I make a show of tossing the chocolate towards Xander’s mouth, but in reality, I just levitate it really fast towards him. He shifts a little to catch it, but it finds its mark. Once the chocolate is in his mouth, he goes still. Apex predator still.

  And I know he’s sensed the bubble shield I had around the chocolate.

  He thinks I’m an eagle because of my healing powers. This is the narrative we’ve been weaving my whole life. I shouldn’t have this extra magic like I do. It’s not a known power to any animalia order.

  It was a stupid, stupid risk, but he is a prisoner. Who’s he going to tell? And who would believe him?

  Hastily, I shuffle away, and to my relief, he doesn’t say anything. The third chocolate is in my hand and I glance back at Savage. The wolf is concentrating deeply on his chocolate and I see that he’s only taken teeny bites from the corners.

  My heart pangs in sadness a little.

  “Will your brother take one, do you think?”

  “Who, Scythe?” he says, eyes darting down the dungeon. “Nah, he only eats raw fish these days.”

  “Ah, right.”

  So the shark is a little more than feral. I sit down to start my work, goosebumps puckering my skin as I remember those ice-blue eyes sitting just feet from me.

  When I leave with Beak and Scuff after my healing session, I’m surprised by the heaviness I feel at leaving the prisoners behind me. I vaguely wonder if this is how people feel when they part with their friends.

  Chapter 10

  Aurelia

  Iknow I’m delusional in thinking the prisoners in the dungeon are my friends. I’m a complete idiot for playing happy families with them—sharing things, smiling and getting a fluttery heart. Except I don’t have anyone else in my life and is it so bad if I have an alright time chatting to them briefly? Is it so bad if Savage’s and Beak’s attention brightens my day just a little bit?

  It’s pathetic, I know. They’re dangerous males. And they’re prisoners.

  So the next day, even if one part of me is screaming not to do it, that the risk is too great and I’ll get into trouble, I’m going to do something stupid and I’m not even thinking about the consequences.

  It’s so unlike me that I can’t even comprehend it.

  I find myself walking into Halfeather’s mansion with one of my strongest shields hiding a folded pair of discounted XL black track pants tucked under my arm. I hold my breath as Beak opens my car door, his usual flirty smile on his face as he takes my bag.

  Suddenly, I’m not surprised he’s been ordered to Animus Academy. His eyes are telling me that he wants to fuck. Promiscuity amongst our males is an issue. STDs for one thing, inter-court politics for another. It leads to more bloodshed than it’s worth. Oddly, my anima isn’t rearing up and wanting to grab at him like I expect. Am I getting used to the attention?

  Of course, with my entire life being a study in shielding, I get the pants into the dungeons without a hitch. Getting the pants into Scythe’s cell will be another thing entirely. It will also give away my power.

  So it looks like I’m a risk taker now, but here I am faced with something I’ve never come across before. The primitive female anima within me appreciates that Scythe has killed a male for me.

  I’d like to think they’d already had some sort of beef. That I’m not the only reason Scythe wanted that hyena dead. Whatever my brain thought, my anima wanted to thank the shark for such a display of blatant protection.

  Perhaps the ferality of the prisoners is rubbing off on me because it seems like I’m letting my anima take control more and more by the day. Maybe Beak is right about me needing to go to Animus Academy after all.

  Beak and Scuff lead me down to the dungeons once again, slamming the door shut behind me, but that ominous sound can’t make me flinch today.

  “Lia?” Savage’s voice is a beacon in the gloom and a balm for any nervousness I feel.

  “Hi, it’s me.” My voice sounds tiny compared to his.

  I stride quickly past the cells, trying not to let my eagerness show. When I pass the hyena’s cell, the body and head have been removed, and the scent of bleach even passes through my shields. I wonder what Halfeather does with the bodies of his prisoners.

  The scent of fresh blood is also coming out loud and strong from the shark’s cell. Yesterday, Savage said his brother’s name was Scythe—another fighting name. Nervously, I step before him.

