Page 52 of Let Us Prey

After all, isn’t secretly wielding the bigger stick more satisfying?

“Yes, Madame? How can I be of service?”

The sound of my dingbat assistant rushing in abruptly jerks me out of my ruminations, reminding me I’d called for her. “Where were you?” I scowl.

“I—I was downstairs taking a meal with the kitchen staff. You asked me to get out of your sight. I...”

For the love of Hera’s peacocks, this dimwit is going to ruin my day simply by breathing the same air as me. “Matilda. Stop. Talking. Now.”

Her stature shrinks even more and her hands fidget with her glasses shakily, clearly unable to execute even the most basic of responses. A sharp jerk of her head shows she understands me, and I let out a sigh of irritation as I roll my eyes. The wounded dove act is worse than her stammering idiocy.

“Get my drink and give me the weekly report. I have four meetings today and I cannot attend them without the information I tasked you with locating.” I glare at her as I walk to the large lounge by the window, dropping onto it with feline grace.

“Y-Yes, Madame,” she stammers as she hurries to the sideboard to pour my martini. She’s still trembling as she stirs the vodka gingerly, making certain not to bruise it with incorrect technique. I’ve drilled that into her numb skull over time, and the care she takes not to fuck up makes my leopard snarl in satisfaction. Fear is the most intoxicating scent in the world.

And I bask in its musk as often as possible.

“Start with my daughter. The last message I left her did its job—she’s terrified of disappointing me or besmirching our family name.”

The hawk shifter stares at me behind her horn-rimmed glasses as she hands me my glass. “Yes, Madame. From everything I couldgather, she has adjusted well to her environment. There have been a few unfortunate incidents with fellow students, but her grades so far are excellent.”

Eyes narrowing, I bare my fangs at her. While I’ve forbidden Matilda from having direct contact with Delores since she left for Apex—since her failed emergence, really—I still expect intel. “I could have found that out myself. Tell me who she is keeping company with and pray you don't disappoint me again. I’m sure Bruiser would love to escort you home this evening.”

Feathers flutter through the air as she loses control of her animal for a moment, stammering, “I… she… Miss Delores has two friends, both second-year students in her arts program. Their names are Rufus and Cori. I have not yet traced their heritage, but once I do, I will prepare a dossier for you.”

Hmmm.

That’s not the company I wanted to hear about, but information about other families with ties to Apex is never a bad thing. “What about men? I’ve heard whispers of a professor following her around. Delores is not unattractive, and some preds prefer their meat fattened.”

The look of horror on her face makes me throw my head back and laugh. Oh, I adore shocking the diminutive moron I employ to deal with shit beneath my pay grade, although none of what I said should have been surprising. It’s no secret I have little maternal instinct outside of amassing more power through my heir’s marriage. That I birthed the ungrateful bitch means less to me than her value on the open market.

“She… she… Well, there are rumors from the main office that your spy has frequently seen her with the younger of the Khan twins. She has the other as a professor, as well as the consort. And—and she has a work study with the Draconis’ exiled heir. That is all I know because… something happened to her dorm room and she hasn’t been living there. Your surveillance is not of use at the moment.”

Her stammering admission makes my face light up. While this isn’t enough to advance my plans, the knowledge that my chunky offspring is cozying up to some of the most well-connected and rare exiles in the entire school is quite pleasing. Sipping my drink, I consider how I can use this to my advantage.

I need to speak with the other birdbrain I have under my thumb.

“Hand me my phone, Matilda. If Henrietta can confirm what you’ve told me, I will spare you Bruiser’s company for another day,” I reply absently. My mind is spinning with the possibility of having dirt on the Khan ambush to use as leverage in future negotiations.

Delicious is the word that comes to mind.

When she scuttles over with my DiePhone, I snatch it out of her hand and flick through my contacts impatiently. The sound of multiple rings makes my animal pace, and I roar into the speaker when the Headmistress finally answers. “When I call, you answer immediately, Henrietta Shirdal, or so help me...”

A flurry of squawking and excuses echo in my office as she tries to apologize for her insolence. I hold my glass up for Matilda, watching her fetch my refill as the eagle continues to babble inanities.

When I tire of it, I snap, “Henrietta, if you don’t shut the hell up, I will eat you myself.” She finally shuts her beak, and the silence is blissful. “Is my daughter consorting with your staff? Don’t you dare lie to me.”

“I—I don’t know if she’s… I do not know about intimate acts. But she… the rumor is Felix Khan declared her under Khan protection. I believe it because she moved to another room without office help and I’m not sure where she’s living. Plus, Fitzgerald follows her around campus like a cat in heat. I am sorry, Madame; that’s all I know.”

A laugh bubbles out of my lips and the pure joy of knowing I have ammunition against those feline fools floods my veins. Oh, how I hate having to work with those filthy mobsters on Bloodstone, but I’ve never had a choice. The Society’s illegal activities are inextricably entwined with the empires of both my father and those mangy felines, but now…

Now I have a direct line to their fallen Raj via my disappointing progeny, and I couldn’t have planned this better if I had schemed it myself.

Everyone in our world knows about the shame of Felix Khan and his exile to Apex with his playboy brother and their orphan companion. Clearly, his preference for rare meat hasn’t lessened, and my daughter bedding the three of them couldn’t be a more convenient blackmail tool. If she whores herself out to the two rarest shifters in the place as well, I’ll have a royal flush.

Who knew the blonde dipshit would ever make herself useful?

“Madame Lucille? Are you there?” Henrietta asks carefully.

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