t come to celebrate with friends. They’d showed to forge contacts, settle alliances, and eviscerate rivals. It was as brutal and bloody as the cage, the clean savagery of a fight smeared in the shit of the civilized. The balcony with its barren, cold expanse was an island of salvation in a sea of corruption.

Walking to the end, Cesare picked up a chair in passing, setting it in a corner where he could see anyone coming. With a sigh of contentment, the wolf settled at his side, blocking off the only way to Cesare. They looked out over Swan Island, cows looking at the slaughterhouse.

Sitting in the dark and the cold, peace moved sluggishly through him. The wolf’s happiness twisting with his own, until there was no line between them. There was no training here, no fights or expectations, just them and the night. Rightness mingled through the bond in cool waves as the two shared their appreciation of the night. The simple joy of being with each other rode the fey cord binding them together, its strands of darkness as beautiful as they were sacred.

Hours passed in companionable silence as old as man, calling back to primal days when man was more animal before civilization's cancer was birthed. Fireworks shot into the air over the water, exploding into flowers of red, blue, and gold. They came in waves, shattering the serenity with booms as people along the streets celebrated the new year.

It came so naturally Cesare didn’t think about it. Reaching out, he ran his hand through the wolf’s sable coat, smooth and soft, its silky hairs caressed his combing fingers. A deep growl of pleasure pulsed from the animal at the touch. Far from insulted, the wolf was indignant he’d waited so long.

Laughing, his words were a whisper in the night, lost under explosions and the screaming tsunami saturating the air. “Happy New Year.”

It was the first New Year he wasn’t alone. So many dreams are better left as dreams. Dreams don’t fail you; they don’t come with conditions that warp the soul and poison the heart. Cesare had longed to spend New Year’s with someone, a lover or a friend. This dream at least was far from being a letdown.

Running his hand through the wolfs luxurious fur, his hand stilled as the glass door at the other end of the balcony opened. Having to turn sideways to get through the door, a mountain of a man walked out with Chris hugging the big man’s shadow.

“What was so important you needed to see me alone?” Low and deep, the voice spoke of hard times, gravel marking syllables with edges. In the way of large men, violence stained the air around him. He threatened by being. Burned into bone, his threat was instinctive, the knowing that you couldn’t stop him, that anything you had was his for the taking. He owned the primal power he'd wedded to muscle and meat.

“I wanted to talk about Caine.” Hidden behind the man, Chris was only a voice in the darkness, eclipsed by the massive shadow of the man. “It should be my fight, not some fuck up off the streets. You saw what he did to Sam, the guy can’t even jerk off, let alone fight.”

The big man shrugged, huge shoulders rolling like mountains of flesh, his deep voice rumbling through the air. “You fought, he won. You know the deal, Chris. No fight's guaranteed."

“He got lucky. I wanted to give you some pointers on how to deal with him.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” the mountain said dryly. “I’ve watched his tape. I don’t want your sour grapes throwing off my game.”

“It’s not sour grapes, but it’s no skin off my ass if you don’t want help,” Chris said as he came out from behind the man and reached for the door handle.

“Why do you hate him? This isn’t the first time you’ve lost,” the man asked quietly.

Chris hesitated as he faced the glass door with his back to the mass of meat behind him. “This was my chance. He was just supposed to be some kid the crowd liked, another local yokel to break on my way to the real fight. Then it went to shit, luckiest day of that fuck's life.”

“You’ve been on the rise a long minute Chris, you sure you’re not sore at someone new taking the spotlight?”

Hunching his back, muscles bunched into hard mounds along Chris’s shoulders. “He’s nothing special. Just another rent boy off the streets. Ramona has a taste for picking up trash and giving them a shot. They’ve never lasted before, and this one won’t either. I know she’s thinking of giving him a taste tonight, but I’m going to fuck that bitch so hard she won’t even feel his pencil dick.”

A firework exploded in the sky, the blooming of white light flooded the balcony with searing clarity. Chris’s eyes widened as he looked across the balcony and caught the murderous yellow eyes of the wolf and Cesare’s cold glare. Swallowing, the fighter yanked the glass door open, fleeing into the light of the party.

Story worth 3 bucks? Consider buying a copy of Book 1 on Amazon. The Discarded

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Thanks go to the patrons that made this chapter possible. Its a strange metric to measure yourself by, but it keeps me moving forward and writing. It shows there are people who find this story worthy caring about, that the child formed of blood, sorrow, and cruel hope is not a throw away.

Thanks go to the few, the noble, those people who comment and make me smile.

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