Page 5 of Enticing Monsters

“I heard the pigeon over here lying. I don’t like liars.” V glares over at the boy still curled up on the ground.

I vaguely recognize him, despite the dim light and his bruised, swollen, and bloody countenance. I don’t think I ever spoke to him, but I am pretty sure he is in my history class. And maybe my econ class? Whatever the case, he hasn’t made much of an impression one way or the other.

I’ve caught him looking at me a few times, but he’s never even introduced himself, seemingly wary of my guys. He hasn’t been mean to me or anything, though.

Light-brown hair, curlier on the top than the sides. Sea-green eyes. A boyish face with cheeks that are always a little too red. Sharp nose. Thin lips.

Utterly forgettable, especially when compared to my mates.

Foster blinks at V owlishly. “He lied?”

I huff. “Okay, I don’t like liars either. But you can’t beat people up for lying. Most people lie all the time.”

Sad, but true. Especially the people you don’t expect to be liars. Those you trust and idealize the most tend to be the ones to look out for.

Foster studies V, taking in the tension in his shoulders and the tic in his cheek. If he had his wings out, I’m sure they’d be ruffled up to catch the early morning breeze. “What did he lie about?”

“The pigeon over here was loudly telling everyone about my kitten.”

I freeze.

He nods, buffing his fingers against the front of his shirt. “He has created quite a following for his banging of ‘the hot new transfer whore.’ He was busy detailing how you like it up the ass, Kitten, and like to be called names while he does it. That he was sure anyone else who wanted to take you for a spin could when he was done using you.

“Guaranteed, you’d be stretched out and worthless, but a dirty whore like you would beg for anything. All it’d taken was him getting a little rough with you when you sassed him, and you were begging for him to hurt you. That you loved it as a train. That’s why you were always around so many guys, ’cause you couldn’t get it rough enough or from enough at once.”

Each word has coiled me tighter and tighter, rage thickening the air around me. Darkness bleeds into the corners of my vision, and I have to grip my powers tightly by their mental reins. There is killing the bastard, and letting my powers destroy him. And I want to be the one to enjoy beating him to smithereens.

But I don’t get the chance.

A blast of heat roars through the clearing, nearly knocking me off my feet. In an instant, V is in front of me, his wings spread wide, a barrier of some type in the air around us. And around the clearing? It’s hard to tell as light flares, turning the area from murky darkness to brilliant daylight.

“You. Said. WHAT?”

The words are a roar, and it takes me a moment to recognize the voice. I’ve heard V’s raised in fury before, but this isn’t his tone.

My brain finally processes what I’m seeing around the edge of V’s wing, but shock holds me rooted in place.

It isn’t the hot-headed, blood-thirsty prince losing his mind.

Foster flares with light, his body glowing in a myriad of red, yellow, orange, and white. The white spots are so brilliant that they’re edged in blue and make spots dance against my vision. He stalks towards the boy who scrambles away with a cry, sweat dripping from his face. It seems that whatever barrier V is using to protect us and the forest surrounding us doesn’t cover the injured guy.

“Howdareyou!” Foster seethes, wisps of flames lashing from him and dancing in the air.

The ground where he’s been standing hisses and smokes in his wake. Luckily, there is little flammability in the area—more mud, stone, and quickly extinguished pine needles than anything else—and whatever V is doing seems to keep the trees from going up.

And keep the guy in the area, apparently, as he bounces off of an open stretch of air with a cry even as V chuckles.

“Your elemental has quite the temper,” he tells me over his shoulder, approval lacing his tone.

If the heat bothers him, he doesn’t show it, though he makes no move to lower his wings. Part of me wants to take the chance to explore them, stroke them, especially as the light plays over them and highlights interwoven strands of gold and silver flecked through the dark feathers.

But I am caught in Foster’s rage, unsure of what to do. I am not stupid enough to try to grab him and calm him down. I don’t want to get scorched. But will calling out to him help anything?

It isn’t like I really want him to stop… If he or V doesn’t kill the asshole and my family finds out, one of them surely will. Then they’ll lecture me about why I didn’t follow the family’s rule book.

We are the Addams family if they’d gone suburban and wore pink instead of black. Hmmm. Now that I think about it, we’re the Addams family and Barbie’s love children.

“Fuck!”

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