Clash of Carnivores

Book : Mastery of Monsters Trilogy

by Liselle Sambury

Genres: YA Contemporary; YA Dark Fantasy

Synopsis

The thrilling sequel to A Mastery of Monsters, following the fiercely determined eighteen-year-old August Black as she infiltrates a secret society hiding the frightening reality that monsters are real, while unraveling the mystery behind her brother’s disappearance.

August risked everything to find her brother, joining a deadly secret society protecting the chilling truth that monsters are very, very real. She thought when she found him that she would leave the society behind.

Instead, she fought and bled to bond herself to a Monster for life.

Now, despite her efforts to stay unattached, her connection to her Monster partner, Virgil, continues to grow. She can’t stop replaying the memory of their forbidden kiss that Virgil wants to pretend never happened.

Their strained bond is put to the test as they prepare for the Monster’s Ball, a brutal tournament where pairs battle for the coveted title of Master. But despite the danger of the contest, August is consumed with finding her mom’s killer and getting revenge. Her vendetta leads to her accidentally form a rare second bond with Nolan, a Wild Monster who wants nothing to do with her. And if the three of them can’t work together, they’ll be kicked out of the tournament before it even begins.

But August can’t pull her focus away from revenge—even if it means becoming the worst sort of monster herself. She believes that vengeance will cure her grief, but it may just be the thing that breaks her bonds for good.

Release date: August 4, 2026

Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books

Print pages: 512

Sample

Chapter One CHAPTER ONE
Riley

This is supposed to be the best day of my university career. My official acknowledgment as the president of the Queen’s University Black Student Society. The first Townsend to hold that title in over sixty years. Achieving what both Dad and Grandma failed to acquire during their tenure. A title that I was sure I would have to wait until I was a senior to even attempt to seize.

Doing it as a sophomore was unimaginable. But I did.

At no point in the process of working toward this goal did I expect to find myself standing before the elder council while they stare down their noses at me, my peers lining both sides of the room, not for the official acknowledgment of my status as president, but a meeting held explicitly to challenge it.

The ballroom of the new clubhouse is empty of any adornment besides the four crystal chandeliers and the dais raised at least six feet off the ground. The podium’s desktop is lined with oak trim interrupted by shiny metal labels featuring the names of the five elder council members who occupy the leather chairs behind the mounted mics: the speaker, secretary, and three sitting members.

People who I was raised to respect and revere. People who now seek to rip from me the one thing I’ve wanted most in the world.

I think briefly of Sammie, standing next to me, beaming and alive. Instead of the way I last saw her, eyes wide and empty, back torn open and bloody.

I chew the inside of my cheek and stand straight, chest out, meeting the gazes of the esteemed alumni.

Dr. Michaels sits in the middle place as the speaker, operating as the voice for all alumni. Salt-and-pepper curls cover his shaved head, and he folds his fingers together as he regards me. “We’ll be opening this gathering of the elder council and enlightened members now. Today we’ll address the events of the fall semester, which included a confrontation with the Society for the Pursuit of the Fundamentals of Learning and an early shift in the presidency. Would you like to explain how you came to ascend from treasurer to president, Ms. Townsend?”

It’s a small consolation that my parents retired from the council last year and are now happy to concentrate fully on their real estate empire. I couldn’t handle it if they had to participate in this. I’ve been lectured and berated enough by them already.

I say, “There was an internal vote among the enlightened members, and a decision was made. I assume that I was chosen because I was addressing a threat that my predecessor was not.”

On either side of the ballroom, my peers are still. They represent the chosen few among the larger student society, those aware of the true origin of our organization dating back to our founder Joseph Lawrence’s original purpose set in 1864: to gather his own under one banner to protect each other from the threat of Monsters. And from the society who claims to govern them. Only a select few enlightened members wield artifacts, and even fewer hold a student council title, but we all are aligned in this mandate.

