Page 15 of Her Tortured Beasts (Her Vicious Beasts #4)

Chapter 14

Xander

That Home – Cinematic Orchestra

T he next day, Solomon and the scientists continue to undergo their long list of tests for Snake Spawn. They have a treadmill and make it run in various forms. They test the bite strength of its jaws and the sharpness of its claws. The entire time, Ghoul watches with a fixated obsession, and during the day, we’re joined by various serpent generals until they get bored and leave.

I use the time to manage the sudden endless list of requests, emails, and news reports. What I’m looking for isn’t even certain. Some type of…retaliation. Some type of signal. The only news I get is that Scythe has now been sighted on land. I’d thought he’d found his peace out in the cold waters of the Pacific. To find that he’s returned is disappointing, to say the least.

He couldn’t withstand Spawn’s lure.

No one from Animus Academy has tried to contact me, and it makes the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. I’ve blocked everyone’s numbers, but that never stopped males like Savage and Scythe, or even Lyle from getting to someone. There are ways and means to reach me. Get a message some way, electronic or otherwise, but I haven’t heard a peep.

No threats or anything.

A quiet Scythe is a dangerous Scythe. Under my advisement, Father has doubled the estate’s protections, physical and otherwise.

That night, Mother invites me for supper in her rooms with Sissy and the twins. It’s my favourite part of the day because it reminds me of when we used to do the exact same thing as children. Back in our day, we’d drink Milo or tea and play board games while Father sat in the corner reading.

It pleases me to no end that they’ve kept up the tradition for the hatchlings. Since I’m forced to bring Spawn with me everywhere, I command it to sit in the corner of the dimly lit room.

But that doesn’t last long. The hatchlings are curious and intelligent, so they scoot over to it almost immediately, bringing their books and colouring pencils along with them.

“Or-rey-lee-uh,” coos Emmerson, “can you draw?” He’s fascinated by her name.

“A little,” Spawn says.

“She’s not allowed,” I snap as Emmerson hands her a blue pencil. “Pets don’t read or write.”

Emmerson huffs in annoyance. “Why? She has hands.”

“Because I said so.”

“But why ?”

I give him a look of warning, which he returns in defiance. So I try another tactic. “Come over here and play last card with me.”

“Only if she can play with us.”

“Pets don’t play games,” I say.

Sissy exhales irritably where she’s reading some type of smut on her e-reader on the couch opposite me.

“Can she sit by my side, then?” Emmerson narrows his eyes at me. When did I become the boring uncle?

I sigh. “Fine.”

He cackles like he’s won a battle and grabs Spawn by its arm and leads it from the corner towards my table. To my utter surprise and disappointment, instead of taking the armchair opposite me, Emmerson prods Spawn into the seat and perches himself on the arm. “She’ll play my cards as I command.”

From beside me, my mother chuckles over a goblet of her nightly medicine. “Clever hatchling,” she says proudly. “He’ll be winning chess against you next, Xander.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I say wryly. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

“What do you do all day?” Delilah says, putting down her colouring and coming over to observe.

“Paperwork, planning,” I say, looking at my cards.

“Not you, Uncle Xander,” Delilah says pointedly. “Aurelia.”

My jaw goes slack as I stare at the hatchlings, but no one is giving me any heed. In fact, Delilah is stroking Spawn’s face as if she’s fascinated.

“Soft skin,” Delilah says. Then she frowns at Spawn’s chest “What happened there?” She brushes her fingers across the healed scratch under its clavicle.

“I managed to hurt myself,” Spawn says quietly. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Did you put antiseptic over it?” Delilah asks, peering at the cut. “Mum, where’s the antiseptic cream?”

“She doesn’t need it,” I frown because I don’t understand why she hasn’t completely healed it.

I am ignored.

The twins are now very concerned about Spawn, fussing and grumping over the cut. Delilah finds a first aid kit and brandishes the tube of cream at me. “You do it,” she says, with one hand on her hip. “She’s your pet.”

“Yeah,” Emmerson nods. “Do it, Uncle Xander. Be responsible.”

Spawn is fighting hard to maintain a blank expression, and I’m fighting a mad growl. Under the frowns of my niece and nephew, I reluctantly take the cream and stare at it.

“Unscrew the cap,” Delilah demands. “Quick, before she dies from it.”

“Here.” Emmerson snatches the tube from me, unscrews the cap, and squirts out a bit on my finger.

I’m left staring at the white cream in a sort of shock.

“It goes here.” Delilah points to the long slash and taps the skin above it.

