Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Heavy, coarse rope binds my legs together. They don’t release, no matter how hard I thrash. My body trembles, and a white foamy sweat clings to my fur. My hooves scrabble uselessly for purchase on the unyielding concrete underneath me.
On silent feet, he prowls across the room towards me.
I freeze, and my eyes roll with panic.
He has something terrifying in his hand.
I can’t get enough air into my lungs, my heart pounds as if it’s going to smash out of my chest, and before my eyes can roll in fear for a third time, he drops his considerable bulk onto my neck. My cheek hits the floor with a crunch as he pins my head to the ground.
“No! Mummy! I want my mummy!” I cry out, but the words come out as a terrified equine scream.
With his weight pressing against me fully and the ropes holding me tight, I’m unable to move. He grips my horn in his fist and the hand with the… the saw comes closer to my face.
I startle awake, and I groan as I push my hair back from my face and blink the crusty sleep residue out of my eyes. Gah, it must have been the stress from yesterday. God… I don’t know why my head insists on torturing me with dreams like that. It’s fucked up.
I roll onto my side and slide further under my duvet. I rub my forehead. It throbs with residual pain… which is ridiculous.
Someone removed my horn. I shudder.
Creepy as fuck.
I know—I know it’s ridiculous… but the dreams always feel so real. I scoff. It felt real, but nothing in the dream makes sense. Shifters don’t shift until they’re older—at least in their early twenties. I know this. Everybody knows this.
In the dream, I’m little.
Also as a hybrid, there’s no way I’d be able to shift. It’s unheard of, and I’ve made peace with that. In the end, only purebred shifters change into animal form.
I glare at my hand that’s gone back to rubbing my forehead. I yank the rogue hand away and stuff it back under the covers. Nope, it was a dream. I’ve got a vivid imagination, that’s all.
Yep, it’s ’cause I’m a wimpy unicorn shifter.
A unicorn. I snort with incredulity. I wish I was part wolf shifter instead. Now that would go well with being a vampire. Although being a unicorn makes strange sense. I’m a hybrid… so of course, I’d be the rarest of rare shifter type.
I’m a classic case of Jekyll and Hyde. I huff and grind my teeth with distaste. It’s a horrendous joke. Each part of me is on either side of the creature spectrum.
The vampire-and-unicorn-shifter combo. The worst combination imagined—not that I know of any other hybrids apart from mixed humans—the ultimate predator combined with the ultimate prey. Yeah, it’s a cosmic joke of epic proportions.
Sometimes I think the battling sides of me make me psychotic. A psychotic vegetarian unicorn vampire. Ha.
I grab my phone. It’s tucked underneath my pillow—cooking my brain as I sleep. I squint at it. Five hours of sleep. Ugh, it’ll have to do. I switch on my fairy lights so I can see and then drag myself out of bed.
Once I’ve wiggled into my—mainly clean—running gear, I pack everything that I’ll need for the day into a small black rucksack.
On the way out of the garage, I catch sight of my unused emergency bucket. My lip curls with disgust.
I hoof it to the gym.
As I run, the weight of my heavy plait—that I’ve tucked underneath my top—rhythmically slaps against my back as my feet hit the wet pavement. I try in vain to dodge the worst of the dirty water and grimace as it splashes against my calves.
Oh, get in! I do a mental fist pump. No puddles in the garage this morning and it rained heavily for the past few hours. I can’t help the proud grin that flashes across my face. Yesterday’s roof repair survived the deluge.
It’s a nervous eighteen minutes for me as I dash across the city.
I’m glad the gym isn’t too far. It’s only three miles.
Running makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
A lot of creatures like to chase. Walking at this time in the morning would be worse.
Sweat trickles down my back, and goosebumps rise on my skin at the feel of many eyes watching me.
Especially when I have to run the last mile around the outskirts of Stanley Park.
It’s like my pounding feet make the clang of a dinner bell.
I am not prey. The darkness inside me stirs, wanting to play.
It whispers the suggestion to slow down, perhaps stop and do some stretches.
The thought makes me uncomfortable. Who thinks like that?
What type of person am I who wants to be attacked so I have a justified excuse to smash my attacker in the face?
Drink their blood.
Oh no, none of that.
I can look after myself—mostly. But being able to kick ass doesn’t mean shit when you’re outnumbered.
It’s a relief to arrive without incident. I studiously ignore the wobble in my legs as I walk through the hotel’s golden ward and pull open the door to the lobby.
My wet trainers squeak across the marble floor as I head for the stairs that will take me down to the gym. The night receptionist, Mike, is still on duty, so I nod an acknowledgement to him. He returns my sentiment with a nod of his own and a tired smile.
Like the nectar of the gods, water has never tasted so good. When the shit hits the fan, it all comes down to the small things in life being important. The simple joy of being squeaky clean and hydrated is high on my list.
