Page 6 of Her Feral Beasts

“He says that likehe’snot currently human.”

Scythe, my brother by blood, says nothing and strides past me to the back of the shop, brushing at the shoulder of his crisp black designer shirt. Scythe has his quirks, and I have mine.

But Xander is wrong. I haven’t been ‘human’ in a very long time.

We both follow Scythe past the dressing rooms and through a curtain in the storage room. There’s a narrow staircase leading into a dimly lit basement area.

I grunt at Scythe and he silently holds open the curtain, allowing me to do my thing. Passing him with a smirk, I sing a happy tune, making sure I stomp loudly down the stairs.

“Little birdies, little birdies…the wolf is ready to play.”

Chairs scrape in the room below as their occupants jump to their feet. Someone lets out a shout just as I leap over the railing and land in the room with jazz hands.

“Round-a-bout a round table, five birdies, about to pay!”

There are five eagle males in human form, ranging from thirty to fifty, now standing around a table scattered with official-looking documents, wax seals and all.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” a younger one of them shouts. His hand goes into his pocket, but I’m on him in a flash, leaping across the table right for his throat. I grab him by his gel-crispy hair and sink my teeth into his throat just enough to draw blood.

He screams.

“Drop the gun, you fool of a bird,” Xander drawls as he steps into the basement. Even with my chicken tucked under his arm and the cords of the white headphones hanging from his ears, our glowing-eyed dragon looks scary as fuck.

Eagles are useless in a fight. Their power is healing, so a lot of them carry weapons. This one sets the handgun on the table, whimpering under my teeth. The vibration of it tickles and I suppress a laugh.

Scythe steps out of the shadows of the staircase, and the eagles pin their gazes on him. They take in his silver hair, his sky-blue eyes, and the five lines of ancient marine script on the left side of his neck. The alluring scent of terror fills my nose.

I breathe it in like a sweet perfume and it makes me growl with pleasure.

Even if they don’t recognise the signs of his order, they all know who my brother is. Those of us beasts who walk in the darkallknow who Scythe Kharkorous is and what he does.

Scythe turns to the eagle on my left, a middle-aged guy with a black receding hairline and pale skin that’s happily familiar. My brother’s voice bears his signature rasp—a predator made into something worse. “Good afternoon, Dirk Halfeather.”

“Y-you should be dead,” Halfeather stammers.

I chomp down on my prey. Blood bursts in my mouth as I tear out his throat and throw him to the floor, where he thrashes like a fish. I swallow most of the blood, but the crimson liquid of life spills down my chin to my bare chest, mingling with the dried blood already there.

This is why shirts are useless.

Two of the eagles shout, and one of them reaches for the dying eagle, but I bare my teeth at him and, wide-eyed, he bows his head in submission.

“Good boy,” I say, though my wolf-voice is almost too guttural to be clear.

Scythe pulls out a chair and sits down. He leisurely takes out a cigarette from the old-fashioned metal case he keeps in his pocket and lights it with a silver wolf lighter I gave him for Christmas.

He blows out the blue smoke. “No. Not dead. Instead, the two guards at your door, and this eagle, are dead.” Dirk Halfeather blanches. “But this is not the price of breaking your agreement with me, Dirk. May I call you that?” We all hear Dirk’s audible swallow. “Please,” Scythe says mildly, “sit.” He indicates to Dirk’s chair.

The eagle on the floor finally stops twitching and the four remaining birdies follow the order to take their seats. Xander pulls up another chair and sets Eugene on his lap. I’m too wired after this kill and settle for prowling the underground room to inspect it for anything interesting. There’s nothing much in here except that table in the middle and a set of couches deeper in the room. I smell a female eagle and women’s perfume—from last night, most likely. There’s a glass cupboard of whiskey and other spirits in the corner, along with crystal glasses. A place for business deals and female fun.

Dirk blubbers, “Mr Kharkorous, please, this is all a great mis—”

The temperature of the room suddenly plunges. Ice crystals spread across the walls and I grin as Scythe points his cigarette at Dirk. “Do notlie to me, Mr Halfeather. I do not tolerate liars.”

Halfeather snaps his mouth shut.

Scythe takes a drag from his cigarette, and the eagles all follow his movements with extreme acuity. He has a voice that violently demands attention, and I even find myself keenly listening in. “I learned the art of business deals from my father. He would have been your age by now, Dirk, but you wouldn’t have run in the same circles, of course. One time, he was negotiating the price for a valuable…product. I would have been twelve at the time, but I watched it all quite closely. They couldn’t agree on a price. My father wanted a little over a million. They couldn’t afford it, but still wanted it. The meeting ended, and that night, those beasts came tostealthe product. Now, that wouldn’t do, and not five minutes later, we had three eagles lying without their wings on our doorstep. My father took their net assets and considered the matter settled.”

“‘In our world, Scythe, we take what we want and we don’t look back’, he said to me. Now you,” Scythe says, gesturing at Dirk, “are forcing me to look back. And I don’t like that. I have no time for that. Halfeather estate is mine.”

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