Several Kaplan and Báalam fought each other in full-shift and that alone was an awesome sight to behold. I'm not sure who was more beautiful; the striped Kaplan or the spotted Báalam. Both bore regal visages—sleekly furred and sharply toothed—and muscular limbs ending in wicked claws. Elegant tails lashed behind them as they leapt for each other in astounding maneuvers that any Cirque du Soleil performer would envy. I had a moment of comparing the Kaplan to Tigger—he of the bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy fame—before my mind registered the blood.
Lots of it.
Claws tore and teeth rent. Fur bristled. Predators tumbled and launched themselves so gracefully that the fight took on aspects of a dance. Except that this number wasn't choreographed and would likely end with several members of the company dead. Cat hides showed long gashes and limbs dangled uselessly already. But despite the damage, no one looked ready to surrender.
Slate strode to the edge of the catfight and roared. It wasn't like a lion's roar or even a dragon's; it was all Gargoyle. An echoing, grating rumble of sound that implied death would come to whoever disregarded it.
The cats fought on.
“Oh, hell no, they didn't,” Binx muttered. “They're fucking dead now.”
Kyanite— I started.
I'm telling you; stay out of this, my love, Kyanite reasserted cutting off my request for music. This is Zone business and Slate's pride has already suffered from recent hits. He will not thank you for your help.
Recent hits. Ky meant the battle with Gargo and the fight within the battle that Slate had lost. In the end, it had been Lucifer who exorcised Gargo's spirit from Poseidon. Slate had attacked Gargo and been knocked unconscious, which was bad enough but Lucifer coming to my rescue while Slate was down for the count undoubtedly stung. Kyanite was right; Slate needed this win. He needed to show his zone that he was still strong enough to rule it. And to prove it to himself.
I decided to stand down.
Slate shifted into Gargoyle form, destroying his clothes in the process. Shreds of fabric clung to his dark gray skin before fluttering to the ground. He stretched his shoulders again—now twice as broad—and his wings lifted with the movement. A powerful leap took him into the air. His barbed tail lashed out and down, chiseling a piece of stone from the street as he took flight.
Slate landed in the middle of the catfight.
Cat eyes of gold and green blinked as both Kaplan and Báalam drew back warily; not from each other but the Zone Lord. Slate roared again; his shoulders hunching in fury and his horns slicing through the air in warning. His claws extended—one arm stretching toward each faction—and his wings closed in along his back, preparing for attack.
The Báalam all took a knee and set a paw to the ground; a signal of surrender. Slate swung his head toward the Kaplan, baring his teeth as he did. But that brief moment of distraction had cost him.
“Slate!” I shouted.
Slate crouched with my warning and two Kaplans went sailing over his head. They tumbled upon impact and rolled upright, focusing on Slate instead of the Báalam behind them. The Báalam gaped at the complete idiocy of the Kaplan and drew back into the safety of the crowd. Slate's men—including Binx, who had shifted when Slate did—landed beside the Zone Lord, wings settling after their brief flight. They faced off with the Kaplan as the onlookers backed up, stumbling upon each other in their haste to make room. Their entertainment had just become more deadly but also, ironically, safer for them. With the Gargoyles replacing the Báalam, the ending was assured to come rapidly and with the least amount of bloodshed possible.
More Gargoyles came in for a landing, no doubt called in by Binx, but they weren't needed. The Kaplan were quickly subdued by Gargoyle fists. Even a Weretiger can't remain standing after being hit in the jaw by something equivalent to a sledgehammer. It took only a few moments for the Kaplan to be felled then the newly arrived Gargoyles set to work on cuffing the comatose men.
“Put them in a cell and let me know when they wake up,” Slate ordered as he headed back to me. “I'll leave you the Jeep, Binx.”
“Thanks, Bro,” Binx called after him. “That was fun! Good, quality, family time!”
Slate's lips twitched briefly into a smile then his stare settled on me. “Thank you for the warning.”
“Anytime, Zone Lord.” I grinned at him.
His thick arms slid around me and pulled me close. “Care to take a flight across the Zone?”
“A show and sightseeing? Will we be having dinner too?”
“Anything you want, sweetheart.” Slate swung me into his arms, crouched, and then took us into the air.
His leathery wings cracked open and caught the manufactured currents. I trailed a hand over the bulging muscles of his shoulder and back, laying it just above the joint of a wing so I could feel each powerful beat. This was Slate's song—this tribal pounding of wings that announced his dominance over the very air—and that made it one of my favorite melodies. Below us, the neighborhoods blended, losing their individuality until it all became one. Slate headed toward the end of the roughly rectangular cavern, and I glanced over my shoulder in the direction he took us. The Crystal Palace waited up ahead for
