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Wounded Heart

Leon had been silent all the way back to Nova Heryana. Something eating at him and Brolath could not quite comprehend it, but that was not what Brolath was concerned about.

They were not quite at another dead-end, but the captured Lacertan had been completely unhelpful and while there was a chance that Abel had survived and perhaps had met up with the Lacertan camp, there was a great greater chance that the Lacertans had killed him or Abel was swallowed up by the Omnidevourer.

Brolath’s royal decree was growing weaker as the days of the Regency went on. He found himself unable to order around the Ducal Guards even when he presented his writ and found himself having to ask...no, beg...the Duchess to continue on with the search party.

No trace of human footprints and if there were any in the camp, they were swept away by the bombs.

As the lift-copter approached the domes of Nova Heryana on the horizon, Brolath’s datapad began to buzz and he took it out of his bag.

Proclath.

Brolath didn’t want to answer, not without his Adjunct to back him up, but the Adjunct was currently riding with his fiance. In fact, there was a chance Proclath had called Rorgh already and, realizing that they were separated, was looking to catch him in a lie.

But not answering the call would be far worse, so Brolath tapped the screen and the scarred face of Proclath appeared.

“Skip the pleasantries, Captain,” Proclath rumbled. He was looking gaunt, either the stresses of the Regency had gotten to him or another of his organs had failed and was awaiting a transplant. “We need to get down to business.”

“I’m here to serve,” Brolath nodded his head.

“Word has gotten out that there were Lacertans on Earth? We received a report from Duchess Yora that the situation was under control, can you verify?”

“There was a Logos node but it appears to have been destroyed either during their landing on Earth or during our bombardment,” Brolath explained. “All Lacertans are eliminated and I witnessed the execution of what appeared to be their commander.”

“Appeared to be their commander?”

“He was naked and quite mad, but he was large and stately, for a lizard. I imagine Logos would have viewed him as fit for command, before he lost his mind from being separated from their hivemind.”

“Only good lizard is a dead one.”

“Agreed,” Brolath nodded, but not without noticing a sideways glance from Leon.

“You believe that?” Leon whispered.

“Who’s that?” Proclath licked his lips. “Move the screen over, sounds like a human?”

Brolath complied and pointed the datapad at Leon.

“Fine choice, Brolath, fine choice,” Proclath purred as Leon looked away. “Don’t suppose you can lend me your slave when you get back?”

“I’m quite attached to him right now, I’m afraid, I couldn’t be apart from him.” Brolath responded as diplomatically as he could while not giving Proclath reason to be offended or correcting Proclath. If Proclath found out Leon was not a slave, but a free human, it would have been cause for concern.

“A shame, a real shame...” Brolath moved the datapad away from Leon and back to himself, “...but you could make use of him real soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you near Nova Heryana?”

Brolath looked out the window at the approaching domes, “We’re flying right over it as we speak.”

“Ahhhhh, good...” Proclath bit his lips and the licorice-tipped ear of a Vulpeculan briefly popped into view on the bottom of the screen.

Only now did Brolath’s ears catch the faint sound of slurping and sucking. Receiving head from a Vulpeculan’s narrow maw spoke a lot about the Regent’s lack of girth down there and Brolath was damned relieved that scent did not travel over the Extranet, lest Proclath catch the amusement in Brolath’s scent.

“Down for some wetwork, Captain?” Proclath rested the side of his head atop his fist and planted his other palm down, pressing the Vulpeculan out of sight. “We need you to kill the Claw’s latest claimant for the throne.”

Brolath swallowed and licked his nose nervously, “This is not part of my expertise.”

“I know, I know, but the Claw fucked us over hard. They pretended to support Prince Peter, our latest candidate, but then leaked dispatch reports that he was nowhere near his biggest triumph, absolute Sirian-shit!”

“Were the dispatch reports real?”

“It doesn’t matter, all that matters is perception! We were willing to, as a progressive compromise, appoint a Prince who had the audacity to change his name to a human one and convert to some undead god cult on Earth!” spit began to foam at the corners of Proclath’s mouth. “Then they pull this shit and we’re forced to retract them, so we’re going to get them back.”

