Her Feral Beasts (Her Vicious Beasts, #1)

by E.P. Bali

The day my period arrives, I run out of the bathroom screaming for my nanny, Rosalina. It’s a scream of joy; shrill, ecstatic, and full of expectation. Because for a female animalia, today is the day my anima will reveal herself to the world. Rosalina, an elderly python of my court, whoops and opens her arms where she sits in her favourite armchair. I’m thirteen, but I still throw myself into her lap, crying and laughing and babbling about my powers to come. “A powerful beast lurks under your skin,” she whispers, touching my black braid affectionately.

“Tonight, we will all be proud to see which powerful serpent form she takes.” When dusk comes and the sky is awash with deepening purple, I giddily trot into the back garden to see a bright half-moon. My father is waiting for me, proud and strong, like he always is: the King of the Serpent Court in a designer suit and shoes that are always shiny. He reaches down and kisses me on both cheeks, his dark eyes glowing with love and I’ve never felt so cherished in my life.

When my body changes, when my clothes fall to the manicured grass around me, and I’ve taken on a new body, it isn’t any breed of serpent that lies coiled in the grass. The world looks different, but not in the way I expected. Not in the way I was told a serpent could see and sense the minute vibrations of the world. Hollow bones and feathered skin burn like acid and I change again. Bones crunch, ligaments stretch. Then a third time. Then a fourth. By the time I shift back into my human body, the sharp pains in my bones and an awful, cold shock make tears spill down my face. My father is already storming back into our mansion, tendrils of his dark magic coiling around him, not bothering to control his fury. Alone and naked, I bolt back inside. Rosalina covers me in a dressing gown, but her head is bowed and she will not meet my eye. Alone, I go to my bathroom, where I look at myself in the mirror, turning my face so I can see my neck—where my new mating mark burns with the light of the stars and the moon. A skull with five beams of light. The sacred connection between me and my mates by destiny. The sun never really rises again for me.

The next day, I rise puffy-eyed and look at the simple black dress and ballet flats Rosalina has laid out for me. “This is my funeral dress,” I whisper in a voice like brittle leaves crunching under a boot. When I look at her in question, she still won’t meet my eye. The backs of my own eyes burn again, and silently, I put on my clothes of mourning.

“Father?” I ask softly, though my heart is racing with trepidation. The returning cold silence makes all the hairs on my body rise. I know this feeling. I know that the serpents of his court my father isn’t happy with sometimes don’t return to their families. I begin to tremble. According to the most ancient laws of our kind, on the day you become a man or woman, your parents take you to see the oracle. It’s supposed to be a day of celebration, a day of revelation, and there was going to be a grand party in my honour. Rosalina and I had been planning it for months.

I scramble to follow before the voice of our driver stops me. “Miss Aurelia?” His voice is barely a whisper as I turn to look at him. He touches his hat and says quietly, “Good luck.” It’s not his words that chill me to the bone, but the fear in his slitted eyes. Fear for me. I press my lips together before saying, “Thank you, Mr Chandler.”

When I enter the heated formal interior of the council atrium, my father doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t speak to me directly, and I’m presented to the oracle alone. A ghost of a girl, translucent and silent. Presenting to the oracle is supposed to be the happiest day of one’s life, second only to finding your mates. This oracle is a woman of mystery, from the great and all-seeing House of Phoenix. But at this moment, she’s a woman in a burnt orange power suit, sitting behind a grand desk in a corner office with a view of the entire city behind her. Her hair is a bundle of vibrant strawberry blonde curls and her lipstick a perfect shade of fire-engine red. When she smiles kindly upon me, I can’t find the heart to return it.

She takes my hand in her red-nailed ones and frowns with delicate brows. “What is your anima, my dear?” My voice is rough from a night spent smothering my sobs. “I am forbidden to say.” Her eyes flick to the door, behind which my father waits. T...

Her husky voice chants in a whisper, as if it’s a psalm for the Wild Mother herself, and I find myself swaying a little, enamoured by its dark cadence: “Five devils are approaching. Five black hearts are wanting. It is five who cry a dark and lonely song, calling for their queen. Lion, shark, dragon, wolf and…shadow.” My stomach lurches into my throat. “Five mates?” I croak. “Are you sure?” She opens her eyes, and they are aflame with some kind of immortal power unique to her order. Her hand is a vise around mine. “Congratulations Aurelia, you are a regina to five animus’ beasts.” Her eyes bore into mine and her voice becomes light with wonder. “Dear girl, I wish you luck. Two are already in prison…but somehow that is the least of your worries.”

