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A rhythmic knocking broke through the music, and he willed the door open. “What’s up, Fritz?”

The butler came in carrying a silver tray. “I took the liberty of preparing a repast for you, master.”

Fritz put the food down on the low table in front of the couch. As he lifted the top off a covered dish, Wrath caught a whiff of herbed chicken.

Come to think of it, he was hungry.

He went over and sat down, picking up a heavy silver fork. He eyed the flatware. “Man, Darius liked expensive shit, didn’t he?”

“Oh, yes, master. Only the best for my princeps.”

The butler hovered as Wrath focused on getting some of the meat off the bone with the utensils. Fine motor skills were just not his bag, and he ended up picking the leg off the plate.

“Do you like the chicken, master?”

Wrath nodded as he chewed. “You’re damned handy with the stove.”

“I’m so glad you’ve decided to stay here.”

“Not for long. But don’t worry, you’ll have someone to look after.” Wrath pushed the fork into what looked like mashed potatoes. It was rice, and the stuff scattered. He cursed and tried to marshal some on the tines with his forefinger. “And she’ll be a hell of a lot easier to live with than I am.”

“I rather like looking after you. And master, I won’t prepare the rice again. I’ll also make sure your meat is cut up. I didn’t think.”

Wrath wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “Fritz, don’t waste your time trying to please me.”

There was a soft laugh. “Darius was so very right about you, master.”

“That I’m a miserable son of a bitch? Yeah, he was a perceptive one, all right.” Wrath chased a piece of broccoli around with the fork. Damn it, he hated eating, especially if someone was watching him. “Never could figure out why he wanted me to come stay here so badly. No one could be that starved for company.”

“It was for you.”

Wrath narrowed his eyes behind his sunglasses. “Really.”

“He worried that you were so alone. Living by yourself. No real shellan, no doggen. He used to say that your isolation was a self-imposed punishment.”

“Well, it’s not.” Wrath’s voice sliced through the butler’s gentle tone. “And if you want to stay here, you’ll keep the psych theories to yourself, got it?”

Fritz jerked as if he’d been hit. He bent at the waist and started backing out of the room. “My apologies, master. It was grossly inappropriate of me to address you as I did.”

The door closed quietly.

Wrath leaned back against the sofa, Darius’s fork gripped in his hand.

Ah, Christ. That damn doggen was enough to drive a saint crazy.

And he was not lonely. Never had been.

Vengeance was one hell of a roommate.

Mr. X eyed the two students sparring with each other. They were well matched in size, both eighteen years old and built strong, but he knew which one was going to win.

Sure enough, a side kick came out fast and hard, putting the receiver on his back.

Mr. X called an end to the match and said nothing more as the victor reached out and helped the loser struggle to his feet. The show of courtesy was irritating, and he felt like punishing them both.

The first code of the society was clear: That which you put on the ground, you kicked until it ceased to move. It was just that simple.

Still, this was class, not the real world. And the parents who were letting their sons dabble in violence would have had something to say if their precious children came home fit to be buried.

As the two students bowed to him, the loser’s face was brilliant red, and not just from exertion. Mr. X let the class stare, knowing that shame and embarrassment were important parts of the corrective process.

He nodded at the victor.

“Fine job. Next time you bring him down faster though, right?” He turned to the loser. He passed his eyes from the guy’s head to his feet, noting the heaving breaths, the tremble in the legs. “You know where to go.”

The loser blinked rapidly as he walked over to the glass wall that looked out to the lobby. As required, he stood facing the clear panels, head up high so everyone who entered the building could see his face.