The Infamous Beast

by T Shadow

  I would note this down as one of the most embarrassing moments in my life, but I’m sure there’s more to come. Can’t shoot myself short just yet.

  The task of getting back onto my stool proves more difficult due to the multitude of spiked drinks that I consumed in a short matter of hours. Getting to my feet— whilst using the chair that Finn is sitting on as a ladder— is the easiest part. But when I right myself and stand without aid, I feel the world tilt on its axis. Reaching out, I grab the bar to steady myself, but it’s just been wiped. Meaning I have no grip and I go flying backwards into my stool and into Mika’s.

  Karma is a bitch. If Mika didn’t drug me to high heaven, I wouldn’t have knocked her on her arse. The term is ‘if karma doesn’t hit you, I will’ and obviously, karma was a little bit slow today. I feel one stool crush underneath me as I fall on top of both of them. Mika misses being crushed by a stool and instead greets the floor like I was meant to moments ago, although she hits her head on the sticky floor rather than breaks her nose on it. She should thank karma for small mercies.

  Our groans mix together like a bad song. Rolling off of the stools to gain my footing again, I look at the dragons who all have humourous looks dancing across their faces. Finnegan has a full blown cheesy grin, Landon is turning red whilst attempting not to laugh, and Leland has a small tilt to his lip which makes him all the more tempting in my eyes.

  It’s always the smirkers. I can’t help it. Unfortunately for me, the fae juice hasn’t worn off just yet.

  “Wut’sss yus doin’ heree?”

  Finnegan opens his mouth like he’s about to speak, but Landon jumps in before he has the chance, cutting him off before he’s even began.

  “Well, you see, someone here came home smelling a little different than usual… like he’d found his mate.”

  Acting deliberately obtuse, I feign innocence. “Ooooh? Mayte? Luckee yu.”

  “And you smell the same.”

  “Nooo…”

  Leland steps forward, confident and sure of himself. Confidence is a new look on him, and it transforms him from the shy, anxiety-plagued kid I’d only seen a week or so ago, to the Heir apparent he’s meant to be. It’s funny what a boosted self-esteem can do to a person.

  I’m too mesmerized by the boy— I mean man— in front of me that it’s too late to do anything when I realise what he’s doing. One minute I’m drooling, the next minute his nose is running along the line of my neck like he’s committing the scent to memory. But my drunk arse decides that now is a great time to reciprocate.

  Leaning forward, I press my whole body closer to his. I have to reach up on my tip-toes to press my nose into his neck, but I don't expect his arms to come around me when I do. His hand presses into my lower back, pushing me closer to his hard chest. His own scent envelops me as I get comfortable, and I breathe it in like I'm starved of fresh air.

  I'd like to say he smells musky, but it's covered with an over-the-counter fragrance that I can't place. The underlying smell is of smoke, which smells like heaven to me. I inhale enough of his scent that I could never forget it and before pulling away, I use my drunken state to my advantage. Peeking my tongue out, I slowly lick up the column of his throat I taste his skin on my tongue, but when I reach his jugular, he moans low and deep, causing Finnegan to push away from the bar and storm towards us.

  I'd like to say that my actions are entirely my own, but in the heat of the moment, with a warm, succulent body pressed up against me, and my tongue on the neck of a man I met not too long ago, the beast takes control.

  Denying the thrill of the hunt to a beast is one thing. But when you deny one animalistic urge for so long, another replaces it.

  Unfortunately, the need to devour these Dragons won't end with Finnegan. Oh no. I don't think I'll be satisfied until I have them all.

  Finnegan advances, but soon stops at my outstretched hand. Pushing against me so that my hand is firmly against his chiselled chest, the three of us are linked in a lovers triangle. Rules were never something I abided by unless I had to. And I see no rule that I should have to stop at one mate.

  Finn's breath is blowing over the top of my head, I know because I can feel the strands swaying against the long puff of air. It doesn't distract me enough from Leland's hold on me though. His touch is fiery, and I know exactly where his palms linger. His index finger has pushed its way under my shirt and I can feel it on the base of my spine; the warm touch a comfort that I haven't felt in ages.

