Page 10 of Her Tortured Beasts

The person I’ve not seen since the fateful day I left this house.

Adjacent to the hatchlings, rising from her seat at the end of the table, is my mother.

She looks more frail than the last time I saw her. Her long, graceful figure is adorned in a heavy velvet green dress that seems to weigh down her ballerina’s frame. Her face is pale white with perfectly applied makeup, the blush doing the heavy lifting to brighten her appearance.

“Xander!” Mother chimes. Her hands sweep outward immediately, welcoming me in. Welcoming me home. Something in my chest explodes in a shower of gold as I stride towards her and take her into my arms.

She rests her head on my chest, holding me tightly as I hold her back, kissing the top of her dark hair, the length of it neatly coiled into a bun at the nape of her neck.

“How I have missed you,” she sighs.

I swallow. “I’ve missed you too.”

A vibration courses through her body.

“Are you cold?” I ask, drawing back to feel her forehead with the back of my fingers.

“Always worrying over me,” she smiles indulgently. “My handsome boy.”

“He’s not a boy,” comes a deep voice from over my shoulder. “And your doting will spoil him yet again.”

The spark in my mother’s green eyes fades just a hint and she averts her gaze down. I’d shared those eyes with her once. Her hand takes mine as she guides me to the seat adjacent to hers.

“Good morning, Father,” I say mildly.

“Good morning, Heir,” he says formally, sweeping his long burgundy jacket aside as he takes a seat at the head of the table.

I also take mine, but not before snapping my wrist to retract the golden chain from Spawn. I jerk my chin at the right-hand corner of the room. “Sit over there.”

Chapter 6

Aurelia

Suppressing a mad scowl after Xander greets his family, I lope towards the corner of the room he indicates, dutifully sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Somehow, this is far worse than being simply locked up in a cold, dark dungeon like I imagined. They didn’t subject Sabrina to this sort of treatment, from what we gathered from her story when she’d been kidnapped and brought here. I suppose the Boneweaver is a special case.

Here by fucking choice, and I feel like I need to keep reminding everyone of that fact.

Sighing under my breath, I survey the table with great interest. This is Xander’s family. The people he tore my soul open for.

His Royal Majesty, King Flores Drakos, sits stiff-backed in his gilded chair, his acerbic scent of smoke and burnt things lingering in the air from his entrance. I’ve met him before, once at my tribunal for Halfeather’s murder, and a second time when they came to the academy and tried to take Lyle to prison. Even if I hadn’t seen him those times, being king of dragon court, his photo is everywhere. On the news, on the TV, on social media. An imposing, handsome man in his early fifties, he haslong, straight, jet black hair like Xander’s, almond-shaped bright golden eyes, and perfect, pale skin. He’s dressed impeccably in a black shirt and slacks, with the long burgundy overcoat decorated in gold embroidery. He eats his breakfast of bacon and eggs with sharp, impatient strokes.

What on earth made a dragon like him stand in league with my father? What drew him to plot alongside Serpent Court? This is one of the things I have to find out.

The other two adults at the table I am even more curious about, having never seen or heard hide nor tail of them. I had no idea Xander had a sister, as neither Savage nor Scythe had ever mentioned her, but I can only presume that’s who the young lady sitting with the children is. She’s a stunning, delicate young woman, in her late-twenties, her long black hair worn straight down her back, a clip of gold and rubies keeping it off her face. Her slender frame is covered in a powder blue sundress trimmed with lace and on her feet are matching designer kitten heels. Next to her sits a little boy and girl, no more than eight, cherub-like faces sneaking side-eyed looks at me as they eat their breakfasts. They are dressed in formal clothing, a white lace dress and yellow vest for the girl, and a three-piece blue suit and shorts for the boy. Both wear long white socks up to their knees, and shining gold buckled black shoes.

Sitting at the end of the table, with her back towards me, is a wisp of an older woman. While she’s tall and well-boned, she has barely any muscle on her frame, and moves with the delicate cadence of a person with little energy. My avian power stirs, curious, wanting to explore, to help.

“Uncle Xander!” cries the little boy. “My bacon looks like a snake!” He holds up his fork, a length of bacon hanging off the end as he wiggles it.

For the first time since I’ve known him, Xander smiles where he sits opposite the boy, his pale pink lips curving into a genuineexpression of joy. “So it does, Emmerson. A good thing that snakes are perfect for eating.” Xander spears his own bacon with a fork and wolfs it down with relish.

“Do not play with your food, my sweet,” says Lady Drakos in a delicate, hoarse voice. Emmerson expertly cuts into his portion, eating it as if carefully taught.

Something in my heart bleeds a little, because it hits me then.

That Xander’s mother is the only mother my pack has—hadleft. And Xander’s sister is the only sibling left. None of us—Savage, Scythe and Lyle—have a family outside of our mates. It’s just what we have in this room.

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