“What did she say?” my father asks sharply, and I know I will never get used to this new, cold tone. “F-five?” What am I even saying? But I know I heard her right because her prophecy is seared into my eardrums. Seared into my soul. “She said I have five black hearts calling for me.” His eyes flash dangerously, and I know the oracle is in trouble now. My father abruptly turns on his heel and storms into her office. “I want their names!” he roars. “All of them!” Her reply is calm and cool. “I cannot give them to you, Your Majesty.”

I shiver anxiously, touching the skin of my neck where my mating mark warms my skin in a way that should be comforting and full of golden hope.

Regina to five mates of different orders. Dear Goddess, it will give my new secret away. For the millionth time, I wish my mother was in the world of the living. She would know what to do. Instead, all I have is my father, who returns fuming; dangerous and unable to speak. I hope the Lady Phoenix is still whole.

Rosalina whispers to me, her eyes flashing into slits and back to round again with the force of her emotion. “You are no longer princess of the Serpent Court, sweet child. You are no longer a member of the Naga household. You will live the rest of your life as an eagle, like your mother before you.” “But other families keep children of different orders in their houses!” I exclaim. “Why can’t⁠—” “We are not other families,” she hisses, pointing to the family crest above my fireplace. Two rearing cobras on a field of black, a crown between them, right above a cursive ‘N’. I know what she means. My father is a serpent purist; all other beasts are beneath him. And now I am beneath him.

Rosalina hands me a dusty black duffle bag. “I am so sorry, sweetheart.” I won’t find out that my father executed her until many years later. Both, she and the house staff who were there the day my anima was revealed. That very same day, my father and his retinue drive me to Aunt Charlotte’s house, a smart double story house in a neat serpentine neighbourhood. But they don’t take me into her house. Instead, they drive around the side and far back into the compound where, under tall and scraggly trees, a tiny house sits like a weathered toad in the dark. “This is your home now,” Father says.

“Father, I don’t understand why I have to stay here. None of it is my fault.” “Your Majesty,” one of his vipers snaps. “You will address him appropriately, mutt.” Her words burn like a brand.

“There is one thing about life that you must learn, Aurelia Aquinas.” His voice announcing me by my mother’s official surname is a dangerous hiss that makes me go still. “We do not always get what we want.” And in his voice, I hear a deep sorrow, a profound loss. I was his dream, and that dream is now dead. The Serpent Princess is no more.

“You will keep your protections up at all times,” he continues. “You will not let them find you. If you do, your life will be forfeit. Every power-hungry beast in the country will come for you. Chain you up. Breed you until you are dead. Do you understand?” His words are a cruel blow to the gut, and I bow my head, if only to hide the tears of shame now falling freely. My mates can never be mine. Nothing will be the same again.

There are at least three murderous psychos hunting me and yet all I can think about is food. I’ve officially gone loopy. Like proper, doctor-please-admit-me-to-the-grippy-sock-hotel type loopy. I’ve always known my mental break was coming, and it took being framed for murdering my new husband and being forced to run away in the middle of the night for it to pull the plug on my sanity. I’m not normal. None of this is normal.

My current legs are piddly sticks, but they do the job by slowly inching me towards a group of elderly ladies at a fancy breakfast cafe. They’ve just been brought their lunches. It’s a tourist town on the coast and the summer holidays are coming to an end, so everyone is out while they can. I know I should be working at this cafe. Living my life free and unbothered. Safe. Happy. Instead, I’m half a foot tall and skulking across the ground like the felon I’m supposed to be. But I can’t care less about that now because I. See. Their. Food.

Ding, ding, ding. The winner is me. Dear Wild Goddess and all that is holy. That burger is mine. I know how I sound, but I haven’t really eaten in five days. When I left my beloved bungalow in the middle of the night, it was by car, under my special eighth shield of invisibility. I had cash, my phone, and my battered duffle bag carrying my meagre possessions.

But they found me in the first motel I stopped at. Not the three psychos, someone actually worse. And I didn’t realise it was possible for someone to be worse. It was the Deputy Headmaster of Animus Academy, who the authorities no doubt sent to hunt the rabid crim (me) down. They usually send a dedicated retrieval team to hunt rabid or feral beasts to protect the human community, but I guess they thought I was a special case and that they needed to send the best lion in the state. A specialist, as it were. Lyle Pardalia.