  I suspected Finn to be angry, possessive and slightly dominant. But I’m surprised when he doesn’t lash out or scream from the rooftops. All he does is wrap his hand around the back of Leland’s neck in a brotherly fashion. Leland snarls— yes, snarls— at the hand on his neck, as well as the person who the hand belongs to, but stops when the hand moves from his neck to the back of his head.

  He seems to know what’s coming. I however, don’t know anything and that means I can’t prepare my reaction. Can a drunk person really prepare though?

  Time moves in slow motion. Instead of my head being comfortably nestled in Leland’s neck, I’m moved in a position that’s used purely to kiss another person. I don’t know who’s doing it— Leland or Finnegan— but my head is moved and angled upwards so that someone has better access to my lips.

  I love how no one asked me if I wanted to be kissed— but it’s not like I’m complaining.

  Before I can make a remark, which would probably just come out like garbled crap, a pair of lips press on mine with force. It’s not gentle, but not hard enough that my lips will bruise in the morning. Passion rides through me like a lightning strike down my body, starting at my mouth and ending at the apex of my thighs. What are these guys doing to me? I feel like a woman starved. I feel a tongue poke in between my lips, pushing them open and gently asking for permission to enter. It’s the one thing that pushes my own arousal to the forefront, making me moan between kisses as I rub my body up against his.

  But the illusion shatters as soon as it begins, and a single word cuts through the heated haze like a knife through butter.

  “Ours.”

  I pull away sharper than I anticipated and stare up into those golden-flecked eyes that haunt me as well as bring me home. They’re slightly glossed over with that milky-white, but nonetheless, those golden flecks still shine through, like a lighthouse guiding a sailor home from sea. Knowing that Rokanis is at the forefront of all of Leland’s actions makes me a little uneasy, and in order to center myself again, I look to Finnegan for guidance.

  Why I look there, I don’t know. But I’m greeted by Oshi and not Finnegan. As if he reads my thoughts, he brings his hand up to stroke my cheek, and his thumb brushes against my lower lip lovingly. Almost as if he can’t believe that by the fates, I’m his. The pull between us is new, but I feel it deep inside my heart, like a rope that’s pulled taught. I’m waiting for him to say anything— anything to relieve my confusion, but rather than helping, he adds to it.

  “Just as I thought… You’re ours.”

  “Yours? Waait, whut?”

  Okay so my speech has come back, maybe the heated make-out session fixed it, but my right to use my own voice is taken away as my own beast invades my head. I feel the suffocating presence as she gathers her wits and brings them forward to make her feelings known. Not that I didn’t already know how much of a ‘thirsty’ bitch she was. She wants all of them, and I am unable to stop her.

  “Mmm…” she rumbles, “Yes, yours. But never forget that I am not an object, and if anything else, you are mine before I’m yours.” Turning to Rokanis, she leans close so that our lips are barely touching, but enough to feel the heat of her skin on his. “You, my beast, are mine to claim, and claim you, I will.”

  His eyes flare with a heat that isn’t physical. He won’t torch me, but the look in his eyes tells me he wants to drag me back to that sleazy hotel suite and ruin me every way that he can imagine. Whilst I’m not impervious to the idea, the physical act of clai
ming will be initiated by me, not them.

  “Claim me, Remi,” he shudders in anticipation, “Claim me for your own, beast, body and soul.”

  With those words uttered, I can’t stop my own beast from striking out. My nails have elongated into talons, and the skin of my palm, red hot. Our claimings are not done with teeth, they’re done with burns and claw marks in quick succession as our human skins can only withstand so much pain.

  Grabbing onto his shoulder just above his collar bone, I move the collar of his shirt aside so that I can hold my palm over him. Four claws posed over his back and my thumb positioned slightly underneath his neck, I give no warning before I lay my blistering palm on his skin.

