Chapter Three #2
I’ve picked up a few odd jobs here and there along the way, using the skills my gramps taught me—fighting, tracking, hunting, not to mention how to stay concealed and leave no trace.
The first job was an accident. I stumbled upon a young witch, no more than sixteen or seventeen years old, being chased by three wolves.
I might have, sort of, nudged the wolves away from him…with my car. The kid didn’t hesitate to jump through the open window, and we made our escape. I spent four days with him, patching him up and learning about the outside world.
Not a day later, I ended up saving him a second time.
It cemented our friendship.
He showed me a website on the deep web where ads are posted—missing persons, odd deliveries where you don’t open the package or ask questions, murder for hire, pleas from abused women on message boards, begging for help.
Each assignment sent me zigzagging across the country. Connor—the witch I rescued—vetted the jobs for me…for a fee, of course. I don’t mind paying him a cut, not when he searches the jobs and collects the money.
He sends me my share through an untraceable phone.
While I’m not rich, I do live comfortably. I’m used to going without much, so even the smallest luxuries feel like a blessing. After meeting the first few clients to verify the jobs were legit and they truly needed help, I happily handed the mess over to Connor.
People suck, and many of the “victims” are raging assholes seeking revenge.
I refuse to be used by shady people who can’t fight their own battles.
It’s one of the reasons why I left Kyperian.
Even with Connor helping, some shitty jobs still slip through.
Thankfully, my wolf is able to sniff out lies, and I trust my instincts.
I’ve gradually learned how to weed out the assholes.
The erratic jobs keep me on the move, with no destination in mind.
A time or two, I felt hunters closing in on my location, swear I could almost feel them, like someone stepping over my grave.
And every time, I didn’t hesitate to pick up and leave.
That’s how I ended up here—I drove across two states without sleep, trying to stay a step ahead of the ghosts haunting me.
I march toward the porch, cutting off those thoughts.
I’m safe.
I would know otherwise.
I jog up the stairs, blinking in surprise when the fox flashes me a bright smile, true joy lighting up his expression. It’s been such a long time since anyone glanced at me with such affection that my throat tightens.
“I hope you’re hungry!” He unlocks the door, and I don’t miss the way he grimaces in pain.
“But first, we’ll look over your injuries,” I say, trailing after him as he steps over the threshold. The house is big and old, the building just shy of falling down around us. “I…uh…like what you did with the place?”
Foxy snorts, then winces, his smile lopsided when he glances at me from the corner of his eye. “The alpha assigned this rental to us, hoping we would refuse to stay.”
I follow him through the foyer, peering inside each room as we pass.
Everything is neat, but worn and threadbare.
The kitchen sits at the back of the house.
Before he can open the fridge, I push him into the closest chair.
Though he grunts, he doesn’t protest my manhandling.
I rub my fingers together, disturbed at the way they tingle from a simple touch.
Avoiding his gaze, I drop my bag onto the floor with a thump, then glance around the room. “Where is your first-aid kit?”
“It’s not a big deal,” he protests, wincing as he shifts to sit more comfortably. “I’ll heal in a day or two.”
Something about the defeated tone of his voice has my wolf whining. Ignoring him, I head toward the sink and bend to look underneath, rummaging around their meager cleaning supplies. In the back, I find what I wanted and haul out a box full of supplies.
It appears to be a random collection of odds and ends, and my frown deepens at the thought of not being able to help the fox.
“Shirt off,” I say distractedly, not even raising my head as I issue my order. I set the box on the counter and dig through the meager offerings, taking stock of what’s on hand. It’s mostly suture needles, thread, some gauze, a stack of bandages, and tape.
A lot of different types of tape.
Since shifters heal fast and many are resistant to most diseases, they don’t need aspirin, iodine, bandages, or antibiotics.
I quickly learned shifters in this realm are not friendly with witches, the lack of healing potions in the box just proving my point, and I don’t bother to ask if they have access to a healer.
The two are more likely to kill each other than help one another.