With my hair and makeup on point—no way do I look homeless—and precious water sloshing in my stomach, I head off to work.
Luckily the café where I’ve worked since I left school at fourteen is only a short walk away from the fancy hotel gym. I arrive before six to get things set up for our early-morning breakfast rush.
I plug my phone into the charger in the back office, put my bag away, and come out into the café, tying an apron around my waist. Tilly, my boss, is staring mournfully at one of our tables.
“What’s up?” I ask as I approach.
“Morning, Tru. Look at this table. Someone has vandalised it. Look at that. Just look at it.” Her bottom lip trembles as she runs her fingers across the table’s newly scarred surface. I lean forward and see the letters L I Z scored deeply into the wood.
“Oh, Tilly, I’m so sorry.” I reach out and rub the dryad’s shoulder. High on my DIY success at the garage, “I could fill it in?” I suggest.
“You could?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I lean across the table and rub my fingers across the gouged letters. “A bit of wood filler and some sanding. It may take me a while, but I think I can fix it.” They’re deep but I can fix it, I think.
Tilly shakes her head, and the blossoms in her hair rustle.
She squeezes my hand. “No, you know what? It’s not that bad.
I just hope it’s not a new craze and no one else decides to do such a mean thing.
” She runs her fingertips across the letters a final time, and then with a whole body shake, she turns and meets my eyes with a warm smile.
“Every scar tells a story… I’m being silly.
” Her gloomy mood dissipates. It peels away to reveal her normal, calm sweetness.
I wish I could do that, swing from upset to happy within seconds.
“I wanted to speak to you about your hours.” My stomach drops.
Oh. Oh no. Oh please no.
My fingers twist together, and I rock from foot to foot.
“I know you asked for more, and I’ve tweaked it so I can give you an extra shift next week.”
I sag in relief. Oh my god, she had me worried there for a second. I release the last of the tension in my shoulders with a roll and vigorously nod my head. “More hours would be amazing. Thank you, Tilly.”
“I wanted to talk to you about something. My friend—” Tilly blushes.
Huh, her friend. In response to her obvious embarrassment, I wiggle my eyebrows, and she slaps me on the arm.
She glides behind the counter, washes her hands, and one by one she delicately places the pastries and cakes from the trays into the display.
“My friend asked me if I knew of anybody who was looking for work. He’s a shifter, and he is the manager of that club Night-Shift on King Street”—she holds her hand out to stop me from speaking—“I know they frighten you, but the money… The money is excellent. The hours might be a slight issue as the place is open late into the night, especially if you do the morning shift here. But I’m sure we can work it out.
You’d be collecting glasses and clearing tables.
” She smiles and nods with encouragement.
My gaze drifts away from her face. I glance up in thought, and my eyes trace the pretty blossom tree that spans across the entire ceiling.
Tilly’s dryad nature keeps the tree alive and always in bloom.
It’s a hell of a feature. It adds such a unique touch to the café.
The small lights dotted within the branches twinkle.
I take a deep breath, and the comforting scents of cake, coffee, and apple blossom fill my nose.
A shifter club? That sounds like a reeeeallly bad idea. “How good? How much money are we talking?”
“Twenty quid an hour.”
“Twenty? Crikey!” My head drops so fast my neck twinges in protest. Shit, that is good money.
It’s almost three times the rate that I get paid with Tilly.
“Just glass collecting? I’m not old enough to work behind the bar.
” I narrow my eyes. “They don’t expect me to work in my underwear, do they? ” Tilly snorts and rolls her eyes.
Okay… So I might have a vivid imagination, but you never know in this city.
“Just glass collecting.” She shakes her head and mumbles, “As if I’d let you anywhere public in just your underwear. Honestly, Tru.”
I shrug. “Yeah, I didn’t think that one through, sorry.”
“The uniform is your own black pants and a club T-shirt that they will provide you. It’s only twelve hours a week, Friday and Saturday nights.
As Sunday is your day off, it might work?
What do you think?” She twirls a strand of her green hair.
I nod my head. “You love me?” she says in a sweet lilting tone.
Twenty quid an hour… I feel a rare and genuine smile flash across my face. “Yes, of course I love you. You’re my favourite boss.”
“I’m your only boss.”
“Not anymore. Yeah, I’ll do it,” I say, a bounce in my step as I head towards the shop’s door.
“Yay,” she responds with a clap of her hands. She pulls her mobile free from her pocket. “Let me text him.”
I watch on with amusement as her thumbs fly across the keypad. The blush is back. “Oh, can you work a double shift today?”
“Will you feed me?” I ask. As if my words are a signal, my tummy gurgles. Tilly giggles. “Are we ready to open?”
“Yes to both.”
“Thank you for thinking of me.” Heck, it’s worth the risk of the shifters. What damage can I do working twelve hours a week? I flick the lock and turn the sign.