  I hear the sizzle before I see the smoke, before I smell the burning of flesh. Quickly, I pierce his paper thin flesh with my talons, creating the claiming seal. It takes seconds— but the pain from the burn will last for hours. He grunts at the pain, but stands completely still until I remove my hand. I can see the big blistering welts on his skin, and the blood dripping down from the marks I made with my talons. It’s beautiful, the first one I’ve ever laid on someone else, and it looks as delectable as the beast I laid it on.

  After taking my hand away from him, sans claws, I let go of Leland. His eyes lose the milky-hue and in the place of the socially-awkward Heir is now a confident soul. He stands a little taller, tilts his chin a little higher and owns the cockiest smirk on the planet. Now he wears a claiming mark with pride, his scent changes, taking on a little of my own.

  I don't think I can blame my actions on the alcohol anymore, and the thought sobers me instantly. Or well, as much as it could. Coming to my slightly-dulled-senses, I manoeuvre myself around a charred Leland and a hungry looking Finnegan. Landon stands there looking like a fish with his mouth hanging open, so I ignore him as I stumble towards the door.

  The sound of boots hitting the sticky floor sound behind me, and because I can only hear one pair, I can only assume it's Mika who's come to my aid. Not like a knight in shining armour, but rather a twat in tin-foil, considering she just stood there and let me embarrass myself again and again and… again.

  Hanging onto the door— quite literally— as my only method of escape, I wait seconds for Mika to come and assist me with the task of actually leaving. I can't walk straight because of this little bastard, so she's gonna have to be my walking aid all the way back to my place. Which would be fine, if the sun wasn't making its way over the horizon, stretching its arms and yawning, turning our early-morning into a scene awash with pastel pinks, yellows and purples.

  Honestly it looks like a unicorn threw up cotton candy. That is the myth isn't it? Unicorns produce edible snacks?

  Mika— in certain circumstances— has a five second attention span. Our walk home does take longer than anticipated, but not because of me, because of Mika getting distracted by the pretty colours.

  So by the time we eventually get home, there's two eyes staring at me from the pit of the void that's Lucius's bed. It's nearly time for breakfast, but I'm not going to be manipulated by an animal who is knee high to a grasshopper. But Mika will be.

  I jump, or flop, onto my bed with enough force that I bounce back onto the floor in a sprawled heap of limbs. The floor seems like the best place to sleep, so I refuse to move from my newly designated sleeping spot.

  The last thing I see before sleep takes over me is Lucius darting out of the room like his arse is on fire.

  •°•

  The real world comes crashing back into me like a sledgehammer on concrete. I physically have to peel my eyelids open, and the sheer brightness of the sun sends shock waves throughout my brain, like someone hit a gong too close to my head. This isn’t the first, and probably won't be the last time I’ll be assaulted by the sun. It’s becoming quite a common occurrence.

  Other than the headache from hell, my mouth feels as dry as a bloody flip-flop and the room is spinning in some awful version of an eighties technicolour rave. I never knew fae liquor induced hangovers would be this bad. Okay, so maybe I did, but it’s not like I spiked myself.

  The soft and squishy thing beneath my head is the only comfort I feel at the moment, considering I slept like shit last night. Was it the hangover? Probably.

  I attempt to roll myself out of bed, which backfires as soon as my head slips off of the pillow and onto the hardwood floor with a bonk that rivals all of those kids cartoon shows. Smashing my head against solid wood is the wakeup call I needed, but never expected.

  Fuuuck that hurt.

  The audible crash of my head smashing into a solid object stirs a small mammal from their slumber. I see two little ears poke over the edge of the bed that I’m meant to be laying on. When I see that little creature’s nose arise over the edge of the bed, I know he’s been relishing in the opportunity of having the entire bed to himself. His deviousness knows no bounds, but I fully expect that he laid on my pillow instead of his, the little shit.

  As I struggle to my feet— yes, one of the biggest tasks of my entire morning— I take my hungover self to the bathroom to wash my mouth out of the fermented alcohol smell, and then to the kitchen, where I find myself alone at home for the first time in a few weeks.

