Chapter 14
I t was close to ten thirty in the evening when Rhode pushed himself off the cinderblock wall of the Happy Hands, Happy Paws animal shelter. After finally having enough of the sole parking lot light’s sad interrogation technique, he used his power to disable the rhodium-coated electrodes in the facility’s alarm system and ducked inside.
Not gonna lie, that had been a neat trick once he’d learned how to do it.
The shelter was one of the few animal rescues in Aurora that had a physical building to house dogs available for adoption. Most of the other rescue operations in the area lacked such funding, so the proprietors usually relied on volunteers to foster the dogs until the animals got swept up into (hopefully) loving homes.
The concept made about as much sense as non-dairy cheese. Apparently, having keepers with more money and resources meant you got to spend your days and nights in a cage, save for the few mandated potty breaks and some cuddle time that was more for the shelter volunteers’ enjoyment and community service hours than the dogs’ satisfaction. But if your caregivers had no money? Well, that got you a nice, warm home with free-roaming privileges, a few toys, canine friends to commiserate with, a couch to lounge on if you were lucky, and a kitchen full of scraps to snuffle off the floor.
That was the thing about gilded cages. The exact makeup of the bars was entirely irrelevant.
Because the best, most efficient jailors always knew that even if those doors were flung wide open, no inmate would budge. The true prison was always a mental one, and that facility was unfailingly locked up good and tight.
Rhode pushed through the back hallway, being careful to stay far away from the dim sepia-toned emergency lights that did far more to remind the poor animals of what they couldn’t see than what they could. Even the temperature controls in the place managed to hitch another car to the nightmare train of canine psychological warfare. The thermostat for the main floor was just a hair shy of health-department healthy and tended to unexpectedly dip below sixty degrees Fahrenheit when the thing was operating on the programmable schedule.
Which, conveniently for the mortals, only ever happened at night when the animals were in the building alone.
But they had fur, right? And as long as the building’s pipes never froze and they never failed an inspection, the nonprofiters could just keep on nonprofiting in the name of altruism. Because they were saving lives— No, what did the mortals call it again?
Ah, yes. They were finding the dogs their furever homes.
The chorus of soft snores and canine whimpers swelled against the rattling heating system that was doing its level best to show up for a job twenty years too late. Among the symphony of slumbering dogs, one kennel in particular always stood silent, as if its occupant insisted that, even during sleep, best behavior was still rewarded.
And he’d be right.
Rhode stalked past an assortment of terrier types and doodle mixes until he came to the single cell he always sought out whenever his mind got too full of his problems, not the least of which was his most recent Cyro hallucination.
Or the golden-haired demon who simultaneously gifted him power and robbed him of it.
Equally, the bulge of his arousal was also the gift that kept on fucking giving. It had taken the better part of an hour before it had finally subsided and he was able to sink into the desperate distraction of his beloved ritual visitations.
The black mask and nose greeted him before Rhode’s bulk had even come into full view of the cage’s door. It hardly mattered to the creature, as the fluffy tawny tail wagged with an excitement that belied the stern, pensive posture of the giant animal.
Owing to the beast’s size, it was given the largest accommodations available, but even that wasn’t saying much with how many kennels were built into the space. Adequate headroom was only really adequate for those animals who were adequately average.
“Hello, old friend.”
The male dog relaxed its mouth and tongue and offered licks through the holes in the gate, but its deep tan chest never gave up the bark Rhode suspected it longed to release.
“I know. Silence is safety.” Rhode did his best to ensure all the hard-to-reach spots on the animal got their love, especially since those were the areas that likely never got the attention they needed on account of his size and stature. After all, what high school volunteer, who was only there for two hours a week for college resume padding, wanted to get up close and personal with an intimidating and reserved guardian breed when the happy lab mixes were already rolling over for pets? Laughably few.
Above the dog’s kennel door sat a piece of white paper that was stuffed into a plastic sheet protector, condensing the animal’s entire life into its age, weight, and likelihood of adoption.
Name: Lucky
Age: 3
Weight: 125lbs.
Breed: Anatolian Shepherd Mix
Then there was the ever-condescending four-sentences-max paragraph distilling the animal’s entire worth into bite-sized selling points.
And why this particular dog was, in the mortals’ minds, special needs.
