Rabid For Her Revenge
EIGHTEEN

Only the gold finch and nightingale were invited back to my second garden party. I was slightly surprised to see the nightingale return. I had thought her consort would have been too offended by Sarakiel and I to come back.

Then again, perhaps his reason for returning was because he wanted to prove we hadn’t gotten under his skin. Or maybe his appearance was meant to prove that he wasn’t terrified of me, and I hadn’t scared him off from our last encounter.

This time there was a gaggle of fifteen new ladies but none of them seemed of any interest. They had separated themselves from their males, taking up residence in the chairs under the white canopied tent, calling upon the servants to bring them what refreshments tickled their fancy. They tittered amongst themselves like a flock of obnoxious seagulls, cawing so abrasively and fighting with each other for scraps.

There were a few older ladies in the group, one obviously in charge and at the top of the social ladder. She was sitting at the head of the table, watching and listening to the other females only throwing in a few barbed remarks here and there as they scrambled for her approval.

It seemed entertaining, so I started to make my way over there only for Sarakiel to lash out a hand and grab me as I walked behind him. He spun me around, stationing me in front of him with his hands on my shoulders. “Daylin, this is Olric Helgate and his son Fenric. They come from the Southern Province.” He introduced me only to the two males, ignoring the other thirteen gentlemen standing around us.

I quickly looked both males up and down replaceing Olric to be a well-aged man with cropped salt and pepper hair. He had crows feet lines and heavy brows that rested above his hooded green eyes. I felt a surge of irritation in seeing green eyes that were far too similar to Myrin’s. His son had the same disgustingly colored eyes and was a mirror image of his father only a few decades younger.

Beside Fenric was a young female with a mane of curly red hair who never raised her head from its demur bow.

My eyes flicked back over to the father and son. “Delighted,” I chirped before offering my arm out to the female. “Should we leave the men to their politics and join the other–”

Fenric stepped in front of his consort, pushing her back away from me. He glared down at me, wrinkling his lip at my offered arm. “I came here only because of my father’s insistence.”

I lowered my arm, shooting him a scowl through narrowed eyes.

Fenric dismissed me with a snort and turned his next words on Sarakiel. His cutting tone shifted to a stiff one. “I know you must have your own reasons for publicly going against the council and taking this thing as your temporary consort, but I refuse to let my consort be influenced by your rabid mutt and I certainly don’t need a chunk of her missing when she’s returned to me.”

“Fenric,” Olric scolded his son as if he was unhappy with Fenric’s rude comment, but his sharp gaze directed at my consort was astringent. “I am sure Sarakiel has trained her to the point he feels comfortable letting her off of her leash.”

Sarakiel patted my head before caressing my jaw. It was the perfect scene of an owner soothing down their pet’s raised hackles. “As long as she is not provoked, my consort is well behaved. However, if you have the guts to prod her with a stick then you should be ready for the consequences that follow.”

Olric ignored the sardonic comment delivered by my consort. “I won’t acknowledge her as your consort. Not when I am well aware she is just a means to an end. A dog, no matter how pampered and praised, is still a dog.” He shot me a degrading look and then sneered. “And that’s a gentle word for what she is. None of us can be sure what type of monster Myrin Redith designed.”

“You are right,” Sarakiel said. “No one but her knows what Myrin put her through.” Sarakiel’s electric blue eyes pierced into mine as he tipped my chin up. “But I do not need to know. She does as I instruct and that’s all I care about.”

“There is no way for you to be sure she won’t turn on you. Redith thought himself her master and then found himself devoured.”

I had the strong urge to scoop out Olric’s condescending green eyes with a spoon but instead gave him a lucid smile. “An abuser is no master,” I said, reaching my hand up behind me to stroke Sarakiel’s cheek. My finger pads grazed across the skin that was starting to stubble. “I have been collared and brought to obey by the hand of Sarakiel Heelark, whom alone has succeeded in making me subservient. Undeniably, that feat should make him someone to fear.” I sighed forlornly, “What dog doesn’t fear being abandoned or put down by their master?”