“And who authorized the calling of this vote?” Ms. Howard asks, adjusting the braids that lie across her shoulders.

“I did. As per the QBSS handbook section 8, article 6, in times of peril when the president fails to sufficiently protect our organization, there may be a vote called to reassign any student council member to take over as the new acting president.”

I have to thank Grandma for forcing me to memorize that little notebook from cover to cover as though it was equivalent to the Bible she kept dog-eared and tabbed on her nightstand. The handbook was written by Joseph Lawrence himself, and it’s the be-all and end-all of most things in QBSS. Knowing how to make it work for me is a good skill for law school in the future too, after I get my business degree.

“That takeover is meant to be temporary,” Ms. Howard says. What she’s not saying is that Malachi is her nephew and she wants him to keep his position despite the fact that two members died under his watch.

Two… or three, including Sammie.

I need to stop thinking about her.

I say, “There’s no note in the text that this change in presidency is temporary.”

“It’s implied.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, the handbook is a document meant to be followed in a legal sense, not a biblical sense. If implications were considered, then much of it would become irrelevant.”

Her lip curls.

“Ms. Townsend is correct,” Ms. Nelson says. As secretary, it’s her duty to be up-to-date with the handbook and record minutes. “That matter is closed. If the debate is whether she is suitable to preside as president, that remains open.” She turns to me. “And we, as the elder council, have the authority to deem you unfit and call a new vote. One in which you are no longer on the ballot.”

A bead of sweat rolls down my back. “To help assuage the concerns of the council, I will note that I have performed well in my duties as treasurer, I am a Historic member of this society, and I was instrumental in bringing the man who murdered our members to justice.”

If instrumental meant that I was bait to lure out Bernie Mathers. Though, bless her soul, August isn’t anywhere near crafty enough to think of using me to get what she wants. She brought me to give me a chance to avenge Sammie. Her innocence is almost charming.

There are murmurs among the elders as they consider what I’ve said. The other two sitting members, men I’m not as familiar with, have been quiet thus far, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have opinions. I slide my eyes to the right, where the current student council stands. Darius, our secretary, who honestly takes appalling notes, stands with his shoulders slouched. Meanwhile Jackson, my now ex-boyfriend and our social chair, is alert but avoids looking at me. Which is difficult, I imagine, because everyone is looking at me.

He and Malachi should have reported that I took off with August and her group to confront Mathers. I can guess why Jackson wouldn’t. Stay in my good books, maybe try to get back together, which will not be happening. But Malachi… he should have tattled right away. He would be in a better position to contest my presidency that way. I don’t understand his endgame.

The last member of the student council, Inaya, is staring at me so hard that I couldn’t ignore her if I wanted to. Her hair is freshly twisted with perfect parts and edges, and she has a full face done impeccably. She always looks like she’s heading to an event and has the sort of grades others abuse medication to get. She was vice president last semester and should have become president when Malachi graduated at the end of this year. Instead, I became president, and Malachi dropped to VP, which pushed her into the treasurer spot. Furthermore, I’m a year below her. She’ll never get a chance to become president as long as I hold the position.

“The girl can’t even wield the sickle,” Ms. Howard sneers. “All this talk about protecting the members, and the weapon is dull in her hands. Not to mention she lost the chain in battle so she can’t even fall back on that. Denying it to our current treasurer as well, I might add.”

It takes everything in me not to swallow. August better not make me regret giving that necklace to her. I saw her activate it. She has some connection to QBSS, and I need to maintain that connection to her. Especially now that the Doctorate candidate who already favored her has become the leader of their society. There is a long game to be played.

I unchain the pendant around my neck and grip it within my fist. Golden light blooms from between my fingers as the weapon grows from a tiny metal charm into a full sickle the length of my forearm. “Respectfully, I have to disagree. I have no problem with the sickle.”

When Ms. Howard grins, I falter for the first time, my grasp on the weapon loosening. “So you don’t mind a little challenge, then?” she asks.

