Chapter 4

CASSIUS

With every step I take closer to Anita, she stiffens more and more, sensing the predator in me.

Smart girl!

Then her chin rises stubbornly, and her whole body goes taut, as if waiting for a blow. My rattle vibrates in my chest, and my muscles stiffen until they are ready to snap.

Memories of my nest mates beating me surface. Basilisks have no use for the weak. While they might have dozens of siblings in a batch, less than half make it to the age of five. Only one or two reach puberty, and even fewer survive to adulthood.

They thought I was weak. My poison hadn't developed yet, and I couldn't even petrify a rabbit with my stare. I came into my powers during one particularly nasty beating, and I ended up killing all five of my siblings. My basilisk burst into existence and took over…and he hasn't left since.

Without my specially designed, spelled sunglasses, everyone I looked at would be turned to stone. If it's an accidental glance, it's usually not a permanent condition, but if I stare longer than twenty seconds, the stone effect can reach the heart and stop it from beating. There is no coming back from that, even if they thaw.

Anything longer than a full minute or two, and they never come back. My family has a whole stone collection in their garden, standing like proud statues.

A testament to their might.

A warning that they should be feared.

Looking at the girl on the cot, I recognize the signs of a survivor. Whatever happened to her, she barely got out alive.

It makes her unpredictable.

And dangerous.

My damn rattle shakes in my chest, and my basilisk slithers uncomfortably under my skin with the need to get closer. It likes that she touched us without fear, while I nearly had a heart attack.

No matter how hard I search, she doesn't appear to be affected by the poison I naturally secrete from my skin. I want to yank off my sunglasses to get a good look at her. The fucking lenses leave me virtually blind while indoors, but I don't dare risk it.

I somehow find myself hovering over Porter's shoulder. I'm not sure if I'm trying to make sure that he doesn't hurt her or if I'm just curious about her answer.

Either option is disturbing.

I tilt my head to the side as I study her reaction. Though she might exude innocence, I've made a habit of digging deeper and studying every minutia of people's expressions—it saved my ass more than once—and her face tells me something very interesting.

"You're not surprised."

She rips her gaze off Porter to look at me, and I instinctually still under her attention. I'm not sure if my basilisk is warning of a dangerous predator or, more concerning, the reptile is actually interested in her.

To my shock, instead of recoiling, she relaxes under my gaze, which only confuses me more. Not my basilisk—the reptile is practically salivating with the need to wrap the delectable morsel up in his coils. I take a step back to keep myself from reaching for her, my normal impenetrable calm ripped to shreds by her whiskey-colored eyes. I hate surprises and feeling off-balance.

It's never smart to surprise a basilisk—it never leads to anything good.

"My best guess is that the weaselly mage who interrogated me couldn't keep his mouth shut and blabbed." She gives a casual shrug, looking down to check her nails as if bored. "MID has a leak. I'm assuming that at the first opportunity, he ran to my family and sold me out, telling them I was being held by MID."

Porter snorts, a bitter expression crossing his face. "You mean the spoiled princess is being rescued by her parents? Why am I not surprised? People like you never have to pay the consequences for your crimes. You think money solves everything."

The sneer on his face has cut down the strongest men—no one likes to be targeted by the boogeyman—but she barely bats an eyelash. If anything, her expression hardens, her eyes going dead in a way that has my stomach lurching.

"Sure, if that's what you want to call it." The smile she flashes him is unpleasant. "The instant I walk out the door, I'll cease to exist."

"Please. You're just looking for sympathy, trying to worm your way out of trouble." Porter rolls his eyes, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're exaggerating and will get off with nothing more than a slap on your wrist. You took a fake name to slum it, throwing around your wealth and power to get attention."

