Love (Literally) Bites (Chaotic Paranormals #1)
Chapter 1
SHIFT HAPPENS
RAYA
I do not have the energy or mental fortitude I need to deal with ill-mannered, entitled old men today.
If he interrupts me one more time… well, I won’t do much because I need this job, but I will do my best to send bad karma after him, that’s for sure.
I plaster something that hopefully resembles a polite smile on my face and unclench my jaw.
“As I was explaining, Mr. Bartholomew, Henry has all of the data points prepared and will send them over to you as soon as he is back in the office.” I do my best to explain patiently—again—why I’m giving this presentation at the last minute instead of Henry, my coworker who has been collaborating with this client for the last six months.
Mr. Bartholomew, however, doesn’t think highly of these circumstances, and based on the increasing scowl on his face, he’s determined to remain unhappy.
“For now,” I continue, “these are the statistics I was provided—”
“I don’t have time for this incompetence,” he says, pounding a hand on the table in emphasis. I wish I were surprised that none of the other men in the room intervene on my behalf, and it doesn’t escape my notice that I’m the only woman present. “I demand to speak with your supervisor.”
At this final insult, my patience snaps, and I can feel it happening. My skin tingles for a split second before it starts to reshape.
Oh no, no, no. Not now, not now!
I whip my body around, giving my back to the room as long, white whiskers sprout on my cheeks and my nose shrinks.
The pain is fleeting, thankfully, though the circumstances could certainly be better.
Wondering what animal it is this time, I hesitantly reach up to my face, fluttering my fingers over my cheekbones and meeting soft, short fur surrounding a flat, twitching nose.
Rabbit. Awesome.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself not to let the frustrated tears fall. Not where any of the men in this room can see. As subtly as I can, I run a hand up and over my hair, sighing in relief when I find no floppy rabbit ears to go with the nose and whiskers already adorning my face.
Belatedly, I realize multiple voices have risen around the room, including the increasingly loud voice of Mr. Bartholomew demanding my attention.
Taking a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders, tip my chin up, and slowly turn back to the conference room, balling my hands into fists at my sides.
I latch my eyes onto the wall above the heads of those in attendance for this disaster of a presentation, and attempt to close my ears to the stifled gasps that ricochet around the room.
Mr. Bartholomew, unsurprisingly, has not even one polite bone in his body and therefore no problem shattering the haunting silence.
“What is this?” he bellows. “In all my days, never have I been met with such ineptitude. An out of control shifter, acting like an animal on top of everything else that has gone wrong in this meeting? Absolutely not. I will not stand for it—”
The door to the conference room flies open and my boss strides in. All it takes is one look at me for his lips to pinch, flattening into a thin line as he turns to the outraged clients.
“I apologize for my employee’s behavior,” my boss begins, and I have to hold in my squeak of protest at his assessment of the situation. “Please, let me see what I can do,” he says, gesturing for Mr. Bartholomew to take his seat again.
As everyone settles back into their chairs, he turns to the front of the room where I’m still frozen, the clicker clenched in my fist. “Raya. You’re dismissed.”
Just like that, I no longer exist to any of them.
Not even Mr. Bartholomew graces me with so much as a sneer as I rush from the room.
Eager to be away from the excess of toxic energy, I slip into the bathroom down the hall, lock the door behind me, then slowly walk over to the sink, avoiding my reflection in the mirror.
My knuckles turn white as I clench the sides of the sink in front of me, holding my breath to prevent a scream of frustration. I squeeze my eyes closed, then take a quick breath and brace myself to look in the mirror.
There it is. White whiskers, as I suspected, on either side of where my nose should be. Instead of a human nose though, the flattened, triangular shape of a rabbit nose covered in silvery white fur twitches at me. I gently run my fingers over the part of my face that has shifted. I look ridiculous.
At least it’s soft.
If I had the nose to do so, I would have snorted. Sometimes I hate that my brain always provides a positive. Sometimes I don’t want to see the silver lining, but that’s not how my mind works.
Shaking my head, I turn away from the mirror and stretch my arms wide, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tension that crept into my neck and back throughout that meeting.
There’s not much else to be done; in my experience, once I shift, it’s simply a waiting game.
