The lieutenants snapped to attention so fast it was almost comical. Skarg looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Halphas had the decency to look slightly sheepish. Andras, for the first time, lost his smirk. Bune's third head gave a final, wet snarl before retracting back into his body with a grotesque squelching sound, leaving the two remaining heads looking flustered and mortified, his butler's coat now in tatters.
Bune was the first to speak, his two heads stammering in unison. "Captain Marchosias! Sir! My deepest apologies for the… disturbance. These… these idiots will be disciplined, but the human-"
"My paladin hunt," Marchosias said, his voice a low, deadly rumble that vibrated in Zac's very soul, "was called off because of a priority alert. I was told my new, vital strategic avatar had arrived."
His gaze swept over the scene: the trashed office, the splintered furniture, his brawling lieutenants, his butler having a psychotic episode, and finally, the small human huddled behind his ruined desk.
"Explain to me," he growled, his hand resting on the pommel of his longsword, "how this… is a priority."
"He is the one, Captain!" Bune's Right Head insisted, pointing a claw at Zac. "He bears the President's Seal!"
Marchosias's gaze sharpened, his eyes locking onto Zac with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.
"Out," he said, the single word carrying the weight of a death sentence. "All of you."
The lieutenants, who moments before had been ready to murder each other, practically tripped over themselves to exit. Nock gave a final, formal bow. Halphas just nodded curtly. Andras offered a lazy salute. Bune scurried out, already muttering about damages. But Skarg hesitated at the door.
He turned back, his jaw set stubbornly. "Captain. I found him. In my own territory. I brought him in." He thumped his chest with a massive fist. "The commendation for securing Ose's chosen is mine."
Marchosias didn't even look at him. His amber eyes were still fixed on Zac. "You are naked, Skarg."
Skarg's ears flattened. "That's not the point! This is important! We haven't had direct word from the President in over a month, and then this one just appears out of nowhere! It means something."
Marchosias finally turned his head, just enough to pin the wendigo with a cold, dismissive glare. "Your observations are noted. Now it is none of your concern, Furfur. I will discuss the matter with the avatar."
The name hit Skarg like a physical blow. A low, wounded growl rumbled in his chest, but the fight went out of him. He gave Zac one last, long, possessive look before turning and stalking out of the room. The ruined doors slammed shut behind him.
The silence that descended was thick enough to choke on. It was just Zac and the wolf.
The Captain of the Broken Antler warband, the weary wolf with the impossibly hot beard, turned his full, undivided attention to Zac. And Zac, for his part, could do nothing but stare back, his mind a blank slate, his newly-pacified heart now hammering out a frantic, unfamiliar rhythm against his ribs.
The silence stretched, heavy and absolute. Marchosias walked over to his desk, nudging a shattered decanter aside with the toe of his boot. He moved with a quiet, deliberate grace that spoke of immense power held in perfect check. He righted his heavy, high-backed chair, the legs scraping loudly on the stone, before sinking into it with a weary sigh that seemed to carry the weight of centuries.
He steepled his fingers, his massive, claw-tipped hands looking strangely elegant. He stared at Zac, his amber eyes analytical, searching. For a long moment, he didn't speak, simply observing. Zac felt like a strange new specimen under a microscope.
"The President's Seal," Marchosias said finally, his voice a low rumble. "And the power of Deception itself. Ose has not granted such a gift in a millennium." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "He must have great expectations for you. Tell me, little avatar… do you even know the nature of the weapon you now wield?"
Zac, still feeling the phantom thrill of his heart's frantic rhythm, pushed back against the wave of intimidation. "He said my lies would ring true. I'm guessing it's some kind of super-charisma?"
Marchosias offered the barest hint of a smile, a slight twitch of the scarred muzzle. "It is more than that. You do not merely make others believe a lie. You weave the lie into the fabric of the moment. For a time, your words become a kind of truth, at least, for the person you've lied to. A powerful, and exceptionally dangerous, tool." His gaze sharpened. "And the calm… the stillness in your heart. You feel it, yes?"
"I'm not scared, if that's what you mean," Zac admitted. "It's… weird."
"It appears Ose thought it a necessary shield." He sounded less like a general and more like a weary scholar. The sympathy Zac had glimpsed earlier was back, a softness in his tired eyes. "Ose has made you a perfect instrument of deceit. I wonder to what end."
Zac found himself relaxing, just a fraction. This wasn't the ruthless dictator he'd expected. This was someone thoughtful, intelligent. And tragically, devastatingly handsome in a wolfman kind of way. He let his gaze wander from the intelligent eyes to the strong line of his jaw, the way the black coat framed his powerful shoulders…
"Is there something on my face?" Marchosias asked, his voice laced with a dry, unexpected amusement.
Zac's face flushed hot. "Just… want to remember who's in charge, sir." The lie was smooth and nearly automatic but he felt something cold on his tongue as it passed.
