Page 51 of Let Us Prey
A mysterious benefactor—someone who possiblyknewmy parents—is offering me the very thing that could bring me closure. All I have to do is send a reply, and somehowproveI’m the Nicodemus Deoradhán they’re looking for.
How the hell do I act like someone I haven’t been in 25 years?
THIRTY
Everybody Wants To Rule The World
Lucille
“Matilda! Get your feathered ass in here!”
I rise from the Queen Anne desk in my study, heels clicking on the Amazonian Ipe wood floor. I’d prefer Italian marble, but Bruno insists on flexing his manhood by filling the house with endangered pelts and materials. As if anyone assumeshe’sin charge of this family simply because we’ve decorated our home with expensive trophies—the idea is laughable.
He’s little more than a crocodile handbag I drag out for special occasions, but I don’t mind the false front. The right people see him strut and posture, and I’m able to conceal my activities for the Society without scrutiny. The general population of predators has no idea how much of their day-to-day lives are decided by a select group of elites led by a woman, and I prefer to keep it that way.
Despite thesurvival of the fittestatmosphere of pred life, they don’t give females equal credit for their abilities. Our men are no more enlightened than human ones, and I don’t have the patience to justify my decisions simply because my balls are on the inside of my body. Knowing that the revelation of who they bow to would horrify and emasculate them certainly improves my day.
After all, isn’t secretly wielding the bigger stick more satisfying?
“Yes, Madame? How can I be of service?”
The sound of my dingbat assistant rushing in abruptly jerks me out of my ruminations, reminding me I’d called for her. “Where were you?” I scowl.
“I—I was downstairs taking a meal with the kitchen staff. You asked me to get out of your sight. I... "
For the love of Hera’s peacocks, this dimwit is going to ruin my day simply by breathing the same air as me. “Matilda. Stop. Talking. Now.”
Her stature shrinks even more and her hands fidget with her glasses shakily, clearly unable to execute even the most basic of responses. A sharp jerk of her head shows she understands me, and I let out a sigh of irritation as I roll my eyes. The wounded dove act is worse than her stammering idiocy.
“Get my drink and give me the weekly report. I have four meetings today and I cannot attend them without the information I tasked you with locating.” I glare at her as I walk to the large lounge by the window, dropping onto it with feline grace.
“Y-Yes, Madame,” she stammers as she hurries to the sideboard to pour my martini. She’s still trembling as she stirs the vodka gingerly, making certain not to bruise it with incorrect technique. I’ve drilled that into her numb skull over time, and the care she takes not to fuck up makes my leopard snarl in satisfaction. Fear is the most intoxicating scent in the world.
And I bask in its musk as often as possible.
“Start with my daughter. The last message I left her did its job—she’s terrified of disappointing me or besmirching our family name.”
The hawk shifter stares at me behind her horn-rimmed glasses as she hands me my glass. “Yes, Madame. From everything I could gather, she is adjusting well to her environment. There have been a few unfortunate incidents with fellow students, but her grades so far are excellent.”
Eyes narrowing, I bare my fangs at her. While I’ve forbidden Matilda from having direct contact with Delores since she left for Apex—since her failed emergence, really—I still expect intel. “I could have found that out myself. Tell me who she is keeping company with and pray you don't disappoint me again. I’m sure Bruiser would love to escort you home this evening.”
Feathers flutter through the air as she loses control of her animal for a moment, stammering, “I… she… Miss Delores has two friends, both second-year students in her arts program. Their names are Rufus and Cori. I have not yet traced their heritage, but once I do, I will prepare a dossier for you.”
Hmmm.
That’s not the company I wanted to hear about, but information on other families with ties to Apex is never a bad thing. “What about men? I’ve heard whispers of a professor following her around. Delores is not unattractive, and some preds prefer their meat fattened.”
The look of horror on her face makes me throw my head back and laugh. Oh, I adore shocking the diminutive moron I employ to deal with shit beneath my pay grade, although none of what I said should have been surprising. It’s no secret I have little maternal instinct outside of amassing more power through my heir’s marriage. That I birthed the ungrateful bitch means less to me than her value on the open market.
“She… she… Well, there are rumors from the main office that she is frequently seen at the townhouse of the three Romulus professors. And—and she has a work study with the Draconis’ exiled heir. That is all I know; I swear.”
Her stammering admission makes my face light up. While this isn’t enough to advance my plans, the knowledge that my chunky offspring is cozying up to some of the most well-connected and rare exiles in the entire school is quite pleasing. Sipping my drink, I consider how I can use this to my advantage.
I need to speak with the other birdbrain I have under my thumb.
“Hand me my phone, Matilda. If Henrietta can confirm what you’ve told me, I will spare you Bruiser’s company for another day,” I reply absently. My mind is spinning with the possibility of having dirt on the Romulus pack to use as leverage in future negotiations.
Delicious is the word that comes to mind.
