Page 4 of Monster’s Consort (Blackthorn Academy for Supernaturals #18)

Bane

Watching Ferguson Tamcroft IV prick his thick, swollen fingers on an array of forks should have been considered a form of torment.

Seriously, who touches the prongs of their silverware before eating?

That’s gross.

“Does it really matter?” I asked as he set the salad fork down. He regarded me with a curious look.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, what’s so bad about using the same fork for your dessert that you used for dinner?”

The man looked at me like I’d just asked him if he’d seen a Hydra.

“Surely, you are joking Mr. Locke?” He blinked.

I looked back and forth, crossing my legs as I shrugged.

“I don’t know, Fergy, you tell me.” I gave him my best cocky grin and I swear, the look on his face was ripe with murderous intent.

“It is what is proper, Mr. Locke.”

I scoffed at his words. Proper this and proper that... maybe I could put in a request with the future Queen of Lir to go salad forkless.

“No matter, you shall have ample practice this evening during the welcoming banquet.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, sitting up straighter.

“The welcoming banquet... tonight?” Ferguson looked at me in question.

“What banquet?” I grit out through my teeth. The monster within rattled, feeling strangely threatened. Violet did not mention a banquet. Nor did she mention Wanda or Norman’s presence...

My little fae and I, it seemed, had much to catch up on.

“Why, to celebrate the arrival of the princess and her companions,” he drawled, appraising me with his judgmental gaze. “And our queen’s... allies.”

He said the last word carefully and my monster growled within me. Something did not feel right, but I could not figure out what.

Violet and I had only been at the castle for barely three weeks.

Aside from being shuffled around the building like cattle and forced apart from my girlfriend, I hadn’t had much time to poke around on my own.

I was fairly certain, that was on purpose.

After all, Queen Amaranth didn’t know me from Jack Shit.

Thus, the rigorous vetting of me and everything that I am through these archaic ceremonies and traditions.

Including this damn course on silverware and being an uptight asshole.

Still, the word hung there in the air like the beacon it was.

Potential allies.

“Now, tell me, Mr. Locke, how does one accurately differentiate the salad form from the dinner fork and the dessert fork?”

I grumbled, knowing it was of no use to press or argue. Though I hated to obey anyone, I knew the way out was through.

So I pushed my monster aside, steeling my resolve as I leaned forward and glanced at my table setting.

I picked up the smallest fork, making a show of it, like I was truly invested in the context of plate settings.

And just as Fergy sighed a breath of relief, I flung the fork at the wall with all my might, trapping a dark, blue winged butterfly.

It fluttered, sparks of magic falling like glitter as it flapped away, trying to escape.

“My heavens, Mr. Locke!” he yelped as I pushed myself up from my seat.

I carefully rose from my chair and sauntered past his shaking form, pinning him with my gaze. I smirked at him as I grabbed the butterfly from its imprisonment. It fell into my palm, its wings twitching, two small holes in its wing from my dessert fork.

I flung the fork back at Ferguson, and it landed back in its spot, sticking up, its tines sunk into the wood on the table.

I called my magic to my palm, or rather Violet’s magic. Fae magic.

Though the world could keep me from becoming a consort, it could never take Violet from my veins. Even if I was found non-viable, I still had a claim on her. She was and always would be a part of my blood, my soul.

She was my anam cara.

Purple fractals pooled from beneath my veins and the butterfly lit up bright purple, nearly white. When the magic sparked, fading into the air, its bright blue wings were shinier, brighter, and whole. As if it had never been injured in the first place.

“Question, Fergy,” I said as I twisted my hand, letting the butterfly skitter across my knuckles, flexing its wings with renewed vigor.

He gulped, his gaze still settled on me.

“Do you know the difference between a butterfly and a moth?”

Ferguson shook his head. “No, sir, I do not.”

I stroked the tiny antenna with my forefinger, noting how delicate, yet soft the touch was.

“Then perhaps, Fergy, you should step away from your dinner plates for once,” I said as I lifted my hand and the butterfly flew off without a care. “And appreciate real beauty.”

And then I coolly sauntered across the room and walked out the door, toward the one place I favored above all else in this castle.

The library.

I walked through the aisles of books, taking in the warmth of the ambiance there.

The stained glass windows cast hazy fractals of light among the dusty tomes.

It was peaceful. I wandered through the shelves, getting lost in my thoughts of what had transpired here earlier between Violet and I.

My cock twitched in my pants just at the thought of sinking inside of her again.

That was, until I heard someone call my name.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” a familiar apathetic voice drawled.

I turned to see Wanda, languidly spread along a chaise with a book in her hands.

My gaze settled on her long, illustrious bronze legs.

Incubi tended to be larger even in our human forms, and it was hard pressed to find a creature or human who matched us in height.

Even by siren standards, Wanda was a rarity.

She nearly matched me in height, and despite her lithe looking frame, she was not without strength, either.

Especially when she shifted into her true, siren form. Though most people attune sirens to be alluring and beautiful—which they are, in their human form—in her true form, like me, she was a monster.

Those long, bronze legs became scaled with talons instead of toes, those thighs became slippery like fish skin. Her long, coffin-shaped nails turned to talons and her teeth became weapons. Razor sharp, like a shark.

Though sometimes, I believed you could see her monster beneath her stunning visage if you looked hard enough.

