Page 50 of Queens

“Unsure.” David cocks his head to the side. “Shall we try?”

I have nothing else to lose. I extend my arm, and David looks just a smidgen too excited as he grabs my hand, curls his fist around my thumb, and rips.

I scream.

The bracelet doesn’t come off.

David shoves my thumb back into place.

I scream again, sliding off my chair.

David peers over the counter at me. “Don’t be such a pussy.”

“I am not!”

I’m the Crown Princess of Wrath. I amnota pussy, and I fucking hate when David uses outdated human insults. He learned them from Mom, and they piss me off. Humans have always hated women, and their half-cocked slurs only prove that.

It’s precisely why I pretend my human blood doesn’t exist. David doesn’t have the same luxury with his brown eyes and freckles, but I do. I’m a spitting image of Aziel, and I look entirely demon. I’m as strong as one, too.

“If Wrath is proving to be too much for you, I’m always in need of an assistant,” David says.

I’m not going to dignify his statement with a response.

I cradle my hand to my chest, nursing my pulsing thumb before returning to my seat. What am I supposed to do now? Do I return to work and pretend my loss against Rexton never happened? Do I sit back and let him steal the life I’ve been working so damned hard to build?

“I’m going home,” I say. “Thanks for helping with all this…” I gesture to my head. “I owe you one.”

David already knows that. Our relationship operates best when our favors are tit for tat. I don’t do things out of the kindness of my heart, and neither does he.

I teleport home before David responds, mainly because I don’t care to hear whatever smartass comment he has to make. My apartment is just as I left it, but somebody’s been inside. There’s a lingering scent of cologne. I’d recognize it anywhere, and I suck my cheeks into my mouth as I head toward my liquor cabinet.

Wren knows where I store my private documents, and I crouch low to reach the small compartment built into the bottom of the cabinet. Something has been slid inside, and I ignore the pounding in my head and thumb as I maneuver it out.

It’s a thick manila folder. Pinned to the front is a picture of Rexton.

Wren works fast.

I follow his scent throughout my apartment, tracking his whereabouts. Only once I’ve confirmed he didn’t enter my bedroom do I hobble to the kitchen, my heart racing as I drop onto my couch and dump the folder’s contents into my lap. Pictures, government paperwork, hospital records. The works. Everything I could ever need is here.

I begin with the hospital records. Demons are a hearty bunch, and there’s rarely a need to see a doctor outside of adolescence. Even then, our visits are periodic and mainly to ensure we’re growing as we should.

Rexton has more hospital records than I’ve ever seen. Maybe it’s because he was born a shadow. They’re weaker than most, unable even to take a physical form. I flip to a page in the middle, read the first few lines and eye the image attached, then set the records aside.

Rexton was abused. Badly.

I’m a bitch, but I have my limits. This is none of my business.

I set the hospital records aside, then move on to the government paperwork. There’s nothing of interest here. A birth certificate ages him at one hundred and four, younger thanI anticipated. He gained an education through elite private schools, so he must come from a wealthy family. His parents would have been devastated to give birth to a shadow.

I wonder if that’s why they beat him.

The words before me grow blurry as my headache intensifies, my brain upset with my concentration. I do my best to ignore it, but it quickly becomes impossible. I’m feeling significantly better today than I have these past two days, but I’m not fully healed. I need more rest.

My hands shake as I tuck the paperwork away and shove it back underneath my liquor cabinet. I’m not focusing, and I’ll look through this with fresh eyes after a small nap.

I fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow, and I have no idea where I am or what time it is when I finally wake up. It’s discombobulating, and I take a moment to collect my bearings before checking the time.

Fuck.