Movement No. 7
Tempest
Yasmeena has a lot of nerve. I originally thought the bad energy radiating off her was because I’m a lupion, or because she could tell I hate her, but now I understand she just thinks she’s better than everyone else.
And maybe she is—someone as talented and beautiful as her might typically be the best in the room—but her room just got a lot wider. They have to make space for the lupion.
Wolves don’t like to lose, and we definitely don’t back down from a fight.
Apparently this morning’s little scuffle was reported to Governor Raph, and Yasmeena and I have been separated.
Now I’m being followed around by a disgruntled teenager who is even bitchier than I am.
I’m surprised they trust me with the girl, but I also don’t know what she’s capable of. Maybe she can fend for herself.
We’ve been sitting in silence for about an hour as she paints her toenails before I finally decide to say something. “Is this all you do all day?”
Slowly, she looks up at me. “No, usually I work a stand or perform my act, but today I’ve been told to babysit you.”
My eyes go wide with surprise at her brashness. “Oh?”
She shrugs. “It’s fine. My nails needed a touch-up, anyway.” Her tone is as flat as a pancake, contrasting harshly against the others I’ve met so far.
“So, is the engagement over?” I ask, part worried, part hopeful.
She looks like she wants to laugh. “Hey, don’t freak out.
It’s normal and healthy or whatever for couples to fight, my parents do it all the time.
They’re just giving you two time to cool down, and since you’re not allowed to be by yourself per your weird wolfy laws, here I am.
We’ll all be reunited at family dinner tonight and I’m sure Yasmeena will forgive you. ”
“Great.”
I don’t really care if she forgives me, because I will never forgive her. I bet they think once I meet everyone and see how happy they all are here, I’ll be nicer.
Jokes on them. I’m not nice, not even to my own family. The only people who really receive my niceness are customers, and that’s because I want their money.
Niceness is an act, and kindness is a virtue I was not afforded. Wolves are raised to be tough and smart, to not cry or show weakness. Alphas and seconds-in-training have even stricter guidelines we must follow.
Don’t covet, avoid attachments, and be willing to give your life for your pack.
This is the code we have to follow for the betterment of the lupion. I have to put my people’s lives before my own. So I’ve learned to mute my emotions, making myself numb to the world.
Hel’s Carnival feels almost like the opposite of my pack. They protect each other, but they also put all their emotions and passion on display. Everything’s an act, but they really are all full of life and personality.
And for me, it’s like seeing a rainbow when all I’m used to is gray. It’s beautiful, sure, but it’s also strange and ephemeral. I’d rather be back in my familiar, cloudy sky where it’s safe and I know what to expect.
It truly infuriates me that I’m stuck in this cluster-fuck of a circus when I should be at home, training and learning, conditioning my mind and body, and preparing myself for my future as Alpha.
“How old are you?” Curiosity gets the better of me before I can reel the words back.
Smudged eyeliner lines her eyes, making it harder to tell her age. “Eighteen.”
“What age did you join?”
“I didn’t.”
I shake my head. “What do you mean you didn’t?”
“I never joined,” Una begins. “I was born into the carnival. My parents are Robyn, Quinn, and Rowan.”
That explains a lot.
“And now you perform in the circus or whatever?”
Her skin flushes a darker pink. “No, just the carnival. I want to do The Sinner’s Circus, but Draven won’t let me. He says I’m too young.”
I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but props to Draven. I remember myself at eighteen, and I want to tell her it’ll happen when the time is right. I want to tell her that Draven just cares about her, but then I remember my purpose here.
“That sounds like an excuse. He probably doesn’t think you have what it takes and is too nice to tell you,” I say, even though the look on her face breaks my heart.
Tears swell in her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall, she just gives me a hardened look.
“Hey,” comes a voice from the entryway. “How’re things going in here?”
“Oh good, can you take over? I have to use the bathroom,” Una says as she excuses herself from the tent.
The one with black scleras turns back to Una before looking over at me, her eyes full of fire.
“What was that?” She’s small in stature, but there’s a quality of intimidation to this hybrid that very few people I’ve met possess.
I would venture to guess she’s one of the executioners, but I can’t be certain.
“As punishment for being a bitch you guys had me hang with a teenager who has attitude issues. Did you really think that would go well?” I ask in earnest.
