Page 99 of Her Tortured Beasts

For the first time, our destination is not in the city, but a property in a regional area, where the soil is red and the scattering of visible grass is crispy. Located practically in the middle of nowhere, we come to a gate topped with barbed wire, manned by four shirtless beasts with rifles resting on their shoulders.

The wolf in the passenger seat gets out to talk to them, the gate is quickly opened, and we’re waved through to a long, newly sealed road. It’s a ten-minute drive down the deserted, private road, with nothing but dry land on either side. Eventually, the empty land becomes decorated with more barbed wire, and when I spot what’s on the other side, I immediately know who owns this land.

A human-made river snakes along my right, and sunbaking along its bank is a long line of crocodiles. Huge, leathery-skinned reptiles, their powerful jaws slightly open as they warm themselves.

On my left, a mansion comes into view; it’s a white rendered brick palatial residence that reminds me of a delicate swan. There are wings that sweep out from the central building, tall and sloping roofs on the fourth storey. It’s clean and brand spanking new.

It makes it all worse to know this property has come from blood money. From the buying and selling of rare creatures. I’d seen enough from Scythe’s memories of the Collector to knowthat. She’s been doing this for over a decade and is very good at her job.

The car stops directly before the entrance, where the square door is already open on one of the fancy hinges that operate on a swivel from the middle of the door. Flores gets out of the car and I scramble to follow before the chain yanks on my collar.

“Welcome, Your Majesty!” The Collector’s silken feminine voice dances out of the house, and I straighten to see her gliding forth in a flowy green dress with long draping sleeves. Beside her, a servant carries a tray of crystal tumblers.

“Lady Crocodylus,” Flores says, stalking forward to greet her.

“Come in, come in, Your Majesty!”

We follow her into the house, where the air conditioner is on full blast and something sickly sweet perfumes the air.

“Will you stay the night?” The Collector says, gesturing to the servant.

Flores accepts his glass of lemonade. “I’d prefer a timely exchange.”

“Understandable.”

The Collector whips out her phone and calls someone I can only imagine to be her personal banker. Sure enough, she approves for ‘the previously discussed sum’ to be deposited into The Drakos trust account.

Flores answers his own phone when it rings. When he hangs up, he takes off the bangle around his wrist and hands it to the Collector. She accepts it with a silken smile.

As easily as swapping Pokémon cards, the deal is done.

“Lovely!” the Collector says, admiring her new bangle. “Shall we go on a tour? I wanted to show Aurelia what I have here.”

“I’m afraid I must return home,” Flores says, clapping his hands with finality. He’s reluctant to leave the estate for longer than necessary with no one to protect the hatchlings. “I hope tohear some happy news soon.” He turns to me, his eyes raking down my body. “Behave yourself.”

“She will,” The Collector coos.

Flores is gone faster than I would like. Somehow, without anyone from Drakos Estate accompanying me, I feel…alone. This is unfamiliar territory and The Collector studies me, tapping a long red acrylic fingernail on her chin. “Let me show you my pets, Aurelia dear. My family is rather large!”

We head back outside, the dust of the Drakos car barely settled before The Collector climbs into the driver’s side of an open-roof Jeep and ushers me into the passenger seat. A couple of her shirtless guards discreetly get into the back, and as I scent them, I realise they are roo shifters.

We don’t see them in the cities. They prefer to stay away from human populations and live out in regional and rural environments. It also explains the guns, because their only power is the ability to jump extremely high like they’ve got springs on their feet. So I’ve heard, anyway.

The Collector drives deeper into her property, where the artificial river continues behind that tall barbed-wire fence. Wind blows through my hair so hard I have to gather it up into a fist to keep it from becoming a nest. The sun beats down on us, and eventually, she comes to a stop, pointing at something in the river.

We climb out and she grins, gesturing to the water where I see them. A row of perhaps twenty crocs, deep in the water, the only visible parts of them being their eyes. I let out a shiver.

“They’re all mine,” she says proudly. “All purchased through my business. We have strict regulations on their cages, of course; wouldn’t want them all getting out.” She nudges me with her elbow as if this is a joke.

We stand there quietly for a moment, sweat trickling down my spine. If she’s trying to scare me, it’s hardly working. I’djust shift into a bird. The crocodiles stare at us in a way that’s unnerving, and it takes me a second to realise these are no regular animals.

I suppress a choke.

“You finally got it,” she murmurs almost intimately, running a hand through her bob. “Most of them are near rabid, but they listen to my commands. I’ve trained them to do so.”

A red flag goes up in my mind and an inkling makes my phoenix power rise to the top. My vision changes as the bonding plane becomes visible, twinkling strings stretching out from the closest crocs. I track them to their origin. One croc animus, larger than the others, eyes us with hard intelligence. Four strings lead from him. Three to crocs close around him and one?—

I stare at The Collector and the bond coming from the centre of her chest. She’s keeping her rex and her other mates prisoner here. What a psycho. I shake the disgust out of my head and the celestial bonds disappear.

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