Some things never change, no matter where you go.
When I glance up, I stop dead, and my eyes widen when I catch sight of Foxy stripped to the waist. His back is to me, his skin so white that it looks like a granite sculpture, and I’m hypnotized by the flex of his muscles as he stretches the kinks out of his spine.
For someone so slim, he shouldn’t have so many muscles, and I barely hold back my wolf when she insists that I lean forward to lick him.
Fear snaps me out of whatever hold he has over me.
The worst thing I can do is catch feelings for anyone.
Not only would it put me in danger, it would be a death sentence for him if anyone from Kyperian discovered it.
Then I notice the old bruising under his skin.
Almost every inch of his body is mapped with it.
Walking around him, I notice more and more injuries.
“These are weeks old,” I murmur, unaware I’m speaking out loud.
“What can I say?” He flashes me a wink. “I’m a popular guy.”
I stop looking at his body, unamused by his attempt to distract me. “Regular beatings will slow down your healing. Over time, it will wear your fox out. Your senses will dull, your speed will slow, and you’ll become tired. You’ll become prey.”
A heavy sigh escapes him, his shoulders droop, and he scrubs his face with his hand.
“I do my best to avoid drawing attention to myself, dressing conservatively in jeans and a T-shirt, taking different routes home, not flashing cash. I keep my head down and nose out of trouble. I’m usually able to escape with only a beating or two a week, but it’s impossible to avoid them completely when they search you out. ”
I probe his injuries as he speaks, noting the tender spots, the brutal scrapes, and hundreds of bruises. When I run my fingers along his ribs, he grunts, and I know at least two of them are broken. I glance at the supplies on the counter, but none of them are going to help.
“Don’t be sad.” The fox flashes me a wan smile, wincing slightly when he grabs his shirt and pulls it back over his head. “I’ll live.”
I glance down at my bag, nibbling on my bottom lip as I debate the wisdom of doing something stupid.
“Why don’t you sit while I start supper?” He flashes me another bright smile, practically prancing toward the fridge. It’s only when I take a seat on the stool he vacated that he opens the ancient fridge and buries his head inside.
My gaze is drawn again and again to my bag, my wolf nudging me hard enough that I have to grit my teeth to hold her back.
She’s kicking up a fuss, insisting we help him, and I nibble on my bottom lip with indecision.
My magical signature is small, but even the tiniest trace can be deadly with the Orion on my trail.
When he winces simply moving around the kitchen, my wolf snarls in frustration, and I finally relent. Because she’s right—neither of us likes seeing him in pain.
It’s not like we’re staying.
I’ll heal him, eat quickly, then leave.
Even if they trace me here, I’ll be long gone.
I reach down and slip my hand into my bag, digging around for a small vial. A growl rumbles from the doorway to the backyard, stealing my attention. I still, my gaze flicking up, and I catch the sight of a massive beast standing in the doorway.
I would say wolf, but I’ve never seen one so large and primal that it defies logic.
He bares his fangs at me, a rope of drool dripping from his muzzle, murder turning his blue eyes completely black. Logic tells me it’s a shifter, no animal is that big in the wild, but his human self is buried so deep that I can barely pick him out, the man submerged beneath all the rage.
The beast is a gorgeous midnight black that shimmers blue under the light.
While I’m reaching down, hunkered over on the stool, he towers over me, and I estimate he would stand nearly to my shoulders if I were on my feet.
It’s only when he takes a menacing step toward me that my self-preservation instincts kick into gear.
I don’t dare turn away from the beast, not wanting to draw its attention to the fox. While I might be able to take the wolf in a fight, the fox would be nothing but puppy chow.
“Foxy…I want you to stay very still.” I switch my grip, grabbing the familiar handle of my Carpathian blade nestled at the bottom of the bag.
The weapon is ancient and something only granted to the highest warriors of Kyperian.
Grampa Givvens slipped it into my bag right before I left, knowing I would need it to survive what was coming.
It’s my last remaining connection to him and an item I treasure above all else.
