Page 76 of Her Tortured Beasts

“That’s for her skin,” comes a female voice from one of the soldiers. “It needs to be rubbed in. Looks good under the downlights on stage.”

I am a jewel, after all.

“Here, I’ll do it,” says one of the other generals, stepping forward and eagerly removing his gloves.

“No, you’ll get your scent all over her,” Ghoul snaps, pocketing the oil.

Xander steps up behind my cage, reaches between the bars and expertly runs a brush through my hair, holding the strands close to my head when he hits resistance. He mutters darkly under his breath and I’m suddenly reminded of Lyle and how much he loved to wash and brush my hair for me. It was one of the ways he showed me he cared.

There is no one to care for me here. Only enemies.

The cold threatens to slip as a burning behind my eyes takes over all things. My throat closes up and my breathing quickens as the ball gag makes saliva flood my mouth. Ghoul notices straight away and reaches up to unbuckle the gag. A shadowreaches out, fingerlike but gentle, and wipes at the corner of my mouth.

At that point, a sharp knock comes at the door and the soldiers part as it’s opened. To my surprise, King Flores leads Lady Hyena, and behind him, Fabian Drakos.

“Uncle.” Xander shakes hands with him, and suddenly, I forget why I’m here. The entire room fades away underneath the shaking of those two hands. This is Xander’s family. His people. This betrayal not only belongs to me, but Scythe as well.

And I can’t handle that.

Hot, hot, hot, my body turns, cold icicles morphing into licks of flame. Time passes around me like sludge as Lady Hyena circles my cage, sprinkling something as she goes. Magic to prevent outside influences from reaching me while my magic is put out. Finally, she makes a satisfied noise, but I barely notice it. When everyone else leaves, Xander changes my silver shackles for obsidian magic-dampeners.

All I see are those powerful glowing eyes flashing in surprise at the temperature of my skin. “You fucking coward,” I hiss. “Howdareyou shake hands withhim. The one who hurt Scythe.”

A crease forms between Xander’s brows. “What?”

He doesn’t know.

The obsidian stone hums as it cuts off my power, taking all the anger and heat and funnelling it away. Even so, I’m still livid.

“Scythe never told you who won the auction for his virginity?” My shackles are in place, and Xander steps away from me. I stare him down, hard and brutal. “How could you not have known?”

Ghoul reaches up and shoves the ball gag back into my mouth.

When I can see him again, Xander is acting like I’d said nothing, looking at a pocket watch. “Ten minutes!” he barks. “And then we move out.”

The serpents all flinch at the volcanic boom behind his voice.

Chapter 42

Xander

Swan Lake, Op. 20, Act 2: No. 10 — Tchaikovsky

“There he is!” My father holds out an arm as I come into view of the open entrance doors where he’s pouring wine for a human politician. “My heir.”

“Good evening, sir,” I say, shaking the human’s hand. We’ve really descended into the gutter, inviting them here. I doubt the old geezer has enough money to compete with the other elite beasts. It’s all for show and networking anyway.

After as many handshaking and pleasantries as the darkness in me can tolerate, I slip away into the quiet and get out my phone.

Scythe had only given Savage and me whatever information we’d needed to do our work. He’d given us a list of names, people he’d directly seen to be involved in the skin trade. I had just assumed that included whichever creature had purchased him first.

Serpent Spawn is likely trying to unsettle me. Turn me against my family. But something about her particular kind of rage is flagging something in the back of my mind. There’s noway to verify the transaction, of course. The auctions are kept confidential and any electronic data is stripped and scrambled.

The only way to verify it would be to ask any person who was present or…

A gong sounds, soft but commanding, alerting the audience it’s time to find their seats and any bidders to assume their positions. Sighing, I head back down the corridor, hanging back from the crowd until they’ve all entered the auditorium. The light is dim, almost too dark for the humans to see, and somebody’s wife trips over her own train. The Mozart that plays over the speakers adds to the illusion of this being some certified, elitist event.

They might have money, but at the end of the day, these people are all trash. Dirt beneath a dragon’s feet, and my father would agree. We’re just here to take their money.

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