Chapter 2
KNOX
This is not how the conquest was supposed to proceed.
I had planned for resistance, naturally, had prepared speeches about the glory of serving under Bloodaxe banner and the honor of contributing to a winning campaign.
I had not prepared for the way her brown eyes narrow behind those delicate glass frames, assessing me with a sharpness that reminds me uncomfortably of my grandmother reviewing a battle strategy.
I had not prepared for the way she pushes those glasses up her nose with one finger, a gesture that should not be as distracting as it is, and asks about compensation as if she is the one conducting negotiations.
The other humans in the room are useless, cowering and whimpering and generally behaving exactly as I expected conquered assets to behave.
But this one, this Cypress Evans with her tablet clutched against her like a shield and her highlighters scattered across the floor like fallen soldiers, she is not cowering.
She is calculating. I recognize the look because I have worn it myself countless times across countless boardroom battlefields, that particular expression of a mind rapidly processing variables and assessing outcomes.
"What's the salary?" she repeats when I fail to respond immediately.
I realize, with a clarity that strikes like a war hammer to the skull, that I am in danger of losing this particular skirmish.
The human is small and fragile and clearly exhausted, dark circles beneath her eyes speaking to long campaigns fought without proper reinforcement, and yet she is not breaking.
If I press too hard, if I maintain the aggressive posture that has served me so well in dismantling corporate defenses, she will shatter.
And I do not want her to shatter. I want her to fight.
I want to see what that sharp mind can do when it is properly supported and adequately resourced.
"Your current compensation," I say. "What is the figure?"
Cypress blinks, clearly not expecting the question.
"Forty-two thousand," she says after a moment's hesitation.
"Before taxes. Which, by the way, is criminally underpaid for someone managing half the department's workload while Gerald spends his days playing mobile games in his office, but nobody asked my opinion on the matter. "
Forty-two thousand. I run the conversion in my head, translating the number into terms my clan would understand, and I feel a surge of genuine outrage that has nothing to do with conquest strategy.
My grandmother's war mastiffs are fed better than this company has been feeding its most valuable tactical asset.
The previous leadership was not merely incompetent, they were wasteful in a way that offends me on a fundamental level.
Good soldiers deserve good provisions. It is the most basic principle of successful campaign management.
"Triple," I announce, and her eyes widen behind those glass frames, her mouth falls open slightly.
"One hundred and twenty-six thousand of your human dollars, plus full access to the executive meal allocation and a personal workspace befitting a First Mate's station.
You will also receive a percentage of quarterly conquest gains, to be negotiated once I have fully assessed the terrain of this particular battlefield. "
The room goes very quiet. Even the whimpering from the corner where several humans have clustered together ceases, replaced by a stunned silence that I choose to interpret as appropriate awe.
Cypress's throat moves as she swallows, and I track the motion with more attention than is strictly necessary for a negotiation of this nature.
"Triple," she repeats. "You're offering me triple my salary.
To be your..." She gestures vaguely with one hand, the motion encompassing the destroyed door, the unconscious former CEO, the general chaos of the conquered conference room. "Your strategist. Whatever that means."
"It means you will be my second in command of all administrative operations," I explain, and I find myself leaning forward slightly, eager to make her understand the honor being offered.
"You will manage the documentation of conquest, ensure that all regulatory requirements are met, coordinate the various departments under Bloodaxe control.
You will have authority over scheduling, resource allocation, and interdepartmental communication.
You will report directly to me and no other. "
"So... basically what I already do," Cypress says slowly, "except with actual authority, a real title, and compensation that reflects the work."
"Yes." I pause, considering. "Also, you will no longer be required to tolerate the mobile game enthusiast. I intend to reassign him to a position more suited to his talents.
" I have not yet determined what that position will be, but I am confident it will involve significantly less comfortable seating and significantly more manual labor.
Cypress is quiet for a long moment, her eyes moving across my face with that assessing sharpness that I am beginning to find deeply compelling.
I can almost see the calculations happening behind those glass frames, the weighing of risks against rewards, the pragmatic evaluation of a mind that understands that survival often requires adaptation.
She is not a warrior in the traditional sense, but she has a warrior's understanding of strategy, and I respect that immensely.
"Benefits?" she asks finally. "Health insurance, retirement contributions, paid time off?"
"Full executive package," I confirm. "The Bloodaxe Clan takes care of its soldiers.
You will have access to our clan healers as well as whatever human medical systems you prefer, contributions to your future security at a rate of fifteen percent of your annual compensation, and adequate rest periods to ensure you remain sharp for battle.
" I pause, then add, because it seems relevant, "Also, I am told that human workers appreciate something called 'casual Fridays.
' This will be permitted, within reason. "
The corner of Cypress's mouth twitches in a way that might be the beginning of a smile, though she suppresses it quickly. "Within reason," she echoes. "Does that mean I can't show up in sweatpants and a t-shirt that says 'I survived a hostile takeover'?"
"That would be acceptable," I say, because the slogan seems appropriately commemorative of today's victory. "Though I would suggest perhaps ordering one for each member of the surviving staff. It will build unit cohesion."
This time, Cypress does smile, a quick flash of expression that transforms her tired face into something unexpectedly luminous.
"Alright," she says, and she straightens her spine, squares her shoulders, meets my eyes with a directness that I find deeply satisfying.
"Alright, Knox Bloodaxe, Warchief of the Bloodaxe Clan.
You've got yourself a First Mate. But I have conditions. "
"Name them."
"First, I need access to all financial records immediately.
If I'm going to help you run this company, I need to know exactly what we're working with.
" She holds up a second finger. "Second, I get final say on any hiring or firing decisions in the administrative departments.
I know who's actually pulling their weight around here and who's been coasting on nepotism.
" A third finger joins the first two. "And third, you have to promise not to literally break down any more doors.
The facilities budget is already stretched thin enough without adding structural repairs. "
I consider her terms carefully, because a Warchief who does not honor negotiations is a Warchief who will soon find himself without allies.
The first two conditions are reasonable, even advantageous, as they will allow her to deploy her strategic capabilities more effectively.
The third is... problematic, as breaking down doors is one of my preferred methods of establishing dominance, but I recognize that some adaptation may be necessary when operating in human corporate environments.
"Agreed," I say finally, "with the modification that I reserve the right to break down doors in cases of genuine emergency or when dealing with particularly offensive incompetence."
Cypress considers this for a moment, then nods. "I can work with that. But I get to define what constitutes 'particularly offensive incompetence.'"
"Acceptable." I extend my hand, and after a moment's hesitation, she takes it.
Her fingers are small and cool against my palm, delicate bones that I could crush without effort, and I am suddenly very aware of the necessity of careful pressure control.
I shake once, firmly but gently, and release before I can do any damage.
"Welcome to the Bloodaxe Clan, First Mate Evans.
Your first assignment begins immediately. "
I turn to survey the rest of the conference room, cataloging the human assets with a general's eye for deployment potential.
The tall male with the receding hairline appears to have stopped crying, which is promising.
The female in the corner has managed to extract her colleague from the decorative plant arrangement, which demonstrates useful problem-solving capabilities.
The others are still somewhat shell-shocked, but that is to be expected.
Conquered territories always require a period of adjustment.