A sequel to the Gun Princess Royale. Yanked off the streets of New Angeles by the tenebrous Pantheon organisation, and gifted with a deadly avatar known as a Diva, Nikola 'Sola' Raynar is a Lanfear - a huntress of Bloodliners and Wolvren. When she isn't hunting down the denizens of the night, she's busy finding ways to build up her nest egg for the day of her retirement from Pantheon. But when her rampant greed carries her a little too far, she finds herself in a mess that wasn't entirely of her own making. And things only get worse when the one who recruited her, the Goddess Aphrodite, decides to use Nikola to draw an enemy of Pantheon's out of the darkness and into the light.

Author's Note: This is a sequel to the GPR series, not to GPR Book Three. Gun Princess Royale is a planned 9 book series.
I am writing Remnant Fiestas and GRP in parallel to save time.

Recent developments have challenged a long-held assertion that Pantheon’s Furies are undefeatable. This belief has pervaded since the early ages when the Bloodlines relied on primitive means to combat them. However, the times have changed, and with it our ability to defend ourselves and our interests.
In contrast, Pantheon’s Furies have not evolved, and they continue to rely on medieval weapons to suppress and oppress both the Bloodlines and the Wolvren Clans. This is to their detriment, and newly adopted combat tactics employed by our elite Bloodliner kill squads, and embraced by the Wolvren pack hunters, have shown a statistically higher survival rate among our personnel. On one recorded occasion, a kill squad was able to defeat a Fury and briefly take the Aventis controlling it into custody. Unfortunately, the Aventis was recovered by Pantheon operatives before she could be interrogated.
Nonetheless, this marks a significant milestone in our ability to attack and defend against Pantheon’s Furies, while necessitating ongoing evaluation and evolution of our tactics for the successful apprehension of a Pantheon Aventis in the foreseeable future.

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The Century Tower was a looming, megalithic megascraper.

Its designers may have sought inspiration from the futurist film noir of the prior century because it was rather bleak and utilitarian on the outside, yet surprisingly luxurious on the inside.

Built atop the remains of Century City, its footprint occupied most of the old grounds, and it was one of the few mile high buildings in all New Angeles, and as such its upper floors were lost in the low-lying rain clouds.

The closest maglev station was a block away from the foot of the building.

Swept out of the carriage by an outflowing tide of passengers, I hurried to avoid getting swept back in by the throng that had been waiting on the platform. I weaved and sidestepped between commuters as I made my way through the station to a broad set of steps leading down to the street, then subsequently endured a hard slog through the crowded sidewalks before arriving at the entrance to the Century Tower, soaked to the skin by the incessant rain that swung between a misty drizzle and a pelting downpour.

I didn’t stop to admire the view of the building, but instead trudged up its permacrete steps to a set of glass doors and floor-to-ceiling windows through which I could see an elegant, opulent lobby that was enviably dry. I gained entry by means of a keycard given to me by my Handler, and by passing the facial recognition scans conducted by overhead security cameras.

Nobody inside the lobby challenged me, but I was given a fair share of dark, questioning looks by a handful of well-dressed people sitting in a nearby lounge area. Those behind the concierge’s desk and information counter also regarded me curiously. Ignoring them, I walked over to a bank of elevators, pushed the UP button, then waited a short while for a lift to arrive.

Obviously, it wasn’t my first time here, so I played it cool, though I was a tad embarrassed by the water dripping from my clothes and pooling around my feet.

Thankfully, a lift car arrived shortly and once inside, I made use of the keycard again.

Slipping it into a slot in the door panel, I was granted access to one specific floor out of five hundred – the floor where my Handler lived. Then the doors closed, and the lift raced up the building’s innards.

With no prying eyes except those of the security cameras, I couldn’t resist the temptation, and shook myself like a wet dog, splashing water about the interior, then I wrung Nikola’s long dark hair a couple of times. I left yet another puddle when I stepped out of the lift into a plush corridor with warm lighting and Navajo white carpeting and walls. This was the 455th floor and I knew my way about it too, so after a handful of turns down spacious corridors and hallways, I arrived at my Handler’s apartment.

I pressed on the door plate.

