Page 13 of Her Tortured Beasts

“I am aware you prefer your eagle form,” Solomon says, hazel eyes boring into mine. He has a burst blood vessel in his left eye. I wonder if it’s from stress. “And we have a list of the beasts you can shift into. But your paternal blood is a king cobra. We’d like to see that first.”

I won’t lie, it bothers me that they already seem to know so much. Who told them what they know? Was it my father? I suppose it could have been any of the serpent guards at the school. Or students. Perhaps even Xander himself has told them all he knows.

Swallowing down the bile now creeping up my throat, I pretend the serpent generals are not suddenly leaning forward in their seats and nod, sliding back onto the table so my legs are straight in front of me.

Rolling the tension out of my shoulders, I shift, my world suddenly falling into darkness as my dress falls in and around me. I don’t hate my serpent form. On the contrary, it’s always interesting to be in a form that has no arms and legs. I’m one long band of powerful muscle, fast moving and fanged, the vibrations of the world humming in my brain. As I slither out of my dress and into the bright white of the room, I even get a little kick out of the fact that everyone’s attention is suddenly and completely fixed on me and my big reveal. I rear up, stretching out my upper spine and finding a satisfying height as I’m suddenly aware of the hood on either side of my head and the forked tongue that instinctively slides out.

The air tastes like metal, plastic, and serpent. Then there’s male sweat and my own blood in the vials on the bench outside. It smells like greed and excitement. I feel every boot and shoe tapping on the stone floor.

Someone takes a picture, and my head snaps towards it, my tongue snaking out again. Pens scratch on clipboards and Solomon steps forward with a tiny, covered container I recognise immediately.

“We’ll need to milk your venom, Aurelia,” he says, slowly and clearly. “Please extend your fangs.”

While his words are polite, his tone is an order, and the ancient instinct in me responds to the threat, my fangs unfolding from their hiding place as a lowhissssfills the air.

No one misses the large figure that rises to his considerable height outside. The serpents in the room stiffen as Ghoul stalks into our space full of languid, predatorial authority, his shadows licking around him like black flames.

“Move aside, I’ll do it.” That deep, commanding timbre vibrates along my scales in the most dangerous way.

“My Lord Basilisk?—”

“She could bite you, and then what?” Ghoul says playfully, wagging his finger like he’s talking to a favoured, but errant, child. “I can’t have a dead viper. We need you for a while longer yet, Solly Polly.”

He turns to me.

“Come here, little cobra.” Ghoul pulls up the bottom half of his mask, exposing the bronze skin around his mouth and drawn white fangs over a crazed smile. “Littlesnakelet.”

Curse my snake form because she willingly,eagerlyslides over to her basilisk mate.

Chapter 7

Ghoul

Nothing in the land of the living or the dead could have prepared me for the vision of my regina as she assumed her cobra form.

Sheer, utter,majesticperfection.

Something more than me pulled me to my feet and forced my limbs to move towards her. It’s in a state of ecstasy that I watch her scaled body slither keenly towards me, fangs bared in a latent threat.

“See?” I gloat, tossing a smirk at the team. “She recognises my authority.”

She hisses in annoyance and I grin wider, bringing up a shadow-covered hand to enclose around her neck. Her scales are cool and smooth, and the mating mark hidden under my shadows burns at the contact.

“That’s it, little snakelet,” I say, unable to help myself. “Hiss at me all you want, as long as you give me that sweet, sweet poison.” I turn towards Solomon and beckon with my first two fingers. The chief tiger snake passes me the clear cylindrical container, covered with a soft white cap. “Ready?” I stroke a thumb down her slender neck and lean down to whisper, “Give me everything, like a good girl.”

She hisses and strikes. I meet her just in time with the milking container. Her jaws open around it, sharp fangs piercing the plastic, and all that beautiful, dangerous venom squirts out. I watch in rapture, my eyes wide, tears gathering behind them. My focus is on her, only her as she expels the powerful liquid into the jar.

“Such a good snakelet,” I coo.You are perfect, I say into my own head.

She fills the jar twice more than a cobra has any right to before the flow stops, and it’s with great pride that I prise her jaws off.

I had intended to keep my thoughts to myself, but the snakelet slithers like a piece of delicious silk into my mind.

“You’re even crazier than Savage,”she says.

Her voice is like a balm to the rotten crevices within my skull.“Savage?”I muse.“That little puppy dog isn’t crazy at all.”

Mace is right about many things. But the one thing we agree on the most is that serpentsarethe superior species. And now, I practically have the snakelet all to myself.

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