Page 20 of Beasts of Shadows #1

Brigit’s Milkhouse is a glorified tavern, where, as Cat assures us, the food is limited and the debauchery aplenty.

We place our orders. Cat gets something exotic and clearly not from the Mortal Realm—something fizzing and iridescent with what might be a baby eyeball floating inside. I stick with a simple Guinness.

I expect Reema to order sensibly, like water. But something on our walk over put her on edge, and she requests the five-shot special while Geneir’s in the bathroom. When the drinks arrive, she downs them back-to-back like she’s trying to erase something from her memory.

I lift a brow. “You ‘kay?”

“Yea,” Cat chimes, but she doesn’t look away from Reema. “You didn’t, I don’t know, find another prophecy in the library that says we’re all going to die horribly, did you?”

“Dying is inevitable,” Reema mutters. Her words are already slurred, like those shots hit harder than they should’ve.

Cat shrugs good naturedly, turning her eyes to me.

“What about you? You talked to him at the market, didn’t you?”

I blink, intrigued. “Who?”

Cat leans in, voice dropping like a dare. “Professor Sumner.”

My stomach tightens.

I haven’t heard a peep from him since that first assessment. I’d just assumed Reema was right. That the whole thing was a fluke, or the bogeys only mentioned his name to scare me.

“Face like a carved threat. Kind of hot in a ‘will definitely ruin your life’ way.”

I think of Ravi near the agimat stall. And again, ‘talking’ to Nikolai. Maybe it wasn’t a vision at all. Maybe it really was—.

No. that’s just impossible. I can’t believe I’m even entertaining the thought.

Thankfully, Reema snorts before I can even go down that rabbit hole.

“Sumner doesn’t do markets. Or people. Or daylight.”

But she won’t look at me. And that’s curious. Is she hiding something, or just wrapped up in whatever’s got her into a funk?

She loops her arm through mine and tugs. “Let’s dance.”

Now that I can get down with.

Brigit’s Milkhouse is a glorified tavern, where, as Cat assures us, the food is limited and the debauchery aplenty.

We place our orders. Cat gets something exotic and clearly not from the Mortal Realm, while I stick with a simple Guinness.

I expect Reema to order sensibly, like water. But something on our walk over put her on edge, and she requests a five shot special, downing them all back-to-back when they arrive.

I lift a brow.

“You ‘kay?”

“Yea,” Cat choruses. “You didn’t, I don’t know, have another binger at the library last night and find a prophecy that we’re all going to die, did you?”

“Dying is inevitable,” Reema scoffs. Her words are already slurred, making me wonder what was in those shots.

Ignoring her blond bestie, she loops her arm with mine and tugs. “Let’s dance.”

Now that I can get down with.

#

An hour in, and the tavern pulses with the sweaty, overconfident swagger of campus’ finest athletes.

The hockey team—Geneir and Cody included—have claimed a massive table near the back, splitting bottles of five-hundred-year-old mead like they earned it, while trying too hard to charm anyone within reach.

Reema’s already perched in Geneir’s lap, giggling like she owns him.

He brushes her hair off her shoulder, murmurs something into her ear, and she throws her head back in one of those effortless, easy laughs.

They look picture-perfect in the dim light.

There it is, again. That ache for a physical connection.

I scan the room again. There has to be someone mildly interesting. The hockey guys are easy targets—built like demigods and just drunk enough to forget names. I’ve never liked hockey, but I could be persuaded if the view’s good enough. It’d be a distraction, if nothing else.

But gods, they’re loud. All of them. And not one of them looks like they understand the word discretion. I’m fairly sure the one at the far end is the same idiot I caught screwing someone against the academic building my first night here.

I’m close to calling it a night and meditating this feeling away if I can’t find a distraction soon enough, when a stunning Indian girl drops into the seat across from me with a theatrical huff.

Silver thigh-high shorts, black halter with a plunge so deep it defies physics—she looks like she walked out of a high-end nightclub.

Maybe not the kind of distraction I was hoping for, but at least it will keep my mind off of how much I want…

I’m not going there. Nope.

Still, judging seafoam eyes flitter across my mind.

Get it together, Harper.

“She has no class,” the girl grits out, grabbing my half-finished drink and tossing it back like it’s hers.

“Hello to you too.”

She squints, unimpressed. There’s a slight smudge to her eyeliner, like she’s been dancing or fighting—or both. Her whole vibe radiates unbothered dominion. Like she could crush your ego and never spill her drink doing it.

“She’s pretty, sure,” the girl goes on, waving vaguely toward the dance floor, “but she’s pure garbage. Her whole family’s one rung above swamp rats.”

“Who… exactly are we trashing?” I ask cautiously.

The bartender drops a pint in front of each of us. She raises hers in mock salute. I take a hesitant sip; she drains hers in seconds.

“Zerelli,” she mutters, snapping her fingers at me like I should’ve known better. “Reema. Try to keep up.”

I glance back at Reema. Still clinging to Geneir. They look… normal. Happy, even. Not exactly swamp rat material. But my new tablemate clearly has a long memory and a short temper.

“And you are?”

“Picca.” She says it like a slap. Like her name should come with footnotes and fanfare. “And you’re Nari Harper. The Wallace stray that wandered back into the fold.”

Her tone drips with faux curiosity, but her eyes are all sharp edges. She studies me like she’s dissecting something under glass.

“I heard you’re not a real blue blood. Not like Cat or Cody. Their mother’s actually in line to inherit. You? You’re just…” She leans in, eyes gleaming. “A mutt.”

My fists curl under the table.

“Did Nikolai put you up to this?”

