The Beast

THIRTY-ONE

Over at the Brownswick School for Girls, Vishous was itchy as shit as he slipped into yet another abandoned classroom. With his gun up and ready, and his back flat against the crumbing plaster wall, he scanned the tipped-over chairs with their half-moon tabletops . . . the big desk over by the chalkboard . . . the debris in the corner where part of the ceiling had collapsed.

“Goddamn it.”

Moving on to the next room, he only found more of the same: cold air, old mold, discarded, broken furniture, fluorescent light fixtures hanging like broken teeth from up above . . . and absolutely no fucking lesser jars.

The slayers had stayed in some of the rooms, typically the ones in the dormitories with mattresses and box springs and windows that were not missing panes—but after no jars were located in any of those buildings, he and Tohr had moved on to the remaining facilities.

As all slayers kept their vessels with them after their inductions, the only conclusion was that the Omega had taken all the hearts with him when he’d gone Merry Maid on the campus the night before last.

Fucker.

Tilting his head to the side, he triggered his communication device by speaking into it. “Nothing here. You find anything?”

“No,” Tohr said in V’s earpiece. “The Omega must have gotten them all.”

“Yeah. Fucking hell.”

Beneath his shitkickers, crap that was on the hardwood floor crunched and crackled, but there was no need to be completely silent. And as the image of the Omega in a French maid’s uniform and fishnets made V flash his fangs in the dark, he—

Froze where he was.

Cranked his head to the right.

Looked out through the two-out-of-three-ain’t-bad set of windowpanes to the stretch of asphalt out behind the building.

Headlights flared into the classroom, shedding a glare of illumination on the rotting shell of prep-school learning before passing over his leather-clad body.

As things were extinguished, he dematerialized over to the glass.

A car had pulled up and parked, and in the glow from the interior dash, he could tell there was a dark-haired man and a red-haired woman inside—

Oh, interesting, he thought as he sensed her.

“We’ve got company,” he said into his communicator.

“And this is my special room.”

As Naasha stopped in front of a dungeon door with oak panels thick as tree trunks and hinges big as a male’s upper arm, one could have sworn, based upon her affect, that she was about to unveil a marvelous new acquisition, perhaps an oil painting or a marble statue, a car of some vintage or a sterling silver service.

It was none of the above.

Upon a creaking that he supposed was retained on purpose as opposed to being oiled away, a bloodred chamber was revealed. Lit by torches that sizzled on stone walls, and kitted out in swaths of velvet and satin that were like drapes without windows, there was no furniture save bedding platforms that had no pillows, no blankets, just mattresses that were covered with fitted sheets.

Naasha was the first to go in, and as she twirled around, her arms were held wide as if she were before a grand vista, her eyes seeking his. Behind him, there was an excited twitter from the females—and a flare of arousal from his cousins.

Throe remained silent.

Assail stepped through the jambs. Against the wall by the door, there were a series of make-up stations, no doubt for refreshings for the females after the sessions, and also a series of pegs on which to hang one’s clothes. There were two doors over to the left, both painted the dark gray hue of the stone, one with the word Females on it in cursive, the other with Males written in block lettering.

“And now we have dessert,” Naasha said in a husky voice as she reached behind her back and unzipped her gown. “I volunteer to be consumed first.”

As the dress fell to the floor, her body was revealed in all its nude glory, her high, tight breasts so very creamy, her smooth sex but a cleft between her long, slender legs. She kept her diamonds on and they twinkled like stars in moonlight, and when she released her hair from its chignon, her midnight locks were a striking contrast to her tan skin.

“Shut the goddamn door,” Assail commanded without looking behind himself.

When the creak of those hinges announced that someone had followed instructions, he took three strides over to her. In close proximity now, he watched her ruby lips part and her breasts pump with anticipation.

He smiled at her.

Then he grabbed her by the back of the neck and roughly escorted her over to one of the bedding platforms. Her breasts swayed as he pushed her down on all fours, her sex toward the assembled, her legs not parted enough, so he forced her knees wider by jerking her thighs open. Her core glistened with arousal, her scent like perfume in the air.

