Alone Chapter 19 - 2

Sampson closed the door behind him, leaving only the Furies and Viktor in the room. The presence faded from Cesare as Animus walked away from him. "Looks like we'll be meeting with the Mistress tonight."

Shocked at the casual tone, Anastasia stared at him. "You've no idea what just happened, Animus gave you his word he'd kill for you. That word binds every member of Cerberus to come to your call." She stopped, eyes drifting back to the door in disbelief. "I've never heard of them giving anyone a blank check. He's all but made you one of his brothers."

Alexandra shifted, face filling out into its human lie. "Only the Three have that kind of control. They've never shared that authority before." She stared at Cesare. "Never. Not since the time of their creation or in the throes of the Vindicta that came after the Cleansing War have they given any one authority over their dogs."

Uncomfortable under their eyes, Cesare turned back to the weights. "What's given can be taken away. It means nothing."

A hand gripped his shoulder, gently turning him to face Anastasia's dark eyes. "It means everything, Cesare. Animus is an immortal, one of only a handful in the world, and he gave you control of his men. That's not nothing, it puts you on the map as a person with influence."

"For a damnati." Cesare's twisted smile acknowledged the truth they all knew. A gutter punk with an army was still a gutter punk. "If I remember right, he gave his word to all of us."

Laughing lightly, she squeezed his shoulder. "I think he did that more for you than us. Animus was putting them at your disposal, I'll use the actual words to impress the alumni, but I'm not stupid enough to think he'd let me command his dogs." Shaking her head, she leaned forward, hot lips scorching his in a kiss. "He might have come here to agree with the deal, but something pushed him to give you what he's never given anyone before."

Alexandra stepped to his side, her hand reaching hesitantly for his hand. "When an Immortal changes a pattern they've held for centuries, the world notices and so should you. He marked you as a man worthy of leading his dogs, that's not something you should dismiss."

It meant everything to the vampire, it was proof she'd made the right choice in giving herself to him. Alexandra had sworn to be his weapon, she'd placed her honor in his hands, his actions would bless or curse her. The oath Animus had given him graced Cesare with a piece of the immortal's glory.

While he agreed with the girls on the oath's importance, he wasn't taken in by the man's word. There were precious few events where Cerberus being there would have helped. It was more likely, the man was looking for a way to get exactly what Alexandra was after.

To use him. Alexandra believed in him, but that faith came with expectations. If he failed, she'd cut the cord and let him fall. He wasn't under any illusions that if he teetered on the razor blade, she'd follow him into the darkness. The sorrowful truth that honed itself along his soul, was that he wouldn't want her too.

Animus was no different. The creature was betting that Cesare was a weapon it could aim and let lose. It knew Cesare would never let anything hurt the people he loved, not without going at them with every bit of death he could beg, borrow, or steal. All Cerberus had to do was step aside. Animus had insured that none of his people would get in the Furies way, opening the way for the other predators to take up the hunt.

A crooked smile slanted across Cesare's face. Smiling, the girls were focused on what the backing of the dogs meant for their plans. For Cesare, it was more about what the backing would cost them. Animus had locked them into a battle with his enemies, they'd never believe the Furies were neutral, not with Cerberus openly backing them. The Furies had lost any chance at choosing sides.

They left him outside Viktor's class, the girls buoyant with the possibilities that had opened. This was a huge boon, and they were deep in planning how to squeeze every drop of blood from it. In this at least they were more alike than either wanted to see.

Anastasia would subtly reach out to the alumni, letting them know the Furies had gained the allegiance of a global group of militant Umbrae Lunae. No longer was it only Kali and the Scythians backing the Furies. Now, another Immortal had come out of the shadows, declaring his support for the fey group. If Cesare knew the akatharton, she'd put it in such a way as to make them think they'd be left behind if they didn't declare soon.

It was easier for Alexandra, all she had to do was wait for the news to hit the street. This was what she wanted, to be with someone who moved from strength to strength, a leader destined for great things. The vampire was looking for the next Genghis Khan, she wanted a titan, not a man. It was that illusion she truly served, not the flesh and blood boy from nothing.

The weight of their expectations, demands, and needs ground against the shards of his soul. They demanded so much, he could only let them down. Cesare could never be what they wanted, his face of lies was always on the edge of cracking, a pane of glass piled high with bricks, cracking with every breath of air. Trying to be better than you are is still pretending to be someone you weren't, it could only ever end in shame.

Walking into Tamlin's room, the wild yellow eyes of the wolf captured him. Without knowing when our how, he was before the sable thing, hands buried in its luxuriously soft fur, hiding his white skin in black midnight. The wolfs presence bloomed in his mind, without thought or expectation, devoid of hope or dreams, totally in the moment.

The weight that rode his shoulders, that pushed against his sanity in every moment of every day, dropped away. It was his very own rock of Sisyphus, no matter how far he pushed it up the mountain, he still had eternity to go. Precariously unsteady, it was always on the edge of rolling back and crushing him. It wasn't a threat; it was a promise of an end.

The wolf cared nothing for the past or the future, it was enough he was here now. It didn't care about his success in the game of monsters, there was no prestige beyond father. Honor, fame, money, where meaningless to the wolf, illusions the two legs used to hide from truth. It cared only that Cesare stayed.

"How goes your plan?" Tamlin asked quietly from behind him. The concern in the man's words was unwelcome and intrusive in this moment of easy acceptance.

