Page 36 of Beasts of Shadows #1

I’m dead set on spending my Sunday morning in bed.

One day. That’s all I want. A few uninterrupted hours to recover from…

Everything .

The mirror. The vision. The tie.

The way Ta?sse yanked Nikolai away like she’d caught me pawing through her jewelry box.

And the dreams.

Gods, the dreams.

That’s why, when someone starts rapping on my door at nine a.m., I’m one breath away from murder.

“Go away,” I groan into the pillow. “Corpse in here. Try again next semester.”

Rap. Rap. Pause. Rapraprap.

Insistent. Rhythmic. Almost amused.

Of course.

I peel myself out of bed like something exhumed and stagger to the door, cracking it open an inch.

Cody.

Hood pulled over his curls, thermos in hand, leaning on the frame like he owns the place.

He holds it out without a word.

I blink. “What am I, cursed?”

“You tied Nikolai Matholwch in a mirror duel and jumped five places in the rankings. Coffee felt safer than flowers.”

“Seriously?” I demand, gripping the coffee. One more spot, and I’m off the danger list.

Well, one spot to go, and then I have to keep it till the solstice. But…baby steps.

“So, congratulations—our mother has decided you’re worth inviting to brunch.”

That stops me cold. “Brunch?”

“With Cat. Me. And the Ice Queen herself.”

“You mean my aunt? Your mom?”

“She prefers Dean Wyatt, but yes. You’re being summoned. Try to look conscious.”

I glance at the closet, my mind wheeling.“Jeans and a baby tee won’t cut it?”

“Only if you’re angling to be uninvited halfway through the fruit course. Reema has options. Pick something that doesn’t look like it lost a bar fight.”

“Okay,” I breathe. “How long do I have?”

“Two minutes. Come on, she doesn’t like waiting.”

Of course she doesn’t.

#

I’m really not sure what to make of Irene Douglas-Wyatt.

The woman is tall, with white-blond hair like Cat’s in a neat ballerina bun. There’s nothing warm or inviting about her countenance. She maintains a neutral expression as she surveys the three of us.

Despite everything I’ve been through in the last three months, I still feel like a child under her cold, penetrating gaze.

So that’s where Cody got his eyes.

“Thanks for having me,” I manage, glancing between my aunt and Cat’s dad—a general in the Catshi military, on campus for the weekend before heading back to Egypt to oversee his battalion.

At least, that’s how Cat explained it as we scurried over.

Cody’s dad, as I’ve been told, is as much of a dead beat as Sam was in Irene’s life. I always thought that might get me some points in Irene’s eyes, since her son is in the same boat as my dad.

But you never would guess that, given the cold way she studies both Cody and I. I get me being the black sheep of the family, but Cody ? He’s top of his class, going back and forth with Reema each week. He’s handsome as sin. He doesn’t even sleep around.

He’s no fuck-up.

But you wouldn’t know it, with the way his mother avoids his praise-seeking gaze.

“Mm,” Irene allows, taking a sip of her mimosa. The cut-crystal flute doesn’t soften her. If anything, it makes her look more dangerous. Like she’s drinking victory itself.

Silence stretches.

Cat perches on the edge of the chaise like she’s done this dance before. Cody, on the other hand, looks like he’s halfway between laughing and bolting.

“Wow. This is cozier than I expected,” Cat drawls at last. “I was sure there’d be a lie detector test and an executioner.”

Her father shoots her a warning eye.

Irene doesn’t even blink. “I don’t expect pleasantries from children. Just results.”

The words hit harder than I expect. Cody stiffens, and I catch the flicker of something behind his eyes—hurt, maybe. Or rage he’s taught himself not to show.

Irene sets her drink down with surgical precision. Her eyes slice to me. “So. You’re the Harper girl.”

Gods. The Harper girl. Like I’m a stain she’s trying not to scrub too obviously.

I nod. “Nari. I go by Nari.”

“I know what you go by,” she replies coolly.

“You flirt with gods, you survive things you shouldn’t, and now you’re being spoken about in circles that don’t tolerate ambition from mortals.

You’ve put eyes on this family that were never meant to look our way.

” She tilts her head, gaze narrowing. “Why?”

My stomach knots. This isn’t a conversation. It’s a cross-examination.

I glance at Cody, but he’s gone still beside me, lips pressed tight.

I look back at Irene. “Because survival here isn’t about playing it safe. It’s about playing it smarter than the monsters.”

Her lip twitches. It might be a smirk. Or a threat.

“And you believe that’s what you’ve done? Played smarter?”

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

A beat of silence.

Then she stands. Smooth and slow, like a viper uncoiling. “You’re not as clever as you think, Miss Harper. But you may yet be useful.” Her eyes sweep to Cody. “So long as you don’t let sentiment cloud your judgment.”