“Ehric, Evale,” he gritted out. “Drop your kits.”

His cousins wasted no time in getting naked, their alacrity as much from their willingness to take orders from him as it was from their having not been with a female for some time.

Both of them were fully erect as he motioned them to come over.

“You,” he said, pointing to Ehric. “Here.”

He pointed to that slit, and his cousin was on it in an instant, mounting the female from behind, his hips driving in as Naasha groaned and arched her back.

And then all Assail had to do was nod and Evale got with the program, going around and muffling the female’s grunts and groans with his rather large anatomy.

“And now you?” somebody proposed to him.

As one of the females sidled up and put her hand on his shoulder, he recognized her as the blonde who had kept her stare on him all through dinner.

“Let us enjoy—”

He pointedly removed her touch. “Get in line for my cousins.”

Stepping away, he found a bench over by the bathrooms to sit on, and as he crossed his legs, he watched the show, the females disrobing and feeling one another up, bodies lying out on the platforms, heads and arms intertwining with legs and breasts.

“Do not tell me this is from some misplaced puritanism.”

At the dry words, he glanced up at Throe. The male was still fully clothed, but going by the length straining at the fly of his tuxedo pants, that was not going to last.

Assail bared his fangs in a smile. “I have never developed a taste for fast food. It’s rather common for my appetites regardless of how noble it wishes to appear.”

“That wasn’t the case last night.” Throe leaned down and smiled, likewise revealing his canines. “I believe you quite enjoyed your time in the parlor.”

“Tell me, is Xcor aware of your presence here?”

Throe eased back, calculation narrowing his eyes. “For a businessman, you seem curious about much that does not concern you.”

“It’s a simple question.”

In the background, someone came hard, and Assail glanced over. Ehric and Evale had shifted things around, the pair of them double-penetrating Naasha’s well-used sex, one underneath her on his back, the other mounting her on top. A female had joined in and the madam of the house was suckling on a set of voluptuous, pink-nippled breasts.

“Xcor and I have ended our association, shall we say.”

Assail refocused on the male. “Breaking up is sooo hard to do.”

“His interests and mine did not align any further. He shall not relent in his pursuit of the throne.”

“Indeed.” Assail carefully tracked the male’s features, searching for signs of tension. “And you are now here for how long?”

“I know not. And I care not. I have had an extended, brutal sojourn in the company of savages, and I crave the civilized in the manner of a starving male.”

“Mmmm,” Assail said.

Rising to his feet, he faced off with the other male—and reached forward to touch the precisely tied bow at Throe’s collar.

As the male’s eyes widened in surprise, Assail pushed that body back against the stone wall, holding him in place by the throat.

Then he leaned in chest-to-chest, extended his tongue, and drew it across Throe’s lower lip.

Assail laughed as he felt the shudder go through his prey and watched whilst some sort of inner dialogue played out on that handsome face—said conflict being of such note that Throe failed at keeping the reaction to himself.

“You taste like Scotch,” Assail murmured as he reached down and cupped that massive erection. “And you feel hungry.”

Throe began to pant, much in the manner of Naasha. But he was frozen in place as if he were shocked equally by Assail’s actions . . . and his reaction.

“Are you,” Assail growled as he hovered above Throe’s lips. “Are you hungry . . . for dessert?”

A strange sound came out of the male, half begging, half denial.

And then Throe punched at Assail’s shoulders, sending him careening backward onto one of the platforms.

Throe wiped his mouth off on his sleeve and stuck his finger in Assail’s direction. “I don’t go like that.”

Assail allowed his legs to flop to the sides, exposing the arousal behind his fine slacks. “Are you sure?”

Throe cursed and wheeled around for the door. He was gone the next moment, no doubt stomping off to his room, wherever that might be.

Assail sat up and straightened his jacket. That one was going to be fun to crack.

And mayhap in the process, he would learn exactly what Throe was doing here.

He knew in his gut that Wrath and Vishous were correct to be concerned with the glymera. Throe was up to something—and the divining of what, in addition to seducing the male out of his sexual comfort zone, was exactly the kind of distraction Assail was after.

This was going to be rather enjoyable.