Make Me Bee-lieve (Femme Fatale Monsters #3)

by D.J. Russo

The ball zips straight into my crotch with alarming intensity, and all I can think about is how I’m never going to live this down for the rest of my life. Not to mention the infertility, though that one is less of a concern at the moment.

I’m no stranger to getting hit in the crotch, of course. High school was as much about evading bullies as it was about getting straight A’s. But this is the first time I can say I’ve been nailed in the dick with a baseball.

“You don’t have a pelvic floor to worry about, sweetie pie. Now tell Mama the truth,” she said as she patted me on the top of my head the same way she used to when I was a boy.

Elvis snorts. “A little rude, don’t you think?” “Rude is calling at the asscrack of dawn. Get on with it, El.”

A part of me wishes I could mate with him right now, if only to silence him permanently.

Sighing, I rest my head on my arms as I continue to stare at the human as he speaks. He has a lovely voice. Soft, yet strong and firm, with just a hint of huskiness that sends a thrill through my heart in a way nothing—no one—ever has before.

No cat in the world has ever listened when their human told them to stop.

The large honeybee wears a thin, golden tiara atop her head, and her gauzy, golden dress trails across the floor like something out of a fairy tale. Her dark brown curls bounce with every step, along with her prominent breasts. Look at her face, Calvin, look at her face.

One time, years ago, when Elvis got too curious for his own good and went to a BDSM sex club somewhere in the city, he said he was “scaroused” by the women there. “Scaroused” is really the only appropriate word, here. This woman is smoking hot in a way I never thought humanly possible, which makes sense considering she’s not human. But she’s also intimidating as hell, too.

My eyes narrow. “We are not ‘guys.’ We are women.” Florian chitters from the other end of the table. “Ahem.” He clears his throat and narrows his eyes at me. Ugh, right. He’s here. I had forgotten. “Except for Florian, my fiancé,” I rectify. Florian flashes me a sickly-sweet grin. It’s not genuine. Never is, with him. Calvin chews his bottom lip as he glances from me to Florian, then back to me. “Wait, he’s your—oh. Um.” He combs a hand through his hair, which is still damp and glossy from sweat. “But … wait. Don’t male bees⁠—” “He’s aware,” I say flatly. Florian shrugs before going back to inspect his nails. “We do what we do for the betterment of the hive, not for ourselves. Florian is no exception to that and understands his role. But let us cut to the chase, Caretaker. Are we to expect another upheaval anytime soon?”

She shakes her head again, and flecks of golden glitter fall from her russet hair. But unlike real glitter that gets everywhere and is impossible to get rid of, hers simply evaporates in the air. Whatever just shimmered off of her was … organic. “Pixie dust?” I say out loud, lifting my fingers to her hair. The scientist in me wants to bottle it up and take it back to the university to give to some of the microbiologists to study. But then Polina turns to snatch my hand in hers. My heart catches in my throat as she stares at me with her dark, cold eyes. “Yes,” she says carefully, her voice low and husky. A shiver passes down my spine and into my toes, curling them. “But you shouldn’t touch a woman without her permission, Caretaker.”

Being caressed by one of his wet fingers and⁠— Polina. Get a hold of yourself.

I wonder if he has a wife waiting for him? Why does that thought make me feel so itchy? No, not itchy. I feel … I feel… Jealous? Is that the right word for it? Jealousy isn’t something I’ve ever had to deal with. Not as the princess. If I desire something, all I have to do is snap my fingers and it’s mine. Food, clothing, books, jewels? Whatever I request, my drones and foragers will provide it. But I can’t make someone give me their heart. Not even a princess can do that.

Florian lets out a long, exasperated sigh and turns to walk away. “Fine, fine. I will go do your busy work for you, I suppose.” Polina’s right eye twitches as Florian stalks away. “Hey, Florian! You’re going to be dead soon, so maybe try to make something of yourself before then?” Florian whirls around to shoot her four middle fingers. I choke on my own saliva. Okay, so apparently that gesture means something in honeybee fae society, too. Good to know. If this is considered fae humor, then I am seriously screwed.