The Moon's Fangs | 1

Surprisingly enough, there were several discreet clothing options among the empress’ clothing. By no means did I want to strut around in her clothes, but options were slim. It was either her clothes or his clothes. Hers fit better.

Maybe I’d convince Reks to take me shopping after we finished business with the Black Market. He probably had money, right? Or would it all be outdated by now, or stuck frozen in some old untouched bank-like account?

It couldn’t hurt to ask.

With that in mind, I made my way down the hall and found him already walking in my direction. My choice of outfit sent a curious look across his face.

“Yet another one of my shirts has found its way on your pretty, little body.” His thumb traced the side of his jaw in contemplation. He stopped to regard the black knee-high boots and tucked-in pants snug around my upper waist, paired with one of his soft, black tunics. It was too big for me and billowed out slightly where I had tucked it into the pants. But the soft material and long sleeves were warm, and I secretly loved the decadent woodsy scent attached to it.

“I look like a pirate.” I laughed, pulling the bubble braid over my shoulder. “Which is funny because Blaire and I dressed as pirates for Halloween last year. I had a hat, eye patch, and stacks of fake gold jewelry with an outfit similar to this.”

Reks blinked with a confused expression on his face one second, then bemused the next. Luk was always quick to fill in the otherworldly gaps. “Ah. Pirates. This is another one of your historical-turned-fictional fantasies on Earth. And you dressed up as one for… Halloween?”

My eyes flashed as it dawned on me Reks probably never experienced anything like Halloween night. “Reks!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands up on his shoulders. “Promise me you’ll come celebrate Halloween when it comes around. It’ll be so much fun, I swear!”

There was a short pause, and I knew Luk was probably going into more about the holiday. Hopefully it gave him the adult version and not the little kid trick-or-treat one. Though, now that I think about it… I couldn’t exactly imagine him enjoying a haunted house. In fact, avoiding those completely would be for the best. A costumed stranger covered in fake blood running at him with an obnoxious chainsaw prop would not turn out well for anyone.

A sly smirk lifted a side of his mouth. “Fine. As long as you allow me to choose the costumes. Yours and mine.”

“You sir, have a deal.” I simpered, twining my fingers together with a grin.

“And you…” his dark eyes gave me a slow once-over. “You are going to attract too much attention.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you need a cloak.” He motioned for me to follow him as he quietly muttered in orleizen under his breath, “and I may feel strongly inclined to blind any man we pass by.”

My eyes widened. “What was that?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing. Just thinking a cloak would also keep you warm. The district we’re going to is quite cold.”

“Uh-huh.” I grinned at the back of his head as he led the way into his bedroom. “How considerate of you.”

I had snuck in here to grab the tunic earlier, but I didn’t linger due to a childish fear of getting caught in his room. But that little fear slipped away when he disappeared into his walk-in closet to find me a cloak.

A large, dark-set canopy bed pressed against the back wall in the center. Warm light fixtures lined the bottom edges of the bed and along the trim of the charcoal walls. In the corner close to the closet entrance, a plush settee sat next to a serving bar with an assortment of various unopened bottles of what I assumed to be alcohol.

Built-in pockets along a wall contained a strange, diverse assortment of items. Things which ranged from a broken half-crown to a braid with four hair types braided together. Momentos?

I strode over to the other side of the room to peek around the corner to the adjoined space. My brows rose, taking in the sight of the bathing room. Half the room was dedicated to a walk-in rain shower while the other side naturally lowered a few levels deeper, already filled with swirling peachy water. I didn’t know if it was supposed to be a huge bathtub or a hot tub. Maybe it was both.

“You’re more than welcome to use it.” Reks said behind me, startling me.

I jumped. “Jeez. Don’t sneak up on me like that.” I turned to scowl at him, but Reks tossed the cloak over my head, obscuring my vision.

“You’re just overly jumpy.” he said.

I tugged the cloak over my head and adjusted it over my shoulders. Its hem brushed past my hips. “No. You’re just too sneaky.” I protested.

Reks took the liberty of pulling my braid free of the cloak, sliding his hand down until letting the end slip from his grasp. “You’ll need to keep the hood up while we travel to the meeting place. Okay?”

