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Dust kicks up amongst the tent flaps, cast into movement by steady footfalls trekking the well-worn trail through the big top. Silent form stalks past poles and stored equipment, massive hand pushing apart creaking metal as large frame slips between rusted doors, plunging into darkness of hidden passages below. A maze of passages, a few sets of doors, a path memorized by muscles and mind alike.
Large hands part the final gate, a small room full of buzzing monitors and dim lights swallowed by predator’s eyes. Standing alone in the center lies a silhouette, hands wrapped in silk curled around a glass as sharp eyes narrow in disdain at the screen before them.
At the sound of the second, the man speaks, voice drowned in honey and lined in velvet pouring from sneering lips, emerald irises never leaving the screen.
“The rest have gone?”
The man looming in the doorway stalks forward, sharp sapphire eyes never once leaving his charge as his voice, low and rolling like distant thunder from beneath an ivory mask, answers.
“The last left an hour ago. They’re riding out to the Priestess’ temple for further instruction.”
Julien huffs softly, pulling a long sip from his glass as he feels his guard’s presence drawing nearer, the slender dancer shifting his arm up as the other wraps thick arms around him, heavy head coming to rest on padded shoulders. Julien reaches back without a glance, silken hand cupping the guard’s chin, pointing his head to the largest monitor, displaying a feed of two riders tearing down a freeway, motorcycles shadowed by the dim light of the moon.
“Look at him, Hound. Back from the dead, welcomed with open arms.”
Hound cocks his head to the side, burying his nose against the man’s neck as sharp azure takes in the scene, his arms tightening around Julein at the dripping resentment in the other’s voice.
Julien continues, gesturing to the screen.
“It is pathetic. The mouse has taken his side, the Council has given him a full pardon. He’s allowed to walk those streets with no care in the world…”
The dancer sighs, rubbing his temple in frustration. Hound’s hand trails up, wrapping around the offending wrist, drawing the hand to his masked mouth and pressing hidden lips to the back. Julien glances back, a smirk dancing on his mouth as he takes another sip of wine, watching the display. After a deliberate swallow, his voice rings once more.
“Where are your knives, vike vieryra?’
Hound’s eyes glint, hands tightening around the dancer as he presses a trail of covered caresses down the other’s neck.
“Sharpened and sheathed, vike xyno.”
A smile laced with malice creeps onto wine-stained lips as Julien’s hand comes to rest on Hound’s cheek, stroking over rough cloth.
“Bring me his skull, carno. I find myself needing a new wine glass.”
Hound all but snarls, eyes glinting as he moves his hands to Julien’s hips, squeezing them as he presses the edge of his mask against the dancer’s cheek. Julien’s eyes flicker to the hunter, eyes narrowing with twisted pride as he cups the man’s chin, pressing his nose along the other’s cheek, gaze flickering back to the screen.
“Avenge Diir Lumn. I want it bloody, clera? Give him what he left us.”
Hound’s mask pulls taunt over hidden grin, hands trailing up to wrap around the dancer’s arms, predator’s eyes tracking the figures racing down the street on the screen.
“On your call, xyno.”
Julien hum softly, tapping his fingers against his chalice as he leans into the larger man.
‘Now, vike kali. J’deaver del-eht.”
Hound laughs, a hunting call deep within his chest.
“J’deaver del-eht.”
The man echoes, stepping back and turning to the door, silent steps carrying him forward, murder in his eyes. As the gate creaks open, Julien calls over his shoulder.
“Hound?”
“Yes, Jules?”
Julien pauses, draining the final drops of liquid from his glass, a wicked smile on his lips.
“No witness, no mercy.”
A low hiss of approval meets the words, and Hound pushes past the metal doors with purpose, set upon his task like a wolf on the scent.
Julien slinks across the room, picking up his flask of wine and pouring his glass half-full, humming a marching tune as he takes a sip, nodding to himself as he moves to a beaded entrance along the walls. As emerald eyes flicker back to the screen once more, tracking the motorcyclists as they park outside a row of flats, gloved fingers come up to trace along the thin, clean scar edged along his throat, silk brushing over raised tissue, mimicking the blade that caused it.
“You escaped death once, Veilwalker. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
With the promise pledged to the quiet air, Julien turns on his heel, stepping through the clinking curtain into the darkness beyond.