“Hurry up,” Baikal snarled, loosening his fists. The needle buzzed behind him, the sensation of it pressing over his skin not enough to cause a real distraction and keep his mind off things. He’d chosen the design himself, and it was positioned over the back of his right shoulder. It’d be the only Shout tattoo he’d ever receive, considering there we no other living relatives who shared his bloodline, and he’d wanted it to be perfect.
“Does it feel any different from a regular tattoo?” Kazimir asked. He was standing the closest, somewhat off to the side so he could glance at both Baikal’s face and his back at the work being done.
Kazimir and he were cousins through marriage, and his stepmother, Baikal’s biological aunt, had passed years ago. Her ashes had gone to Sullivan since Kazimir wasn’t Shout and Baikal was only the prince.
In a way, now that his dad was gone, Kazimir’s mother was also sort of permanently gone as well.
“It’s thrumming,” Baikal replied after considering it. “I feel…Heavier?”
“Sullivan said that whenever he was inked,” Whim told them. “It’ll be a couple of hours until your body has adjusted to the new boost of power.”
“I advise you to be careful until then, Master Kal,” Chesh drawled. “We don’t need the brand new Dominus causing a riot in the streets his very first day on the job, now do we?”
“Keep the patronizing tone to a minimum,” Kazimir snapped. “It’s as you’ve said. He’s the Dominus now. You answer to him.”
Baikal smirked.
“Have the others been alerted?” Knave, one of Sullivan’s most loyal group bosses, asked Whim.
“I had the word spread already. Everyone knows who they bend the knee to now,” Whim replied.
“Was there pushback?”
“No. They may not have known Sullivan was sick, but they were aware he’d been preparing them for an exchange of power. He’d gone out of his way to make sure that was known.” Whim smiled softly at Baikal.
Everyone in the Brumal had assumed his father was planning on passing the mantel over to him upon his graduation. They’d joked that Sullivan was eager to retire and enjoy all of his money.
“Still,” Knave insisted, “some will be concerned they’ll be replaced.”
When power changed hands, that typically was the case. Baikal’s satellite would replace those of the old regime he didn’t feel suited him and the way he planned to rule. In preparation for this, however, he and his father had many long discussions. He’d been fortunate in the sense that he’d been able to get advice from his father before his death. One final lesson.
“With Kor handled, there’s one less person we need to worry about,” Baikal said. “Flix will take over as group boss of that area.” He turned to Whim. “I trust you’ll assist him with recruiting from the applicable soldiers.”
“Oh course, Dominus.” He tipped his head.
Baikal would be keeping Chen on, and Whim would assist Kazimir and help him adjust and learn what it meant to be a good Underboss. The exchange could take years, and he had no plans to dismiss the older man any time soon.
Berga would be his new butcher—the old one would, unfortunately, have to go. He was a slight and skittish man that even his father had begun to distrust. Better to take him out of the picture than risk him stepping out of line himself. Butchers were dangerous, most of them skilled in torture and learned in the biology of multiple species.
Like Berga, who was currently a fourth-year med student at Vail. He was top of his class and fluent in several languages—despite that no longer being necessary considering all the available translation technology. He also happened to have the blueprints of over twenty different humanoid species memorized by heart.
Sometimes, when he was bored, he even started sketching them out on whatever random bit of paper was available. He’d once done an entire skeletal drawing of a Noch on a diner placemat while they’d waited for their food to arrive.
“We are finished now,” Bow stated. The sound of metal chair legs scraping against the tiled floor and his grunt as he moved signaled the real end of the session.
Baikal stood and stretched. He’d been sitting there for close to an hour, something about the ritual or process needing that long and multiple rounds in order for it to take. Honestly, he hadn’t been paying attention because he didn’t give a shit how it worked, just that it did. As the new Dominus, he’d need to be strong.
“How’s it look?” Berga asked. He moved from where he’d been lying in one of the mortuary cabinets and came over to have a peek. He blinked and gave Baikal a funny look, clicking his tongue when suddenly Flix was there pushing him out of the way.
Flix saw it and let out a low whistle, throwing up both hands when Kal sent him a scathing look. “Your body. So long as you like it.”
“I’m the only one allowed to like it,” Baikal warned.
Berga leaned into Flix, but said loud enough for them all to hear, “I don’t think he’s talking about the tattoo.”
“No shit.” Flix rolled his eyes then sobered some. “Actually, this reminds me.”
“Not now,” Kazimir told him, but Baikal was already curious.