Fenric looked at me as if I were beneath the dirt he scraped off the bottom of his shoes and yet Olric’s cold eyes were much crueler. “Muzzle your animal, Sarakiel. I abhor ceaseless yapping.”

Oh, he was good. He tickled at the savage beast within me, trying to draw it out. Really if Olric were more arrogant instead of conniving, I may have taken the bait. However, he was carefully choosing his words to see which ones would get a rise out of me. He would be fun to play with, but I couldn’t forget that he was dangerous.

Instead of bristling I threw my head back and let out a tinkering laugh. Doing my best to get my smile under control, I tipped my head back and thunked it against Sarakiel’s chest.

He was looking at me with a question plain there. He wanted to know if I was about to attack the Helgates and turn this lovely party into a bloodbath.

To ease his worries, I gave him a sultry look that promised mischief but not chaos. “I’m off darling,” I purred, “have a splendid time with your lovely guests.” Popping onto my tiptoes I stole Sarakiel’s lips in a brutal kiss, making sure to use plenty of tongue so that Olric and his son could properly enjoy my display.

Public displays of affection were heavily looked down upon since it was seen as improper and uncouth. Watching two individuals make out was sure to make anyone uncomfortable. No matter how stony Olric’s expression, I knew he was revolted.

I shot him a knowing smirk as I finished off with a quick peck to my consort’s cheek. “Ta-ta everyone. Please enjoy this wonderful gathering I have put together. I know that I am having a simply marvelous time.”

Wiggling my fingers in a farewell I sauntered over to the tents.

“Daylin,” Sarakiel called out to me before I managed more than a few steps.

I swiveled back around with a gentle smile and cocked my head. “Yes, dear?”

“Behave,” he told me curtly.

“Of course, of course,” I waved my hand to dispel his concerns.

I waited for him to give the nod signaling I was dismissed. As I walked away, I heard Olric say to my consort, “You need to use a heavier hand, Heelark. She is too willful.”

I slowed my steps so that I could hear Sarakiel’s response.

“We can hardly expect an animal to act like us, Helgate,” he returned dryly. His answer had me grinning nastily to myself. That’s right, I was the acclaimed murderous feral beast. How could they possibly think of me as such but then expect me to behave like the docile females of our society?

“You can still housebreak it,” Olric’s son growled.

I couldn’t see my consort’s face, but I knew that he was looking down upon the younger male in that moment. “Sometimes baiting proves to be more effective than beating. Myrin failed to understand that and made himself the tastiest treat because of it.”

“Ridiculous,” Fenric muttered.

Shaking my head with a smirk, I quickened my steps, entering the canopy where the females had congregated.

“Good afternoon everyone.”

The female speaking did not halt. She continued on as if the host hadn’t just arrived and greeted her. She was the oldest female present and had an air about her that screamed sophistication. She had a permanent scowl etched across her face in wrinkles that told me she was someone who never smiled and never was impressed with anyone or anything.

Candice Helgate, the consort of Olric Helgate and the mother of Fenric Helgate. Yes, I was sure such titles made her feel as if she were someone of great importance. She had been at the top of the pecking order for years now and she wasn’t about to let that change or let anyone forget it.

The other ladies were looking between the old female and I, unsure if Candice simply hadn’t heard or noticed me, or if she had ignored me on purpose. They didn’t know whether to stop her or if mentioning my arrival would only anger her.

They all decided to keep silent in the end, more concerned about being in Candice’s bad books than being in mine.

It was a choice between social suicide for offending Candice or gruesome murder for pissing me off.

I was impressed that they all feared social suicide more.

“Candice.” I called out to her.

The way I addressed her so informally had her stopping mid-sentence. The other females gaped at me, shocked I had the audacity to be so rude.

I wasn’t one to grin and bear and offensive gesture, I mush preferred to return it.

Her sunken eyes narrowed, her painted lips pressing together in disdain. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced yet.”