“Assassination in response to slander?”

Proclath pointed a claw at the camera, “An escalation, to be sure, but necessary. Their new candidate is Prince Taleth, a radical progressive, an anarchist perhaps. He’s always been ranting about protections and autonomy for non-Regulians, bah, a good excuse for him to get bankrolled by Sirian and Lupiad investors, if you ask me!”

“Taleth...” Brolath thought. He was the champion of the Imperial Wrestling Tournament last year and also made waves for pinning down an absolute tower of an Equuleian in an exhibition match. It would be hard to slander him as being weak-willed or soft, unlike many other progressive royalty, “...credit where credit is due, he’s a strong choice.”

“The only scandal we have on him is that, for all his talk about species equality, he fucking loves dominating aliens in the bedroom and Regulians for that matter. Very much a true, red-blooded Regulian,” Proclath gritted his teeth and moaned in hushed ecstasy. “Which is a problem, he’s a hypocrite, but if we expose that he might get more support among Regulians, so we need him gone, no questions asked.”

“This is highly irregular.”

“These are irregular times, we’re at war and you’re the only person I can trust to arrange for his demise. He’s holding a fundraiser tonight for freed slaves in poverty,” Proclath rolled his eyes in contempt. “Freed slaves get a damned fortune from their master or the state on release, what more do they fucking want?”

“Sir, I don’t-”

“Get your slave in there and force an introduction. Taleth won’t be able to resist him and once he’s worn out from fucking him, your human can dispatch him as he wishes. If you can make it look like an accident, great, if not, don’t worry, we’ll provide immunity for you and your slave.”

Proclath moaned and patted his Vulpeculan on the head. Brolath could practically smell his cum across the Extranet, “Regulian politics, eh? Gotta love it.”

“Sir, he is...” Brolath looked over at Leon, whose eyes were narrowed and was frowning deeply.

“What?” Proclath leaned in forward.

“Nothing sir, we’ll get the job done.”

“Goodluck, Captain!”

The feed disconnected and Brolath sat back in his seat, looking over at Leon.

“I’m not doing it,” Leon stated.

“That was the Grand Regent and we...” Brolath swallowed, smelling the anger in the air, “...Regulian hierarchy is quite clear, we have to obey him.”

“You told him this was not part of your duties.”

“Yes, but...extraordinary times call for-”

“You can do it, but I won’t.”

“It’s for the good of the Empire, Leon, surely you see that.”

“I’m not your slave, Brolath,” Leon sighed and shook his head. “You could have told the Regent that, but you didn’t.”

“But I-” Brolath caught himself before he found himself uttering that he paid for Leon and was entitled to his services. “It’s complicated, if I told him that you were free, he would have been suspicious.”

“Perhaps he wouldn’t have roped me into this assassination plan then, or would have not even brought it up!” Leon shot back.

Brolath opened his mouth but failed to utter any words. Leon was right, the worst Proclath could have done to Brolath was disapprove of the relationship and at best, it might have led Proclath to not drag them into Regulian politics.

But there was no going back now.

“I’m sorry, but...” Brolath sighed as the lift-copter landed atop the landing pad elevator, which began to descend, “...I can’t change the past. We’re stuck on this mission now.”

“I told you, I won’t be a part of it, I’m not a murderer.”

“How else are we supposed to do this, Leon!?” Brolath leaned forward, claws digging into the chair fabric. “You don’t like it, I don’t like it, but the closest thing to an Emperor has decreed it and we must follow!”

“You must follow,” Leon sighed as the elevator rumbled to a stop. “If you want to obey, you can do it yourself.”

Leon stood up and slid the door open.

“Come back here!” Brolath ordered.

“I’ll see you at the suite, my lion,” Leon looked back with tears running along his eyelids before stepping off the vehicle and quickly walking away.

Brolath did not follow, slapping himself on the forehead and burying his face in his legs. He’d done it once again, he fucked up.

Why was it so hard to understand people?