I nodded, pulling the wide hood over my head. With how big it was, I could tell it was going to be something I would have to fight with to keep out of my eyes. He adjusted the hood of his own cloak, then pulled his gate ring off and opened a rift for us to go through.

His hand fell to the middle of my back as we walked through, leaving his room and entering a stranded corner of the cold and dark district of the underground city.

A chill settled uncomfortably over my skin, and I was thankful for the warmth the cloak brought. The low temperature here in the seventh district felt stale and wholly unwelcoming.

“Do you style your hair like that often?” He asked, sliding the ring back on his finger.

“On occasion. Why?” I asked, lowering my tone so as to not alert anyone potentially lurking in the sketchy darkness. It wasn’t pitch black. But the thin and eerie, stretched-out light created overlapping shadows.

Shadows hid all kinds of daunting ambitions. The darker the shadows, the more sinister those ambitions become.

I stepped closer to Reks, walking higher on my toes to keep the noise to a minimum. He sensed my wariness and curled his fingers around my waist under the cloak.

“Cyra used to wear her hair like how you have it now. She was like a sister to me. Cheeky with every breath she breathed, but utterly reliable. Her braid nearly reached the floor before it was cut.” he laughed in reminiscence.

Cyra. I remembered her face from his memories. She radiated beauty and unapologetic sass. “Why would she cut it? It was so pretty.”

We quieted as we walked past a small group glowering in our direction, passing a joint among them. The joint let off thin fumes of green smoke. It twisted in strange shapes, as if telling a hollowed story.

“That’s a story better told by Yuri and Sorren,” one of his fingers slid under my waistband, creating a flurry of nerves to bunch up in my lower stomach. “Throughout battles, Cyra’s contenders often attempted to cut her hair or grab it to try to use it against her. Yet no one ever could manage to snag it. And if she ever caught one in the act, ooo… it’d light a fire you wished you hadn’t lit. She was… quick to anger.” he chuckled, faintly rubbing the back of his neck.

I fiddled with the hood idly slipping over my eyes, thinking back to how beautiful Cyra’s hair had been. It looked like gold silk pulled back with glittery red threads. “Did someone end up cutting it?”

“Cyra had gone on a mission with Sorren and Yuri on a planet infested with Femme Arachne. One thing led to another, and Cyra ended up slicing off her own hair with her blade to get them out of a bad situation.”

“How in the world did that make a difference?”

“It made all the difference. Femme Arachne have inky black hair and are known for their unhinged jealousy. So, they went rabid with greed over Cyra’s golden hair. She sliced it off and used their blind greed against them. Cyra, Yuri, and Sorren escaped while the arachnids fought over the tresses.”

“Holy Hell. That’s amazing, but also crazy. She must have been furious.” I surmised, simultaneously stifling a shiver as Nox showed me what a Femme Arachne looked like. The terrifying image of an inky black half-tarantula, half-woman made my skin crawl. I hated spiders.

“Unbelievably furious,” he said. “The guys came back with equally wide stares, telling tales of how Cyra took the form of a demon. Yuri, who is not easily impressed by anything, was practically speechless. Sorren swears she killed over a dozen Femme Arachne on their way out.”

My eyes widened too. Over a dozen? Nox informed me they were the size of two adult bears put together.

“Yikes. She sounds scary when she’s mad.”

“Oh, don’t be fooled. She was scary even when she slept.”

We both laughed, then quieted when remembering where we were. In the near distance, I saw the outline of a large, malformed building where people stood in line waiting to get in. We joined at the end.

Behind a brutish-looking bouncer, the entrance resembled a cage. His face was covered with a black mask with a bleeding neon eye painted on the forehead. There weren’t holes for his eyes, nose, or mouth. How was he supposed to function with that thing obstructing everything?

“What about Yuri and Sorren? What were they like?” I asked Reks, returning to our conversation.

“Yuri and Sorren.” His lips puffed out with a sigh, then he shook his head with a faint smile. “Those two were the epitome of love. Fated flames. Cyra and I had the pleasure of witnessing their love story unfold. It was incredible how they equaled each other out. Sorren was notorious for winding up in some kind of mess, and Yuri would always end up having his back in the weirdest scenarios. But when Yuri was ever in trouble, Sorren had a way to either calm him down, or whoever Yuri managed to piss off.”

