Page 52 of Enticing Monsters

The woman’s hair is in disarray, and her cream-colored blouse is rumpled and covered in questionable-looking stains. Still, I recognize her instantly, and my blood runs cold, turning to cubes of ice in my veins.

She runs straight towards me, shakes my shoulders, and screams, “What thefuckdid you do to my daughter?!”

Queen Marianna.

Otherwise known as the woman who holds my fate in the palm of her hands.

Fuck.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

XANDER

“Isaidmove,” I hiss between my teeth, my fingers flexing as I stare down the FIB guard at the door to the hotel elevators that lead to the court rooms. “I am a fae representative and have every right to be here.”

It took me hours, and a substantial bribe to Gage’s mother that I knew would go straight to booze or up her nose, for me to find out that he had been hauled to the hotel under guard.

And that my own brother had been there to help.

Devyn is obsessive about doing his job, but he doesn’t always think things through. Gage is one of ours. Devyn may think he can look out for him in whatever situation they’ve found themselves in, but politics isn’t Devyn’s strong suit any more than they’re Gage’s. They’re both more likely to bluntly insult a lord or lady and be thrown in lockup for a month than anything else. He should have called me right away, given me the heads-up, and let me join them.

But not only did he not call nor give me a warning about whatever the situation I’m walking into is, he somehow managed to fuckingbanme from entering the court. Only the queen, the prince, or one of the princesses should have that right. Devyn is a scary-ass bastard when he wants to be though, so no doubt he leveled some serious threats in this guy’s direction.

The guard flashed a FIB badge at me upon my initial request, but I have no idea who he is, let alone his powers. He can’t be a high-level member or I would have run across him in the past or during my studies. In my position, it doesn’t pay to be surprised; unfortunately, surprises seem to be a main aspect of my life currently.

“This is a private matter,” the guy repeats in a dull monotone as though he’s reading off a script. “Authorized personnel only.”

“I am an authorized person,” I snarl at him, glaring into his flat, gray eyes.

His face may be as stoically solid as the Queen of England’s guards, but I bet that’ll change quickly once I use my shadows to string him up and make him bleed.

Sera will never tolerate one of her mates being kept away from her, and it’s my job to give her whatever she needs. There’s no way Gage did anything to warrant detention, let alone at this level, and a few words into the right ears will easily clear this matter up.

Besides, if I can’t free Gage, then V?—

No, I won’t think like that. The psychotic prince willnotdie. He’s too damn stubborn to allow the grim reaper to claim him.

“Last warning.” My words are ice cold, and I let my power fill me, shadows veiling me slightly, their cool, familiar weight pooling in my hands.

Lies. Danger. Lies. It’s coming.

The shadows whisper their dark, cryptic warnings into my mind, but I don’t bother asking for clarification. This aspect of my gift has always been more of a burden than anything else, creating a low level of constant, chronic anxiety from the dark unknown. They may give me hints of what to look for, of what is coming, but hints are the best they can manage. I frequently think of them as ghosts, lingering here but unable to see the whole picture, to understand space or time. They may attempt to help—or even hinder—but outside of being a presence, they are of little benefit.

“This is a private matter. Authorized personnel only.”

Fuck it.

Ignoring the fact that I’m mildly channeling Prince V, I wrap the guard in a cocoon of shadows, throwing him to the ceiling and attaching him there like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. He’ll still be able to breathe but not call for help or continue interfering.

I step into the elevator and press the button, watching the floors scroll rapidly by while I straighten my suit and smooth my hair.

Image is secondary only to power in our world. Those of us who mastered both are a force to be reckoned with. Appearing even the slightest bit frazzled is as good as baring my throat for a killing blow.

But god, I’m seconds from spiraling. Everything has gone to shit in a span of hours. The sky and land have exchanged places, and I no longer know which way is up and which is down. What Idoknow is that my mate is back at my apartment, attempting to heal a dying angel prince.

I heard Serafina talking to the others before I left—about bringing V to a hospital or kidnapping a healer or using her gifts on him herself—but I know it’ll be futile. The shadows whispered to me as we stood over V’s deathbed, their silky voices a dissonant sound.

Baku. Need Baku. Gage. Only he can heal.

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