  Ice-cold eyes like the dark depths of the Mariana Trench shine through the gloom. Danger, my anima warns. This one is a killer.

  I swallow as I reach out with my power and assess his body for the injuries I can smell. The shark doesn’t show any response to my magic brushing against him. He simply sits there leaning against the back of the chair, eyes on me like cold, cold pokers. I can tell that his shoulder’s been dislocated and that he or someone else has relocated it back into the socket—the tendons are all inflamed and a little mangled. There is also a break in his humerus, already healing due to his natural animus magic. But because of the magical dampeners on the dungeon, the process is slower than expected. I speed up the healing and seal the fracture shut.

  He’s silent throughout the whole thing. Usually, I get a grunt or something from the repair of a broken bone, but Scythe just sits there as if it doesn’t bother him, watching me with the kind of precision I imagine only a shark can muster.

  Healing is instinctual for me. It’s hard for my power to see someone in pain and not do anything about it. It goes against literally everything that I am in my core, not to heal. But I suddenly realise that I never asked for his permission.

  An icky feeling crawls through me and I mutter, “I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

  He says nothing.

  I can’t help but feel his injuries are a consequence of what he did to the hyena. What he did out of revenge for me. I wonder what he’s thinking. What desire he had to kill the animalia and how the hell he’d done it.

  The track pants at my side burn like contraband. I paid for them fair and square and now it seems even more imperative to give this male a gift.

  Will he take it? There is no kindness coming off him, nothing close to human connection. I get the urge to turn away from the cell, but something is urging me forward. He must be cold in there. He must be feeling awful, even though he won’t let any emotion show. The only thing I feel from him is an icy indifference bordering on menace. He is a dangerous, dangerous creature. The anima inside of me knows that.

  Perhaps he killed because he liked to?

  Nerves prickling in my veins, I take the track pants out from under my arm and hold them out to show him.

  “Lia?” Savage’s voice sails over to me. The rest of the dungeon is quiet.

  “Just a minute,” I say, keeping my eyes on the cold shark before me.

  His eyes flick down to the pants, and ever so slightly, he cocks his head.

  I take this minuscule movement as a sign I’m doing the right thing, so I levitate the bubble shield with the pants inside of it just in front of me.

  The shark shifts in his chair.

  Of course, being more than feral, Savage has preternatural instincts and notices something is up straight away, sticking his head as far as he can out of his own cell bars. “What’s that?” he asks, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.

  I levitate my little sphere through the bars of Scythe’s cell and then I realise that I’ve not thought this through.

  Scythe’s eyes move from the pants to me as they levitate awkwardly in front of him. Clearing my throat, I steel myself and use a skill I don’t often have to resort to.

  It takes a fair bit of concentration, but I manage to make another shield in the shape of my hand and use that to manipulate the material. Lowering them to the ground, my phantom hands hold them out by the elastic waistband by his feet.

  I glance back up at him, holding my breath. But then he lifts his feet. I almost sigh in relief as I hoist the pants onto his feet and pull them up his calves and knees, noting the intricate tattoos there. I swear when I reach his thighs, though, not knowing how we’re going to do this.

  But the chains around his arms must not be super tight because Scythe lifts himself off the chair, and quickly, I pull the pants up and over his lap. I let go before I touch his skin… or dick with my phantom hands.

  With the track pants on, he looks back up at me with absolutely no change in his face. I suppose he likes them if he let me put them on?

  Trying not to think about it, and satisfied by this small success, I turn away and go to sit down in my usual spot between Savage and Scythe’s cells.

  I look at my steel door, releasing a breath as I turn towards Savage.

  “What did you give my brother?” the wolf asks quietly, his handsome face serious.

  Clearing my throat, I say softly, “A bit chilly in here, isn’t it? I got him track pants.”

  A look I cannot interpret shoots across his face, but in a flash, it’s gone.