Sure, I was grateful he took down my father’s scummy retrieval team. I mean, no one went against the King Cobra and lived to tell the tale. But when I mentioned it, he scoffed and said he had no issue with it. And a lethal hunter like that? The only way I could get away from him was to shift and fly away, but it meant I had to leave all my stuff behind. I don’t own that much, so the loss of all my savings was a massive blow.

It also means that I have no clothes and no cash. So here I am, in what I hope is an inconspicuous position, eyeing this poor lady’s burger. You don’t know real hunger until you’ve gone this long without a proper meal. My head is fuzzy, like it’s filled with cotton wool, and my body feels like it’s floating through water, moving in slow motion. Worst of all, I’m fixating on this burger like it’s a holy relic that’ll save me. Because I will die before I go digging through the rubbish bin. A woman has to have her standards somewhere, right? Dirty pond drinking water I can tolerate here and there. A dirty burger? Pass. Soft pass, but still.

I’m a predator I’m an apex predator. A beast like no other. If I keep repeating my positive affirmations, I’ve got to believe them eventually. That’s the way it works. It’s science.

I’m wondering if I can steal someone’s wallet while I’m in the area. I’ve really descended to a new type of low. There’s a discarded chip on the ground and I purposefully avoid looking at it. I was a Princess of the Serpent Court at one time. Now, I’m thinking about eating day-old cold chips from the ground. A bubble of mad laughter begins in my chest and I clamp down on it as hard as I can because it’ll likely come out as a scary caw.

ladies croaks, nervously shuffling her orthopaedic shoes under the table. A young waitress sidles up to the table with a look of ‘I’ve got goss’. “The Opal Feather store just got broken into and set on fire,” she says conspiratorially. “I was walking past on my way to work. Glass and flames everywhere. The salesgirl was screaming about beasts barging into her store. A wolf and a dragon, she says.” I freeze.

“Oh, those creatures are awful,” says Caesar-salad lady. “A danger to us all. I can’t believe they let them terrorise us humans the way they do.” “Some of them are so pretty though,” says burger-lady, though a little quietly, as if she’s ashamed to admit it. “The way the lion men groom themselves? I saw one on the news the other day. Beautiful honey golden hair, and so long!” “Yes, but they’re dangerous, Sybil!” says Caesar Salad. “Criminals and murderers. They can’t control their urges, and they act like the animals they are.” The large man sitting on the right hastily gets up to leave. Maybe he’s a criminal on the run like me. Fare thee well, comrade. Good luck. “Well,” says the waitress, lowering her voice. “The salesgirl at the Opal Feather said the wolf that came in was gorgeous…right up until they blew up the store and laughed about it!” Shit. They’re here. I need to leave right now.

I leap up onto the table, black wings flapping, immediately knocking over a pink mocktail and its tiny umbrella. All three ladies scream. I launch myself at the chicken burger, grabbing it with my beak and leaping into the air, sweeping my wings to gain some height. But success is a glass bubble that shatters in my beak because the burger is too big for me to clamp around. It slips out and I falter in mid-air, digging my beak in for all its miserable worth. But it does no good.

My beak shoots out, snapping around the paper handles and I launch myself into the air, triumphant, leaving the dramatic shrieking behind me. I beat my wings as I try to convince myself that I’m going to be alright. That I’m going to get out of this state and the beasts hunting me won’t win. That I won’t go crazy.

There’s a national park nearby, and it has to be the safest place to hide out so I can eat. As an eagle, they’ll find it impossible to trace my scent by foot. The scent I’ve been trying to hide my entire life. Ten minutes later, I’m standing at the base of a tall gum tree. After taking a cursory look around and seeing no predators or men in camo gear, I flash into my human form and, butt naked, fall to my knees. Tearing open the bag, I open up the cardboard box and find a mostly uneaten burger ready for me.

I’m working on tiny amounts of sleep here and there because the thing about being hunted by multiple apex predators is that they’re fast. And being hot on my tail, I’ve barely avoided them so far. I can’t afford to hole up in a nice cosy place, I have to keep moving. Three of these apex predators had been stuck in a dungeon just over a week ago.

It just so happened that the wealthy eagle who had been keeping them in that dungeon purchased my marriage contract from my father. The place ended up burning down (I suspect my dad for setting that up) and now Charles Halfeather is dead and I’m being blamed for it.

Yes, there’s five of them. And they’re all of different orders. It’s a dead giveaway to my secret, so my father instructed me to both hide my mating mark and my scent. That makes for two shields. My third and fourth are psychic shields of different levels, so no one can invade my mind or find me by psychic means. And one of my mates is a shark, so he has the power to do that.