"Working as a bike messenger with maybe two thousand dollars to my name?" Anita tips her head back and just laughs, tears of mirth swimming in her eyes, but I don't miss the tinge of despair that sparks in her gaze. Her laughter trails off, and she shakes her head like he's the idiot, her tone turning condescending. "You see, I'm the black sheep of the family, and they'll do anything to remove the stain on their precious name. Mommy dearest had an affair, which normally isn't a big deal, but I had the audacity to be born as a level three mage. That can't be allowed to stand. The last attempt on my life was when I was fifteen."

She reaches back and unconsciously rubs her shoulder. I see the twisted scars where it looks like she was mauled, not to mention the dozens of other, older scars that linger on her body almost like braille—little nicks here, longer cuts there, creating a roadmap of her life that reveals probably more than she'd like. I watch the edges of the thin strap of her camisole, silently wishing it would slip a little.

Something about the creamy, tan skin tempts me to reach out and run my fingers over it to see if it's as smooth as it looks. When she speaks again, I blink and struggle to pull my head out of my weird fantasies.

"It was the last straw." She drops her arm, then stares us dead in the face. "I can't fight back if I'm dead. So I left. The best way to piss off my family is to survive. I turn twenty-five in a few days. If I survive that long, I will get my inheritance. I'll legally be an adult, and any attack will officially be considered assault."

"But only if you survive," Soren supplies, his voice gravelly as his hellhound pushes for control.

Anita snaps her fingers and points to him with a crooked smile that holds no humor. "Bingo."

"What's your surname?" Darby asks, his voice tight with tension.

"You're not actually falling for her bullshit sob story, are you?" Porter is incredulous, throwing his arms out in exasperation. The corners of the room darken as his shadows slowly creep across every surface, giving the space an oppressive feel of being crushed. Even the air becomes thick, the bitter cold searing my lungs with each breath.

"Are you throwing a temper tantrum?" Anita asks, staring at him like he's a child, even rolling her eyes. "Are you going to stomp your foot next?"

The temperature plummets, our breaths emerging like fog, but Anita doesn't back down. She only lifts a single eyebrow, as if he proved her point.

A heartbeat of silence passes as they stare each other down. A vein throbs along Porter's jaw, then he releases a growl and stomps out of the room, shouldering past me hard enough that he nearly knocks me on my ass. He doesn't try the same with Soren, knowing that the beast is immovable and it would likely be him on the ground instead.

As soon as he leaves the room, the shadows trail after him, dragging along the floor and giving the impression of a hulking monster that takes pleasure in devouring children. While Porter has some control over his shadows, they have a mind of their own and often give away his emotions.

The girl doesn't even flinch at the display of power. She cocks her head, more curious than anything, but I notice something interesting…and disturbing.

A tiny shadow detaches from the mass and zips toward the girl, disappearing under her foot, hiding in her own natural shadows.

Even more interesting, her toes curl as if she senses the touch. Most people recoil at the cold sensation, if they even notice it, but she shifts her feet as if she's protective of it.

"Are you sure you want to know?" She lifts a challenging brow at Darby, her earlier animosity mostly gone—not the distrust though. "You know better than most that information can be dangerous. If you get caught looking into them, they'll make you disappear too. They'll plug you into their server farms until you forget that you were ever human. They've done it before."

From her shattered expression, I don't doubt she's telling the truth.

She lost someone close to her that way.

My basilisk moves under my skin, the sensation like scales slithering over rock, and I'm not sure if he's jealous she's looking at Darby or upset that she's sad. My basilisk usually only has two moods—hunger and anger—so I'm not sure how to decipher the deluge of extra emotions from him or what they mean.

"The name," Darby demands, his voice harsh. He clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides, a rare sign of emotions for the tech'er. Most days, he's so lost in the digital world, he forgets how to interact with people or even eat if Soren doesn't bring him meals a couple of times a day.

Anita shrugs, but her mouth tightens in annoyance…or is that concern?

"Kerrington," she mutters, blowing out a heavy breath. "My name is Anita Kerrington. One of two heirs to the Kerrington dynasty."

The lights dim then flicker before going out, and the smell of lint burning on a heater on a cold winter night fills the room. Down the hall, I hear bulbs pop and glass shatter. The sound of the generator kicking in fills the room with a hum before the lights return brighter than ever.