Unsurprisingly, the door opened without anyone asking who was there. After all, I was expected, and the apartment’s monitor AI would have informed the owner that I was at the door. However, when it opened to reveal a young man in his late twenties, wearing black summer trousers, indoor slippers, and a white shirt, while cradling something familiar in his arms, I gaped at him dumbfounded.

It took me a few seconds to recover my poise and to ask, “Why do you have my bot?”

Yes, it was Speedy in his arms.

Adding to my confusion, the flying saucer was wrapped up in a blanket like a baby recently delivered by a stork.

“It knocked on my balcony window,” he replied, then handed Speedy over to me. “It’s freezing out there at this altitude, so it had iced over. I had to warm it up by the heater.”

I looked down at Speedy in my arms, all snug and comfy in a fluffy, lavender blanket. “Speedy…I thought I’d lost you.” I bent over it and gave it a hug. “Please forgive me.”

“You left your bot out in the cold. How irresponsible can you be?”

“Huh?”

“Come inside. You’ll catch a cold in those wet clothes.”

Before I could retort, my Handler had turned away and walked into his apartment.

I growled at his back, but then followed him in with Speedy in my arms, grateful that I didn’t need to close the door behind me as it did so automatically.

“Greetings Miss Raynar.”

I blinked in surprise, then remembered the apartment’s monitor AI was watching over the place. “Yeah, greetings.” Then I sneezed.

“Miss Raynar, shall I prepare a warm bath for you?”

I was carrying Speedy, so I had trouble wiping my nose. “That actually sounds like a good idea.”

I then promptly sneezed again.

Making my way deeper into the apartment, I was soon reacquainted with how spacious it was. The living area alone was bigger than the entire apartment I rented in a megascraper far smaller than the Century Tower. Even the open kitchen was larger than my apartment’s living room. It was true that I could afford a better place, but saving money was a priority for me. That didn’t mean I was living in squalor. I just wasn’t living in luxury like my Handler who stepped out of the open kitchen carrying a steaming mug in one hand.

He stopped in the living area to study my appearance.

“You’re making a mess on the carpet.”

Tristen Fiori was somewhere in his late twenties. I didn’t know for certain since I knew little about him. He’d been my Handler for over a year – ever since Pantheon made me into the fraud I was today – and yet he remained a mystery to me, except for what I could see with my two eyes.

Leaving his suspected age aside, Fiori stood 5’11, had a svelte, swimmers build, and thick dark, curly hair that he wore at shoulder length.

The first time after Zen met him, she told me that Fiori resembled Jim Morrison from The Doors, and I had to agree there was a passing likeness. But in my book, Fiori had Morrison beat, and I’ll admit that saying that makes me feel weird inside because I’m not supposed to be into guys. However, for the moment, the Jim Morrison lookalike was staring at me reproachfully while I drip dripped rainwater onto his Mohawk carpet.

He casually waved his mug in the direction of the master bathroom. “Go and take a shower. You’ve got a change of clothes in the Cradle, right?”

I snorted softly. “I’ve got everything I need in there….”

Including a few other things that I wasn’t going to mention to him.

Fiori then waved his mug in the direction of a quaint looking oil heater resting alongside a living room wall. “You can put your bot over there.”

“You're treating Speedy like he’s a cat I neglected.”

“Then would you care to explain how your bot ended up knocking on my balcony window?”

I took a deep breath, then released it slowly as I relaxed my shoulders. “I took the train and forgot about it.”

Fiori shook his head slowly. “Why am I not surprised….”

He walked over to a three-seater sofa in his living room, then sat down. “Hobson, warm up the bath for our guest.”

I sneered at him when he wasn’t looking my way. “Didn’t you tell me to take a shower?”

“A bath would suit you better.”

“Yes, Master,” I mocked him, then placed Speedy on the floor before the heater. I patted the saucer’s hub. “Be good and wait for me here.”

The saucer briefly spun its rotors.

It made me think of a purring cat and that made me grin.

“Good, Speedy.” I patted it again before rising to my feet. “Keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t peek at me while I’m taking a bath.”

“No chance of that,” Fiori flatly remarked. “You’re not my type.”

With hands on hips, I frowned hard at him. “Of course not. You like real girls. Not fakes like me.”