For the first time since he had arrived, Brolath was able to step onto the streets of Nova Heryana. Shivering as the chilly, climate controlled air of the domed city brushed against his mane, he wrapped his yellow jacket around him.

How do the canines put up with this temperature?

Being tidally locked to a gas giant, Lupus was quite consistent in climate across its seasons: one side of the moon was cold and the other was very cold. Lupiads preferred the cold, but the dark side of their moon was too cold, even for them, but the need to expand across the moon made them adept at designing climate controlled cities.

Brolath understood this but it still did not make the frosty city any more welcoming. Outside the dome it was warm and humid, but in here it was dry and chilly.

Taleth’s loft was not far from the downtown metro station. Loft, was the word on the invitation online, but Brolath knew that it was likely a fancy penthouse disguised as an artist’s loft in an area of town that gives the impression that the Prince is slumming it with the common alien, but Nova Heryana, being effectively under military and Lupiad-Sirian corporate security control, really did not have any bad areas.

Ducal Guards, mostly Lupiad, were on every street corner and they kept a respectable distance from the residents passing on by and did not harass any slaves, even ones without an obvious master. Yora kept her police on a tight leash, it seemed, the Regulian Guard could learn a thing or two from her own, Brolath was ashamed to admit. There was no forgetting she was behind the order in the area and if you did forget, tall posters with her saluting in military uniform towered down from buildings.

If I screw this assassination up, I’ll be back on patrol duty as soon as I’m done on Earth.

Most of the homes and commercial buildings were low-rise and rectangular, very functional architecture for a city built in a very short period of time. As Brolath entered the main entertainment district, he found a selection of restaurants, bars, nightclubs, and food vendors with touts, usually barely-clothed humans or Vulpeculans, inviting people in.

“Taste the wonders of Beta Vulpeculae!”

“Scotch! Scotch! The finest Scotch!”

“Two for one drinks!”

“First drink is free!”

“We got Procyonid girls, only ones in the whole colony!”

Ignoring the cries of the touts, Brolath approached a vendor and bought a Lupiad blood sausage sandwiched in a bun. It was better to fill up before the party and keep focused on the mission at hand. Besides, the Prince was equally likely to either serve slave food in an attempt to appear in touch with the enslaved or serve ridiculously luxurious Regulian cuisine that wouldn’t fill up a starving Vulpeculan’s stomach. Brolath preferred to make his own choice before the party.

Make my own choice…

Finishing off his meal, Brolath continued down the street. For the most part he ignored the touts until a human prostitute grabbed him lightly by the arm. Pain gripped his heart for a moment before he shook his head and politely refused.

Just get this over with and talk with Leon later…

Perform your duty.

There was no question what building the party was in. Deep music shook the ground from a mid-rise apartment block on the right where two brown Equuleian’s with thick body armor almost as heavy as their massive frames, stood guard.

Freed slaves, most likely? Makes sense for the fundraiser.

Brolath stepped up to them and presented his donation receipt, five times the required minimum to get invited in, and they patted him down for weapons, which Brolath had left in storage with the Ducal Guard’s. Satisfied, they waved him in towards an open elevator, which automatically rumbled and rose.

Unlike Proclath, Brolath felt the fundraiser was a good cause. It was true that in order to emancipate a slave, masters were required to hand over a freedom tax that was distributed to the slave. This was to prevent mobs of unemployed former slaves out on the streets, a sure way to guarantee rebellion.

But it wasn’t enough for many of them. Potentially decades of life as a slave did not look well on a resume and many struggled to make ends meet. Regulian grace should not end with emancipation, Brolath figured they needed to take care of their subjects no matter what.

Ding!

The elevator swung open and Brolath was not surprised at all to find the loft was more of a penthouse. Though the outside of the building was nothing fancy, the inside was completely immaculate. Red bricks lined the walls of the apartment, each one engraved with a mythological creature from across the galaxy. There were two circular fireplaces on opposite ends of the room that guests were huddled about, sipping cocktails.