I nearly laughed out loud at her attempt to put me in my place. If she was so worried about manners and the proper way to go about things, then she should not have blatantly ignored protocol herself. “Since you didn’t seem to want to take the opportunity I gave you, I figured that you replace formalities trivial and unnecessary.”

The old female refused to be the first to back down. “You’ve assumed wrong. You will address me as lady Helgate or–”

“Candice,” I repeated flatly. Looking around the tent I saw that our exchange was making everyone uncomfortable. Well almost everyone. The gold finch looked just as bored today as she did during my last garden party.

Today her hair was not concealed by a silk headwrap. Instead, it was done in cornrows, her thick black hair hanging down to the middle of her ribs. She was running the pad of her finger around the gold painted rim of the teacup that had yet to have a sip taken from it.

Entering fully into the tent, I picked my way around the silent space for something that looked appetizing. “Ladies, ladies,” I cooed as the tension only thickened, “what’s the problem?” I reached over one of the females, picking up a strawberry. I gave her a toothy smile that displayed my sharp canines. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” I placed the red piece of fruit between my teeth. My eyes scanned the group of terrified females who knew the opposite was true all too well. One even visibly gulped. I tittered, lifting a hand to cover my mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, I guess that I do.”

One female snorted before hiding behind her curtain of dark hair.

“How facetious,” the old bird muttered before biting off the olive from her drink skewer and dropping it back in her martini glass.

Coming up behind one chair, I placed my hands on the female’s slender shoulders and felt her jolt under my touch. Pretending I hadn’t noticed I chirped lightly, “Alright, what can I do to put you all at ease? How about a story?”

“This isn’t a children’s tea party,” Candice snapped.

“Once upon a time there lived a scraggly little alley cat,” I began regardless of the old woman’s berating. It was my party anyway and I would do what I wanted. “The alley cat would wander the city, going from street to street in search of food and shelter. Sometimes it would fight with other cats, but the alley cat mostly kept to itself.”

Pulling out a chair next to my gold finch, I looked around at the nervous faces. One female was trembling, the teacup in her hand tinkering against the saucer. Another female couldn’t even meet my eyes and tipped her hat down further to block my stare. Directly across from me was my nightingale. When I looked to her I found her looking back at me with her large doe eyes, shining in anticipation for my tale.

The one who had laughed earlier had pushed her hair behind an ear and now I could see her eyes that told me she was fully invested in my story.

I chuckled, picking up a pastry. “The alley cat would see how the house cats were always warm inside their shelters, brushed clean and given a nice cushion to sleep on, food always filled in their bowls and yet the alley cat was not jealous of their lifestyle.” I sighed heavily and popped the little dessert into my mouth. “After all,” I said through a mouthful of food, lifting my hand to shield my chewing, “the alley cat didn’t have to please anyone for such luxuries, nor did it have to allow itself to be petted or toted around like an accessory.”

I paused in my storytelling to pick up the teapot and pour myself a cup. “One day though, the alley cat was captured, the people of the city having complained for weeks about the scrawny cat that knocked over their garbage cans and would sometimes claw up their pretty house cats.”

“Probably didn’t want the ally cat giving them rabies,” one of the ladies murmured.

“Indeed,” I replied over the rim of my teacup and then took a delicate sip. The young female blushed and ducked her head in embarrassment for having unintentionally spoken out loud. I didn’t fail to notice the way the old female sent her a withering look.

If she was already unimpressed with my story, she would only grow to further hate the way I would press the message of my story. “Before the cat was killed, a child said he wanted it,” I continued on with my story. “The child was a wicked little thing and only had evil intensions for the alley cat. Once he took it home, he locked it in a cramped metal cage, only letting it out to play with it.”

To my right, the gold finch tossed her braids over her shoulder and pursed her lips, unimpressed with my story telling.

The silent challenge had me grinning. I really loved her attitude. She reminded me of the past me.