He sipped the hot liquid in his mug with a calmness that got under my skin. “Go on. We have matters to discuss.”

Shaking my head, I headed to the master bathroom while muttering, “You don’t have to be such a prick.”

Closing the bathroom door behind me, I gave the 6-by-6 meter interior a quick look.

Almost all the facilities in the apartment were automated. This included the doors, lights, faucets, the kitchen appliances, and so forth, and the place was also furnished with servant bots to aid apartment’s monitor, nicknamed Hobson, in its duties. Hence, I wasn’t surprised to discover that a warm bath had been prepared for me. Instead, I was shocked or perhaps unsettled to learn it was a bubble bath.

At first, I thought it was Fiori’s doing, but then I rationalized the AI was probably treating me to a bubble bath as part of its programming. In Hobson’s photronic mind I was a girl, and the stereotype was that all girls liked bubble baths.

I started to laugh.

It sounded a little deranged, so I stopped myself with a hard slap that I instantly regretted.

And yet, Heaven help me, it was hard to say No to a bubble bath, and the thought of making Fiori wait appealed to me.

“Okay. A bubble bath it shall be.”

I took my time bathing.

Indulging in the warm water, I blew bubbles into the air.

When I climbed out a long while later, I patted myself dry, wrapped a towel around my head and another around my body, then summoned luggage from the Cradle that was delivered by a slender, metal tentacle. I changed into clean underwear, a less raggedy pair of Jeans, a black T-shirt, and a grey sweatshirt. It was all clothing I’d picked up on the cheap, but there was nothing wrong with it.

“That’s right,” I told myself. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Then I dried Nikola’s long hair with Fiori’s hairdryer before tidying up the bathroom, put my dirty clothes away in a laundry bin to be washed later, and sent my luggage back to the Cradle for safe keeping.

After checking my appearance once again in a large wall mounted mirror, I walked out of the bathroom and into the living area where Fiori was watching multiple news channels on wall-screen about ninety inches across.

He spoke to me without looking away from the screen. “If you’re hungry, you know where the kitchen is.”

“I’m fine. I ate already.”

I started walking toward a single seat sofa when I noticed a small service bot headed my way.

It was carrying a tray with beverages both hot and cold.

I threw Fiori a narrowed eyed glare but then Hobson said, “Mistress, perhaps you would care for something to drink?”

I couldn’t get mad at the apartment’s monitor for being thoughtful.

“Thanks,” I replied and took a mug of hot chocolate milk from the service bot’s tray.

After plonking my derriere on the sofa seat, I crossed my legs under me, and sat back to sip the hot milk.

Fiori glanced at me, frowned critically, but then resumed watching the various news channels displayed on the wall-screen.

“I’m here,” I told him. “So what is it you couldn’t tell me on the phone?” At a sudden thought, I teased him and coyly asked, “Or did you just miss me?”

Fiori narrowed his eyes for a heartbeat, but replied while his focus was still on the wall-screen. “Pantheon issued you a new assignment.”

I snorted softly. “You told me that much.”

“You’re going to back-up a team of Aventis.”

“What?” I mentally floundered for a few seconds, then sat taller on the sofa seat. “Why?”

“Does it matter? Orders are orders.”

I felt like grinding my teeth but fought down the urge. “Fine. Orders are orders. It sucks but I can live with it.” Taking a quick breath, I then asked, “Wanna tell me the rest?”

“Three Aventis have been put on executive protection duty. They’re watching over a Primogen Legate that’s drawn attention to himself and his family.”

This was sounding a tad familiar to me. “They’re protecting a Juicer?”

“And you’re going to back them up.”

Curious, I leaned slightly toward Fiori. “What are their ranks? Can you tell me?”

“A-Ranks. All of them.”

For a heartbeat, my chest tightened when I thought of Zenovia being an A-Rank, then I leaned forward a little more. “I’m backing up A-ranks? Three of them?”

Fiori nodded.

Definitely feeling uneasy now, I hesitated before wondering aloud, “What kind of trouble is a Juicer in that he needs Pantheon to protect his ass?”

“Not just him. His family as well.”

I blinked quickly. “Oh?”