“Well, now you’re stuck with me, an even bigger bitch than you could possibly imagine,” she says, putting out a hand. “I’m Reina.”
I place her outstretched hand in mine and give it a shake. “I’m Tempest.”
“I’d say it’s a pleasure meeting you, but I’d be lying.”
That makes two of us.
“So what are you?” I ask, trying to dig for more information. Her body is strong but nimble, she’s built more like Gemma and Taryn than like Yasmeena or I. She’s soft and little.
She takes a seat next to me. “You’ll have to be more specific. My species, my act, my occupational title. What kind of answers are you looking for?”
“You’re a hybrid, I can already tell that. What’s your act?” Outside The Devil’s Carnival, I’m assuming her job is just… performer.
“I’m a dancer and cellist,” she says, and gives me a small smile. “You’re pretty ripped. What do you do?”
“I’m an aerialist,” I answer. “But I work at a bar.”
It’s not the entire truth, and Reina probably knows this.
The Cathedral is a pillar in our community, sure, but it’s also a cover for some of the unhinged shit my Alpha is doing.
While there are few things illegal on Hel, that doesn’t mean society just allows anything to happen.
There are silent rules and expectations, and The Cathedral is the shield my father uses to get away with heinous acts—like selling atra or working for and against political organizations.
“I am a performer, of course, but I’m also an Executioner,” she says, and I freeze at that bout of honesty. There’s a gleam in her eyes, like she’s testing to see how I’ll react, but I try to school my features.
There is a high possibility that she is the one who took Tyrus’ life.
The thought makes my blood rush, rage and adrenaline filling my system, but I know that my mission is more than just Tyrus.
What my Alpha has ordered will not only give us the retribution we deserve, but it’ll allow me to earn my place as his successor.
“For Luc Morningstar?” I will curiosity into my voice, nothing else. I don’t want her to know how fast my heart is beating right now, or how my vision is turning crimson.
“Correct. I’m not the only one, though. Absinthe is an Executioner as well. Gemma, Draven, Yasmeena, Absinthe, and I are all a part of The Devil’s Masquerade.”
I wonder why she’s telling me this. Is it because she wants to earn my trust, or something more insidious? Maybe she doesn’t believe I’ll ever actually get to leave. Maybe it’s a threat. That she’ll do to me what was done to my cousin.
For a while, much of Tyrus’ death remained a mystery to me. It wasn’t until after some of The Devil’s Masquerade came to The Cathedral and a fight broke out that my father told me about this new organization, and even then, he did not go over each person’s individual position.
Everyone’s heard whispers of a group of underlings that work for Luc Morningstar, but very few seem to have the details right.
The Executioner has always been famous, but we believed it to be a role played by Draven Orzath, not this hybrid.
I have to wonder if my father is even aware that Draven wasn’t the one who killed Tyrus.
“If you and Absinthe are Executioners… what does that make Yasmeena?” I ask.
I deserved to know the truth about my cousin’s death from the beginning.
I understand that as Alpha, my father has to get the timing just right.
If he tells the wrong person information too soon, his plans could be destroyed from the inside out.
But even now, as his successor, I fear I’m being kept in the dark.
Or maybe my unsaid mission here is to find out the truth.
“A Spy. Rest assured, she could still likely kill you.” Reina winks.
“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” I say and smile.
I actually do doubt that for… many moments, but it’s better to hold my cards close to my chest. No need to act cocky.
They are all complicit in my cousin’s murder, so it might be for the best that I view everyone in The Devil’s Masquerade as exactly what they are—killers.
When I inevitably complete my mission and execute Draven, these are the people I’m going to have to fight and escape from.
“Do you like saunas?” Reina asks, shifting the topic to something safer.
“Yeah?” I can’t recall if I’ve ever been to a sauna, but hot tubs are relaxing, so I assume I’d enjoy a sauna too.
“Well good, because I need a shower and you’re going to have to wait outside the door. Might get a little steamy for you.”
The fact that she expects me to follow her to the shower is… something else. “Aren’t there multiple showers in there? I’ll take one of my own.”
Reina shrugs. “That’s fine.”
I follow her down a dirt path until we find ourselves at the bathhouse. There are stalls with toilets and showers, and Reina abruptly takes off her clothes.
“Woah!” I say, turning around.
“Are you okay?”
“You’re naked.” My eyes are probably bugging out of my skull.