A low chuckle, rumbled from the wolf's chest. He rubbed a hand over his face, a gesture of profound exhaustion. He seemed to find Zac's presence… disarming. A strange novelty in a life of brutal routine. It was in that moment, as his guard lowered, that he seemed almost sweet. A gruff, tired, but fundamentally decent man burdened by command.
"The chaos you've brought," Marchosias murmured, more to himself than to Zac, "it is… a complication."
It was then that he reached out and rang a small, ornate silver bell on his desk. The chime was unnaturally clear. An impish creature with skin like cracked leather immediately scurried into the room, bowing low.
"The paladin prisoners from the morning's skirmish," Marchosias said, his voice suddenly flat, all traces of warmth gone. "Execute them. Have the quartermaster process the meat for the troops' evening rations. Their souls are to be rendered for the forge. We are running low on holy temper."
"Yes, Captain!" the imp squeaked, and vanished.
Zac's stomach turned to ice. The sweet, tired wolf was gone. The ruthless monster was back. He had almost forgotten. He had let the handsome face and the weary eyes fool him. They were demons. All of them. And he was in Hell.
Marchosias seemed not to notice Zac's internal crisis. The order given, he slumped slightly in his chair, the brief flicker of energy he'd shown now gone, replaced by a bone-deep weariness. He gestured vaguely toward the door. "The maids will see to your quarters. You will be tested and you will be utilized. While you are under my roof, you are my asset. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Captain," Zac said, his voice hollow.
"Good." Marchosias picked up a pen, trying to focus on a map, but his movements were slow, sluggish even. His head began to droop before the demonic house keepers could lead Zac off. The massive wolf caught himself once, twice, but the battle was lost. His head dropped onto one massive forearm with a soft thump. He was asleep.
Zac stood there for a long time, his mind reeling from the whiplash. The handsome, thoughtful commander. The casual, brutal butcher. The exhausted man, asleep at his desk. They were all the same person.
The heavy door was a wreck, but the iron bolt was still visible. He heard someone, probably the maids, slide it home from the outside after a brief, horrified assessment of the damage. He was locked in. With the Captain.
He was bone-tired. He tiptoed over to the couch against the wall, its worn leather looking like a slice of heaven. He carefully lay down, the cushions sighing as they took his weight. He curled on his side, watching the sleeping wolf.
'This is insane,' he thought, his head spinning. One day in this place and he'd already mentally undressed a caribou, a lion, an owl, an eagle, and now a wolf. A two-headed dragon was waiting in the wings. His libido was apparently the one part of him that had died and gone to heaven. He couldn't wait to get his own room, lock the door, and have a very long, very thorough… debriefing....
No wonder he'd ended up here.
His last coherent thought before sleep took him, as he listened to the quiet, rumbly snores from the desk: 'This is going to be the best afterlife ever.'
-
The dream came in hard and fast, like a blizzard that forgot to knock.
Whiteout. Ice in his lungs. Snow up to his knees and climbing.
A bellow rolled across the tundra and Zac looked up.
Skarg stood thirty yards away, monstrous, beautiful, antlers crusted with frost, breath steaming like dragon fire. His eyes glowed arctic blue.
"Run, little fool," the wendigo rumbled, voice echoing inside Zac's ribs. "If you want to be chased."
Zac's grin was all teeth. Hell yes he wanted to be chased… and for what came after the chase... he had read that kind of story countless times.
He bolted.
The snow barely slowed him (dream physics were kind). Wind screamed past his ears. Behind him, hooves thundered, closing the gap with terrifying speed.
Then arms like frozen steel bands wrapped around his waist and lifted him clean off the ground. Skarg's body was a furnace against his back, fur coarse and perfect, heartbeat pounding through both of them.
Zac melted into it, tilting his head back against a broad chest. "Hey, handsome."
Skarg stared down at him, intense, almost confused. The stare dragged on. Zac's pulse fluttered. He tried to play it cool, but those eyes were stripping him down to the soul.
Skarg blinked. Shook his head like he was waking up.
Then he dipped his muzzle for a kiss-
A polite cough rang though the storm and Nock stepped out of the blizzard in full dress armor, holding a bouquet of black roses the size of dinner plates. "Unhand him, you oaf. The avatar deserves courtship, not caveman tactics."
Before Skarg could snarl, Andras melted out of the shadows of snowflakes, plucked a single rose, and twirled it between his talons. "Amateurs... Why are you so enthralled with this human."
Bune's twin heads materialized next, both holding clipboards. "I propose we decide what order we we take!"
Halphas dropped from the sky like a meteor, wings flaring, laughing his ass off. "Fuck your alphabet, I called shotgun!"
Zac, still dangling in Skarg's arms, raised both hands. "Guys, guys, single file, there's plenty of-"
"THAT'S ENOUGH."
The blizzard froze mid-snowflake.
March stood in the center of the storm, coat whipping around him like a living shadow, eyes blazing gold. One clawed hand pointed at Zac.
"Mine."
The dream cracked like thin ice.