Picca lets out a disdainful snort. “That scruffy little first-year who struts around like a god just because he was raised in the Shadow Realm? Please. He couldn’t handle me in a dream. There’s only room for one alpha in any relationship I’m in—and spoiler alert: it’s always me.”

There’s a ferocity to her. She’s all bite, all burn, wrapped in silk and spite. And yet, despite the insult still echoing in my ears, I can’t help but respect the hell out of her.

Picca is the kind of girl no one would dare to kill.

“Back home, I’m a thirteen on a ten-point scale.” Picca’s gaze fixes on Geneir and Reema like she’s deciding which one to set on fire first.

And just like that, we’re back to hating Reema.

“You’re all attractive here,” I offer, hoping to shift the mood.

She flicks a hand toward me, dismissive. “You only say that because you dress like you’re halfway through a breakdown.”

Okay. Kind Nari has left the building.

I move to stand, but Picca catches my wrist—not desperate, just firm.

“Wait. I didn’t mean that. I’m just—,” Her jaw tightens. “I ruined a good thing with Geneir. And now that high-gloss virtue signaler gets it all. How is that fair?”

She exhales sharply, palms pressed to her temples, not breaking down—just recalibrating. I hover, unsure whether to leave or pat her shoulder like she’s a wounded cat that might bite.

“Maybe because she’s… nice to people?”

Picca barks a dry laugh. “Since when is ‘nice’ a talent? I have money, influence, three ancestral estates, and more charm than half this campus combined. I can get any man I want.” Her lips curl into something between pride and disgust. “I have Eros , for fuck’s sake.

He hasn’t even looked at anyone since Psyche.

And yes, it’s physical, mostly. But still. ”

I arch a brow. “Must be nice to weaponize sex so well it scrambles a god’s brain.”

Her eyes snap to mine, sharp as broken glass. “Don’t pretend moral superiority just because you prefer your pity parties with a side of self-sabotage.”

Touché.

“I heard you’ve been looking for me.” Picca folds her arms, voice smooth as silk dragged over a blade. “You’re not exactly making a compelling case for why I should care.”

I blink. That’s one way to start.

She tilts her head, eyes glittering with cruel amusement. “And you do need help, darling. Desperately, from what I hear. Making a blood pact with a mermaid? Sounds messy. And reckless.”

I narrow my eyes. She’s not wrong—but does she have to be so smug?

“What do you know about it?”

Her shrug is easy. Unbothered.

“There aren’t many secrets from seers. I can say you’re more than you think you are – but don’t get a big head over it. You’re caught in a cat-and-mouse game. Someone you pissed off, looking to scare you. Sound like anyone you know?”

The only person I can think of justified enough to hold a grudge is Ravi, but that’s not possible. Even then, I’m pretty sure no one in his family is connected to the Shadow Realm, so it’s not like Marisol is sneaking around to get revenge.

Although, this place is great at pulling unknown family members or it of the woodwork. I think again of the figure in the market, and briefly entertain the idea that Ravi might have an older, unknown brother.

I shake the thoughts away.

“Let’s try this again,” I say, jaw tight, her pearly smile grating more than charming. “I need help controlling my visions. Word is—you’re the expert.”

“Expert?” She flicks her glossy hair over one shoulder. “I’m in advanced prophecy. I trained with Ganesha himself—my parents pulled strings. I’m not just good, I’m a prodigy .”

The swagger slips. Her voice lowers. Reluctantly. “Which is why I’m here. What do you know about Thantos?”

I pause. “The god who annihilated the first civilization before someone knocked him into a coma?”

“They say he’s curled up along the Cascadia Subduction Zone. Every time he so much as shifts, it triggers a tsunami. Imagine the damage if he actually woke up.”

She gives a slow blink, letting the weight of it hang in the air like smoke.

“Catastrophic,” I agree. “Are you saying you’ve seen this happen?”

“I’m saying something big and bad is coming. And admin doesn’t seem to care.”

I wish I could say that doesn’t sound right, but these are the same beings that pit mortals and monsters against each other for fun.

“Why?”

She scoffs, running her amethyst nails through her hair like she’s sharpening blades, not fixing strands.

“Back home, the whispers weren’t subtle.

People are tired of Calea calling the shots.

They’d rather throw in with chaos than keep kneeling to a queen who’s barely holding the reins.

Personally? I’m too satisfied with my current life to let it get torn apart by the god of Death. ”

She leans forward, voice smooth as glass. “You should care, too. Thantos drowned millions with a single flood. Wiped the slate clean. What do you think he’d do to your fragile little mortals?”

“And now you suddenly care about us fragile mortals?”

“I care about power.” Her eyes flash. “And there’s power in predictability. I think this partnership of ours could be… mutually beneficial.”

“What are you proposing, exactly?”

“I’ll train you.” She lifts a brow before I can protest. “Don’t give me that look. Sumner said you’re a walking liability, and the Dean’s barred anyone from studying prophecy until after this school year. Whatever’s coming? That’s when it’ll hit. They don’t want us to intervene.”

I hesitate, weighing her words. She’s arrogant—infuriatingly so—but her logic is sound. Worse, I might actually need her.

“I’ll think about it,” I say at last.

“Don’t take too long.” She snatches what’s left of my drink, downs it. “We have barely three months.”

She stands. Pauses. “Oh, and can you get my drink? Forgot my wallet, and all. Raul, put me on her tab!”

“Weren’t you just bragging about all your money?” I call.

“Everything’s better when someone else pays for it.”

I brush my eyes as she disappears into the dancing pit of bodies. Begrudgingly, I free my wallet and toss cash on the table.

Despite the doom and gloom of our conversation, she’s successfully redirected my thoughts away from finding a bed buddy for the night.

And, she’s given me a thought about my most recent predicament.

It’s time to go.