been lifted, the first signs of life since he’d gone into that room with Kallias surging around him. Well-dressed males and females, reveling in their arrogance, traipsed through the halls and meeting rooms, going about whatever business or games they had on their agenda. Humans often followed behind or bustled through on their own, running errands and living subserviently.
Sasha would not like that one bit. She’d probably form some kind of taskforce, even though it was, undoubtedly, the humans’ choice.
He walked through at a measured pace, drawing eyes. Gazes dipped, finding the blood spatter on his ironed, collared shirt. Languid smiles curled the lips of a few women. One even reached out to trail a red, manicured finger along his chest.
Suddenly, he knew exactly how Sasha felt being called a plaything. He went from the King of the Mountain to the attractive jester in the space of a few hundred miles. No fuckin’ way.
Another jolt of adrenaline rocked his frame. He couldn’t help his body flexing, his anger seething out around him. As if a shockwave boomed out, a wide-eyed bubble of spectators opened up around him. Males and females alike glanced up, and then shuffled out of the way. He was ready for battle, no matter the venue—a male couldn’t just fight his way to the top, he had to own his status as he did so. Stefan was no stranger to playing his role of leader.
He kept his measured pace up a flight of stairs, attracting eyes, and down a different corridor, this building nothing if not never-ending tunnels on every floor but the first. A hundred yards from his room, two males stepped into the hallway and stopped, facing him, side by side.
He couldn’t help it but grin.
“Nothing but a backwoods nobody,” the male on the right sneered.
Standing four inches shorter than Stefan, with half the body mass, and the movements of a clumsy adolescent, this male was obviously only working with a half-deck in the intelligence department. That, or he was terrible at sizing up his competition. His friend, a smidge taller and more robust, had a gruesome scar on his face and a cruel smile.
These two weren’t nearly smart or talented enough to pull off an invisible spell. He could see that in their blind swagger and their over-anxious movements, which meant possibly the invisible watchers earlier were exactly that: watchers. Spies. It explained why they took off so quickly. Which made these fools the first rung of challengers.
Stefan nearly laughed. Did they think so little of him?
His steps quickened as his temper rose. Electricity exhilarated his body, pumping through his chest and sizzling out his limbs. He focused on the male with the scar, obviously the stronger of the two. Reaching him with fluidity, Stefan grasped his shirt before the male knew how quickly Stefan would engage.
Stefan slammed the challenger against the wall once, twice. The hollow thump of his head rebounding off the wall echoed down the empty corridor. He punched the fool in the face three times, cracking a cheek and smashing his nose. Two more violent jabs to a kidney buckled the male’s legs. Stefan ripped him to the side, splashing his limp body across the ground.
His hard black eyes beat down on the pale brown of the next challenger. For one beat, the challenger met his gaze. The challenger’s chin rose fractionally, but his back was bowing. He hadn’t been ready for the brutality with which Stefan had assaulted his counterpart.
Slowly, as if a great weight bore down on him, the challenger’s resolve cracked. His eyes, dulling in defeat and submission, sought the ground. His body finished its bow. The power and fight in him seeped out.
He submitted.
“Challenging me was the wrong move,” Stefan said in a low voice filled with command. “I give challenges, I don’t receive them.”
“Y-yes,” the male stuttered. The acrid smell of urine wafted up.
“Yes, what?” Stefan pushed, leaning over the male, making his
Sasha would not like that one bit. She’d probably form some kind of taskforce, even though it was, undoubtedly, the humans’ choice.
He walked through at a measured pace, drawing eyes. Gazes dipped, finding the blood spatter on his ironed, collared shirt. Languid smiles curled the lips of a few women. One even reached out to trail a red, manicured finger along his chest.
Suddenly, he knew exactly how Sasha felt being called a plaything. He went from the King of the Mountain to the attractive jester in the space of a few hundred miles. No fuckin’ way.
Another jolt of adrenaline rocked his frame. He couldn’t help his body flexing, his anger seething out around him. As if a shockwave boomed out, a wide-eyed bubble of spectators opened up around him. Males and females alike glanced up, and then shuffled out of the way. He was ready for battle, no matter the venue—a male couldn’t just fight his way to the top, he had to own his status as he did so. Stefan was no stranger to playing his role of leader.
He kept his measured pace up a flight of stairs, attracting eyes, and down a different corridor, this building nothing if not never-ending tunnels on every floor but the first. A hundred yards from his room, two males stepped into the hallway and stopped, facing him, side by side.
He couldn’t help it but grin.
“Nothing but a backwoods nobody,” the male on the right sneered.
Standing four inches shorter than Stefan, with half the body mass, and the movements of a clumsy adolescent, this male was obviously only working with a half-deck in the intelligence department. That, or he was terrible at sizing up his competition. His friend, a smidge taller and more robust, had a gruesome scar on his face and a cruel smile.
These two weren’t nearly smart or talented enough to pull off an invisible spell. He could see that in their blind swagger and their over-anxious movements, which meant possibly the invisible watchers earlier were exactly that: watchers. Spies. It explained why they took off so quickly. Which made these fools the first rung of challengers.
Stefan nearly laughed. Did they think so little of him?
His steps quickened as his temper rose. Electricity exhilarated his body, pumping through his chest and sizzling out his limbs. He focused on the male with the scar, obviously the stronger of the two. Reaching him with fluidity, Stefan grasped his shirt before the male knew how quickly Stefan would engage.
Stefan slammed the challenger against the wall once, twice. The hollow thump of his head rebounding off the wall echoed down the empty corridor. He punched the fool in the face three times, cracking a cheek and smashing his nose. Two more violent jabs to a kidney buckled the male’s legs. Stefan ripped him to the side, splashing his limp body across the ground.
His hard black eyes beat down on the pale brown of the next challenger. For one beat, the challenger met his gaze. The challenger’s chin rose fractionally, but his back was bowing. He hadn’t been ready for the brutality with which Stefan had assaulted his counterpart.
Slowly, as if a great weight bore down on him, the challenger’s resolve cracked. His eyes, dulling in defeat and submission, sought the ground. His body finished its bow. The power and fight in him seeped out.
He submitted.
“Challenging me was the wrong move,” Stefan said in a low voice filled with command. “I give challenges, I don’t receive them.”
“Y-yes,” the male stuttered. The acrid smell of urine wafted up.
“Yes, what?” Stefan pushed, leaning over the male, making his
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