Cesare looked at the man flatly. They'd gone over the plan, looked at the angles and broken it down. It wasn't a good plan; it was just his only chance. Noting the look, Tamlin continued quietly. "Work with the Muk Yan Jong."

Cesare regretfully let go of the wolf, walking softly to the wooden man. Sparring and technique wouldn't help him, this was about one perfect strike. From a dead stance, to a blow that could rupture the carapace of a monster.

Closing his eyes, Cesare steadied himself, the trick wasn't to force the world away but to let it flow through him. Thoughts skittered along the edges of the moment, demanding his attention. Worries slithered at his feet, slimy scales leaving smears across his calm. Anxiety built in the hidden depths of his mind, waiting for the time to strike.

The mind was the first and final warzone. Only when it was serene was the body at its best, stress, worry, anxiety, hope, and need, corrupted the purity of movement. Every emotion activated muscles in the body, sometimes they saved your life, tensing your body in a car accident or jerking you out of the way of a bullet. But speed and perfection needed the pure expression of none thought.

Coolness spread through him as the moment shaped itself around him, a predatory silence permeating the rational thing he used to be. Bursting into a strike, his fist hit the wood with an explosive crack.

Relaxing back, he waited for the moment to reform before repeating the strike. This wasn't about speed or strength, it needed to be more than that, birthed in their wombs but more than its parents. He couldn't just hit the bug hard, he had to hit it exactly where he wanted, with life destroying power.

To master his force, owning the army of weapons and casual violence of body and soul. Every muscle, tendon, and ligament was his. Focusing volatile elements into one shot, turning a bomb into a rifle. Mastery came when existence transformed from a scattered cloud, to a diamond point of violence.

Deep in the trance, he fell through levels of consciousness, pulled into the currents that wove around his soul, spiraling closer to his core. The golden scales of the Kundalini rustled around him with the dull red sun of the root chakra shining over them. Dry as a desert, its scales heated at his touch, the serpent responding to the unification of man and soul.

Thoughts, emotions, individuality, drained into the abyss, each drip smoothing out the hard planes of his technique. Time moved at a different pace when you were deep in yourself, thoughts were ghostly things that disappeared, half formed and unreal. The world wasn't a complicated place, nothing mattered but the now. No worries could intrude in this moment of stillness, only the hard crack of his fist against wood, and the coiling body of the Kundalini marked out the time.

Surfacing slowly, he was aware of the still presence of the wolf in his mind, watching, waiting, content. Asking nothing, it gave everything it had. It was strange that he'd come to count on the animal's silent support in the face of every challenge.

Hitting the floor, his body shook under a tsunami of sensation, no longer held back by the trance. Muscles ached, knuckles bleed, sweat streamed down his back and slicked his shirt to his body. A low, raspy gasp burned from tortured lungs.

He'd been working on this one thrust day after day, hour after hour, week after week, but even if he had years to perfect it, he knew there was no way it would be ready. It wasn't a far-fetched plan, it was an impossible one, but so much of his life had been a gamble one more wasn't worthy of note. If he rolled snake eyes, his problems were over. Granted, he'd get a whole host of new ones, but nothing was perfect.

Tamlin had disappeared sometime while Cesare had been working, but the room still held a cold bucket of water with soap and a towel. Sun streamed in from the windows, setting the hard wood floors to an inviting warm brown. Dust motes wove through the beams of sunlight, giving the lie to the cleanliness of the place.

Stripped of comfort, and wholly dedicated to the art of surviving, it was a good place. Cesare hadn't only learned to fight here, no, he'd learned to keep going when he was down and broken, to pick himself up because no one would do it for him. He'd learned a lot in this place, and if he was lucky, he'd learn more.

With a last, regretful caress, he left the midnight wolf in its spot of shade. Opening the door, he stared at the two groups waiting for him, the weight of the world crashing down on his shoulders with merciless force.

Alexandra and Anastasia had taken up spots bracketing Tamlin's door. Stepping out into the hallway, the girls moved to his side, facing the others with him. Elizabeth stood in the middle of the hallway, holding the line between the Furies and the rest. There was only one person in the school that matched her power, and they weren't here.

Sampson straightened when Cesare appeared, eyes threaded with something too primal to read. The encounter between Animus and Cesare had changed the fighter on a fundamental level. Whether that was good or bad was anyone's guess.

The round teacher from before stood beside Sampson, shrunken into himself, he didn't raise his eyes from the floor. If Sampson was forged anew by events, the teacher had been broken by them. But then, Sampson hadn't been the one to trying to break his word.

Separated by an expanse of wall from the others, Jerold stood with Sarah beside him. Dressed in a coal black suit with a pale, ice blue tie, Jerold's eyes locked onto Cesare with an almost audible click.

Sarah's caramel skin was the perfect complement to Jerold's albino white. A simple dress of soft blue added an elegant touch to the woman. Sharp brown eyes looked over the various groups. Sarah wasn't like her boyfriend; careful and crafty, she wasn't about to start a fight until she knew the players. Jerold wasn't dumb, but he was a fighter and saw things with a fighters eye. Instead of fighting him head on, Cesare had forced the man to fight in the world of poisonous words, shifting alliances, and ambition.

Sarah wasn't like him, she understood relationships as one born to it. Girls didn't get in fist fights; they weren't brought up being able to take a punch. Their fights were with sharpened words, dark alliances of mutual need, relationships binding them into something stronger than its parts. Jerold might be lost, but Sarah would grasp the dynamic easily.

"We're doing this now?" Cesare asked dryly.