What Brolath did not expect was the costumes on display. The invitation said, “Casual,” and so Brolath wore his usual clothes, but the guests seemed to take that as an excuse to dress up in stereotypical garb, mostly human or Vulpeculan, of the most commonly enslaved species in the Empire. Even Brolath, who was woefully inadequate with human history and culture, knew that the Regulian wearing a toga and a pink chaperone atop his head was not only wearing outdated clothes but from two different periods of human history.

“Whoa! Look at the detective here!” Brolath nearly jolted as a scrawny and short brown Lupiad came up to him and tugged at his trench-coat before politely snuffing him on the neck. He was wearing a ridiculous outfit of chain-mail and a helmet with long horns jutting out of it.

For a moment, Brolath thought his cover was blown, but then the guest continued speaking, “Who are you dressed like, Marlowe? Holmes? Poirot? Wolfe?”

“Wolfe,” Brolath said, not knowing who he was referring to, but assumed he was some human celebrity. It was a bit strange to use that name as humans often used it as a slur for Lupiads, “I’m a big fan.”

“Never read his books, myself!” the Lupiad pounded himself on the chest, rattling his chains. “I’m Leif Erikson, he discovered and conquered the Americas, you know? Humans have a proud history of glorious conquest, most people don’t know that!”

“Fascinating,” Brolath panned the room, it was mostly Sirians and Lupiads. A Regulian Prince would certainly stick out. “Do you know where the Prince is? I’d like to pay respect to our host.”

“Just look for Caesar!”

Before Brolath could ask who or what Caesar looked like, the Lupiad waved at another guest and scampered off to bother them.

Stepping into the main room, Brolath felt like a fish out of the water. There were so many rich aliens sitting around and dressed up as who they imagined to be humble or famous humans and Vulpeculans. They seemed to think he was wearing some kind of costume as well, which made his skin flush. This was what he normally wore all the time on the job.

On the south side of the room, a roped-off staircase led up to a curtained off balcony overlooking the lower floor. No doubt the humble’s Prince’s quarters. There was a bar underneath it and to the right where a tired-looking, sand-brown Vulpeculan with tall ears was busy mixing drinks.

Brolath approached the bar and the bartender snapped to attention.

“What’ll it be?” the Vulpeculan asked.

“Regulus Sunset,” Brolath said.

With impressive speed, the Vulpeculan tossed crushed ice into a glass and poured a shot of vodka into it.

“So, what’s your costume supposed to be?” Brolath asked. The Vulpeculan was wearing a black, cotton vest with a matching bow-tie.

“Some famous bartender, I guess,” the bartender leaned over to pick up a bottle of lothfruit juice and poured the blue liquid into the glass. The bartender’s shirt collar slipped a bit, revealing a glimpse at the leather slave’s collar beneath it. One cannot expect the Prince to not have slaves, Brolath supposed, it wasn’t like he was calling for a total emancipation.

“Not a fan of the party?”

“The Prince implores me to speak freely, so I will say as much, yes, I am not a fan of the party,” the bartender picked up a tiny jar of pasteurized Regarite blood mixed with herbal bitters and dripped it into the cocktail, creating the purple sunset. “The guests make a mockery of Vulpeculan and human history with their costumes. Just look at Princess Yazyi over there!”

The bartender motioned towards a female Lupiad wearing nothing more than golden chains leading to clip-on piercings attached to her eight nipples that trailed down until they met with a silk loin-cloth covering up her nethers.

“You think Yazyi dressed up like that ever? It’s a damned costume from a smut film where she gets raped by a Regulian and enjoys it; she died a century before we even made contact with the Regulians!” the bartender slid the drink across the counter. “Enjoy.”

“Your master is quite relaxed to let you speak so freely,” Brolath swirled the drink around, scattering the purple sunset. “I’ve known slaves in far worse conditions.”

“A velvet boot on the neck is still a boot,” the bartender said before heading across the bar to tend to another guest.

Brolath sipped his drink. Despite the bartender’s discontent at his lot in life, the cocktail had a perfect mix of sour from the lothfruit and salt from the blood, and the vodka kicked in right when the rest of the flavors began to subside. A perfect Regulus Sunset.