Whatever part of me took on animal features could go back to normal in thirty seconds, or it could take thirty minutes.
Luckily, it never lasts much longer than that.
Not yet, at least.
As I force the meeting from my mind, I lean back against the closed door, propping one foot up on it as I wait, and trying not to let my thoughts spiral.
I rush back to the mirror when I feel tingling again, just as the lightning flash of pain crosses my face and the fur recedes, my normal features returning to me.
I blow out a breath, puffing my cheeks out and scrunching up my very normal, human-looking nose to test its durability.
I waste no time as I leave the bathroom, dashing through the hallway back to my cubicle and flinging myself into my chair. I promptly bury my face in my hands, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes until I see spots behind my eyelids.
That. Was. Awful.
I can finally admit to myself how truly terrible the entire experience was now that I have a little space from the incident—and don’t have fur sprouting from my face.
I’m gearing up for an internal pep talk work when a curly-haired redhead appears in the opening of my cubicle, knocking twice on the faux-doorframe.
“Hey Raya, boss wants to see you,” she says with a slight cringe, which I return. We both know this won’t be good.
When I get to his office, I wait for him to speak first, offering a polite smile that he does not return. My boss is an average looking man, and he sits at an average looking desk, doing what I consider to be an average sort of job. All in all, not the best boss, but not too terrible either.
“I’ll cut right to the chase,” he says, slicing through the silence. “You’re fired.”
“I’m…” My mouth is hanging open. “What?”
“I’m sorry, Raya. I don’t know what sort of…
condition,” he stumbles over the wording before rushing through the rest, “you are dealing with, and it’s not my business, but it’s obviously getting worse and you clearly can’t control it.
The shifting. Whatever is happening with you, I mean.
” He pauses for a breath, and I snap my mouth closed.
“Ultimately, it’s become a problem to the point that it’s making many of us humans in the office uncomfortable, and it’s risking our client relationships.
Your performance today nearly cost us one of our biggest contracts, and we can’t afford that. ”
“Right…” My voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper as I attempt to process how unfair this is.
“You understand. Of course you know you need to figure out whatever this is.” He vaguely waves his hand around the space in front of me, then waits like he expects me to agree with him.
When I continue to blink in his direction, he clears his throat roughly before continuing.
“Alright then, that’ll be all. Have your desk cleared out by the end of the day. We’ll mail your last check.”
I stand on shaky legs and walk in a fog back to my cubicle. Someone left an empty box on my desk. My face flames in embarrassment and I do my best to prevent myself from reacting any further as I pack up the few possessions I have in my work space.
The past twelve months since I graduated have been rough.
I’m tired of bouncing from one consulting agency to the next, only staying for a few months at a time before leaving for one reason or another.
I’m especially tired of not feeling financially secure, and my thoughts immediately go to what my parents will think of yet another failure, and my heart sinks.
I don’t want them worrying about me any more than they already do.
Lugging the box into my arms, I straighten and take one last glance at my bare cubicle before I turn around to leave.
It’s only then that I notice the uneasy quiet around me, the lack of talking or typing.
Faces peeking over cubicle walls and around corners, eyes that quickly slide away from me when I notice them.
Their last chance to get a look at the shifter freak.
It brings all the embarrassment, fear, and unfairness rushing back in. Pinching my lips together, I avert my eyes, fixing them on the floor. Only one person acknowledges or speaks to me as I leave—my boss’s assistant—who whispers a soft, “I’m sorry, Raya” as I pass her desk.
This seems to be the final straw, as that tell-tale tingle is back, and before I know it, whiskers adorn my face again. I heave a sigh, heft the box a little higher in my arms, and trudge toward the elevator.
It’s not until the doors have slid closed that my brain starts spinning back to the meeting.
When I was constantly being interrupted and belittled, talked to like I was an idiot.
I can’t believe how rude those men were, and I hate that there was no one on my side, especially because I didn’t do anything wrong.
It’s this that angers me the most, as embarrassment morphs into defiant frustration.
I did not do anything wrong. With that thought, I exit the elevator and push my way through the doors outside.
Anger swirls in my chest as I fumble with my phone, intending to call a ride share so I don’t have to walk the mile back to my apartment with this stupid box, when the tell-tale tingling prickles my skin again.