Furry Facts: Lucky came to us from Oklahoma, where he was found wandering the streets after his owners were incarcerated for drugs. We don’t know how he lost his leg, but he has a wonderful temperament and is fiercely loyal and protective. However, he does have travel anxiety but gives the absolute best kisses once he gets to know you! He’d be perfect for a homebody family who loves giant teddy bears and has a fenced-in yard.
Balancing on its one back leg, the dog gently pawed at the cage door when Rhode paused his petting for too long. The enthusiasm stretched across the dog’s fangy and in-no-way-ferocious smile made Rhode’s frown tip up just a bit.
“Why they chose to call you Lucky, I’ll never know. It doesn’t suit you in the least.” The dog seemed to snort his agreement, turned around, and, with no small amount of ceremony, presented his sizable butt as the next part of him hoping to receive affectionate scratches. The copious undercarriage was offered up with a mix of eagerness and reservation as his boxy head swung around. With assessing brown eyes, he waited to see whether the request would be honored or denied.
A low rumble vibrated through Rhode’s chest that might have been construed as a laugh on anyone else. “Always, sir. Let’s have it.”
Lucky scooted his hindquarters as far back as the kennel would allow, and Rhode obliged the pup in the small routine they’d come to share over the past few months when Rhode had found himself seeking out another sort of sanctuary.
As he worked his fingers over the dog’s muscular form, he stared at the creased paper above the cage door and scoffed at the ridiculous name the mortals had given the beast, along with the equally ridiculous notion of what circumstances warranted the emotion.
Like Rhode, the dog had long been overlooked for his usefulness and had come to be defined by the limb he lacked instead of what the rest of him still had left to give. At three years old, and going on the sliding scale of mortal equivalent years, Lucky’s age might as well have seen him, if he were a human, failing to launch out of his mother’s basement while simultaneously aging out of dependent health insurance status a good five years prior. He was too old to be adorable, too independent to be easily trained, and far too disabled to be socially acceptable.
Rhode could so fucking relate.
What he couldn’t patch into was how the mortals thought luck had anything to do with the dog’s worth. Was Lucky truly lucky? The open mockery of the animal’s condition that the moniker implied was so vapid, so simperingly asinine, that it bordered on depressing. As if, by virtue of being picked up off the street and being nursed back to whatever semblance of health passed for adequate once one’s limb had been amputated, the dog should be grateful. Grateful to live out an untold number of days with stale, though somehow reliable processed food as his only source of nutrition, while having a designated patch of grass to pee on during mortal-approved windows of time.
Grateful for the cell, because to the well-intentioned caretakers, the converse could only ever be unfathomable, of course.
Rhode leaned in close and whispered, “Luck has nothing to do with it, and you and I both know that. If you were my companion, I’d give you a proper name, one that suited both of us better.”
“What would that be?”
The icy tendrils that froze Rhode’s limbs quickly eased as the honeyed floral notes of Neela’s voice kissed them away. And while his hackles nearly grazed the ceiling with the realization of his sanctuary being invaded, Lucky’s stayed infuriatingly still. Not only that but the damn animal had the gall to turn around and offer the newcomer his belly, of all things.
Traitor .
“How did you find me?”
Her sharp steps, no longer the dull patter of her thickly treaded boots, clacked gently on the concrete floor as she moved closer. “Drea.”
“Ah.”
“So, what would you name him? The dog?”
As if some blatant understanding passed between him and Lucky that they were no longer blessedly alone and some more decorum was in order, the animal righted itself to where it sat upright. The dog assumed the calm, affable stance and expression that he’d no doubt always hoped would win him favor among potential adoptive families.
“Cerberus,” Rhode said before he could think better of it.
“Cerberus?” She moved closer, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. “The three-headed dog who guarded the Underworld in Greek mythology? Funny, I don’t see any snakes coming out of him.”
“You’d be surprised what true ferocity looks like and what lengths creatures will go through to conceal it.” He rose from his petting position, folded his arms, and leaned back against the wall, never taking his eyes from the dog. For some reason, it seemed far safer to keep his focus there.
“I gather it’s easier to talk to him than anyone back home. From what I hear, dogs have an amazing ability to listen without being judgmental assholes.” The words were as much of a proclamation as her presence there was to begin with. Touché .