I remembered them from his memory, too. The way Sorren looked at Yuri, and how Yuri curled an arm around his shoulder with such tenderness. It was the only time I saw Yuri smile. The rest of the time during that dinner, Yuri held an unreadable frown, making it impossible to tell if he enjoyed himself or not. On the other hand, Sorren had a way of lighting up the room, spreading his contagious smile. So contagious in fact, it put a smile on Reks’ face I hadn’t gotten the chance to witness yet in person.

It was a smile I believed was reserved for those three alone, one that may never resurface now they are gone.

Even still, the way his face lit up now as he spoke about them left a warm feeling to spread through my chest.

I smiled up at him. “They sound amazing. I’d love to know more about what kind of trouble Sorren got into. And that Evander guy. What was up between him and Cyra?”

He tilted his head in a way that made his jawline go intriguingly sharp. “Showing you would be more fun than telling. But we’ll have to save that for another time.” he said as we neared the front of the line, then leaned down to whisper in my ear. It sent a trill of goosebumps down the side of my neck. “Focus on the bouncer at the door. He's wearing a suppression mask to hide his identity from the general public, but it shouldn't affect you. Can Nox read his identity?”

It was hard to focus on anything with him standing so close, but I gave it a shot.

I focused on the rough, masked-up bruiser until Nox pulled up a little holographic projection above his head, revealing his identity to me.

-

Name: Fender | Rank: Stripped

{X-military. Multiple assaults. Arson. Rank stripped after violent dispute against General Rhosyn.}

CAUTION: Do not approach. Neutralize on sight. Sentenced to exile.

-

Reks’ hand caught me from taking a step back out of line. I gave him an incredulous glance, keeping my voice low. “Uh, this guy’s a criminal. Like, a major one.”

He leaned down close enough to whisper in my ear again. “Look around. He’s not the only one.”

I took his advice, and quickly saw how accurate that statement was. Nearly every person’s identity card displayed them to be an offender of the law in some way, shape, or form. The range was drastic, going from common thieves to rapists and murderers.

I pressed my side tightly against Reks, forcing my gaze to look at no one directly in the eye.

“That’s the thing about Guides. They hold your record - storing everything worth noting into your cards. It doesn’t matter how good of a liar you are if someone of the appropriate high-ranking status can see everything you’ve done in a single heartbeat.”

We moved up in line. “If that’s true, then why are there so many criminals down here? Doesn’t it seem, I don’t know, out of hand? And what about that person?” I discreetly pointed at a person whose card revealed them to be a thief, then another with a minor offense. “Why have they been sentenced to exile too? That's an extremely harsh punishment.”

“So many questions,” he flattened his hand on the small of my back, which strangely eased the fear building in my nerves. “Believe me, I’m just as curious as you are. To think an establishment like this can stand and perform at this level leads me to believe the military is far weaker than I realized. If they aren’t handling issues outside of the barrier because of their fear of the Horde, what’s their excuse for the inside? It’s an embarrassment.” a muscle in his jaw jutted.

I rubbed at the goosebumps prickling my arms. If that was the case, then anyone with a criminal record fled to this district to avoid exile. With what lurked beyond the barrier, it was nothing short of a death sentence.

Their desperation to free up space within the barrier must be severe if they were willing to exile common thieves too. But then again, all these condemned criminals were here and not in exile like their identity cards claimed they should be. Now District Seven seemed to be run by criminals.

A bitter taste formed in my mouth. “I’m sure this district is like a prison for most of them. Too afraid to leave, or else risk getting caught and thrown to the monsters waiting outside the barrier.” my eyes did a low sweep behind my shoulder. It was so dark and uncomfortably cold here. And by the looks of the sparse, rundown homes… they weren’t more than a patchy roof over someone’s head. Nothing on this level looked safe. They likely had to sneak into the higher districts to get provisions.

This time when I looked up at those with minor offenses, I looked long enough to notice the fidgety darts of their eyes and their alert stances around those who deserved exile. Dark circles layered their sunken stares. Their clothes were tattered. And most didn’t appear to be eating well. A putrid feeling in the back of my mind implied these people probably hadn’t seen the sun in years, or even for their entire life.