“A Pureblood wife and two Pureblood daughters.”

“Is that so…?”

Slowly sitting back, I wet my lips while sinking into thought.

Being matriarchal, the Bloodlines placed enormous value on Pureblood females – girls who were born with the Blood Filial inside their bodies, having inherited the symbiote from their mothers. This was in contrast to girls who were Sired into the Bloodlines at a later stage in their lives, usually during their teenage years after puberty set in. In other words, they were girls who were born human but had joined a Vampire Bloodline when they ingested the Blood Filial symbiote into their bodies. While they too were important to the Bloodlines, it was the Pureblooded girls that were valued the most.

I drank hot chocolate milk from the mug, while taking a little time to organize my thoughts.

Actually, I was trying to sort through my anxious emotions.

Three A-Rank Aventis could take on a platoon of heavily armed soldiers with exoframes and power armor. A triumvirate like that was rarely deployed unless Pantheon intended to take down a Pride or a Wolvren Clan bunkered in a hideout. In a manner of speaking, it was a lot of firepower, but it was rarely used to protect. As I said earlier, more often than not, it was used to crush and obliterate.

I sipped more of the hot chocolate milk, then cleared my throat. “Tristen…why three A-ranks? What are they expecting to face? An army of killer cyborgs?”

Fiori stared at me in disappointment. “Killer cyborgs are illegal in New Angeles. And anyone caught with weaponized cybernetics who isn’t part of law enforcement will face a hefty fine and jail term.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t bring in killer cyborgs into the city.”

I was speaking from a lone experience, but it was enough for me to counter his argument, and Fiori knew it as well, judging from the solemn silence coming from him and the distant look in his eyes.

I lowered the mug onto my lap. “I mean, three Aventis together means that Pantheon thinks they’ll be up against some stiff opposition. Right?”

Fiori blinked and focused on me. “I can’t disagree with that.”

“So are they facing killer cyborgs or something worse?”

“I cannot say.”

“Can’t say or won’t say?”

His eyes narrowed marginally in reproach. “You know me better than that.”

I slowly wet my lips, tasting the chocolate milk on them, then swallowed quietly. “Then can you tell me what the Juicer did do that earned him this much trouble?”

“Officially, I don’t know.”

“Officially?” Confused, I raised my eyebrows at him. “What do you mean?”

Up until now, Fiori had been alternating his attention between me and the news reports. Now, he silenced those reports by waving a hand at the wall-screen, then turned his head to face me.

“The order came from Aphrodite’s office. When I asked them what kind of trouble the Primogen Legate was in, Aphrodite’s proxy told me not to worry about it.”

I grimaced weakly. “They said that?”

Fiori gave me a nod. “They did, and so I reached out to Laplace, hoping she might now.”

Hearing that name, I grew rigid on the sofa.

Marinette Laplace was one of a few dozen Triple-A Ranked Aventis in the continental United States. There was a rumor that she was centuries old, though Zenovia – the oldest Aventis I was friends with – could only confirm that Laplace was already serving Pantheon when Zen started her long career. Back then, Laplace was already a legend amongst the Aventis, but she gained notoriety running Black Ops for Pantheon, hunting down Bloodliner Prides in Mexico and Central America who were involved in the narcotics trade.

Today, Laplace led strategic operations up and down the west coast, and no Aventis carried out an op – whether officially sanctioned or not – without her knowing about it. However, while she controlled the Aventis along the western seaboard, she didn’t have a say when it came to Lanfears like me who received our orders from the top, and by that I meant the offices of the gods and goddesses of Pantheon.

One such goddess was Aphrodite – the one who made me into the girl I was today.

I relaxed my body with a deep, slow breath, then dipped my head at Fiori. “What did Laplace say?”

Fiori crossed his legs. “She wanted to know why I was asking.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“That unfortunately I couldn’t tell her why.”

“And then what happened?”

“She told me to get bent.”

I chortled and quickly covered my mouth.

In the meantime, Fiori drank down what remained in his mug, and then handed it over to a service bot idling nearby like a dutiful servant. “I thought you’d find that amusing.”

Lowering my hand, I sipped more of the hot chocolate milk in my mug, and after swallowing it down, I softly mused, “So then we don’t know what the Juicer did to earn somebody’s wrath….”

