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She blinks up at me and mouths, “I’m sorry.” “Bring her.”Ī guard hauls Aimee away from Crystal. Seth swivels his head toward the media counsel. Either you agree to slaughter the governor, for the world to see, or I’ll kill a certain perky but pesky human.”įrak. In a mocking voice, he explains, “You, in all your Lion king finery. “Now I’m giving you a choice.” The demon slithers to confront me, nose to nose.
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The coalition teams were dispatched five minutes afterward. I wish I could let Aimee know that the werebirds dropped the knockout gas over the woods ten minutes ago. I glance at Leander’s showy watch (8:28 P.M.). Neither cares enough about their children for the offering to rise to a sacrifice.” “Alas, I refused Leander’s offer for the same reason I would have refused Boreal’s. Fake white architectural columns have been positioned in a semicircle in front of an ocean-blue cloth backdrop. “How noble!” Seth takes a sweep around the stage. One of their armed guards moves forward from the back of the room to threaten her into silence. “Will you keep talking? For freaking eternity?” I spread my arms wide. “Am I supposed to wax your scales? Polish your horns? Shovel your demon poop?” “When you say ‘offer,’ what’re we talking?” I want to know. All he asked in return is that I publicly renounce my claim to weresnake identity, release the governor of Texas, and abandon the Homo deific.” Seth announces, “Earlier today King Leander Gloucester of the Werelion Pride sent an emissary offering you, his bastard son. “Clyde Gilbert.”Īt my name, Aimee exclaims and Crystal scolds, “Hush.” Leander had a stance? “I have a human-form identity to protect.” I position myself, feet planted shoulder-width apart, arms crossed over my chest. “I see you’ve reconsidered your stance against transformeaze.” “Good evening, Leander.” Seth slithers in from stage left. Shouldn’t somebody be paying attention to me? Not to be a diva, but, hey, I dressed up. She’s positioned between Boreal and Crystal (I recognize Crystal by the huge furry boobs and the baby.) To my right, I spot Aimee seated behind a media console. It’s like they’re toys that somebody forgot to wind up. They’ve been given a Transformeaze injection and are being controlled with brain chips. I’m flanked on both sides by a huge variety of werepeople frozen in mid-shift. No one in the crowd reacts to my entrance. The underground sprinkler system kicks on to water the lush green grass and wildflowers. The grounds are softly lit by wrought-iron lanterns hanging from wrought-iron posts. The wind carries dozens of shifter scents. My arrival does nothing to calm them down. They’re huddled against the far side of their enclosure. I turn at a fenced-off pasture of skittish draft horses and donkeys. I stroll along the front walk, beyond the golf carts for shuttling guests to their cars. That’s when I hear it: “Every day in every way, we will contribute to the profit margin of Homo deific.” It’s muted, rising from somewhere between the parking lot and the river. There’s no bellhop to open my door or take my keys.
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Moments later I cruise by a spa on my left, a restaurant to my right. Two steps later, she wobbles and keels over. They can clock over thirty miles an hour. In the rearview mirror, I spot a werejavelina tossing Leander’s bumper to the side of the road. I’m not supposed to look like I’m in a hurry. According to Noelle, this car is worth more than half a million dollars. The private resort road is narrow and winding.