Page 89 of Psycho Beasts

Cobra walked forward from where he was whispering something to Ascher (give a man a pack, and suddenly they’re all buddy-buddy) and sneered, “Legolas from the High Court, position 4444, said to alert someone that he was being held hostage in the, now very dead, fae queen’s prison. Also, Sadie, your memory is shit.”

My chest rattled as I growled at him.

Cobra hissed back.

Sun god forbid a girl have a slight mental lapse after fighting for her life against an evil ruler and being tortured. Also, I’d never claimed to be the brightest; my talents were elsewhere.

The don’s eyes glowed. “You are sure that is what he said?”

Cobra looked bored. “Positive.”

The don gulped, his Adam’s apple moving and distorting his neck tattoo until the O in “Loyalty” was stretched. “I will alert someone right away. You don’t want to mess with the High Court.”

“Who?” I asked at the same time as the men.

The don grabbed a handle of a door that was hidden in the darkness of the hall. “The people that rule over all the realms. More powerful than you can imagine.”

I gaped. The don’s long black hair swished behind him as he casually walked through the door like he hadn’t just obliterated my entire concept of how the world worked.

Legolas had talked a good game, but I hadn’t actually believed him. The man was an emaciated prisoner in a dungeon, for sun god’s sake. Who knew what those conditions did to a person’s mind?

“I’m gonna be sick,” I mumbled.

“No time for that. We have to survive,” Jax whispered under his breath, and once again Ascher placed his palm against my lower back, gently guiding me forward.

Cobra and Xerxes stood stiffly behind us.

The first thing I noticed was the noise: the eerie silence of the hall was replaced with a shrieking voice and loud, banging instruments.

The second thing I noticed was the towering ceiling.

The room was dimly lit and filled with neon-red lights and hazy smoke, and it reeked of cigarettes and sweat.

Did no one turn up the lights in this realm, and what was with the excessive smoking?

The third thing I noticed was the dozen fighting rings scattered across the floor. In between the roped-off mats, weights and barbells were strewn everywhere.

Alphas pounded each other with their fists, and loud cracks echoed as they broke bones.

Blood, sweat, and saliva flew.

There were a couple dozen alphas, all shirtless and either fighting one another or lifting massive amounts of weight.

The powerful stench of sweat overwhelmed the different alpha scents, creating a disturbing combination that reminded me of dozens of candles burning. If the scent of the candle was BO with musky undertones.

A voice yelled, “The don arrives!”

Abruptly, everyone stopped fighting or lifting and shifted into a wide-legged stance.

Heads bowed, arms clasped behind backs.

Someone turned off the screeching music.

I decided to not dwell on the glowing handguns tucked into the sweaty shorts of almost every alpha.

The don addressed the room, his voice harsh and commanding. “We have five new recruits. One of them is an omega, and one is a female alpha. They are all bonded to each other except for the female alpha.”

Way to rub it in.

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