Spawn goes still as Emmerson grabs my finger and leads me towards its skin. I brush the cream onto Spawn’s cut. It tenses under my touch. The skin is warm and I’m forced to scent it, being so close. It takes a deep breath, moving the mounds of its breasts, the cleavage so close to my face.

I blink hard to maintain focus, gritting my teeth and sweeping the cream across the cut.

“You’re no good at this, Uncle Xander,” Delilah says, shaking her head in dismay. “You’re not a good pet owner.”

Jerked back to reality, I shake myself out of whatever haze I was in.

“I suppose not,” I say too loudly.

Spawn flinches and I take out my pocket square and wipe the residual cream off my finger. Delilah pats Spawn on the shoulder. “Very good girl,” she coos.

I drag the cushion next to me onto my lap. “Let’s keep playing.”

That night, after I put Spawn away in its crate, I take extra long in the shower.

My balls are heavy and I haven’t had a release in ages. That’s likely why I’m reacting like this. Spawn doesn’t have the same demanding draw, and my dragon isn’t even conscious to thirst after it.

I stroke my thickening length in one hand, squeezing the tip hard until a bead of pre-cum emerges.

Blue eyes flash before my mind’s eye, at cock level, looking up at me, pink mouth open. Muttering a curse as I slide my hand down the base, I thud my back against the shower tiles, I instead imagine Nadine Chen on her knees before me, her mouth ready and waiting?—

But Nadine’s face morphs into an olive skinned, blue-eyed one. Eyes like gems that glint mischievously in the dark. Eyes that sparkle with cunning. Gritting my teeth, I pump my cock, faster and faster, imagining Spawn on her knees, taking my cock like she needs it, hungers for it. Thirstily taking me to my base, moaning and groaning?—

I come, shuddering against the wall, a strangled sound tearing from my throat. Sighing as I glare at the door behind which Spawn lies, I wash my body and dry off.

It’s just frustration. Just weeks of pent-up desire I needed to release. She carries no hold over me. Absolutely none.

The best thing for me to do is focus on my current matches. Matches of my choice and my choosing.

That night, I sleep perfectly well.

The next week passes quickly, with each day much the same as the last. Each night, Snake Spawn goes quietly to bed in its cage. Each morning, I flip the cover off to find it waiting, angry eyes staring me down.

I wonder how long that will last.

When Sunday comes around, I find Solomon and Ghoul arguing inside the testing room. By ‘arguing’, I mean to say that Solomon is trying to protest something mad Ghoul has put forward.

“We’re not ready, Lord Basilisk,” Solomon says before I make myself known.

“Well, I am, and that’s what’s relevant here. Ah!” Ghoul senses me and Spawn, turning around and clapping his hands. “We’ve reached the second phase of our testing,” Ghoul announces. “We’re all quite excited about it.”

The team of scientists shifts uncomfortably. I frown at Ghoul. “Can’t be anything good, then.”

The hint of a fanged smile appears beneath his mask. “Follow me.”

We leave the bright lights of the testing room to head back into the dark, further down the corridor. I’m not familiar with this part of the mansion. It’s not an area with the books where I used to play as a child or wander as a teenager. The cobwebs have been swept away, and it still smells faintly of antiseptic wash and bleach.

Ghoul abruptly turns into a darkened room, the gleam of steel bars on the opposing wall. He takes out a ring of black keys.

The fact that he would have keys to something in my mansion could send me into a rage. I’d have to have a word with my father about this. It’s completely unacceptable. Does he think he’s a dragon by association?

Useless, arrogant prick.

“Hand her over, dragon .”

“I’m not going in there,” Spawn scoffs.

“We’re just testing your eyesight,” Ghoul shrugs. “Don’t be afraid.”

I release its golden collar with a sharp snap, making her stumble back a step. “Go.”

Muttering something foul under its breath, it saunters past the basilisk—who inhales deeply as it passes him—until the darkness swallows its body up. Ghoul shuts the door with the air of someone way too used to imprisoning people, and locks it with a definite clunk.

“Well, that’s that.” Ghoul brushes his hands like it’s a job well done and stops short, as if he’s surprised to see me still here. Dramatic bastard is worse than Savage. “Don’t you have important meetings with politicians or something?” Fangs flash again. Madder than Scythe.

“How long is it supposed to be in there for?”

“You’re obsessed with her,” he says with delight. “Can’t stand the thought of being without her pretty blue eyes. That soft, kissable mouth. You loved toting her around just so you could look at her and get all the private time your greedy dragon craves .”

I scowl. “No. In fact, the distance is preferred. It’s been annoying having it follow me everywhere.”

Ghoul smirks and it almost sends me into a rage. I control myself, stalking forward, and lean over the basilisk, bracing my arms on either side of him and staring right into those lethal, laser beam eyes. The bastard doesn’t move and doesn’t stop smirking.