“I would name him Cerberus because if he bore the name of one of the mortals’ famed mythological beasts, perhaps he wouldn’t be overlooked for his defect. Perhaps he’d command the attention and respect he’s so deserving of long enough for any interested parties to see that he’s not only worthy of being adopted but capable of being an invaluable part of any family.”
Neela moved about in his periphery, only to settle next to him with her back against the wall, arms folded in a posture that mimicked his mood. “Names are important.”
He snorted. “Yes, they are.” But when she didn’t pry more out of him, he took a deep breath and, lulled by the sonorous canine snores echoing off the cinder blocks, let free bits of a burden he somehow knew would be kept safe within those walls. “You called me Axtar when you first saw me in the mechanic’s parking lot.”
“I did.”
“You claim to have known me from . . . before.”
An ominous silence was all that answered him, and the invitation to fill it was as inescapable as it was inevitable.
Despite the red carpet he’d laid out for her to speak, she took no bait. Only offered him a sharper hook to ensnare himself on: a single raised eyebrow.
Dammit. Very well.
Rhode took a deep breath and kept his eyes trained on Lucky. “After my time in Cyro’s camp, I could not bring myself to identify with the name I had once been called. As Axtar, I was a spy commander in the Empyrean’s forces. A celestial weapon that served a higher purpose. But when Cyro—” He swallowed thickly. “After, I took on a name that was as much a part of what I’d become as what I’d hoped to be. If I could become the thing itself, the thing he made me, not only in physical prowess and power but with an entirely new identity, if I could embrace it instead of hate it, then I’d somehow manage to cut the nightmares’ tethers over me.”
Neela shifted at his side but didn’t move to touch him. “Did it work?”
He scoffed. “What do you think?”
When she didn’t respond to the sneering jab he’d intended to rile her with, his anger and indignation had nowhere to go. By saying nothing, she assuredly cut his fuming off at the knees, as if she somehow knew, somehow reminded him, even, that those emotions were not welcome in a place such as this. The animals didn’t deserve his pity or anguish. They only deserved whatever peace they could find in the few hours of unbothered slumber.
Unbothered, at least, until he had shown up with his foul mood and heavy burdens.
Neela let her arms fall to her sides, and the soft brush of the cashmere cuffing her wrist grazed his arm. It was a shock both lovely and lilting, and his fingers couldn’t help but sway closer to enjoy the contact. Still, they both looked onward, keeping a watchful eye on Lucky as he curled into an obscenely large fur ball and started to doze off.
Mages, how he wished he could sleep so soundly.
Neela inhaled a soft breath. “I think I should have found a way to reach you long before I overheard Cyro mention your name.” Then it was her turn to shudder as the temperature, and their circumstances, plummeted to chillier levels. “After it was proven that I was officially no use to Cyro and also couldn’t be killed, I eventually earned enough default trust that allowed me to move freely around the compound and help in what way I could, provided I wasn’t in anyone’s way and wouldn’t interfere in any of Cyro’s affairs. Well, one such affair that I volunteered for was to oversee the basic needs of his prisoners.”
Rhode’s heart skipped a beat.
“I-I remembered you. Your name, your original name, at any rate, was all I ever knew of who you were. I didn’t know your history. My only job was cleaning your cell and making sure you were fed and watered. Beyond that, I had no context for anything about you, except the fear I felt when you had been rescued and I no longer knew what happened to you.”
Neela took in another bracing breath and stepped farther away from him, taking her faint heat and softness with her. “That’s a fear I can’t live with, and it’s why you made me realize that I can’t bring myself to let anything so terrible happen to another soul if it’s within my power to prevent it. So, yes, Rhode, as I said before, I’ll help you take down Cyro, but don’t think for one second I’m so easily discarded that I’m not worth including in this fight.”
She turned away from him and walked toward the back door he now saw was still propped open. In the parking lot outside sat a familiar black SUV with its taillights on, still running. Still watching him.
Still expecting him to fuck up.
As the door slammed shut and the push bar clicked into place, sealing him in with the asylum’s other inmates, a foreboding hollow clanged around his mind, resounding in his back teeth.
Neela had never meant to stay, only to stand her ground.