Only, Darby is gone.

ANITA

Iwatch Darby storm off, my stomach lurching as he disappears from view. For some reason, he reminds me of my one and only friend growing up, but that's not possible. The odds of having two tech'ers in the same family is statistically improbable.

Yet I can't get over the niggling suspicion that I know him from somewhere.

I shake off the sensation, then eye the two remaining men. I debate the odds of being able to slip past them and escape, then conclude the chances are very fucking slim. While the snakelet—that's what I've dubbed Cassius—remains hidden behind his glasses, I doubt he misses much.

The bigger man still standing in the doorway reminds me of a hungry wolf. He has yet to blink since Darby disappeared, and I can't get over the impression that he's just waiting to pounce. I lick my lips, going through the different duck and run scenarios in my head, only to have Soren narrow his eyes and tense, like he can read my fucking mind.

He pushes into the room, then leans against the wall by the door and crosses his arms, never once releasing my gaze. A silent sigh escapes me when the stubborn fucker just makes himself at home.

I can practically feel the noose tightening around my neck, and I jiggle my leg, tapping my heel against the floor, unable to keep still. "I don't suppose I can get some clothes?"

If I thought they would blush and stammer like boys or run off to do my bidding, I grossly miscalculated. In fact, their attention drops to the thin sheet barely covering me, and I struggle to keep heat from rising to my face when my nipples harden under the attention.

"No," Soren answers bluntly, then just stops talking, leaving an awkward silence in the room.

Taken aback, I blink at him for a second, then clear my throat. "May I ask why?"

He grunts, then the rumble of his voice fills the room. "I find that a girl is less likely to run off when she is naked."

I'm struck speechless by his reasoning. I should be panicking, but my curiosity gets the best of me, and I tilt my head to study him. "Do you have a lot of experience with girls running off that you have to strip them naked?"

He gives a noncommittal shrug, his face scrunching up slightly as if he's thinking. "Some."

Again, any thoughts evaporate from my mind, and I'm completely stumped.

I look at Cassius for assistance, but he's nodding like he agrees with the big man. "Smart," he mutters under his breath like he's taking notes.

Curiouser and curiouser.

I should run screaming from the room, clothes or no clothes, but I find myself actually charmed by the pair. "Have you ever tried flirting with a girl instead of reverting to threats?"

Cassius tilts his head, as if contemplating my question, but Soren immediately shakes his head. "No clothing is much more straightforward and doesn't lead to any misunderstandings."

I bite my lip to keep from smiling, and my curiosity regarding their seduction techniques only deepens. "And how do you normally lure them into your lair?"

To my surprise, Soren smirks, then flexes and waves a hand down the front of his body. "Muscles and a big cock usually do the trick."

I sputter with laughter, incredulous at his audacity, and despite my best intentions, I can't stop my eyes from wandering down his body. The man is built like a tank—broad shoulders, thick chest, and thighs bigger than my waist.

The way his jeans cups his dick—well, he's not bragging. The man's cock is huge, and I shift as I imagine him thrusting into me. I'm not sure if I should wince or pray to the gods that he knows how to use the tool that could absolutely destroy a pussy in the best possible way if done right.

I'm totally thrown. Soren seemed so shy, almost bashful at first, but maybe that's part of the charm. He's all quiet and unassuming, but once he lures you in, you're a goner. I shiver as the image of him naked and prowling toward me pops into my head.

Fuck me!

"There is some truth in his words," Cassius says, a little smirk crossing his face. "You don't have a shortage of women."

I wonder if they are pulling my leg, but then Soren speaks again.

"You read their body language like Darby reads code. You might as well be able to read their minds," he remarks to Cassius before he looks me up and down, his smirk fading. "Some mages like to walk on the wild side and brag that they fucked a monster. I find that if you treat a woman with kindness and respect, they'll fall all over themselves to please you." He shrugs one of his massive shoulders, and his lips quirk. "And orgasms help. You'd be surprised how few men actually bother learning how a woman's body works. Give them five or six orgasms, and they'll treat you like a god."