It’s the reason I’ve been hiding from my mates my entire life. Usually, your mates are from the same or similar order as you. The fact that I have five of different orders is unheard of. I shift back into my eagle form and jump up into the tree above me to catch my breath. I’m exhausted. Now that my belly is full to the brim, my body is telling me to sleep. Drowsiness haunts my mind and I sway on the spot for some unknown length of time, wondering if I should give up and just nap here in the warm sunlight for a bit.

Well, Xander is a dragon, but they’re only allowed to fly in designated areas. And since they’re also on the run, they surely won’t risk his big body hurtling through the air. My eyes droop as I roost on the thick branch of this gum tree. It’s deliciously warm, and exhaustion pulls my eyes shut. I only realise I’m tumbling through the air at the last minute and land on the leaf litter below with a sickening thump. Groaning, I roll my bird body over and lie on my side, feeling a little sorry for myself. But my stomach is full, so no real complaints here. Eventually, I drag myself to my feet, but it’s then that I hear the crunch of heavy boots on the forest floor…and a husky male voice singing what sounds like a children’s song.

“Hold my chicken.” “Rooster,” Xander corrects, accepting the black bird. I scowl at my pack-brother because he can take his private school education and shove it up his big dragon ass. “His name is Eugene,” I snap. Patting said chicken on his red head-frills, I turn back to the trembling cashier of the Opal Feather. The sight of us always makes these humans piss their pants. A dragon, a wolf and a shark walk into a luxury store and, well…they all know what comes next, I suppose.

“Human woman.” I point at the cashier. “Get out. Your boss is in trouble.” As the blonde with the dark fake tan and short, short skirt grabs her phone and scampers out to call to the cops, Xander scoffs again. “He says that like he’s not currently human.” Scythe, my brother by blood, says nothing and strides past me to the back of the shop, brushing at the shoulder of his crisp black designer shirt. Scythe has his quirks, and I have mine. But Xander is wrong. I haven’t been ‘human’ in a very long time. We both follow Scythe past the dressing rooms and through a curtain in the storage room.

I grunt at Scythe and he silently holds open the curtain, allowing me to do my thing. Passing him with a smirk, I sing a happy tune, making sure I stomp loudly down the stairs. “Little birdies, little birdies…the wolf is ready to play.”

Chairs scrape in the room below as their occupants jump to their feet. Someone lets out a shout just as I leap over the railing and land in the room with jazz hands. “Round-a-bout a round table, five birdies, about to pay!” There are five eagle males in human form, ranging from thirty to fifty, now standing around a table scattered with official-looking documents, wax seals and all. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” a younger one of them shouts. His hand goes into his pocket, but I’m on him in a flash, leaping across the table right for his throat. I grab him by his gel-crispy hair and sink my teeth into his throat just enough to draw blood. He screams. “Drop the gun, you fool of a bird,” Xander drawls as he steps into the basement.

Even with my chicken tucked under his arm and the cords of the white headphones hanging from his ears, our glowing-eyed dragon looks scary as fuck. Eagles are useless in a fight. Their power is healing, so a lot of them carry weapons. This one sets the handgun on the table, whimpering under my teeth. The vibration of it tickles and I suppress a laugh. Scythe steps out of the shadows of the staircase, and the eagles pin their gazes on him. They take in his silver hair, his sky-blue eyes, and the five lines of ancient marine script on the ...

Scythe turns to the eagle on my left, a middle-aged guy with a black receding hairline and pale skin that’s happily familiar. My brother’s voice bears his signature rasp—a predator made into something worse. “Good afternoon, Dirk Halfeather.” “Y-you should be dead,” Halfeather stammers. I chomp down on my prey. Blood bursts in my mouth as I tear out his throat and throw him to the floor, where he thrashes like a fish. I swallow most of the blood, but the crimson liquid of life spills down my chin to my bare chest, mingling with the dried blood already there. This is why shirts are useless. Two of the eagles shout, and one of them reaches for the dying eagle, but I bare my teeth at him and, wide-eyed, he bows his head in submission. “Good boy,” I say, though my wolf-voice is almost too guttural to be clear.

Scythe pulls out a chair and sits down. He leisurely takes out a cigarette from the old-fashioned metal case he keeps in his pocket and lights it with a silver wolf lighter I gave him for Christmas. He blows out the blue smoke. “No. Not dead. Instead, the two guards at your door, and this eagle, are dead.” Dirk Halfeather blanches. “But this is not the price of breaking your agreement with me, Dirk. May I call you that?” We all hear Dirk’s audible swallow. “Please,” Scythe says mildly, “sit.” He indicates to Dirk’s chair.

