Page 9 of Her Vicious Beasts: The Beginning
So what that I wear my nice pair of skinny jeans and a blouse that shows a teensy bit of cleavage?
A girl can dream.
When you’ve lived by yourself, in isolation as long as I have, that’s all you have. Your imagination and your dreams. And I’d say I’m pretty proficient at using both—perhaps it’s the only reason I’m still sane.
I’m greeted in much the same manner as yesterday, except Halfeather snatches up my hand and kisses it delicately, as if I’m something precious.
My stomach clenches at the royal treatment, wondering if there’s anything ulterior behind it. But I stick a smile on my face as if I enjoy it and he releases me to my guards. Beak and Scuff have easy smiles today and I don’t fight the racing of my heart when I smile back.
It takes me an entire two flights of steps to gather enough courage to ask Beak, “So, is this your permanent gig?”
“Sort of.” He scratches the back of his head, one huge, tanned bicep flexing. My eyes follow the movement and he grins at me.I tear my gaze away, realising he’s showing me his body on purpose. Bloody eagles and their peacocking, I swear he’s going to be the end of me. “We go to college in a couple of weeks,” he continues, leading me down to the dungeon. “This is just a summer job for us.”
“Sweet.” I nod. “Which one?”
But he’s opened the final set of doors and ushers me in. I quickly ask, “Hey, um, are there any lights in there?” I rub my arms against the cold. “It’s ridiculously dark and I practically can’t see where I’m walking.”
Beak and Scuff shift uncomfortably as they escort me past the first lot of cells. “Mr. Halfeather likes it dark down here,” Scuff says.
“Maybe just for the hour I’m here?” I bat my eyelashes at Beak, trying to channel my inner, sexy, helpless, Aunt Charlotte. They exchange a look. I whisper to appeal to their subconscious male animus. “Just a little bit?”
My cooing wins in the end. “Just a bit,” Beak says kindly.
I grin at them before they head out and inevitably shut the massive steel door. Somehow, it actually worked, and I wonder what else I can get away with by channeling Aunt Charlotte.
Alone once again in the gloom, with nothing but predators shifting around me, chains clanking, I wait there until the lights come on. A gentle silver glow comes to life around me. It’s hardly better, but now I can actually make out the colour of the dull grey stone brick beside my patient’s steel door.
A low, rough chuckle skulks through the air, sending my hackles rising. It’s not a laugh of amusement or joy, it’s sheer nastiness.
“Scared of the dark?” someone jeers from behind me.
Animalia males pounce on fear, some of them even enjoy provoking it, their animus wanting to hunt prey. The idea that I’m acting like prey has me gritting my teeth.
“I fear nothing,” I say into the shadows. “Least of all some animalia stupid enough to get locked up in here.”
The man in the cell to the right of my patient’s door is sitting on a steel chair. It’s pushed as far back into the cell as possible, so the light only reaches his bare, tattooed thighs, telling me that he’s naked. He’s tall and no more than a shadow, his hands tied behind his back.
I wonder how he pees.
He doesn’t speak, but the male in the cell opposite him and behind me says in a leering voice, “Show us your pussy, girly. I bet it’s real sweet.”
Okay, so I’m regretting my choice of nicer clothing as my nose wrinkles in disgust.
Before he can say any more, a voice growls from my other side. “Get away from him, princess. He’s a dirty bastard.”
I recognise the wolf’s voice. Because I’m not entirely stupid, I do listen to him and position myself closer to my patient’s door.
The wolf is there, in the cell directly to my left, and pushes his face through the bars to look at me.
Did I think Beak was handsome just before? Because by all the wild gods, every cell in my body rears their little molecular heads to register the sheer masculine beauty of the wolf’s face.
A face that is currently hungrily fixed on me.
I’m glad I’m not the only desperate animalia around, but I doubt this male lacks women in his life when he’s not chained up. Women probably fall on their knees begging and panting wherever he goes.
I frown, more at myself than anything, and he shows me a row of straight white teeth. “So you’ll flirt with the dicky birds, but not with me?” he asks coyly.
My heart skips a beat and I remind myself to keep my breathing even. He might not be able to scent me, but wolves are more socially aware of body language than the rest.
