Page 51 of The Hive Queen

Like I don’t have enough puzzles to sort out.

I rub my temples. “What do you mean, we haven’t bonded? The Fox god couldn’t take her back because she chose me.”

“Familiars aren’t spatulas, child.” The hag pulls a wooden paddle from under her rags, and the sludge demon burbles with excitement. “You don’t pull them out when you want pancakes, then toss them back in the drawer when you’re done. Is that what you’d do to Merripen?”

“There’s a lot I do with Pen that I’m not doing with Anny.” I avert my gaze as she swings the paddle, and a wet smack follows. “I’m only willing to be so familiar with my familiar.”

Another wetthwopfollows. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Not everything is about sex.”

“Hard to think about anything else while you’re going to town on that demon,” I mutter.

A wet nose nudges against my hand.

I rub the top of Anny’s head. “Am I not treating you right? You sleep on my bed and go with me everywhere. What more do you need?”

She whines and settles her head on my lap.

A pang goes through me. She needs something I’m not giving, but what more can I do?

I massage her ears. “I don’t know what you want.”

“Because you’re not opening your ears.” The hag smacks the sludge demon again. “This boy here doesn’t have a mouth, and I still know exactly what he wants because Ilisten. Do morelisteningand less wallowing inguiltover how you two came to be an item.”

“Ah.” Understanding what she means doesn’t magically fix things. I stroke a finger down Anny’s snout. Blood paved the path to our becoming witch and familiar. “That’s easier said than done.”

“Start with forgiveness.” She grunts with effort. “Once you do that, the rest will come.”

Forgiveness toward myself? Forgiveness toward Anny for the price her existence in my life cost those I love? Or forgiveness from Marc and Pen for bringing the Fox god’s wrath down on us?

“All of that and more.” A wet squelch sounds, followed by more squelching.

I cover Anny’s eyes. “Don’t look. Hopefully, it will be over soon.”

Turning my attention back to the book the hag presented me with, I focus on the page she opened it to.

It holds an old drawing of a humanoid woman, her body wide at the hips and chest, and wasp thin at the waist. Her slender arms and legs appear ready to break under her weight, as does her long neck, which supports a triangular head.

Large, slanted eyes stare up from the page over a mask woven of what appears to be pearls.

I trace a finger over the words at the top of the page.Alvearium Regina. Hive Queen.

Wasp thin indeed. This isn’t the first insect-like monster I’ve read about, though. There was a praying mantis creature two books back that ate the heads of her mates at the point of orgasm.

I scan farther down the page.

Also known by: Widow Maker. Seed Stealer.

The Hive Queen is a demi-god brought to life by a small cult dedicated to fertility and a hatred of man.

Shocking how so many of these monsters spring from a hatred of man. Oppression will do that.

The Hive Queen produces eggs, which she keeps safely close to her mouth until she can find a safe place to create a nest.

I peer closer at the mask and notice that the thousands of round, white balls float with no sign of a string to hold them in place.

Once the Hive Queen creates a nest, she will bury her eggs and recruit drones to guard her lair while she ventures out in search of mates.

When a suitable source is located, she will paralyze the victim with an aphrodisiac venom that ensures a healthy harvest.

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