The weapon is an amalgamation of the three main powers—shifter essence, vampire blood, and a witch’s heart.
The combination of the three species working together binds the metals, giving it the power to kill anything it encounters.
Some blades are whispered to be powerful enough to even cut through spells.
The swirling pattern of the metal is similar to what humans call Damascus steel, but it’s even more indestructible.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The fox wrings his hands, his already white face blanching. “Garth, no! Bad doggie!”
My brain turns to static at his admonishments, and I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes, unwilling to take my attention off the threat for even a heartbeat.
Though Foxy sounds like he knows the wolf, assumptions get you killed.
I won’t risk his life that way, not when the wolf has a feral glint in his eyes. “Foxy…do what I say.”
I was so distracted by the fox and his injuries that I didn’t even sense the wolf nearby—a stupid rookie mistake. Now that I’m on my own, mistakes like that can kill. I tense, my muscles coiling, ready to spring at the wolf, determined to give Foxy time to escape.
“Why don’t you release whatever weapon you have in the bag and lift your arms? Slowly.” The sardonic voice is low and gravelly, the tone hitting my primitive brain in a way that makes me want to obey and spread my legs at the same time.
A glance behind the giant wolf reveals a blond Adonis standing in the doorway.
His slate blue eyes are harsh, his broad shoulders almost too wide for his slim form.
His hair is shaggy, a little too long for fashion.
The strands are slightly oily, giving him an unkempt appearance and a just fucked vibe.
A dark scruff, more of a permanent five o’clock shadow, darkens his jaw.
He would almost be handsome, if not for his expression—the man is a raging asshole.
Instead of calling off the beast, he raises a challenging eyebrow, then crosses his arms and leans against the doorjamb like he has all the time in the world. While my wolf craves the attention from the alpha and preens for the infuriating cuntasaurus, my lips curl in disgust.
Eww, no.
I’ve been around men like him my whole life, people who value their own wants and needs above everyone else, and I don’t want anything to do with someone who thinks they are better than others.
Sniffing the air, I try to sense his beast, hoping it might give me an advantage…
only I don’t recognize the earthy scent.
He smells of dirt and pines and something ancient and lethal that no longer roams the earth.
While I’m skilled, the chances of taking on the two of them at the same time are slim at best. Releasing the blade, I slowly straighten and raise my hands in the air. I rise to my feet, stepping backward so the stool is in front of me.
A slim barrier, but it’s better than nothing.
“Dante! Garth! Knock it the fuck off!” Foxy darts forward before I can stop him, standing between me and the threat.
Everyone moves at once.
I grab Foxy, kicking the chair at the other two for a distraction. I push off the cupboard, flipping us both over the top of the island, ignoring the way dishes crash to the floor. The wolf snarls, wood shatters like kindling, and claws clatter against the floor as the beast scrambles after us.
I don’t even hear the Adonis move as I snatch a frying pan off the counter.
I whirl, ready to brain the closest attacker…
only to have Foxy grab me from behind. He twists, pinning me against the fridge, and a twinge of betrayal cuts me deep.
Even as I shove away from the appliance, part of my brain wonders if this was a trap from the very beginning.
Then the wolf plows into both of us, and we crash to the ground in a pile of tangled limbs.
Foxy spins, keeping himself between the wolf and me. I whirl, ready to fight, then still when Foxy grunts in pain. The sharp scent of blood fills the air, and my wolf snaps its teeth in fury.
I bark out a command, using every ounce of power at my fingertips. “Stop.”
Everyone stills.
The only sounds are their panting and the steady drip of blood slowly pooling under Foxy.
I’m virtually pinned underneath him. He’s so close that barely an inch separates us, the position so intimate that my insides squirm with discomfort.
Ignoring the sensation, I scan his face with concern. “Foxy…how badly are you hurt?”
The lines of his face soften, then he scowls and glares at the others in the room. “Fucking idiots. What happened to talking like rational human beings instead of attacking like savages?”