Page 37 of Her Tortured Beasts (Her Vicious Beasts #4)

Chapter 36

Aurelia

F rancesca’s mouth twists in distaste when we arrive at dinner. Still naked, I kneel in my usual corner of the formal dining room. Xander has stopped talking to me completely. He doesn’t look at me, nor communicates in any way. It’s like I don’t even exist. The children were already in bed by the time we returned from the long drive and servants told us to come to dinner.

Xander had cleaned himself up, changing his bloodstained clothes while Heather fussed over my tangled hair and grazed knees. The dragon murmured choice words to her, likely about keeping me unclothed as some sort of punishment for what I’d done.

Which was save him from disaster. You’re welcome? Some beasts would pay a lot of money to get a kiss from me, and here he is getting one for free.

The scowl on my face is a permanent fixture now, especially as I have to walk around the castle with tits and ass out. Eugene, thankfully, was waiting by the new truck when I’d left The Jewel and he follows by my ankle once again, hidden from the monsters of the world. I wish I could do the same.

Flores is particularly smug in the one second I glance at him, but Selena and Lady Drakos go still in shock.

Selena’s mouth opens.

“One word, Selena,” the dragon king says, “and I return the children to Ragnar.”

My blood heats with rage. Where is this fucker called Ragnar?

Selena blinks furiously into her plate, and just when I think that’s that, she grits out between clenched teeth. “This. Is. Wrong.” She glares at her father. “You know it is. To show her there like that. And around the house!” She turns to Lady Drakos, her eyes beseeching. “Mother? Say something.”

The Lady Drakos sways in her seat as if she’s about to faint. I’m alarmed enough that I send a burst of healing towards her, hoping it’ll be enough to keep her upright.

“You would not understand the world of animuses,” Flores says, baring his teeth at his daughter. “This is a language that carves out respect with the underworld lords. This is a language they understand.” He gestures to me. “I trust it went well, Xander.”

“They were…amused,” Xander murmurs, sitting back in his seat in arrogant repose. That aura of darkness has only increased around him and even his father seems to be sensing that. Francesca subtly leans away from him where she sits in the chair adjacent to the king.

“I don’t care what they think,” Selena hisses.

“Sissy, stop,” Xander snaps, glaring at her. She looks at him like he’s betrayed her. “I’m trying to help you.”

“Oh, is that what you’ve been doing?” she hisses with great venom.

Xander glowers at her while Flores levels his daughter a dangerous look. “You know where to go.”

“I refuse.”

I’m proud of Selena. In the short time I’ve known her, those tiny attempts to stand up for herself have never really led to anything. Perhaps she’s sensing that it’s time for something with more gusto.

Except then Flores snaps out his wrist and a whip of fire latches itself around her delicate throat. Selena lets out a choked scream before he drags her to the floor, the sound of sizzling skin and her choking filling my ears.

I hug myself, knowing this situation couldn’t get any worse, that I’m useless against the forces of both Xander and his father.

Lady Drakos slides off her chair sideways, collapsing to the carpet right in front of me. I cry out, reaching for her shoulder and rolling her into the recovery position onto her side.

“Don’t touch her!” Xander roars and flies at me, shoving me backwards so I slam into the wall with a thud. Xander crouches over his mother. “Father, I think Selena gets the message.”

Flores’ nostrils are flaring, his gaze cold and harsh as he continues his assault over his daughter, now lying prone and unmoving on the carpet for a moment longer, before his whip goes out in a puff of black smoke.

I huddle in the corner, my arms wrapped around myself, shaken by one of the worst days I’ve ever had.

“Take her to the tower,” Flores remarks to the servants. “Release her at dawn.”

I watch as a male and female servant hurry forward and scoop Selena off the floor and take her away.

A foul scent lingers in the air, and it smells of misogyny.

“Xander?” comes a weak voice. Lady Drakos is stirring where she still lies on the carpet. “I feel so tired.”

“It’s alright, Mother,” Xander says through gritted teeth. “The servants will take you to your room.”

A wheelchair is rushed in and Xander carefully lifts and places his mother in it. Lady Drakos is an unhealthy shade of grey, and I remember what Titus said earlier today.

But her illness makes no sense. Her dragon lineage should protect her from almost every common ailment, including old age, and she’s only in her fifties. Non-specific tiredness just isn’t a thing. It makes the healer in me want to problem solve this.

I glance back up at the table where Xander, Flores and Francesca have resumed eating.

My mouth twists in disgust as I realise that through the entire ordeal, Francesca stayed silent. I stare at her with suspicion and wonder if all dragon families are like this, and this is simply the type of dinner she’s used to.

“This meal is lovely,” Francesca says breezily, her posture ramrod straight. “My compliments to the chef, Your Majesty.”

“Call me Flores, please.” He gives her an indulgent smile.

Dinner ends and we head back to our rooms, the air solemn and silent. There are no evening drawing room games tonight. No children to take my mind off the darkness steadily gnawing at my insides.

Later that night, when I’ve crawled into my cage and huddled against Eugene, Xander leaves the room. Storms out, in fact.

“I’m going to fly,” he says over his shoulder.

“Let me come with you!” Francesca coos. “I’d love to fly with you.”

“No.” He slams the door in her face.

From between the crack in the black fabric, I watch as Francesca clenches both fists and purses her lips. Finally, she stomps her foot and opens the door, slipping out.

Suddenly, the walls of the cage push in on me, crowding me in. The black bars are like teeth, the blankets like needles. It feels like a tomb. I rub my arms from a chill that has nothing to do with the night.

Tears stream and I let them, closing my eyes as the silence presses on me and the day’s events flash through my mind. I don’t know how I feel, but I know I have to get out of this fucking cage.

I grip the metal bars, tugging on them. “I want out,” I sob. “I want to go home.”

Eugene clucks next to me, but I push him away. “Get the key, Eugene,” I sob. “Get the key, please.”

Eugene is out of the cage like a lightning bolt, leaving the blackout fabric swinging in his wake. I’m openly sobbing now. From the physical pain of the various injuries I’d suffered tonight—I’d healed all the superficial ones, but Xander had dragged me from table, around the room to the floor, and I ache like I’ve been beaten bloody. The humiliation of the day, followed by missing my mates and the confusion of Xander’s mouth on mine. His mouth on my skin.

Then the ordeal at dinner. Selena is all alone in a tower somewhere, burnt and bleeding. And Flores threatening to take away the hatchlings?

A clank draws my attention to the cage door where Eugene is trying to fit the keys into the cage with his beak.

With a cry, I take them from him, fumbling with the lock for three unending seconds before I manage to catch the lock and it clicks open.

I scramble out of there like a monster is chasing me.

There is a monster chasing me: my own fucking decisions. The consequences are catching up, hard and fast.

Panting, straining for breath, I stare around the room. I’m weary, weak as Lady Drakos, and dizzy on my feet. I make my way over to the bed, sitting down on the maroon duvet. Damn the velvet softness of it compared to my cage floor. I’ve not had a solid night’s sleep since I arrived here and I feel every second of that missing now. I swallow, looking over my shoulder at the thick plush blankets and soft, fluffy pillows.

Just a moment’s reprieve. That’s all I need. Minnie always said that a solid night’s sleep always makes things look better.

I lie down and the mattress feels like a cloud against my sore bones, the sheets like silk against my skin.

Somewhere out there, in the space around me, that terrified female voice whispers for the hundredth time: Don’t open it.

Sinking into sleep feels like being buried. And I welcome it with open arms.