So engrossed in the drink was Brolath, that he didn’t notice a hulking Regulian sitting down next to him until his nose was pressed up against Brolath’s neck, sniffing.

Brolath didn’t need to know his name or that his toga and leaf crown atop his head was a Caesar costume. There was no mistaking the blonde Regulian with massive, ripping muscles as anyone else but the Prince and host of this party.

“Haven’t seen you before…?”

“Kunlor,” Brolath introduced himself. His alias was a Western Regulian name that was not common among the elites, which he hoped would make his rank seem lower to the Prince and thus more desirable for his tastes. “A pleasure to meet you, Prin-”

“Please, call me Taleth...or Tal,” Taleth raised his glass of beer. “A pleasure to meet you, Kun.”

“Likewise,” Brolath sipped his drink, savoring every drop. “It’s fascinating theme you have here.”

“I thought it best to inject a little overlooked culture into the party,” Taleth pinched his toga. “I’m dressed as Caesar, liberator of the slaves from the oppressive Patricians!”

“He freed all of the slaves?”

“All of them! It’s why every human nation, when we invaded, had banned slavery, at least on paper! It still continued in a more oppressive and insidious form than what we practice,” Taleth raised his glass towards the Vulpeculan bartender, who smiled and nodded. “The Empire takes care of all of its subjects or at least, it should. I hope to introduce positive changes to the Empire one day.”

“Got any plans you can share?”

Taleth winked, “That would be telling.”

Brolath lifted his glass but froze suddenly when he felt a strong grip on his rear.

“This is...” Brolath felt his skin burn as Taleth rubbed his paw across the base of Brolath’s tail.

“Don’t worry, Lupiads and Sirians make up most of the guests and they’re more liberal with such things,” Taleth continued stroking the sensitive base of Brolath’s tail. “There’s no shame in showing your submissive side, I can smell the need on you. I could smell it the moment you walked in here.”

Taleth leaned in and ran his rough tongue across Brolath’s face. Prince or not, Brolath would have fought back against such behavior in any other circumstance and the law would be on his side.

But he wasn’t here as a private citizen, he was here as an assassin.

And this was one way to get close to the Prince.

This was exactly what he wanted to happen.

So why did he feel so uncomfortable?

“Meet me up there,” Taleth motioned towards the balcony covered with velvet curtains. “Or would you prefer me to leash you and walk you up there?”

“Just let me finish my drink and I’ll be right there,” Brolath winked and rubbed his paw across the Prince’s chest. He had a fine body but there was nothing sexy about this to Brolath.

“I’ll be waiting...” Taleth winked back and left the bar.

Sighing, Brolath took a big gulp of his drink. The sooner he was done here, the sooner he could leave and forget it ever happened.

Damn you, Proclath, why do I always roll over for you?

Duty. Because it was his duty.

What kind of Regulian would he be if he did not obey?

Brolath heard a rattle and snapped out of his trance. An orange pill container was on the counter and the Vulpeculan bartender stood in front of him, smirking and wiping down a glass.

“I get the feeling you’ve never been fucked in the ass by a Regulian before, have you?”

“What business is it of yours, slave?” Brolath growled.

“Just trying to give some friendly advice! You Regulians are all so touchy about who’s on top and who’s on bottom during sex and you make such a big deal about it remaining private. I could tell just by your reaction that you’re an ass-virgin and speaking as someone who has had more barbed cocks up his ass than you have fur on the tuft of your tail, I know a thing or two about dealing with it.”

Grumbling, Brolath motioned for the Vulpeculan to continue and he began unscrewing the container.

“Take four of these pain killers now, the Prince isn’t one for foreplay. Wait ten minutes and head on up, that will give it just enough time to kick in and reduce most of the pain.”

“Four?” Brolath tapped his claws on the white tablets. “That seems like a lot.”

“These are Vulpeculan-sized pills, Kun,” the bartender sighed. “And I’ve prescribed them to many of the Prince’s Regulian subs and am an expert at dosage by now. Take it or leave it.”

