Savage Saints (Monsters of Saint Mark's)

Talina giggles. “Yep. You really did need that coffee. But it’s good stuff for spell writing. You’ll see.”

The next thing I know, someone is tapping my shoulder and I’m snapping back to attention. I blink a few times, focus on my notebook and then realize it’s filled with spellings I don’t remember writing.

I quickly close it up.

“It’s nearly Fire Hour, Pie,” Talina says. “Tarq is on his way to talk to you. He said not to let you leave until he gets here. He wants to check your work. And, oh! He’s going to be so pleased with all you’ve done today!”

All I’ve done? I don’t remember doing anything after I took a sip of that coffee.

Did she drug me?

“Ooop! Speaking of the royal beast himself! She’s all yours, Tarq. I’ll see you tonight, Pie.” She pats my shoulder again, then I listen to her tapping hoofsteps as she leaves the lab.

“Talina tells me you’ve been busy, Pie. That’s great. I want to see all of it. But first, I want you to look at this book.”

I snap out of my coffee-induced stupor and look up at him, forcing myself to unsee his dick—which is pretty much impossible, since it’s eye-level and he’s standing right next to me.

Thankfully, he plops a huge book down in front of me and takes a seat to my right. Then he opens the book.

It’s a page of twelve pictures with names and other information below each one. They are all pictures of monsters.

“What is this?” I ask, my voice husky and deep from my coffee-induce trance. She did drug me. I have to blink a few times to let this realization settle in.

She. Drugged me.

“It’s a list of defectors.”

“Defectors?” Wow. That’s not a good word under any circumstance. Especially one in which I’m a long-lost royal beast who might never go home again. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You mentioned your tailor earlier. The one who made that royal jacket.”

Oh. Shit. I think I fucked up. Like… royally. No pun intended.

“I want you to look through this book, Pie. And let me know if you see him. Or anyone else who might be at your sanctuary.”

Yep. I fucked up. This is not good.

“Pie?”

“Yeah. OK. Sure.” I force a smile and scan the page. Then shake my head. “Nope. None of these guys look familiar.” He flips the page. I scan again. “Nope.” He flips it again. And again. And again. And each time I deny, deny, deny even though I have already recognized Eyebrows, Cookie, Batty and all of Batty’s questionable friends.

I say nope for every single page.

Tarq isn’t buying it. At all. He closes the book, gets up, and starts pacing in front of the window. “You’re protecting them. I get it.”

“I’m not!” But my protest is overly shrill and there’s no way in hell he believes me.

He stops pacing. Looks at me intently. “You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Fine. I accept that. But I need you to listen to me, Pie. I need you to hear me, OK? I need you to hear me. I’m on your side.”

I want to argue with him. I want to say all kinds of things like, How can you be on my side if you don’t know what my side is? But I don’t because my mind is wandering back to a conversation Pell and I had in my Jeep that time he drove me around the block to the lake gate. He said those same words. I need you to hear me, Pie.

This awakens something inside me. A realization, perhaps. The idea that I might be putting off a vibe here. A vibe that says I’m not listening.

So I just let out a breath and take a moment.