  Savage says in a voice quite unlike his usual flirty one, “A little bit less now though, princess.”

  I say nothing and close my eyes, suddenly struggling to concentrate on my patient.

  Savage’s voice regains its flirty attitude, and he says, “I think princess likes us, boys.” I know he’s grinning from ear to ear, and though it takes everything in me not to open my eyes and look at him, I can’t help the smile that creeps across my own lips. The anima in me is a wanton thing because a wild heat sweeps through my insides at the pleasure I hear in his voice.

  I clamp that shit down for all I’m worth because there is no way I can let it show.

  Chapter 11

  Aurelia

  When the hour is done, I’m happy with the amount of progress I’ve made with my patient. I had to lower one of my inner, heavier shields at the end to get a boost of energy to push through, but it was worth it. With Savage and Scythe on either side of me, I don’t feel like I’m in danger in this dungeon right now. I open my eyes and crack my neck with a groan.

  I turn to find Savage watching me, his eyes half lidded. He seems to snap out of some reverie because his face comes alive. He gives me a slow, hot smile, and I can’t help but notice how pretty his lips are.

  He turns his head to scratch the right side of his neck with a dirty, bloodied hand and I still in shock as tsunami like force hits me in the gut. Everything in my universe narrows down to that single piece of Savage’s skin.

  Because sitting there is a golden, glowing symbol. A skull with five beams of light shooting out from it.

  My mating symbol.

  Savage pulls out a red foil lump from his pocket and I realise he’s saved half the Hershey’s Kiss from yesterday. He puts the rest of it in his mouth and savours it as I stare at him.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks around the chocolate.

  It takes a monumental effort to move my head from side to side to shake it. “Nothing.”

  A cold, dark feeling consumes my heart, and something tells me to look at the cell behind me. Slowly, in a dazed trance, I get to my feet and turn to look at the dragon chained in his cell.

  In the darkness, there is a golden glow, and it’s on Xander’s neck. My symbol is obvious through the gloom.

  I don’t breathe. I don’t blink. I don’t think.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. No. How?

  My feet move of their own accord, something more than me guiding me towards Scythe’s cell. He’s sitting there as he always does, only this time It’s not only his ice eyes that glow. It’s the golden mark on the right side of his neck, beckoning to the deepest parts of my being.

  My anima lets out a roar of sheer, joyous release, and my knees buckle. I catch myself with my shield just in time and make myself go still.

  With the pressure of containing my emotions, an involuntary tear trickles down my cheek and Scythe’s alert eyes follow its trail.

  It’s a blow to the gut. My insides are going to explode.

  I have to get out of here. I need to leave and never come back. How could I have been so stupid? How could I not have known?

  But I know exactly why. I’ve had seven shields around me, and I’d dissipated one of my psychic shields in order to get a better grasp on my patient today. I’d never let that shield down in front of the prisoners before and it was the one responsible for protecting me from external psychic forces—so it had also hidden their mating marks from me.

  I want to be sick.

  All three of these animalia are my mates. Three of the five I was promised to by fate.

  I swallow through a sandpaper throat, knowing both Savage and Scythe are instinctually tracing my movements, pupils dilated. They do it because they are my mates and even if they can’t see it, their animus is making them more responsive to me. To want to care for me. To want to kill for me.

  Their beastly spirits know who I am. I can see that plain as day.

  But their minds don’t.

  I turn on my heel and all but run for the exit, but it feels like I’m striding through water, my limbs slow and wobbly.

  Savage’s rough voice chases after me in a playful bound. “See you tomorrow, princess.”

  Thankfully, my time is up anyway, and Beak is smiling at me from the other side when he opens the door. The smile I give him is of genuine relief, and his face brightens with pleasure to see it. But my body does not respond to him in that desirous way it normally does.

  Now that I’ve seen my mates, my body will never elicit that same response for anyone else.

  I’m not prepared for the level of emotions I’m experiencing.