“Fuck her eyes. And fuck her mouth. There is far better out there for me.”

With that, I turn and leave, feeling more free than ever before.

At today’s meeting with my father, I’m thoroughly displeased to find a worm sitting his accursed, withering behind on one of our antique chairs.

Mace Naga does not get up when I approach, instead brushing non-existent dust off his knee. “Master Xander. A pleasure.”

He addresses me as a child, with that wraith voice of utter evil. I refrain from the urge to pull the second seat away from him and instead sit in it. “Mace.”

My father casts a disapproving look at me before gesturing to the worm in the black duster. “The dragons got a good look at the girl. I have taken the liberty of inviting a few more interested parties to your wedding, and that will give us ample interest for the big day.”

“What is the big day?”

“The Boneweaver auction,” Mace says as if we are talking about a race horse and not his own loin-spawn. “Your father and I have already discussed the particulars.” He gestures to a closed brown manila folder, no doubt containing the contract of use. The moment Mace told us to hunt down his daughter for execution way back at Halfeather’s mansion, I knew he was a head case. And this cold, calculated way he speaks of her breeding auction is despicable at best.

“A good deal, I should think,” Father says, nodding with satisfaction. “A great benefit to Serpent Court.”

“Indeed,” Mace says, standing. “And a great benefit to the endangered communities.”

My father’s lips twitching is the only giveaway that he’s annoyed by the implication of some weakness on our part.

Mace inclines his head, one king to another, before leaving.

I wait until I hear Mace clear the middle of the staircase. “Was that really necessary?”

Father sits back in his chair, his irises glowing with irritation. “When did I ever give you the impression you had permission to question me?”

“I am your heir,” I say reasonably. “Your politics are my politics.”

“And apparently, my intelligence is not your intelligence. You have no idea who Mace Naga is.”

I concentrate on the gold of his eyes. “A creature who would auction his own young.”

“And that benefits us directly.” His tone holds an undercurrent of fire, indicating that I’m toeing the line.

“Well, I’ve given it some thought, and I think Nadine Chen will be the best choice for me.”

“She won’t do.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Francesca is the superior candidate. Her father owns the biggest law firm in the country, he has ties with the human intelligence services, and further, her genetic profile is most compatible with ours.”

I close my eyes for a brief minute, remembering our ill-fated walk through the maze garden.

“Father, she is entitled. She has no manners, is outright rude in some cases?—”

“All that can be changed after marriage. She will learn with time, or are you incapable of handling her?”

I clench my fists on my knees, where he can’t see them. “I can”— fucking— “handle her. She is attractive enough, but?—”

Father scoffs. “Half the males are vying for her. Young and old. If you don’t take her, she will be snatched up by someone within the week. Her father wouldn’t stand the slight, of course, but that’s besides the point.”

So he’s already discussed it with them.

I pinch the bridge of my nose as pressure builds in my sinuses. Smoke threatens to stream out of my nostrils, and it’s not going to?—

The faint sizzle is the only warning I get before a band of wicked flame latches around my throat. I suppress a shout at the malicious burn that seizes me, my hand reaching for my neck before I drop it, staring at my father.

His eyes are wide with rage, his right hand upturned as the whip of flame stretches between us.

Dragon flame on human skin is a maddening sort of torture.

The scent of burning, then charring, flesh fills my nose, but still I maintain my father’s stare. Agony threatens to consume me, but it manifests as only a tremble.

His voice is a scalding, draconian hiss. “Do not think you are being given choices , Xander.” And here it is. I have been waiting for this moment. “I indulged you as a child and it ruined you. A decade with those creatures couldn’t help you. You are still spoilt.”

I stare at him, unblinking. Unwavering. He wants me to submit. To buckle under his power. He would enjoy it to see me cry.

Just because I know he’ll hate me for it, I keep my voice low and calm. “I will marry Francesca if that is your wish, Father.”

Something flashes in his eyes. Surprise. Irritation.

He lowers his hand, and the flame unwraps itself from around my throat. I remain ramrod straight in my chair.

“Leave, before the scent of you spoils my office.”

I rise slowly, leisurely. Straightening to my near seven-foot height without a tremble, I turn on my heel and stalk out the door. Agony spreads through the flesh and tendons of my neck, all the way through to my trachea. I’ve lost feeling in some places where the nerves are damaged.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because two things have happened tonight. One, it is now confirmed that my father has not forgiven me for my so-called transgression. And two:

Flores Drakos has realised that I am no longer the spoiled teenager he once knew, but a full grown, hot-blooded dragon male.

And his rival in every way.