Page 31

Lucille

“Matilda! Get your feathered ass in here!”

I rise from the Queen Anne desk in my study, heels clicking on the Amazonian Ipe wood floor. I’d prefer Italian marble, but Bruno insists on flexing his manhood by filling the house with endangered pelts and materials. As if anyone assumes he’s in charge of this family simply because we’ve decorated our home with expensive trophies—the idea is laughable.

He’s little more than a crocodile handbag I drag out for special occasions, but I don’t mind the false front. The right people see him strut and posture, and I’m able to conceal my activities for the Society without scrutiny. The general population of predators has no idea how much of their day-to-day lives are decided by a select group of elites led by a woman, and I prefer to keep it that way.

Despite the survival of the fittest atmosphere of pred life, they don’t give females equal credit for their abilities. Our men are no more enlightened than human ones, and I don’t have the patience to justify my decisions simply because my balls are on the inside of my body. Knowing that the revelation of who they bow to would horrify and emasculate them certainly improves my day.

After all, isn’t secretly wielding the bigger stick more satisfying?

“Yes, Madame? How can I be of service?”

The sound of my dingbat assistant rushing in abruptly jerks me out of my ruminations, reminding me I’d called for her. “Where were you?” I scowl.

“I—I was downstairs taking a meal with the kitchen staff. You asked me to get out of your sight. I...”

For the love of Hera’s peacocks, this dimwit is going to ruin my day simply by breathing the same air as me. “Matilda. Stop. Talking. Now.”

Her stature shrinks even more and her hands fidget with her glasses shakily, clearly unable to execute even the most basic of responses. A sharp jerk of her head shows she understands me, and I let out a sigh of irritation as I roll my eyes. The wounded dove act is worse than her stammering idiocy.

“Get my drink and give me the weekly report. I have four meetings today and I cannot attend them without the information I tasked you with locating.” I glare at her as I walk to the large lounge by the window, dropping onto it with feline grace.

“Y-Yes, Madame,” she stammers as she hurries to the sideboard to pour my martini. She’s still trembling as she stirs the vodka gingerly, making certain not to bruise it with incorrect technique. I’ve drilled that into her numb skull over time, and the care she takes not to fuck up makes my leopard snarl in satisfaction. Fear is the most intoxicating scent in the world.

And I bask in its musk as often as possible.

“Start with my daughter. The last message I left her did its job—she’s terrified of disappointing me or besmirching our family name.”

The hawk shifter stares at me behind her horn-rimmed glasses as she hands me my glass. “Yes, Madame. From everything I could gather, she has adjusted well to her environment. There have been a few unfortunate incidents with fellow students, but her grades so far are excellent.”

Eyes narrowing, I bare my fangs at her. While I’ve forbidden Matilda from having direct contact with Delores since she left for Apex—since her failed emergence, really—I still expect intel. “I could have found that out myself. Tell me who she is keeping company with and pray you don't disappoint me again. I’m sure Bruiser would love to escort you home this evening.”

Feathers flutter through the air as she loses control of her animal for a moment, stammering, “I… she… Miss Delores has two friends, both second-year students in her arts program. Their names are Rufus and Cori. I have not yet traced their heritage, but once I do, I will prepare a dossier for you.”

Hmmm.

That’s not the company I wanted to hear about, but information about other families with ties to Apex is never a bad thing. “What about men? I’ve heard whispers of a professor following her around. Delores is not unattractive, and some preds prefer their meat fattened.”

The look of horror on her face makes me throw my head back and laugh. Oh, I adore shocking the diminutive moron I employ to deal with shit beneath my pay grade, although none of what I said should have been surprising. It’s no secret I have little maternal instinct outside of amassing more power through my heir’s marriage. That I birthed the ungrateful bitch means less to me than her value on the open market.

“She… she… Well, there are rumors from the main office that your spy has frequently seen her with the younger of the Khan twins. She has the other as a professor, as well as the consort. And—and she has a work study with the Draconis’ exiled heir. That is all I know because… something happened to her dorm room and she ha sn’t been living there. Your surveillance is not of use at the moment.”

Her stammering admission makes my face light up. While this isn’t enough to advance my plans, the knowledge that my chunky offspring is cozying up to some of the most well-connected and rare exiles in the entire school is quite pleasing. Sipping my drink, I consider how I can use this to my advantage.

I need to speak with the other birdbrain I have under my thumb.

“Hand me my phone, Matilda. If Henrietta can confirm what you’ve told me, I will spare you Bruiser’s company for another day,” I reply absently. My mind is spinning with the possibility of having dirt on the Khan ambush to use as leverage in future negotiations.

Delicious is the word that comes to mind.

When she scuttles over with my DiePhone, I snatch it out of her hand and flick through my contacts impatiently. The sound of multiple rings makes my animal pace, and I roar into the speaker when the Headmistress finally answers. “When I call, you answer immediately, Henrietta Shirdal, or so help me...”

