Savage Saints (Monsters of Saint Mark's)

Because it is dark. I’m talking pitch-freaking-black dark. I can’t even see my hand in front of my face.

“Something’s wrong,” Talina mutters.

And just as she says that, lights click on. Bright, white, blinding spotlights shining right in our faces. I put my hand up to shield my eyes just as a posh, bitchy voice says, “You always were predictable, Tarq.”

I block the spotlight with my hand, trying to peek around it so I can see the woman who is talking.

But I don’t need to see her to understand who she is.

Obviously, she is the queen.

And double obviously, we have been caught.

All the lights come on and even through blinded, squinted eyes, I can see that we are not just caught. We are fucked.

Soldiers surround us on all sides. Tall, muscular monsters armed with swords. But they are not satyrs. They are not any kind of monster I’ve ever seen.

The only word that makes sense to me is… griffon.

They stand on two legs but they are not human. They have the face of lions, or eagles, or some hideous amalgamation of both those things. They have thick thighs covered in feathers—or fur. They all have massive talons on their feet and hands. But they are not feet or hands, they are paws. And they tower above me. Taller than even Tarq and Pell. Maybe a solid eight feet in height.

And they are growling.

I shrink backwards, bumping against Pell’s chest. He grabs my hips with his hands and whispers, “Stay calm, Pie.”

That’s when I see the queen and I actually step around Pell in surprise.

She is like her guards. Only… gorgeous. Like… so fucking beautiful, I don’t ever want to stop looking at her. A long, wavy, golden mane of hair surrounds her whole face and literally looks like it’s made of spun gold. Her fur covers her whole body, even her stomach and breasts. Short velvety fur, like the kind I have between my legs and on my butt. And it too, is golden. Her eyes sparkle, light and devious, when my gaze finally lands on them. Then she bares her teeth at me. Long, sharp canines. But somehow this only makes her more alluring instead of scary.

She is bare on top, but she’s wearing a skirt, something straight out of a Roman gladiator’s closet. Multilayered lappets made of woven gold line her upper thighs and split apart, allowing anyone who cares to look a glimpse between her legs. Her shoes are simple pads of leather with straps, and straps, and straps for days going up her calves—all made of gold chains.

Her head is topped with a magnificent set of golden antlers. Jewels dangle from them. Rings, and chains, and bracelets. And at the top of each antler is a crown.

Wow. Two crowns. That’s something.

She is sitting on a golden throne that is intricately carved with mythological creatures. Which, now that I’m a little further along into this whole new world, probably aren’t mythological.

A throne, though. This makes me pause.

How did we get to her throne room?

I’m just about to admit to myself that Tarq set us up when he sneers her name. “Callistina.”

She pounds a golden scepter on the floor and roars, “You will address me as Queen!” Then she rises and I find myself taking another step backwards. Even Pell takes one. When she points her scepter at Tarq, I see that it’s topped with a stone. And my eyes narrow and focus in on it. Because while it is a very unique stone, it is also familiar. I look down at the ring shoved up to my second knuckle on my pinky and mumble, “Huh.”

At the same time, the queen yells, “Kneel!”

There is a small commotion behind me, a rustling of clothes and feet, and when I turn, I realize that both Talina and Mikayla have dropped to their knees and they are pressing their foreheads to the floor.

I almost do the same, but Pell grabs my hand, squeezing, and I catch a small shake of his head. Do not kneel for this woman, that shake says. No matter who she is, we will not kneel.

This small act of rebellion infuriates her. “You dare!” And she’s pointing her scepter. I’m so focused on that pink top stone that it takes me a full two seconds to understand that she’s talking to me.

I point to myself. “Me?”

“You will kneel down for me, sister! Or I will—”

“You’ll what?” This comes from Pell. And it’s not his normal voice. It’s much deeper. Very throaty. It’s actually a growl and it comes with a rumble. The threat is clear. “You’re going to do what?”