Free The Beautiful and the Cursed: Marco's Story by Page Morgan

Instead, she thought of her sister, Gabby, and how she had gone the opposite direction from Grayson, wanting to soak up everything there was to know about the Alliance and Underneath demons—specifically, how to destroy them in face-to-face combat.
    Vander held out his hand. He didn’t wear gloves like a refined gentleman would, and his fingertips were ink stained. He would have never been permitted into Ingrid’s social circle back in London. But as she took his hand, her chest filled with warmth and gratitude. Yes, Vander Burke had romantic feelings for her. Maybe she harbored the same feelings for him. First and foremost, though, he was her friend.
    They walked in silence the rest of the way to the orangery. Inside, balmy air wrapped their chilled bodies. The glass roof and walls drew in the sunlight, trapped it, and created a tropical zone. A maze of bamboo; glossy green palms; bright red, orange, and pink flowers; lemon and lime trees; coconut and mango, too. Constantine’s orangery should have felt like a miniature paradise. Unfortunately for Ingrid, every time she stepped inside it, she remembered
him
.
    Luc.
    His wavy dark hair, and the way he pushed it out of his eyes, which happened to be the brightest shade of green Ingrid had ever seen. His lashes, coal-black and thick. His expression of constant irritation. His creamy velvet skin as it checkered over into glimmering jet scales.
    Vander could make a thousand promises to keep Ingrid safe, but it was Luc who was her true protector. It was Luc who could sense her every emotion as clearly as if it were his own, whether it was fear, excitement, or joy. It was Luc who knew where Ingrid was at any given moment, and who could be there within seconds should she require his help.
    Luc was her gargoyle. And Ingrid was in love with him.
    “Lady Ingrid?” Monsieur Constantine’s voice came from a clearing amid towering bamboo.
    She walked through the cut path of green stalks, blindingly bright compared to the gray winter day outdoors.
    “Oh—Mr. Burke.” Constantine frowned as he rose from his wicker chair.
    Vander had apparently let himself onto Constantine’s grounds without announcing himself first.
How rude of him
, Ingrid thought with a grin. Vander saw it and flashed her a smile in return.
    When she glanced back at her teacher, she saw that he was still frowning. The frown was directed not at them, however, but at the newspaper clutched in his hand. He sat back in his wicker chair.
    “Monsieur Constantine?” Ingrid said, edging closer to the table. He didn’t often smile and rarely allowed a laugh, but he didn’t usually glower. Constantine’s expressions were always as gray as the clothing he wore—all different hues of gray, from gainsboro to silver to platinum. The color suited him perfectly.
    “It is this morning’s paper,” Constantine stated, his fingers crushing the edges.
    “Is it very bad?” she asked.
    Her teacher set the paper down and smoothed the wrinkled pages. “I am afraid so. A family was found dead in their home.”
    Ingrid blinked, unsure how to respond.
    “Their bodies were intricately wrapped in a mysterious silken thread. ‘Sticky,’ the reporter wrote. A
sticky
silken thread.”
    Ingrid glanced questioningly at Vander. He raised his chin.
    “As in
cocooned
?” he asked.
    A meaningful look passed between the two men. Ingrid had taken off her gloves and unbuttoned her cape. She draped them over the back of a wicker chair and sat down.
    “The police found the work of a demon?” she asked.
    Constantine folded the paper in half and laid it on the table. “No. They found the work of a Duster.”
    Ingrid stared at him, her mind at a gallop. Vander dropped his hand to the armrest of her chair armrest and gripped it tightly.
    “A Duster?” he echoed.
    Constantine sat down and reclined in his chair, its wings enfolding him. “My student, Léon Brochu. He has the blood of an arachnae demon. It appears the victims were his