“Fuck,” Brolath threw the pills into his mouth and swallowed dry.

“Good boy,” the Vulpeculan laughed. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

“This is degrading,” Brolath muttered to himself.

The bartender’s tall ears twitched, “You think so too? For me, it’s always like this.”

With a swish of his tail, the bartender took his pill container back and slipped it into his pocket before ignoring Brolath and mixing up a bulk order of some shaken cocktail.

After waiting ten minutes, Brolath downed the last drops of his drink and quickly left the bar, pushing through the celebrating crowd towards the staircase. There was no guard, anyone could have simply walked past the rope if they so wished.

Inhaling, Brolath stepped around the rope and headed up the stairs slowly, one step at a time.

I can’t imagine Leon doing this.

Brolath’s heart raced as he drew closer to the purple curtain at the top of the staircase.

How could I have expected him to do this?

Resting his paw on the handrail, Brolath waited for a dizzy spell to pass. For a moment he feared that the Vulpeculan had spiked him with something worse than painkillers, but the feeling passed.

He did not want to be here.

He wanted to be back with Leon, snuggling in bed.

He wanted to say he was sorry.

Pushing aside the curtain, Brolath entered a dim, warm bedroom with candles on dressers circling the massive, circular bed in the center of the room. Silk pillows were thrown over the bed haphazardly, it was a very old-fashioned Regulian bed, back from the days when a male Regulian would sleep with all of his wives and concubines in the same bed every night.

Something metal wrapped around Brolath’s neck and he was forced to spin to the side and look at Taleth, who was holding a long wooden pole that had a round metal bit that closed around Brolath’s neck that his muzzle could not slip out of once caught in. Dull spikes lined the inside of the contraption.

It was a slave-catcher, an iron-age Regulian tool for capturing slaves and criminals with. Mostly obsolete now with modern tranquilizers and suppression tools, it still had a home in many rich Regulian’s personal harems as a prop, just as iron manacles still had a home there. There was something instinctively demeaning and submissive about having cold iron wrapped around your body that modern plastic composites could not replicate.

Brolath didn’t need any orders, just the prodding of the spikes as Taleth lowered the slave-catcher, forcing Brolath to his knees.

“There’s a good slave, hm?” Taleth rumbled, rubbing his sheath with his left paw. “You’re having fun?”

Brolath didn’t know what to say. What was a slave to say in such a situation, real or the product of Taleth’s fantasy?

Taleth leaned in across the pole and scratched Brolath on the chin, “Come on, Kun, go along with the fun...”

“This slave is…” Brolath licked his nose, “...having fun.”

Taleth broke out into laughter before suddenly unlatching the slave-catcher and tossing it to the side. Before Brolath could breathe a sigh of relief though, the larger Regulian pounced atop him and pinned him to the ground.

Brolath did not resist, he knew what his duty but, but it didn’t make it any more fun.

A thick bicep wrapped around Brolath’s neck and choked him slightly, leaving just barely enough slack for him to breathe. Taleth rubbed at the base of Brolath’s tail which sent shivers through his muscles and forcibly arouse his cock from his sheath. Brolath couldn’t help himself and started playfully lashing his tail like a Regulian in heat.

Pulling Brolath’s face back, Taleth began licking the helpless Regulian all across his face, occasionally nipping firmly to establish his dominance. Brolath went limp, letting the Prince know he was in charge.

Suddenly, Taleth released Brolath and stood up.

“Take your clothes off.”

Staring up at the towering Regulian above him, Brolath meekly removed his jacket from his shoulders and laid it on the floor, followed by unbuttoning his shirt, exposing his white chest-fur.

“Nice body.”

“Thank you,” Brolath felt sick.

When Brolath reached his pants, he realized that his cock was fully free of its sheath. With great shame, he removed his pants and revealed it. It was one thing to be dominated by another Regulian but to actually get aroused by it, it was a faux pas unless you were of particularly low status and relied on the more powerful Regulian.

Or were a slave.