I wince at the way he describes women, but he's not necessarily wrong. In our world, women are mostly an afterthought. We've been trained to accept less for ourselves. Men just stopped putting in the effort, and most women have settled.

After a few unfulfilling hookups, I learned to become more discerning with my partners. I don't have the time or the patience for a man who doesn't want me and can't put in the effort to get me off. While I want to be disgusted by what they admitted, I'm not surprised.

Maybe the women they encounter will learn to demand more for themselves now that they know there is better out there for them.

They don't give off man-whore vibes, just confidence that they know what they are doing, and I find it sexy as fuck. I clutch my sheet a little closer to disguise my reaction, but the way Soren inhales deeply, as if catching the scent of my desire, and the way Cassius licks his lips, I know I failed miserably.

Damn beastlings.

Most mages don't consider the beastlings magical creatures. While everyone is born with some innate magical ability, mages only consider people who can cast actual magic as someone of worth.

Though mages only make up a third of the population, their magic puts them at the top of the food chain. To them, even the weakest mage is better than a beastling. Mages consider creatures the workforce, often deemed inferior since their magic is restricted to only being able to shift.

Honestly, some of the beastlings I met are so powerful, they can give a mage a run for their money. Alphas are seriously fucking scary beasts. While some beastlings are average, run-of-the-mill shifters who can turn into cats and dogs, a small percentage of the population has the mythology gene.

It's said they can turn into creatures only whispered about in myths and legends. Though no one will say it out loud, many consider them the true descendants of the gods.

They have magic they shouldn't, and it pisses the mages off that anyone would encroach upon their territory. These beastlings bridge the gap between normal shifters and magic users, and they can often be more powerful.

Up until a decade ago, some mages even called open season on them as a way to pass the time, often putting trophy heads of their prey on their walls to brag about their hunting prowess. Many now consider it barbaric, some even claiming that it never happened, but I still hear whispers of disappearances and wild hunts.

What most people don't know is that mages drug their prey. It wouldn't do for the beastlings to get a fair shot and be able to fight back.

I received a particularly nasty beating when I took my family's trophies and burned them in a bonfire in our backyard. My cousins were so pissed, I thought I was going to die that time, but it was worth it.

On the flip side, I've also heard horror stories where beastlings lose control and eat mages who piss them off. While I would normally dismiss this out of hand, I've met some batshit crazy beastlings roaming the streets at night.

I wouldn't put it past them to maul their enemies and smile while doing it.

A beastling is dangerous when they lose control, but they can usually pull themselves back from the brink of insanity. Those who can't, those who lose their minds and turn feral, are called wildlings. Once they turn feral, there is usually no turning back. When they lose their humanity, most consider them nothing more than beasts.

That same wildness hovers around these men, something that speaks of an otherness that rubs uncomfortably against my senses. It's not just the supreme confidence they exude or that they are in your face masculine.

A "don't fuck with me" vibe practically oozes from them.

While the sane part of me says run the fuck away, a darker, more primitive part of me wants to come out and play.

I suspect both options could get me killed.

"Now that you are back on your family's radar, do you have any plans on how you're going to stay alive?" Cassius speaks casually, but tension runs through both men at the question, like my answer matters to them.

Which is crazy, since we just met. Why would they care more about my well-being than my own family?

They wouldn't.

Not unless they were after something.

I narrow my eyes, wondering what game they are playing. "Why do you ask? Plan on selling me out the instant I step foot outside the door?"

Something inside me hurts at the thought of them betraying me, but I harden my heart.

It's what people do.

I should be used to it by now.

Yet, weirdly, I somehow expected better of them.

That foolish sentimentality will only get me killed. I'm not ready to die yet, not until I've exacted my revenge on my family, and the best way to do that is by living long enough to claim my fortune.