Gods & Monsters (Serpent & Dove #3) by Shelby Mahurin

I stared at her for a beat.

Not for this. Not for Lou. The imperiousness in her voice punctured my hope. My foolish optimism. Had she just . . . dismissed us? As if this weren’t equally important as the Church’s conclave? As if this wouldn’t decide the fate of the kingdom in a more tangible way? Lou might not have been the only player on the board, but she was certainly the most critical. Only a fool wouldn’t recognize that.

Jean Luc wasn’t a fool. Neither was Célie.

When I next spoke, ice coated my voice. My veins. “Lou risked everything for you.”

She blinked in surprise at my tone. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish. “I— Reid, of course I am very grateful for that! I would never presume to—to deny her heroism or involvement in my rescue, but she—” Cheeks coloring, she leaned closer, as if speaking a dirty word. “Reid, she is a witch. If there were even a possibility of Jean abandoning his responsibilities to save her—of forsaking his oath as a Chasseur—of course I would ask, but—”

“But we’re a witch,” Nicholina cackled gleefully, sitting upright in the sand, “so you will not risk the question. Pity. Such a pretty, pretty pity, you are. Such a pretty, pretty porcelain doll.”

I jerked her hands behind her back, holding her wrists captive. Beau joined me, poised to help if she struggled. But she didn’t. She merely gazed serenely up at Coco, who crouched in front of her. “Bonjour, notre princesse rouge. I must say you look terrible.”

“You look better than I’ve ever seen you.”

“Ah, we know.” Grinning with Lou’s lips and Lou’s teeth, she gazed down at herself. “This skin suits us.”

Flames erupted in my chest at her words. This skin. “She isn’t a suit,” I snarled, tightening my hold on her wrists until they threatened to snap. I knew I shouldn’t. I couldn’t help it. I wanted to hurt her, to force her out violently if necessary. When she laughed in response—tipping her head back with relish, leaning fully into my chest—I felt my hands twist. Another second, and her bones would shatter. Just one more second. Just one.

She moaned in pleasure.

“Yes, Reid. Yes.” Tongue flicking out to lick her teeth, she dropped her head to my shoulder. “Hurt me. Hurt this body. This suit. We’ll enjoy it, yes. We’ll savor each bruise.”

I recoiled instantly, hands shaking. Blood roared in my ears. Beau caught her wrists between heartbeats. His mouth firmed when she turned to nuzzle his chest. “Mmm. A prince. I tasted your cousin once.”

Coco gripped her chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. “Kink is consensual, Nicholina. We’re going to remove you one way or another. It won’t be kinky. It won’t be consensual. But it will hurt.”

“Oooh, tell me, with the captain’s holy stick? I wonder how he’ll help you? Will he prick, prick, prick—”

“There shall be no pricking,” Beau interrupted. “Holy sticks or otherwise. No unnecessary force either,” he added, glancing pointedly between Coco and me. “Nicholina might be, well, Nicholina, but she’s hiding behind Lou. Who knows what Lou can see and hear? What she can feel?”

Nicholina laughed again. “I said she’s dead, she’s dead I said. The gold one is gone. I’m here instead.”

I ignored her, nodding with a deep breath. Lou wasn’t dead. She wasn’t. Suppressing a red haze of anger, I took her wrists back from Beau. Though physically repulsed—at her, at myself—I rubbed the angry skin there with my thumbs. This was Lou. This was Nicholina. They couldn’t be the same person, yet somehow, now, they were.

A golden pattern twined around our hands. Slowly, carefully, I fed it until the red tint in my vision faded. As my anger dissipated, so too did the marks on her wrists. With it, another burst of inspiration struck. I couldn’t heal her with a Balisarda, but perhaps I could heal her with magic. Closing my eyes, breathless with hope, I cast my net of gold in search of an answer. A cure, a restorative. Anything to purge Nicholina’s presence. The patterns coiled and undulated in response, but none connected. They simply drifted outward into nothing. Frustrated, I pulled at each one to examine it, to determine its asking price, but I sensed nothing from them. No gain. No give. These patterns weren’t functional. When I plucked one on a whim, snapping my fingers, it fell limp in my hand instead of dispersing.

Concentrating harder, I tried again. Nothing.

Though I hadn’t routinely practiced magic, I hadn’t expected my patterns to simply . . . wilt. Could they wilt? No. No, Nicholina must’ve been blocking me somehow. As often as I’d tried to dispose of my magic, I knew it couldn’t go away so easily. Perhaps my intent had been wrong.

I focused anew. Help me exorcise Lou.

Nothing.

Help me force Nicholina out of Lou.

The patterns floated aimlessly.

Help me heal Lou. Help me hurt Nicholina. Help me make her like before.

The patterns continued to wander. A vessel nearly burst in my forehead now. I lost track of the others’ conversation entirely. Please. Please. Help me save her.

At the last request, the patterns thrummed, growing brighter and collecting into a single cord. Those familiar voices whispered in my ear—save her, save her, save her—as I followed the pattern to a face.