  The void that Mika fills when she’s here engulfs me and I’m saddened to feel alone. That’s just before Lucius walks in and I’m reminded that I live with the Devil incarnate.

  My really, really short fuse is about to snap. Instead of being mauled this morning— my body and mind have already taken a beating—I walk to the fridge and pull the pack of chicken out, ripping the lid off and throwing it onto the floor in the general direction of Lucius’s bowl. I’ll feel the sting of that later, but right now, I don’t think I couldn’t care any less.

  A little hiss manages to escape said dickhead and I promptly ignore it. I let many things rule my life, but a small, annoying animal will not be one of them. Not right now anyway. Wait until I’ve had some paracetamol and I’ve found a new brain at least.

  I’m seconds from flicking the kettle on when the front door bursts open with enough speed that it smashes off of the wall and starts to close again before the person has even entered. I expect a rootin’ tootin’ dragon, but what I get is a frightened looking Mika. She’s in and dead-bolting the door before I’m even able to complain about the loud racket in the first place.

  Although the frightened look stops my complaint in its tracks, again. I never really get to complain about anything that Mika does, considering she’s always in mortal peril or in dire need of a cuddle.

  Either or, she’s currently in trouble now. Or is she? I never really know. Her breathing is laboured like she’s been running a marathon, so whilst she recovers, I start making tea for myself and her. Two sugars and milk for Mika, half a sugar and a splash of milk for me. I hear her tug her boots off and throw them haphazardly towards the mat by the front door. That noise is followed by the dragging of heavy fabrics— most likely the sofa throw - and the sound of a body being launched onto the settee with a satisfying thud.

  Now I’m no detective, but, that sounds like Mika has most likely made herself into a human-sized burrito. She showed me a ‘me-me’ once where the person wrapped herself in a blanket and then laid in a puddle of their own tears. I guess this is Mika’s way of explaining that she’s a step away from laying in a puddle of her own making.

  I take myself and the tea’s over to the living room. I was correct, Mika is a human Mexican dish. Thankfully there’s enough room for me to scoot on beside her. Before my ass is able to touch the seat, the beverage is ripped from my hands and used as a heating tool rather than a means of refreshment. My side eye however is met with a narrowed gaze.

  Now, I know a certain someone spiked my drink last night, but why am I in more trouble, seemingly, than Mika is for spiking my drink in the first place? Surely anything I did last night is a product of her own making.

  Wait. Lightbulb moment. I did do something. I’m blaming Mika, but I totally did somethi
ng.

  My eyes must have widened slightly or something, because she goes from annoyed to disappointed in seconds. Closing her eyes as if she can’t bear to look at me, I realise that what I did was ten times worse than I had originally expected.

  “What did I d-”

  A finger presses against my lips to shut me up. Mika still has her eyes closed, but how she managed to stop me without looking is a skill in itself.

  “Just don’t speak right now.”

  “But you spiked my dr-”

  “Sh.”

  Halted in my speech again, I glare at her before nipping the tip of her finger with my slightly-sharper-than-normal teeth. That’ll teach her for trying to silence me. Her small shriek is music to my ears, but a pain in my head. Oh well, it was worth it.

  “You publicly claimed a mate last night.”

  That stuns me, “wait, how do you know about Finn?”

  “What?” Lowering her cup, she turns her burrito towards me, “I’m not talking about the tall ginger Adonis, I’m talking about the boy!”

  A boy? Fuck. Did I cradle snatch last night?

  “You might as well have.”

  Fuck, I said that out loud.

  “Yep, you said that out loud too.”

  “Fuck my fucking fuck fuck.”

  “You’ll be fucking something soon.”

  “FUCK.”

  I slam the cup down on the coffee table with enough force that it smashes on impact. I remember the mating connection with Finn, we acknowledged it, but I didn’t publicly claim him. I think I’d remember searing someone’s flesh whilst digging my claws into thin human flesh.

  Okay so I’m sure I would remember, but I obviously don't. Mika does however.