Xander pulls up another chair and sets Eugene on his lap. I’m too wired after this kill and settle for prowling the underground room to inspect it for anything interesting. There’s nothing much in here except that table in the middle and a set of couches deeper in the room. I smell a female eagle and women’s perfume—from last night, most likely. There’s a glass cupboard of whiskey and other spirits in the corner, along with crystal glasses. A place for business deals and female fun. Dirk blubbers, “Mr Kharkorous, please, this is all a great mis⁠—” The temperature of the room suddenly plunges. Ice crystals spread across the walls and I grin as Scythe points his cigarette at Dirk. “Do not lie to me, Mr Halfeather. I do not tolerate liars.” Halfeather snaps his mouth shut.

Scythe takes a drag from his cigarette, and the eagles all follow his movements with extreme acuity. He has a voice that violently demands attention, and I even find myself keenly listening in. “I learned the art of business deals from my father. He would have been your age by now, Dirk, but you wouldn’t have run in the same circles, of course. One time, he was negotiating the price for a valuable…product. I would have been twelve at the time, but I watched it all quite closely. They couldn’t agree on a price. My father wanted a little over a million. They couldn’t afford it, but still wanted it. The meeting ended, and that night, those beasts came to steal the product. Now, that wouldn’t do, and not five minutes later, we had three eagles lying without their wings on our doorstep. My father took their net assets and considered the matter settled.” “‘In our world, Scythe, we take what we want and we don’t look back’, he said to me. Now you,” Scythe says, gesturing at Dirk, “are forcing me to look back. And I don’t like that. I have no time for that. Halfeather estate is mine.” Dirk spreads shaking hands. “Mr Kharkorous, please, this is my brother’s land we are talking about. My family’s estate.”

“Land that was won under the Old Laws forty years ago,” Scythe says simply. “Land that is now being relieved from you, under the Old Laws.” He pins Dirk with a stare that sets his feathers quaking like the wormfood he is. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen.” Scythe rasps. “Since you are well aware of the deal I had with your late brother and his subsequent scheming, you will also be aware of what I do to beasts who betray me. Halfeather enterprises and, therefore, this establishment, are now mine.” I’m directly b...

I grab the back of his head and slam it onto the table. The table shakes, his friends flinch, and when Halfeather comes back up, he’s gasping. “Please. Oh, Wild Gods, please.” Leaning down, I whisper into his ear. “We know about your little schemes, Dirky boy. I’ll send your wives pretty black veils to wear at your funeral. You’re rex to three sweet tweety birds, aren’t you?” Dirk splutters. “Thank you, Mr Halfeather.” Scythe stands and puts out his ciga...

But Xander and I remain in place, looking down at the remaining four eagles at the table. I smirk at my dragon-brother and he smirks back, raising a hand where brilliant red flames aggressively spark to life. We don’t leave until the screaming ends and there are five crispy bodies on the floor. We head back up the stairs with...

Dragons love sparkly things and I think he’s attracted to a shirt with rhinestones on it. “Let’s go,” I project into Xander’s mind—a quirk of being a wolf. “Here.” He throws me a black T-shirt with a horse on the left side of the chest. “You ca...

But I pull on the shirt anyway because Aurelia is nearby and I want to look nice when we finally reunite. I hate her, and she’s half-mad, but she’s my regina, and my animus is howling at me to look my best for her. Pulling the T-shirt on, I scratch at the rune on my index finger, a little gift from the Serpent King. Blood deals are dangerous, and our kind don’t like to mix with them, but this particular one we all made an exception for. Aurelia needs to die. She’s a danger to me, my brothers and everything we’ve worked for. And if her dad wants to be the one to do it, then by the Old Laws, he has the right to. We head out and Xander summons a beach ball-sized molten flame between his hands and tosses the entire thing over his shoulder.

We catch up to Scythe, who is casually strolling down the pavement, with Eugene unhappily trailing behind him. Ducking my head down in the way of predators, I sneak up to the chicken and pounce, plucking him right off the pavement. He squawks in terror and pecks at my hand, but I hold him safe against my chest and make gentle clucking sounds. He calms down and Scythe turns to look at me expectantly. Lifting my nose to the summer air, I stalk forwards, scenting what’s on the wind. The breeze is cool, though the air is hot. It smells like roasting eagle, smoke, and food cooking in the cafes across the road.