I look at the other members of the council, but none of them are speaking against her. It’s not enough that I was a good treasurer and a Historic, and I helped put a murderer in the ground. They want more.

They always do.

The crowd parts, and Malachi steps forward. He slips his necklace free of its clasp and clenches it in his right hand.

I grit my teeth. If I ask why this is necessary, it’ll make me look weak. If I back down, it’ll be even worse.

I bend my knees and bring the sickle in front of my face.

Malachi’s pendant thickens and lengthens into a golden staff that’s somehow taller than his already more than six-foot frame. He holds it with an ease that I lack with my own weapon.

He charges with a shout, and I only just manage to bring the sickle up to block before he’s moving again. He sweeps out at my feet, and I jump in time to evade, but as I land, he shoves the end into my stomach, and I gasp.

I slump onto my knees and drop the sickle, struggling for air that won’t come. I bite down on my lip hard enough that it bleeds, the copper taste running along my tongue. When I look up, Malachi stares at me with a wide grin, canines flashing gold. He steps aside and reveals the frowns of the elder council.

With the chain, I could have taken him. But the president does not wield the chain. They wield the sickle. The only artifact with the power to transform further and increase in power. The goal isn’t the sickle, but the scythe. Except it won’t transform. It’s useless.

Just like me.

Dr. Michaels taps his nails on the table. “What shall we do about this Ms. Townsend? The members have chosen you, but it’s clear to us that your skill is lacking. And Bernard Mathers is dead. What reason do we have to allow you to continue in this position when we could reinstate Mr. Jones?”

If they take this title from me, where will I be? How could I come back from that sort of shame? I’m a Historic. A direct descendant of Joseph Lawrence. I should be better than this. I need to make myself invaluable to the board. Give them a reason to keep me on long enough to prove that I should be here.

I think of Mathers. Of what made me worthwhile to him.

“The weapon,” I say. “Mathers was looking for an artifact. He believed it had the power to kill Gods.” Some of the council scoff, but I keep going. “Obviously metaphorical. Still, the society has no record of it, nor do we, but it must exist. A weapon of that degree of power could give us an edge over the society. We have lived in ‘peace’ with them this whole time under their terms. This could allow us to make our own terms.”

“How do you plan to find this weapon?” Dr. Michaels asks. “Of course if we have an artifact of that magnitude, it would be valuable to study it, especially as we lost members in Mathers’s pursuit of it. Yet, if no one before you has managed, then how will you?”

This is the moment when I could lose them. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. “I have a society contact. She’s a Bachelor paired with the ward of Henry Scott, and she was nominated by Adam Shaw himself for that candidacy. I believe she has the resources to assist in this search.”

The board is silent for a moment as they stare at me. This, I know, is what they want more than anything. It’s what we all want. To no longer be under the thumb of the Learners. Ms. Howard opens her mouth, but Dr. Michaels silences her with a hand. “The new Doctorate nominated her?” I nod. He shares looks with some of the other board members. “Why would she help you?”

“Because someone in her family was one of us. Before it was lost, she happened to touch the chain and was able to activate it. Someone’s given her bones to us. There’s a connection there.” What I don’t say is that this connection can be exploited. It doesn’t need to be said. I can see it in the way the council members trade glances.

Dr. Michaels straightens in his seat. “You have until the end of the semester. If you cannot hand over the weapon by then, you will give the sickle to him instead.” This with a tilt of his head toward Malachi.

“Yes, sir,” I say.

Not that Malachi has proven himself as any more adept with the sickle than I am. He can’t call forth the scythe, either. But they would still rather the weapon be in his hands than in mine.

Even if he could wield the scythe, only I would have the stomach to draw blood.

He hid behind his title while our members were slaughtered. While Sammie was carved up and left to bleed out. Alone. He had no business calling himself president. And now I know that the board doesn’t think I have any more right to the title than him.

They don’t now, anyway. But come the end of the semester, they will.