  For animalia, the mating bond is the strongest magic in existence and it is not in our nature to ignore it.

  I stumble out of Halfeather’s mansion in a dream-like haze. The world outside hits my retinas in a dazzling display of colour.

  It’s as if I’m seeing everything for the first time. My world had been black and white this morning. Now, I was seeing it in 4k with surround sound. My soul has woken up and is crying out in a happy song. We’ve found our bonds, she sings, we’re finally home.

  Beak says something to me as I fall into my car, but I don’t hear him.

  I don’t even know how I get home, but I’m drenched in sweat when I do. Functioning on auto-pilot, I somehow get ready for work, the faces of my three mates flashing in my mind like a slideshow on repeat. My stomach is swirling, my brain is tumbling. I feel like I’ve been lost at sea and now the port is within view on the horizon, but I cannot set anchor. It’s relief and pain. Happiness and despair.

  My mind rages for the rest of the day, so much so that Aunt Charlotte asks me what’s wrong multiple times. The third time I drop a can of tomato paste, she sends me outside for a time-out like I’m one of her naughty kids.

  All I do when I go out to the loading dock is pace back and forth from the dumpster to the door. My mates are here. Does my father know? He can’t know. Only the central mate, me, their regina, and the other males in the mating group can see the marking. They would’ve seen mine if I hadn’t spent my entire life with a shield of magical titanium around my entire person. I’d had it drilled into me from the moment I’d returned from the oracle and she’d declared my mating group numbering five of the most dangerous animalia of our time. We should have known, being what I am.

  With what I can do.

  The anima in me wants me to get in my car and go back to them. It’s demanding we go in there and jail-break my mates immediately. The desperate anima wants to mate with them and complete the bonding ritual—complete our union and make them mine. To join our power in a pool and share magic so intimately we all orgasm over it.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I can’t do any of that. I’m sweating. I’m wet and aroused and wired to the extreme.

  It’s torture and I have no idea what to do. I pour water from my drink bottle into my cupped hand and splash it on my face. I slap my cheeks. I do star jumps to try and get rid of this insane energy I now have. Aunt Charlotte comes out to check on me, narrowing her eyes at my state. Then her eyes widen.

  “What’s happened?”

  I scramble to save face. She can’t know about this. No one can. If word gets back to my father, he’ll have the three of them executed immediately.

  In any other animalia, this would be cause for grand celebration. Finding your mating mark on another was a success story, something to brag about. Something you tell your girlfriends and the women in your family, and you all jump up and down and scream in happiness together. Your aunts would tell you how to deal with protective alpha mates and cry, telling you how happy they are.

  There were parties, engagements, drinks and dresses. A normal girl would hug and giggle with her aunt.

  But I’m not a normal animalia and I can’t have them. I want to tear my hair out. I want to scream. Instead, I shake my head and grit out, “Too much coffee. Sorry.”

  She doesn’t believe me, frowning and slamming the door shut behind her. She probably thinks I’m on drugs or something. In a way, I am.

  I make it through the rest of the day, and eventually, I lie in bed that night. Sweating. Thinking. It is madness the level of lust I now have, pouring through me like bubbling champagne. There is no way I’m going to sleep this wet, this writhing for my mates. My mind is a haze of desire and all it does is think about those muscular bodies sitting there in that prison when they should be here with me.

  Savage and those lips. Dear god, it’s fodder for the biggest orgasm in the world. All this healing work has left me far more empty than any amount of burgers and thick shakes can refill, and an earth-shattering orgasm will fix me right up.

  My mind is now fixed upon Savage standing behind the bars of his cell, with his low-slung jeans, covered in dirt, the sheen of his sweat highlighting the ridges of his muscled torso. My hands find my neck and trail their way down my body, caressing the mounds of my breasts. I imagine Savage’s large hands stroking me down the swoop of my stomach and down the sheer fabric of my nightie. I hitch the hem up, dragging my fingers up the tops of my thighs and skimming my underwear.

 

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