“Not from official reports. However, I do have other sources.”

“If you did that, why bother asking officially?”

He gave me another disappointed look. “Because it’s protocol.”

“Can’t you just do things the easy way?”

“This was the easy way,” he countered.

I sighed. “Then what did you find out—unofficially?”

After folding his arms and resting them across a knee, Fiori then leaned toward me. “Word on the street is that Primogen Legate Carlos Riviera nox Erebus is in a blood feud with a Primogen Consul of the Umbra Bloodline.”

I gave him a twisted, puzzled look. “A blood feud? In this day and age? Seriously?”

“There’s nothing surprising about that. Gangs and criminal groups actively engage in blood feuds.”

“I just thought the Bloodlines would know better.”

Fiori shrugged a shoulder. “This one has been ongoing for a long while. Decades, actually. It hasn’t escalated because Pantheon threatened to wipe out both Primogens and their immediate families. However, this time around, Pantheon has chosen a side. I don’t know why, and that does bother me.”

A chill ran down my back.

Wiping out a family branch wasn’t something I’d participated in, and I was hoping I wouldn’t have to. Whoever was responsible for those cullings must have had ice water for blood. Either that or their hearts were as black as coal. Truthfully, I couldn’t imagine what kind of Aventis could strike down women and children and simply treat it as part of the job.

Feeling an unpleasant knot in my chest, I swallowed a few times, then cautiously asked, “Do you think that Juicer paid for Pantheon’s protection?”

Fiori glanced away, looking troubled. “I’ve been wondering what he could have offered Pantheon for their services.”

“And?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged again. “And maybe it’s something I shouldn’t dig into.”

I sunk back into my sofa. “So what do I do?”

“Your job which is to provide backup to the Aventis assigned to protective Riviera.”

I tipped my head at him. “Define backup.”

He waved at the service bot waiting nearby. “Another long black.”

I watched the machine that was shaped like an ashtray can race away toward the kitchen, then I shook my head at Fiori. “You’re drinking too much of that stuff. I’m surprised you can sleep at night.”

“Who says I need sleep?”

I waved my mug around. “It’s your choice. But you haven’t answered my question. Define backup.”

“You’re to support the Aventis.”

“You said that already.”

“The Aventis are your priority, not the Primogen and his family.”

I blinked slowly, thinking he was pulling my leg. “Say that again?”

“The Aventis protect the Primogen and his family. You protect the Aventis.”

Again, I blinked slowly. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

“It’s not something I’d joke about.”

“Why?”

Fiori arched his eyebrows at me. “Why what?”

“Why am I protecting them?”

“That I don’t know, and not for want of trying to find out.”

Fiori accepted a cup of long black coffee from the cylindrical servant bot recently returned from the kitchen. He blew gently across the top of the steaming cup, before tentatively sipping the coffee.

I waited for a while, giving him the opportunity to taste the freshly brewed blend before bluntly asked, “Don’t you have any guesses?”

“None that I can speak of.”

His equally blunt reply both surprised and concerned me. He wasn’t saying he didn’t have any guesses, only that he couldn’t tell me about them.

“Why the Hell not?” I complained.

“Because I don’t deal in guesses. When I have something concrete, I will let you know.”

“Tristen—”

“I don’t have anything for you.”

I swallowed, bit down an angry retort, then moderated my reply. “Tristen, I need to know what I’m up against.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them slowly. “Nikola, it’s late. You should get some rest.”

Turning off the large wall-screen, Fiori rose from his seat, then padded barefoot out of the living room.

Watching him leave, I felt bitter and resented him for treating me like a nagging, clingy girlfriend.

But I was also uneasy, unsettled.

Fiori wasn’t one to wear his emotions on his sleeve, so I habitually resorted to using his lifeforce aura as a window into his feelings. The roiling, murky patches I saw smearing his aura painted a grim picture for me – that of a man facing a significant internal struggle – and I worried over what could be forcing him into such a corner.

Yet I also questioned why I cared.

Looking down at the cooling chocolate milk in my cup, I sighed softly, unwilling to face my own heavy, twisted feelings that swirled around within my chest.