Riya Natrajan feels her stomach churning, acid prickling the back of her throat, the back of her teeth. She keeps her lips pressed together as she makes a run for it, through the clog of people surging at the emergency exits, all the way out onto the pavement. She retches until she’s empty, not just because of Rife, but because of everything—for being the type of daughter who would choose getting into bed with big-name record execs over attending her own mother’s funeral, for being the type of person even those closest to her thought incapable of loving anyone other than herself, for being a cruel, cold bitch so she’d have an excuse not to let people know the real her, her real pain.
“This”—Rife dissolves right in front of her eyes, then appears behind her, a hand pressed softly at her back, breath warm and heavy in her ear—“is new. But how I’ve felt about you goes back years. I saw how you pushed everyone away. I didn’t want that to happen to us.”
Riya Natrajan shrugs him off. “You’re my dealer. Nothing more. So we fucked a few times. It didn’t mean anything. And it certainly doesn’t mean you know a damn thing about me.”
Rife laughs, not out of amusement, but the kind where the only other option is to break down into tears. “I know you’re the kind of woman whose heart would break to pieces over the death of a complete stranger. I know you’re the kind of woman who would help others instead of saving herself. I know you’re the kind of woman who goes in front of her fans and gives the performance of a lifetime, even when every aching bone in her body cusses her for living another day.”
Rife touches her shoulder, and the air pressure changes sharply, bearing down on her with a vengeance, pressing the breath from her lungs. Her ears throb and her sinuses feel cavernous inside her skull. She swallows, once, twice, trying to find some relief, but the sensation is gone just as suddenly as it came, and now the world is completely solid beneath her. The sheer panic of those around them rings true to her ears. It angers Riya Natrajan that Rife sees those seemingly honorable actions, when in truth, they’re rooted in selfish motivations deeply buried in her heart.
“You’ve been hiding from the world,” he says. “And I know what that’s like. It’s like having this great secret with no one to share it with. Now you know mine.”
“That you’re an invisible, pervy, drug-dealing deviant with no respect for other people’s privacy? I feel so honored.”
“I deserve that.”
“Go to hell,” Riya Natrajan says.
“Been there,” Rife says, thumping at his chest right over his heart. “Highly overrated.”
Riya crosses her eyes at him, then fumes as she bolts across the street. There’s chaos everywhere, but the screams are more concentrated toward downtown. She walks toward the mayhem, checking over her shoulder once to make sure Rife’s not following her. He’s nowhere to be seen.
She gets a few blocks, but gets the odd sensation that she’s being watched.
“You’re still there, aren’t you?” Riya Natrajan asks.
Rife appears in front of her, face drawn like a kicked pup. “You’re not the only one who wants to prove to the world that you’re more than what you may seem, love. I had dreams once, too.”
Cry me a river. Riya Natrajan purses her lips. Yeah, he’s a blubbering asshole, but he’s still here by her side at least. “Fine. I’ll let you help, if you promise me you’ll never shift stalk me again.”
“I’d give up shifting altogether, if you asked, mama.”
She almost cringes, almost pushes him away, feeling smothered by Rife’s hard exterior gone soft. He’s exposed the flesh beneath his armor, his vulnerable side, something which those closest to her knew not to do. She resists the urge to shred his emotions to bits, and it’s one of the most difficult things she’s ever had to do. Instead of pushing Rife away, Riya decides to let him in. She smiles at him, takes his hand in hers. See, it’s not that hard. Warmth and tingles overwhelm her, and she almost allows herself to think that maybe they’re through the worst of this awful day . . . until she sees a horrid beast over Rife’s shoulder—a beast with wings and fangs and a hide thick as a rhino’s.
A beast flying right toward them.
Chapter 44
Sydney
Sydney preens her new form, so damn sexy that she can barely keep her eyes on the prize of world domination. Her skin is sleek, taut, her body long and muscular with patches of speckled down feathers tracing along her shoulders, her cleavage, down and around her thighs. Her breasts are small, but pert and exact. She can’t help but touch herself. The titillation from being rid of her human body and the swell of power inside her are enough for her to spontaneously orgasm, sending her shuddering to her knees.
Oh, yes. Oh, gods, yes.
The beasts sniff at her curiously, three of them now that she’d sent the other to retrieve Nomvula, the last piece standing in her way. The lead beast curls up next to her, pressing its cold beak against her belly, the tip of its horn missing her skin by centimeters. She allows it to groom her, to taste her, its tongue broad and rough and nimble. Sydney scratches the tuft of fur between its ears and it purrs. The vibration surges through her like a passing freight train.
This one’s not afraid of her like the others are. He respects her, yes, but he doesn’t follow blindly, and deep in his eyes, she senses there’s more to him than raw animal instinct. He’s calculating and unforgiving, and Sydney knows that if she lets her guard down, he won’t think twice about disemboweling her right there on the spot . . . and that thrills her most of all.
She squawks back at him and digs her talons into the flesh at his throat so he won’t get any bright ideas, because for all his weapons, his mind is the sharpest, vilest, deadliest of them all. His mind is human.
Sydney doesn’t hold that against him. He’s hung like a rhino after all, and, Lord, it’s been decades. She releases his throat and pushes her palm flat against his horn, pressing up until its sharp point draws blood from her flesh.
They did this to you, Sydney pushes into his mind. I freed you.
His thoughts surge—snippets of thoughts really, intertwined with animalistic impulses. This one owes to you this debt. This one can.
Good, Sydney says. Tell the others that it is time. Blood must be spilled today. Human blood.
This one and its others taste not for man. Sour. Awful. This one and its others cannot.
Sydney’s feathers ruffle. She’s not wasting her powers on micromanaging a bunch of beasts. They need to obey her commands, and they will if she can sway the leader to her side. She grabs the beast’s horn and tilts it down so she’s glaring directly into its big, gray eyes. The humans made you that way so you wouldn’t turn on them. You are stronger, more agile, better than they ever could be, so they kept you locked up in cages, and kept your minds locked up as well. Sydney traces the tips of her talons up and between its ears, then down and along its back, all the way to its feline tail. It is our duty to cull the weak so that only the strong remain. Right now there are too many weak. We can save humanity from itself. It’s the way of nature, is it not?