Page 10 of Wicked Savior
I chuckle when I see the watch. Must be getting slower in my old age.
For some reason, my laugh generates the fear I originally expected. With a swallow, he jerks his head to the back of a nearby stall. “Follow me.”
The vendor bows deeply as we pass, his face full of speculation and fear. Right before we pass through the curtain, I see him signal to another demon nearby who takes off running.
I tried to think of my last visit here but can’t recall, which tells me it’s been way too long. It’s obvious the people feel indebted and loyal to Cormal. Not just the criminals he rules or the customers he serves, but the people whose livelihood depends on the market. It’s humbling to realize he provides for these people. An unspoken ruler.
Maybe I’ve been paying way too much time tending to the upper classes, settling disputes, pacifying council members, and creating alliances to guarantee their loyalty and keep the wars at a minimum. Stabilizing the top has paid off. With less internal conflict and wars, everyone has prospered. Yet, the wealth doesn’t seem to have trickled down to everyone.
The boy exits the stall into another area filled with vendors and booths. The black market. Like all illegal markets, this one is hidden from the common crowd. Dark and full of shadows, these stalls offer the forbidden. Precious and rare merchandise locked in safes and disguised by magic. Vendors don’t hawk their goods and services here. They wait like predators for customers to whisper requests in their ears.
The quality and quantity available are astounding. Need a bottle of hellfire? Or the voice of a siren? It’s available for the right price. But you better have deep pockets. It will cost you. Gold, jewels, a body part, a rare artifact, magic, or a deed so dark your soul won’t recover. All payment options are on the table.
Beyond the black market lie two more sections, the brothels and Cormal’s criminal headquarters. My skin prickles from all the eyes watching us walk farther into this den of sin and services.
Unlike other parts of the world, the brothels here are held to Cormal’s immaculate standards. Many apply, but only the best is hired. Best doesn’t necessarily mean the most beautiful, although there is plenty of beauty here. Unique is prized higher than looks. Cormal is their boss, not their pimp. The talent is paid well and protected from those who think to harm them without permission. It’s lucrative employment and big business for Cormal. He ensures it remains that way.
Turning away from the brothels, the boy stops and points to a nondescript blue door. “Cormal is in there.” He holds out his hand.
Cheeky little shit. But I owe him one. Not for the unnecessary tour. It’s obvious he took me the long way around to give Cormal plenty of warning. I owe him for the reprimand he unknowingly gave me.
“Thank you for the tour,” I tell him, holding several gold coins above his hand. “Although I would appreciate a more direct route next time.” His eyes flicker with greed, and I drop them in his palm. “If you ever pick pocket me again, I’ll cut out your eyes. Hard to take what you can’t see. Be sure to pass the message along to your friends.”
He straightens, giving me a hard, assessing stare, then lifts a shoulder. “I’ll pass it along.” The door opens, and he salutes the large, hulking male in the doorway before leaving.
Seven feet tall and stacked with muscles, the massive male is a warrior. An air of lethality rolls off him in waves, a warning to all. Instead of red demon eyes, his are gold with black slits, and they watch my every move with a predatory glint. Defined muscles top a large barrel chest. But it’s the golden skin and flowing reddish-brown hair that gives me my first clue to his species.
My eyebrows rise.
A Nemean Lion. Almost extinct. Warriors by nature, their hide renders most weapons useless, but their fighting prowess is their true talent. Some of the best and most fearless warriors from our world. And extremely loyal to those they choose to protect. Another point in Cormal’s favor.
Without a word, I step up to the door, but when I attempt to pass through, the lion grabs my arm. While I might have extended leniency to the boy, I have none for him.
I grab him by the throat, lift him up off the floor, and repeatedly slam his head against the doorframe until he lets go of me. When his head lolls to the side, I drop my arm, dragging his barely conscious body along behind me as I enter Cormal’s den of iniquity.
Expecting moody and dark, I’m surprised to see light exploding everywhere. From high above, artificial sun floods the glass skylight and streams down into the space. It flows over the focal point, Cormal’s desk, and into the lounge where I’m standing. It’s an obscene use of magic, but an interesting insight into the mysterious man in front of me.
Cormal laughs when he sees the lion. “I told him not to mess with you, but he’s too stubborn for his own good.” Pride gleams in Cormal’s eyes. He moves around his desk to greet me.
Angry at the whole charade, I lift the lion up and slam his head on a nearby table. “Assaulting the ruler of the Underworld is treason, and there’s nothing I tolerate less.” With a swivel of my wrist, I place my sword upon the lion’s golden neck.
Cormal freezes. “If you want someone’s head, take mine.” His stance and worried expression tell me the offer is sincere.
“I plan to do that, too.”
Worry changes to unease but with a calculated glint. “I assume this is about Lord Gula?” Cormal asks, his eyes flicking from me to the lion and back again. “The price he paid for the additional two jolts was astronomical, I assure you.”
“Yes, I heard. His daughter and half his wealth,” I snarl. “Where’s the girl?” The anger I felt earlier returns with a vengeance, and the room pulses with my power.
Cormal rears back. “I gave her a choice. Return home or work for me. Smart girl decided to do both. She returned to the House of Sin, but as a spy working for me. Why?”
Damn. Another mark in his favor.
I ease up on the lion’s neck, but not before deliberately marking him with my sigil. Permanently. The lines of the pentagram with a V in the center is a distinct pattern, and it fills the entire side of his neck. He roars loudly and clamps a hand over it.
“When you look in the mirror, my mark will stare back. Nothing you do will remove it. Both punishment and reminder, you’ll think about your actions and my leniency every day,” I state softly, releasing him.
Gratitude flashes across Cormal’s face. “Thank you. Loyalty is his only fault, and the one I value the most. Orlo, leave us.”