A flurry of squawking and excuses echo in my office as she tries to apologize for her insolence. I hold my glass up for Matilda, watching her fetch my refill as the eagle continues to babble inanities.

When I tire of it, I snap, “Henrietta, if you don’t shut the hell up, I will eat you myself.” She finally shuts her beak, and the silence is blissful. “Is my daughter consorting with your staff? Don’t you dare lie to me.”

“I—I don’t know if she’s… I do not know about intimate acts. But she… the rumor is Felix Khan declared her under Khan protection. I believe it because she moved to another room without office help and I’m not sure where she’s living. Plus, Fitzgerald foll ows her around campus like a cat in heat. I am sorry, Madame; that’s all I know.”

A laugh bubbles out of my lips and the pure joy of knowing I have ammunition against those feline fools floods my veins. Oh, how I hate having to work with those filthy mobsters on Bloodstone, but I’ve never had a choice. The Society’s illegal activities are inextricably entwined with the empires of both my father and those mangy felines, but now…

Now I have a direct line to their fallen Raj via my disappointing progeny, and I couldn’t have planned this better if I had schemed it myself.

Everyone in our world knows about the shame of Felix Khan and his exile to Apex with his playboy brother and their orphan companion. Clearly, his preference for rare meat hasn’t lessened, and my daughter bedding the three of them couldn’t be a more convenient blackmail tool. If she whores herself out to the two rarest shifters in the place as well, I’ll have a royal flush.

Who knew the blonde dipshit would ever make herself useful?

“Madame Lucille? Are you there?” Henrietta asks carefully.

I glare at the phone, unamused by the interruption. “Of course I’m here, you twit. I was considering my options.”

“Yes, Madame. Forgive me,” she squawks.

“Shut up, you Kentucky Fried idiot. You should have called me the second you heard that rumor. Here’s what you’re going to do to make up for your lapse in judgment.” I pause for a moment, waiting for her to gather materials to record my instructions. “I want you to throw a huge celebration for Halloween. Spare no expense, and make attendance mandatory—costumes as well.”

“Even for the staff?”

“Of course for the staff, you fucking idiot! I want every single body on that campus in attendance, or your head will roll. Remember, your father cast you out years ago, Henrietta. He won’t lift a wing if I decide to end your life. I want my daughter and her suitors there so I can gather more information, so make it happen. Do you understand?” The last part is a snarl, and I have to calm my leopard down before I shift on the spot.

More babbling and apologies follow, but I hang up. I’ve made my point, and set the wheels in motion. What I need to do next is convene a meeting of the Society so we can discuss how to use Delores’ new position to our advantage. Our quarterly meeting is overdue—the postponement because of my child emerging as prey, adding to my humiliation. With the plans I’ve conceived today, I can sit proudly at the head of the table once more.

Delores Diamond Drew’s purpose has always been to facilitate my control of the Society. I didn’t envision it happening in this exact manner, but the latest twist makes me once again pleased I sought… alternative methods of providing an heir for our family.

“Matilda!”

“Yes, Madame. Another drink?”

I roll my eyes and hand her the glass, letting the gears in my head turn. Delores’ emergence as prey threw a wrench in my plot to use her spouse for consolidation of power, but now I have other plans for her. I thought she would be nothing but a thorn in my side until they killed her. What a stroke of luck she endeared herself to three Khans and is working for one of the most cloistered shifter species in the world. If she finds out where the dragon clash’s nest is, my father’s sales will quadruple. Even one female dragon would be worth more than the rest of Dimitri Rostoff’s stable combined.

“Get lost,” I mutter when Matilda brings the next refill. “I will call you when I’m ready to head to the salon.”

She nods, pushing her glasses up her nose as she scurries out the door. I wait until I hear her footsteps fade down the hall before I check the time on my limited edition Patek Philippe watch. It’s 8 a.m. here, which makes it 4 p.m. in Moscow. Dmitri should sit for his afternoon tea right about now, which makes it the perfect time to share my news.

“Dobryy den', ? 1 papa. I have news to report.”

The harsh laughter on the other end is familiar—Dmitri Rostoff vacillates between finding me satisfactory and useless on any day. Unlike my whiny brat, I’ve never complained that I have to work to earn his praise. I pride myself on exceeding his low expectations at every turn, and now I head the most powerful group of preds in America. My father still isn’t impressed by my position, but I can live with that for now.

“Speak.”

“Delores isn’t dead yet. However, she may prove useful even while she’s still breathing. She’s bedding the fallen Khan heirs, and has formed a close connection with a dragon.”

For the first time since my erstwhile offspring humiliated us, my father’s tone was filled with interest rather than scorn. I let him interrogate me, pausing for effect in all the right places. As we discuss my plans for the academy, he grows more and more excited. The possibility of locating not one but two hidden shifter species has him salivating. If it works, we may expand to scour the other academies around the world for vulnerable exiles to exploit.

When he disconnects the call, I feel the glow of my father’s pride for the first time since I sold my sister at the auctions.

Perhaps Delores isn’t entirely worthless after all.