Page 43 of Her Psycho Beasts

Xander

Trying to ignore the fact that Aurelia just showed every male in the warehouse her bare naked be-thonged ass, and kicked herfire-engine redthong at Scythe, who caught it on pure reflex, then pocketed it, I turn a critical eye to her shift.

I’ve seen her shift multiple times, into different creatures, but never into a mythic beast. The myth of the Boneweavers is well known to me. It was one of the bedtime stories my mother and uncles used to tell my sister and me as hatchlings. All a Boneweaver had to do was touch a creature, and they’d have the power to turn into it.

And here it was, legend turned into reality before my very eyes. She shifts like she enjoys it. Like the snap of bones and sprouting of feathers feels good to her. That Boneweaver heart beats faster, and there is no fear in her scent. Only…joy. Olive skin morphs into blue-tipped crimson feathers, long raven black hair disappears into a crown of blue.

I restrain a shudder as my dragon salivates at the sight of her, spreading magnificent wings, tilting a delicate head back and letting out a sound of pure delight. I was expecting her to mimic Damien’s form and emulate his colouring and physique.

But I realise this is something much worse.

This isherversion of a phoenix.

I half expect her eyes to be that of a serpent’s—slitted and yellow. Instead, they are the same bright blue that marks her for what she is. It’s looking at them now that makes me realise how stupid we all were for not seeing it in the first place. The difference. Theotherness.

Damien shifts back into his human form with a swift crunch of cartilage. He gapes at her, stepping forward, apparently at a loss for words. For once.

The Boneweaver girl potters back and forth on her claws, twisting the ends of her wing this way and that as if amazed by the feel of herself.

Next to me, Scythe is not breathing and Lyle’s heart is hammering like some kind of war drum, no doubt fighting his animalistic urge to grab and mount her.

A whisper of bending limbs is all the warning I get before she launches into the sky on a powerful downward thrust. It’s swift but unusually graceful.

Lyle would probably say she looks angelic, with those colourful wings stretched out, sweeping down to propel herself towards the highest treetops. But it’s not until the sunlight catches her body that her plumage turns into living fire. She wheels around the perimeter of the gym, and even when we lose sight of her between the branches, a red-gold light reflects off opposing branches, making it look like she’s setting them on fire.

Damien laughs. It’s a shrill, hacking sort of sound that grates along my ear drums like nails on a chalkboard.

In fact, this entire thing grates along my being like nails on a chalkboard. This feels like something that shouldn’t be allowed. This feels like a power no one should have. On what merit does the spawn of a serpent deserve to have this ability? On whatmerit does the spawn of a serpent deserve to have such power given to her on a platter?

I glance at Scythe and snarl in disgust as his upturned face stares unblinking at her. My bond-brother’s aura is usually locked tight, a skin of black and white and nothing much more. But now something new flickers at the edges of his impressive body.

He glances at me, seemingly remembering himself.

“That’s enough, Aurelia,”he projects to her mind.

It’s only due to their new agreement that she obeys, immediately banking and wheeling down in wide circles as if delaying her inevitable touch-down. The muscles of my own shoulders bunch in some kind of disturbing solidarity and I command them to stop.

She stretches out her wings as she comes down, backflapping to gentle her landing. I’m so disgusted by all of this that I choose to look at Damien instead—so shocked that he’s forgotten to put his clothes back on.

His golden eyes glimmer, and I can practically see the wheels of his mind turning as his eyes rake across her body. The guy is certifiably cooked.

Lyle stalks, picking up his regina’s strewn clothes and covering her from view. He stands with his arms crossed like her personal bodyguard. She breathes hard and grunts as she shifts back into her human form, the cadence of her heart and lungs deepening as her body grows and elongates. Scythe turns his back to her, presumably to give her privacy.

“We will be leaving this evening,” Scythe says, his hand noticeably in his pocket.

Damien’s head turns towards Scythe, but his eyes take longer to follow. “Very well, very well,” he says absently.

“Put your clothes back on,” I say with heavy disapproval.

Damien’s face twists and he opens his mouth to admonish me, but I’m already walking out of the jungle gym, reaching into my pocket for a joint. I’ll need a couple if I’m supposed to cope with the ordeal tonight.

The evening air is almost chilly as I present myself on the roof of the animus dorm where everyone is waiting.

“Took your time,” Lyle growls, zipping up his black hoodie.

I survey them all to the sound of the Backstreet Boys in my ears. Scythe is wearing his usual business shirt and slacks, because he’s never aware of the cold. The snake spawn is tucking her expanse of dark hair into a purple beanie. It makes her shining mating mark clear for me to see and I hate her anew.

Marduk is inspecting the luggage, dressed in a woollen black trench coat, the gold rings on his fingers sparkling under the moon.

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