Jory Strong: Healer's Choice

It was different for the prostitutes who couldn’t change. Rebekka’s function in the brothel was a guarded secret known to few outside those connected to them.

A hard, cold fist wrapped around Rebekka’s heart, squeezing mercilessly, whispering in a demon’s voice, telling her that using her gift extended pain, allowed for the oily spread of human evil.

No! she told herself, slamming the door against the insidious doubt caused by Abijah’s words. What happened in Were brothels was no different than what she’d witnessed when she lived with her mother among human prostitutes.

“How long?” the bouncer asked again.

“I don’t know.”

He scowled and gave Kala a hard look. “I’ll be back in an hour if you’re not out on the floor.”

Kala shrugged, though the hiss of pain following it revealed that it cost her. The bouncer turned and left the room.

Rebekka placed her hands on Kala’s back again. Closed her eyes and resumed concentrating on the weave of flesh and muscle, the return of fur.

Time ebbed and flowed, meaningless except her strength drained away with it.

Exhaustion returned like pounding surf as she used the last of her reserves to mend the bone in Kala’s tail and close the gashes left by the whip.

She would have stretched out on the floor if the Lioness hadn’t guided her to the cot kept in the room for use after a grueling healing.

“Thanks,” Rebekka murmured.

“I’m the one who should be thanking you. Do you want a blanket?”

“I’m fine.” She wouldn’t be allowed to sleep long, but if she was lucky, it might be a while before another emergency arose.

Kala knelt next to the cot. Rebekka forced her eyes open. Like Feliss, Kala looked fully human from the front. She was beautiful and sleek.

And very interested in Levi, who worked as bouncer, guard, or bartender, depending on the need.

“Is he working tonight?” Kala asked.

Rebekka didn’t need to ask who. “No.”

Feliss was the only other person beside Rebekka who knew Levi’s brother had been held in the maze, and even she didn’t know Levi had also once hunted there, or that he’d played a part in today’s destruction of it. Like Cyrin, when Levi was a prisoner, he’d had the head of a lion. In human form, he was unrecognizable even to the brothel clients who also visited the gaming clubs and had once watched him on big-screened television sets.

“He’s working another job?” Kala asked.

“No,” Rebekka said, deciding she needed to tell Kala something or the questions would never end. “He’s in the woods but I don’t know where.”

“And Feliss? Is she with him?” It was said in a light tone, but the look in the Lioness’s eyes didn’t match it.

Only years spent among Weres kept Rebekka from reacting to the hidden menace with fear. “She’s in Dorrit’s lineup tonight.”

Kala’s nose wrinkled. Her lips pulled back in a show of distaste and disdain that was shared by all of the prostitutes who no longer had to work in the brothel catering to the lowest class of humans and Weres.

The Lioness leaned forward, the intensity of her gaze warning Rebekka she’d have to be careful not to let her body tell the truth while her words said something else.

“I heard a rumor today,” Kala said, whispering despite it only being the two of them. “I heard Levi intends to buy out Feliss’s contract and set her up somewhere as his little snack.”

Kala made a show of licking her lips.

“I don’t think the rumor is true,” Rebekka said, and thought she must have done a credible job of lying when Kala leaned back and cocked her head, then shrugged and stood.

“I’m glad. She’s prey and always will be. Bad enough he takes what she offers him, but for Levi to elevate her above the other females he mounts and treat her like a mate . . .” Kala’s lips pulled back once again in disgust. “It’s perverse.”

Rebekka closed her eyes as Kala left the room. Sleep descended, claiming her until she was roused by a bouncer from Dorrit’s house.

“You’re needed,” he said, accompanying her through the dungeon and then the passageway connecting the two buildings.

Rebekka heard drunken sobbing and pleading well before she reached the parlor. When she got there, two bouncers held a man between them. He was on his knees, begging for his life.

Dorrit stood in front of him, boar tusks and small black eyes in a round human face giving the impression of cold savagery. She lifted her hand, halting Rebekka and the bouncer in the doorway.

Gathered into the small space was a collection of other humans. Most were bleary-eyed from drink, rounded up from the bar and brought in to serve as witnesses.

Few of them were looking at the man. Instead they feasted on the lined-up prostitutes, stared with tongues darting out to moisten their lips as they fantasized about being able to afford sex that was more expensive than what was offered in the bar.

“The vice lord Allende is tolerant,” Dorrit told the kneeling man, receiving murmurs of agreement when she glanced around. “But this is your second offense.”

With a signal from her the prostitutes moved, parting in the middle to reveal a woman lying on the floor behind them, her body curled in a fetal position, her face a bloodied, broken mess.

One of the gathered humans vomited, spewing beer onto brown tile at the sight. Rebekka gave a cry, recognizing Feliss, but was stopped from rushing forward by the bouncer’s grip on her arm.

Dorrit turned everyone’s attention back to the kneeling man by saying, “The vice lord Allende is tolerant but a second offense can’t go unpunished. Put him out.”

The man began struggling then. Fighting in earnest.

Those brought in from the bar or pulled from the rooms moved deeper into the parlor, as far from the front doors as they could get.

Dorrit pressed her thumb to a pad. She was one of only a few who could open the doors once the locks were engaged at nightfall.

Unlike the humans who played in the Victorian clubs with names like Sinners, Envy, and Greed, the Were bouncers didn’t arm themselves with guns or wear padded protection to step out into the night. They threw the brothel patron to the mercy of the predators, lingered for a moment before stepping inside, doors closing and locks engaging behind them.

The humans who’d pushed to the back of the parlor rushed forward to enjoy the free entertainment. The Weres were less obvious, yet their eyes darkened and flickered with satisfaction, and more than one of them wore a hungry expression as outside feral dogs and wolves attacked, tearing and shredding and growling as they made sport of their meal.

Rebekka went to Feliss. Anger swelled inside her with the knowledge that the human whose screams ended abruptly died not because of what he’d done, but because he lacked the money to pay for the damage to Allende’s property.

A hand settled on her shoulder. Dorrit said, “You’re broadcasting your emotions, Rebekka. Wherever you’ve been these last few days, it hasn’t been good for you. It’s made you forget there are always eyes watching and mouths ready to spread gossip.”

Fingers dug in, adding to the warning. Rebekka looked up and saw a hint of compassion in the brothel madam’s face. Admitted, “I’m exhausted.”

“I’ll have Feliss taken to your room. You can take care of her there and stay to get some sleep unless the need for your services is urgent.”

Dorrit glanced at the unconscious prostitute. “Feliss can remain out of the lineup for the remainder of the night if she chooses.” A shrug said it didn’t matter. In the end, the debt owed Allende would be paid.

THE pack members gathered in the clearing, called there by the deep, coughlike roar of their alpha. Men and women and children slid silently from the woods, some in their jaguar form, most in a human one.