“Well, that didn’t take long, now did it?” I bit.

She scoffed at me, flashing those long thick eyelashes up at me with a devilish grin.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Bane.”

It was my turn to scoff. “What are you reading? How To Be A Bitch In 10 Ways Or Less?”

I slid my hands into my pockets.

She apathetically turned the page. “How To Tame An Incubus, 101, actually.”

“Fuck you,” I nipped.

She turned the page. “Been there, done that. Wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

I rolled my eyes. “So you say, but I remember your experiences very differently.”

She set her book down, glaring at me with her aquamarine eyes. “Of course you do. You were high off my siren toxin.”

Her answer pissed me off and I knew it shouldn’t, but fuck...

Wanda Fischman knew how to strike a nerve. She was as vicious as a great white.

“What are you doing here, Wanda? Truly?” I crossed my arms.

She raised an eyebrow. “In this library? I’m trying to read. ”

“You know what I mean. Don’t play coy with me. I know you.”

She dismissed me with a wave. “You only know what I let you know, Bane. You are no different than anyone else. Surely you do not think yourself special because we fucked around for... what was it? A summer? I can’t remember because it wasn’t very memorable.”

“Mhmm. Right. Clamp up and push back because you know I’m right.”

“You are annoying is what you are.” She rolled her eyes. “Fucking men. Always think just because you have a dick that means you’re special. News flash, you’re not.”

Just as I turned to leave her to her bitchy self, because she was truly grating on my nerves, she spoke again, breaking the odd silence that had descended for a moment.

“It was either this or spend all summer with my parents,” she said carefully.

I turned, seeing a strange glimmer of something in her eyes.

Sympathy?

Concern?

No, that couldn’t be right.

“What about Norman?” I asked carefully. I watched the look on her face shift for only a fraction of a second before it went stoic. For the briefest moment, it was as if she actually looked sad.

“What about him?” she asked.

“You couldn’t spend the summer with your boyfriend?”

Wanda bristled at the word. Boyfriend .

She wasn’t really my girlfriend, and I was never really her boyfriend. We were just monsters with benefits. Lust feeds lust, and that was all it was between us and it was the reason we split apart. Like Norm said, she was a fickle fish and could be distracted easily. Commitment was not in her DNA.

I’d said the words sarcastically, but the way her eyes glistened at the word made me feel almost bad for saying it. Because it looked like the word actually hurt her.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, standing up abruptly. That look of guilt and disdain faded into anger. Into what I knew best of Wanda.

Venom.

“I don’t do boyfriends.”

“Girlfriends then?” I nipped, knowing just how to get under her fishy skin.

She glared at me. “I don’t date. You know this,” she hissed, her nostrils flaring.

“Ah, yes, because monogamy is... what did you say? The bane of your existence?” I gave her a smug smile and I swear I could hear the grinding of her teeth echo in the library.

“I can’t have this conversation with anyone, let alone you . You stupid little?—”

I grinned, feeling slightly victorious as she glared at me. I had hit a nerve yet again.

“Too many sparkly fish in the sea, right?” I smirked.

She flipped her teal hair over her shoulder, and I could see the faint gold veins beneath her skin light up. She was flustered. Emotional.

Interesting.

“Something like that.” The way she said the words felt harsh, calculating even. They weren’t true in the least, and I found myself wondering what she was hiding.

I shouldn’t have cared, truly. Who and what Wanda played with was none of my business. She was a big girl; she could handle herself.

But there was also a part of me that knew what it was like to feel alone. To feel like you were only as good as your next fuck, as your next meal.

And so I recognized that spark in Wanda’s glittering eyes. The desire for more. That was the part of me that responded to Wanda.

I shrugged. “You’re missing out,” I said. “Being with one person is actually really fucking fantastic.”

She scoffed at me as she crossed her arms. “Some of us weren’t made to be tied down, Bane. You should know that. You’re an incubus, for goodness sake. You’re made to spread your lust. It’s who you are.”

The way she said the words was like she was trying to convince herself.

Though why she’d give a shit what I did was beyond me. Just because we had a brief lust-filled fling didn’t mean we were friends. Far from it.

But Violet seemed to be building some sort of friendship with her, and that was something I did need to respect.

I may not have liked it, but I couldn’t fault Violet for being the kind-hearted, compassionate woman she was.

It was why I loved her. And Wanda, just like myself, had been touched by Violet’s fae charms. Her signature marked Wanda and Norman as much as it marked Delaney and I.

For better or for worse, we were all a part of Violet and Violet was the faerie glue that held us all together.

It was why I refrained from saying something truly hurtful to Wanda, and instead, tried my hardest to do what I thought my girlfriend would have wanted me to do. Be... friendly.

Friends gave advice, right?

“We may be creatures of lust, Wanda, but we both know deep down beneath all that lust, we are creatures who deserve more. ”

Wanda’s eyes glistened and she shook her head, turning away from me.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Bane,” she said, her voice tinged in ice. “We are not the same, you and I.”

And there was the armor. The scales of steel that repelled anyone who tried to get close.

Was that what happened between her and Norman?

Did he try to peel back her scales?

Did he want more ?

I wondered if I asked him if he’d tell me the truth. I wondered why I cared.

“Keep telling yourself that, Wanda,” I said as I sauntered past her, toward the door. “See you at dinner.” I left, not bothering to stay in the cold presence of the siren anymore.