Page 57 of Her Tortured Beasts

A log cracks and both of us look at it as he continues. “It is imperative that we do not leave the estate without a male. It will be a good chance to…introduce yourself.”

Reintroduce myself, he means. “Of course.”

“After your little display during your nuptials, you’ll have to make a strong impression. Clearly, nothing I taught you as a child has stuck.” He sips again, boot swinging in the air. “You’ll have to take the pet with you.”

“That makes a strong statement?” I ask dully. There’s a portrait of himself above the mantel. Shirtless, in his prime, our tribal tattoo rippling down the muscles of his left arm. I remember when I’d had mine done. It had been the morning after my first shift. So proud, I’d been then to share the same markings as my father.

“If the only thing she’s wearing is our collar, it definitely makes a statement.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose as my dragon roars in my head again, I nod. “Right. Right. Property and all.”

“Yes, you must be on high alert. They will test you. Do not embarrass me and this family.”

My stomach twists. “Of course, Father.” I’m ready to slash my claws through the stone wall of this very room. “I won’t let you down.”

He makes a sound I can barely hear, which is just as well because it was probably rude.

I bid goodnight to Father, feeling worse than before. Swinging a hard left to the closest window, I open it and jump right out, shifting as I do.

Bones grow massive as I fall, wings explode out of my shoulder blades, and all I know is the deep-seated burning release that feels even better than coming. Finally.Finally.

But where before my dragon stretched happily after a shift, tonight, every drop of rain only increases my irritation. Every beat of my wings fans the fire of this never-ending rage.

They can probably hear my roars in the closest town.

Chapter 32

Ghoul

“You look excited,” says the General Death Adder in great disgust as he takes the wheel of our Serpent Court Jeep.

I chuckle under my breath as I fasten my seatbelt.

Crime lord meetings are sort of like family reunions. There’s food, jealousy, posturing, lively arguments, and someone occasionally loses a body part. I don’t have a family after all, so it’s all in good fun and I quite look forward to them.

Thisone in particular, I’ve been counting down the days on a special colour-coded calendar on my phone. There are apps for these things.

We arrive at The Jewel of the Jungle in style, as Serpent Court always does, under a pleasant spring sun, the scent of venom and roses in the air. Our noble king is guarded by two generals in his Rolls Royce, one Jeep at the front with me and Mamba and the second Jeep at the back with two other generals.

A family trip. I even packed extra towels.

I leap out of our car, beating Adder to Mace’s door so I can open it. The shorter general flashes a dark look my way and I grin with my fangs.

Mace extracts himself from the car, unfurling to his full height a few inches below me. Today he wears a deep emerald green trench coat over his black shirt and slacks. An unusual bit of colour for a spot of celebration.

“Right on time, Your Majesty,” I pipe. “Ten minutes late.”

He nods absently, his mind on important matters. Some of the others are already here, parking their vehicles, their guards smoking out the front. In daylight, The Jewel loses its glamour only a little bit. After all, it’s who’s sitting inside that makes the place what it is.

Mace lopes inside with three of the others. I stay outside, monitoring who’s coming in by lighting a cigarette and leaning against the wall by the entrance. I flash my fangs at a couple of hyena grunts who scatter away as I approach and take up their spots.

Mentally, I count everyone off. The Clawsons are already here, and I’m kicking myself because I didn’t get to see Titus debut his new hardware. But that’s okay, there’s plenty more fun to be had. Lady Hyena arrived first to ward the area, as she always does, paranoid little thing. The falcons are present by the smell of metal in the air because they’re always loaded with the best weapons, useless as their power is.

The screech of a Ferrari makes me grin, and it’s not long before the Collector sashays in on leopard skin with two muscled roos flanking her. She pauses before me and I tap my cigarette so ash lands just shy of those expensive, heeled boots.

“Careful, Lord Basilisk,” she coos, “or I’ll make you pay for it.”

I offer her a cigarette straight from the packet and she takes one, allowing me to light it. She takes a drag and exhales smoke towards my face.

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