“I’m not the sentimental one,” he says, voice clipped.

She ignores him. Turns back to me.

“If you’re going to tell people you’re part of this family,” she says, “you’d better make it worth something.”

“I didn’t ask to wear your name,” I shoot back. “I’m happy to be associated with my father.”

“Your unwed father, right? I guess he and our dad have more in common than I thought.”

I open my mouth to fire something, but Cat gives a subtle shake of her head. I swallow the toxicity in my words. If Cat says it’s not worth it, then it’s not.

Irene’s expression shifts—something like amusement, or maybe a flicker of approval—but it’s gone too fast to read.

“Good,” she murmurs. “Then let’s hope you know what side you’re on.”

“I’m on my own side,” I say, smoothing my fingers over the ridiculous brown and yellow flower dress Cody procured for me.

Irene’s gaze lingers on the hem like it offends her personally.

“That’s what Bea said, isn’t it? In the stories? Right before her mother slit her throat.”

The room stills.

Cody flinches beside me, but Irene just watches—calm, composed, unbothered. Like she’s dropped a stone in a pond and is waiting to see how far the ripples spread.

“You think you’re clever,” she says softly. “But cleverness didn’t save Bea. And it won’t save you.”

I can’t breathe for a second. Not from fear—but fury.

Is this how she protects her family? By gutting them first?

The silence snaps taut.

“You’ll learn,” she says at last, “that independence is a luxury few bloodlines can afford. Even ours.”

Cat clears her throat—not a cough, but a warning. Cody still hasn’t moved.

“Nari was my partner in yesterday’s field exercise, mommy. She saved me from having to give the troll prince a BJ.”

One thing I can count on is Cat to break the tension. I shoot her a grateful grin.

“Katerina,” General Douglas drawls, his voice wane. As if he’s just used to his daughter at this point. He doesn’t bother to sigh. Just lifts an eyebrow over his coffee and says, “There are a hundred ways to phrase that with honor. You chose none of them.”

Cat shrugs, utterly unapologetic. “Didn’t have time to workshop it.”

His mouth twitches—almost a smile, quickly smothered. “I see diplomacy’s still dead in this family.”

And that must be where Cat gets her quick wit from.

Irene doesn’t respond, but her silence crackles—like frost forming beneath polished glass.

“Let’s move away from pinching and prodding the kids into submission, love. Nari, tell us more about you,” General Douglas continues, voice smooth as old scotch—measured, diplomatic. The kind of tone that commands armies and dinner tables alike.

I blink, caught off guard.

What version of myself do I offer a general and a frost queen?

The truth—that I’m making it up as I go? That I’ve survived on spite, scrambled instincts, and a curse I barely understand?

“I’m a B-level fencer.” I wipe my sweaty palms on the fabric of my dress.

Is this seriously where my nerves draw the line? Not battle. Not blood. But small talk with my aunt?

“Look at that, love. You’re not the only one in the family who plays with swords.”

Irene finishes her glass. “Let’s hope you’re better with a blade than you are with carrying on the Wyatt family name.”

“I’m not a Wyatt,” I say, before I can take the words back.

There’s a flicker in Irene’s face. Not approval, exactly. But maybe… calculation?

“I do wish that were true,” Irene says at last. “When the Admissions department brought me your file, I’ll admit, I was… skeptical.”

She lets the word hang, crystalline and sharp.

“Not the fact that you and I share blood. My bastard father made it perfectly clear which side of the family mattered—and it wasn’t mine. The fact is, I’ve known about my brother since I was a child. I suppose even the scraps find someone to breed with.”

I squeeze my spoon in my fingers.

“No, our relationship was hardly a surprise. Certainly not worth the half an hour it took me to even bother reading your file. Your grades in high school were abysmal. Your bloodline polluted. Your temperament…” Her lips press into something that might’ve once been a smile.

“Unpredictable. And yet, I was the one who signed off on your conscription. Grimacing, but I did it. Do you know why?”

“Because you expecte dme to die right away and didn’t want the reminder of how your dad abandoned you?”

“Because as much as I hate my father for what he did, I could never fault his son for it. I was happy that there was something better for Joshua than this. I only wish the same could be said for you.”

She leans back slightly, gaze like a frostbite wind. “You may not be a Wyatt. But you are blood. And blood,” she says, raising her empty glass, “always finds its way home. Whether it wants to or not.”

#

“I think she likes you,” Cody says on our return to campus.

“If that’s how she treats people she likes, I’d hate to be on her blacklist,” I mutter.

Cat starts to reply, but her voice blurs into background noise when I catch sight of Ravi.