“Gambler’s card.” Fender ordered in a bored, gravelly tone.

“Scheduled meeting with Baze.” Reks replied, giving no other details other than what Baze had told us to say at the front door.

The blacked-out mask made it impossible to read his reaction. The bruised muscles of his neck shifted as he turned his head to the side slightly, as if listening to someone speaking through an earpiece. After another moment, he gave us a curt nod. “Been expecting you. Second floor, last door down the hall.”

He stepped aside for us to move past him and into The Cage, where a chorus of shouts and slander bounced off the walls, directed at two men brawling in a discolored cage at the center of the room, which lit up in neon lights when a fighter made contact with it.

From the second floor, some viewers could be vaguely seen watching the fight from the safety behind glass, drinking something that was probably alcohol or an altered drink. All of them from what I could see wore masks to keep their faces hidden from view.

Nox read some of their identity cards, revealing quite a large handful to be of high-ranking status.

“This way.” Reks led the way up rickety stairs curved along the rounded walls.

Halfway up, the crowd went into an uproar as one of the fighters punched the other so hard, teeth went flying from his mouth in a nasty spray of blood. But it didn’t stop there. The man, heavily scarred from head to toe, flung his bloodied opponent to the ground, swinging fist after fist at the other’s face until—until someone finally stepped in to confirm his victory.

I flinched, feeling my body sink into Reks from the inhuman cackling erupting from the victor. He was laughing at his opponent. The opponent who laid unmoving, face already swelling with numerous welts. A bone jutted out from his cheekbone. And the viewers egged the victor on like they wanted to see more.

The scarred man bellowed in triumph at his screaming fans. His face was splattered in blood, and his scars curved up in a wicked way as he smiled. “Who’s next!” He roared, scanning the crowd until momentarily hesitating on Reks and me before returning to basking in the brutal cheers. “I know damn well that wasn’t s’posed to be the final battle! Gimme a real fight!”

It sent a chill down my spine, the way he looked at us with violent motivation. It was only for a moment before we disappeared on the second floor, out of the victor’s line of sight.

I saw why Reks wanted me to stay at the lab. This place wasn’t exactly my cup of tea.

“That man… he had so many scars.” I murmured under my breath. “I thought Guides could heal wounds.”

“They can, but everything has limits.” he said as we walked down the narrowly curved hall. We passed by several rooms hosting private viewing parties. All looked to be high ranks staying discreet. Reks casually tugged my hood on a little deeper before continuing. “Someone who fights like that, who likely gets hurt on a daily basis… Guides can only do so much. Putting your body at war day in and day out takes a large toll on a Guide.”

I glanced down at his hands, where I knew thin scars traced the insides of both his wrists. Since meeting him, he utilized Luk every day outside of his body. But I imagined as a vitiate for an empress, he used his Guide in that way more often to gain an edge in missions. Probably on many different occasions. I had already witnessed Luk crush a gun, strangle the head of the Black Market, and save my life on more than one account. Not to mention using it to catch me in a spontaneous game of chase.

My stomach flipped from recent memory.

He caught where my eyes wandered over his wrists, and I looked away too late.

“Does it… hurt to open your scars every time you need to use Luk in that way?”

Reks subconsciously smoothed a thumb over one of the marks. Then a small hint of amusement curled at one side of his lips. “Are you worried about me?”

“Of course not.” my eyes flashed.

“Liar.”

“What? I-I’m not lying.”

We stopped at the last door down the hall.

“Don’t get me wrong. I like how bad of a liar you are, Amelia.” He shot me a wink, then knocked on the door with a knuckle.

The chilling heat of embarrassment washed down my chest from his statement combined with that godforsaken wink. “How can you tell?”

“Oh, you have many tells.”

My heart raced from his accusation. Maybe it only seemed that way because he always turned me into a flustered mess on the defensive.

“I think your lying meter is off.” I crossed my arms, stubbornly.

The door opened before Reks could deliver the comeback dancing on the edge of his tongue.

We tore our attention from each other to who glared at us through the small crack they made between the door and its frame. A teenage girl covered in oil stains and a mess of pastel pink hair rolled her eyes at the sight of us. She spout off a vulgar curse. “Guess who decided to grace us with their presence! The no names.”