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skidded off his cheek. Sure she’d caved his teeth into his mouth. Only brushed his chin. The man’s entire body seemed to be covered with oil.
    “Let’s call it a day, Missy,” he said, not a hint of strain or exhaustion in his voice.
    “Be my guest,” Azusa said with ragged breaths. Her spent body was equally in ecstasy. She could happily go to her grave like this.
    The man thrust out his hands in front of him. Azusa reflexively crossed her arms to parry. An icy cold sensation pierced her wrists and shot through her bloodstream.
    As she crumpled to the ground, Azusa felt her body again propelling her senses to even greater heights.

Chapter 3
    Everybody called him “Baron.” No one knew his real name. He didn’t know it himself. And yet the mention of that moniker alone would make many a man blanch and drop to his knees.
    There was one who didn’t. That man had his attention now, the giant in the room. His fame equaled his own. Siegfried was the handle he went by. Siegfried was the German name of the legendary Norse god. Legend had it that, drenched in the blood of a dragon, he became immortal.
    No one who saw him doubted the truth of the legend. The steel bench warped beneath his massive weight. He was ten feet tall and weighed over five hundred pounds.
    There was no telling what other skills he exercised with that massive frame, but it was equally likely that he was nothing more than a big, clumsy oaf wielding a ridiculous amount of power. And indeed, there wasn’t a scar to be seen on the hands or even the head jutting from the neck of the blue, short-sleeved T-shirt.
    Using that truck-like body as his chief asset, settling accounts on the field of combat without suffering a few bullet wounds and a laceration or two was hard to imagine.
    The reason was simple: he killed his opponents before they could injure him.
    That alone was not enough to unsettle the Baron, or the other three men in the room. They all believed in their heart of hearts that when the time came, they could consign to oblivion any foe who came at them.
    The white-haired old man, the midget, the man in the suit—they all possessed powers beyond the imaginations of ordinary folk. The Baron knew this better than most.
    But that wasn’t what concerned him about Siegfried.
    There was something off about him, not like the big men he’d met before. Today was the first time they’d met. They hadn’t spent even three hours cooped up in the same room.
    During those three hours, Siegfried had left the room twice. The Baron figured he had to go to the john. The first time about an hour ago. The second time thirty minutes ago. He was gone three minutes the first time, five minutes the second.
    The second time Siegfried returned, something was different about him. The Baron couldn’t say what and he couldn’t understand why.
    The one thing he did know was that the Siegfried who went to the john and the Siegfried who came back were different people. Though nothing about these two “Siegfrieds” appeared the slightest bit different.
    His forehead jutting out from the few strands of hair like a hard-boiled egg. The slits of his eyes. And for such a large man, the thin lips. The ropey sinews and boulder-like muscles covering his immense frame.
    And yet—something was different. Everybody there knew it too. Everybody kept mum. Some soul-stealing monster had taken a seat among them and nobody rang the alarm.
    The Baron got to his feet and stood in front of Siegfried. “The two of us need to talk.”
    He spoke in the voice of the dead, a whiff of air from a rotted sepulcher. And the smell as well.
    Nobody looked at him either.
    Siegfried’s narrow eyes peered down at him. Even sitting down, he was taller than the six-foot Baron. Perhaps he was a remnant of those giants spoken of in the Book of Genesis.
    “This way.”
    The Baron left through the locker room door. Siegfried followed after him, like a gust of wind sweeping through the room. A short