Though the room was warm with candlelight, Brolath felt cold, like he was out on the streets of Nova Heryana once again.

“Get on the bed and lift your tail.”

Complying, Brolath crawled towards the bed and lifted himself atop it. No sooner than he had raised his rear and swished his tail was Taleth upon him, grinding his hips against Brolath’s rear.

“Mmm,” Taleth purred and nipped at the back of Brolath’s neck, “I prefer humans or Vulpeculans, but it’s always fun making a fellow Regulian nothing more than a bitch.”

Without warning, Taleth’s cock pressed up against Brolath’s rear. The Prince had seen fit to lubricate it, but Brolath’s rear resisted its advances.

“So tight,” Taleth murmured, “such a virgin.”

With one powerful thrust, Taleth forced his way past Brolath’s defenses and forced the Captain to yowl like a cub. The feeling of his barbs raking against his insides was like sandpaper on skin, even with the painkillers.

“Such a tight little slave, Kun,” Taleth grunted as he pounded Brolath from behind. “We’re gonna fix that, won’t we?”

Brolath went limp and tried to pretend he was anywhere else. Anything to block out the unpleasant sensations.

I wouldn’t wish this upon anyone.

Let alone Leon…

The night was a blur. Brolath blocked out most of the feeling once Taleth had begun his assault. There was no passion, only lust and cum.

Brolath found himself passing out before Taleth was finished. His vision went black when the pain got too much to bear and Taleth was still busy mocking and degrading him.

It had been a quiet trip back to the Duchesses’ manor. The streets were quiet, the train was quiet, and the Duchesses’ headquarters were no different.

Brolath avoided contact as much as possible with the guards. He knew what he smelled like and didn’t want to broadcast it. He kept his paws in his coat pocket and casually strolled down the hallway to his suite.

Eventually reaching the door, Brolath took out the keycard, not failing to notice the dried blood on his paw. Taleth may have been an accomplished wrestler, but his carotid artery was just as easy to slice open with a sharp claw as any other.

By now his blood was no doubt dripping from his bedroom onto the party floor. Guards would be called and Kunlor would be the prime suspect. If they ever traced it back to Brolath, Proclath would have his back. His boss was many things, but when he says you will get immunity, he will hold up his end of the bargain.

Tapping the card against the lock, the metal door slid open and Brolath quietly entered. The lights were off and he assumed Leon was sleeping in the bedroom.

Quickly, Brolath made his way to the washroom and rinsed the blood off of his paws with soap and water. He didn’t want Leon to see that, Brolath wasn’t feeling proud of his kill, let alone what he had to do to cause it.

He just wanted to hug Leon and apologize.

“Leon?” Brolath whispered as he entered the bedroom. No response.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness just enough to tell that there was no one lying on the bed. Brolath flicked on the lightswitch and found himself alone with only a piece of paper on the bed for company.

The script on the paper was Traditional Regulian, which was rare for a human to know, especially after the introduction of Simplified Regulian. All it said was:

I’m sorry. I need some time to think.

Please don’t follow me.

-Leon

Crumpling the note, Brolath laid down on the bed, roaring with grief.

Damn you, Proclath! Damn…

Damn me!

Springing to his feet, Brolath manically ran from one part of the suite to another, hoping to catch a trace of any of Leon’s personal luggage, what little that he had. All of his clothes were gone, as were his toothbrush, and…

The stuffed lion.

He took the stuffed lion with him.

What did it mean?

Was there hope?

What did it matter now? Leon was gone and Brolath had no idea when, if ever, he would return.

Brolath started messaging Leon on his datapad, apologizing and trying to explain what he had just been through.

I have to make amends...I have to let him know I’m sorry! Please, Leon, answer!

There was no reply.

Please...answer me…

Brolath lowered his head and prayed, prayed that he would get a reply. Even Leon telling him that he never wanted to speak with him again, he wanted at least that much.

He wanted someone to talk to.

The datapad suddenly rumbled and Brolath sprang up and unlocked the screen. His blood froze when he saw the name on the chat screen:

Abel.