Not discouraged in the least, I got to the part of my story that would hit close to home for my nightingale. “This child did not play nicely. His idea of fun was tormenting the cat day after day. He removed its teeth so it could not bite, and he pulled out its claws so it could not scratch. Like the declawed house cats, the child tried to force his alley cat to be the same. But no matter what he did, its ratty fur did not turn full and glossy, and the alley cat never stopped hissing. No matter if he starved it, burned it, beat it, or sliced it.”

“What a stupid animal. It got what it deserved,” Candice stated her opinion that no one was interested in hearing.

I told her off to show the other females that it wasn’t something impossible to do. “Just because one well trained animal is comfortable being in captivity and made to dance like a circus animal, doesn’t mean all of the others must feel the same way.”

Candice set her teacup down firmly, the saucer and spoon laying across it clattered together. Her face was flushed red in anger. “Why you impertinent little hussy. I ought to–”

“One day,” I cut her off harshly, “the child took out his alley cat to show to his friends, but the cat embarrassed him. To punish it, the cruel child had plans to take something very precious from the alley cat. He wanted to turn it into a blind, deaf, and mute creature that would have to rely on him in order to survive. He was ready to scoop out its eyes, clip off its tongue and deafen its ears. But the alley cat would rather die than meet such a fate so in a final attempt to save itself it fought back with everything it had and killed the child, earning its freedom.”

My nightingale had leaned forward in her seat, eyes glittering with hope.

Glancing to the side I saw that the gold finch was still not invested. Her fist was propped against her cheek, but she was staring off into the distance watching the males.

“That alley cat wasn’t able to defeat the cruel child on luck alone. You see, not only was the child torturing the cat, but he was also experimenting on it. The poor alley cat was only able to kill the child because of the secret weapon he had unknowingly given it. Because of the experiments done to it, the alley cat was able to kill its tormenter even though it was sickly, weak, and on death’s door.”

The gold finch’s head whipped around suddenly replaceing my story very, very, interesting. She wasn’t the only one either. The one who had laughed at my dark joke also seemed intrigued. Her lips were parted, about to ask a question. With a sly smile my eyes slid away from her and returned to the other females. “The cat awaited death, but low and behold a new child stepped up and took ownership of the alley cat.” I didn’t let the curious female speak, not yet. She couldn’t ask in front of all these people. Even though she understood what I was offering, I couldn’t afford everyone here to understand or I would have to shut down my plan before even beginning. “He nurtured the sad creature back to health and promised to never lock it up again. In the kind child the alley cat found a true companion and was able to live by its own will.”

“Atrocious.” Candice sneered

I shrugged. “It’s just a story.”

“It was inappropriate,” the old woman snipped. “And you, girl,” she snapped her fingers at my nightingale, “what are you gaping at? Sit up straight, you’ve been slouching all day.”

The females who had been captured by my story were suddenly released from my spell. Clearing their throats, moving their teacups, and rustling their skirts, they composed themselves into perfectly postured expressionless dolls who sat in silence as they sipped tea, only one speaking at a time.

Not one of them even glanced at me again.

I let it go on for a while before interrupting Candice who was in the middle of talking once again.

“Have I been made into an outcast at my own party?”

She glared at me for intruding on her spotlight for the second time. “Can a pet brought by its owner really be considered a host?”

This female had another thing coming if she thought her words would ever hurt my feelings. Faking a pout, I crossed my arms. “Oh my, how mean.” I rose from my seat and gave a little bow. “Well, I know when I’m not wanted.” Then, picking up my teacup, I skirted around the ladies.

As I passed behind my nightingale’s seat I pretended to trip and tipped my porcelain cup, purposely spilling my tea all over her. There was a chorus of gasps and ladies rose from their chairs with napkins ready as if a piece of cloth was going to fix the dark stain. “Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry,” I said, setting down the teacup and pulling her up gently by the arm. “Come with me, we’ll get you cleaned up.”

Tugging her along behind me, I left the garden party without a care for farewells or appearances.

I had gotten what I had come for anyway.

My first member of the widow maker’s club was about to be inducted.