Chapter 6
Chapter Six
My aching bladder wakes me and, with one eye firmly shut and the other open the barest of a crack, I zombie shuffle to the bathroom.
The rules are: if I don’t open my eyes, I’m still asleep.
To save me valuable seconds in the bathroom—the joy of living alone—I tug my thermal leggings down my thighs as I move. When I get to the toilet, I slam my bare bottom down on the seat and groan as I pee like a racehorse.
Once finished, with my eyes now firmly closed, I bump into the counter and quickly wash my hands, then without peeking—on my first attempt, go me—I grab the fluffy towel. Hotel towels are so fancy.
All sorted and with my leggings back in place, I continue my weird shuffle back to bed.
“Morning,” says a gruff, amused voice.
“Arrahh!” I jump a foot in the air and clutch my chest. I tremble and my heart pounds as my now wide-awake eyes fixate on the strange man in the chair across the room.
I blink.
Oh no.
Some new guy is sitting in the chair like a James Bond villain. His long legs are spread wide apart, with Daisy and a small pile of dragonette mix on his abdomen.
“Don’t worry. She is fine.” His steady eyes are weirdly comforting. The light colour stands out against his dark hair and skin tone. His entire expression is kind, and I believe him. Daisy is fine.
Me? Yeah, not so much.
My now adrenaline-fuelled, wide-awake brain helpfully reminds me about what happened. The elf. I touch my empty wrist. The null band is no longer there. Huh. It’s then my brain whispers, did he see my bare bum?
A small noise slips from my lips. I can still feel my body tremble, but my mind is oddly blank. I rapidly blink and then, in my head, I carefully run through my toilet shuffle, step by step. Then I factor in the chair’s angle.
I allow myself a second to close my eyes. Mortified, my face heats and I want to sink onto the floor. Oh bloody hell, he saw my bottom.
My bare bottom.
Oh no, why me? I mentally whine. I rub the back of my neck and my hand catches on my long hair. Phew, my hair is down. It’s long… It must have covered most, if not all, of my lily-white-arse.
Right? Right.
I open my eyes and cringe as I take stock of the situation.
There is nothing I can do about it now. Hopefully, he will be a gentleman and ignore the whole thing.
Like I will. It never, ever happened. I cough to clear my throat and examine the guy.
Wow, if I thought the elf was big, this guy is on another level. He has got to be a shifter.
The man’s massive hand strokes Daisy as she delicately nibbles at the food on his abdomen. She is happy, the little traitor.
“Never saw the appeal of a dragonette as a pet, but I have to say, I’ve changed my mind. She is absolutely adorable.” His rumbly voice is like velvet.
“Yes, she is. Though she is less pet and more best friend.” But that’s beside the point. I rock from foot to foot. Who the hell is this guy? “The elf?” I husk out. Might as well get to the point. I need to see what he wants and then get rid of him sharpish.
“I’m sorry. He Stepped before I could get a good grip on him,” he replies gruffly, his eyes apologetic.
I shrug. “It’s okay, as long as I don’t see him again.
” I hope the elf is gone for good. His strange comments about my magic threw me.
When you’ve been told all your life you are the magic equivalent of a garden pea and some dickhead lies, making it out like you are some hidden marvel, it gets you questioning yourself.
I am not too proud to say, shamefully, that I wanted to believe him for a hot second.
“He was creepy. Thank you for your help.” I point to Daisy. “Urm… do you mind?” All my instincts say he’s a good guy, but I still have a strong urge to rescue my dragonette.
The stranger nods. “Of course.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and shuffle forward, intent on scooping Daisy off his flat abdomen. I hold my breath as I lean forward, doing my best not to stand between his legs or touch him.
It isn’t until I get closer and study him that I get the full effect of this man.
At first glance, he is humongous, and dare I say, forgettable.
Just another shifter. A soldier with his black hair shorn close to his scalp.
But then as my eyes trail over his perfectly symmetrical face—the words ultra masculine scream in my head—with strong elegant lines, high broad forehead, straight nose, good cheekbones, square jaw peppered with stubble, and a full mouth…
Carved without any weakness.
The shifter oozes raw alpha male. He is all testosterone and metaphysical fur.
Rich, dark skin and soulful eyes—a stunning grey—take my measure. Huh. I’ve never seen a guy with such thick eyelashes. He is incredibly handsome.
Ridiculously handsome.
I breathe him in. He also smells fantastic, of cinnamon and vanilla. I frown. That’s right. I sniffed him like a freak. I don’t think I’ve bothered to smell a guy before. Oh my goodness, I am so weird.
I have Daisy, but as I get lost in his pretty grey eyes, I stupidly gather up the remaining food. They are the kind of eyes that shine with intelligence and confidence. He doesn’t look—he watches. My fingers brush against his bumpy abs. I gasp, and my heart misses a beat.
’Ecky-thump, now I am assaulting him. Oops. “Sorry,” I mumble. I spin in my socks, and we hurry towards the bed. Red-faced, I perch on the edge and pop Daisy down beside me. Is it hot in here? I tug at the neck of my top. Thermals in a hotel room aren’t the best.
“Your dad sent me.”
“Oh.” That was something I should have established. I guess I am still a little thrown from the bum incident. “Thank you for saving me. Are you a hunter?”
“Hellhound,” he replies matter-of-factly. The carefully hidden hellhound power ramps up and hits me square in my chest.
I gasp and feel my red cheeks instantly pale. Born of pure instinct, fear grips me. This time, crazy Tuesday, who valiantly mouthed off at the elf, scampers away in my head and hides. Whoa, I feel woozy. I wobble to the side and grip the white cover to ground myself.
Shifters alone are a scary lot. It’s not them turning into animals that produces the terror, it’s that if you get bitten when they are in animal form, and you are a witch, a human, or even some of the weaker fae, you are so screwed. You will die.
Men have an over fifty percent chance of becoming a bitten shifter. They can’t shift themselves, but they gain extra things like a longer life span, an eight pack, and strength.
But women always die.
There’s something wrong with the magic. It obliterates the X chromosome. There’s no healing spell, no medication, and nothing in the world can stop it from happening. So, when you add an old shifter and then the power of a hellhound to the mix… it’s an oh crap moment.
Hellhounds are scary. Like a monster under your bed scary. They aren’t from hell or anything like that. They are powerful old shifters with fire magic. Nature literally sets the strongest of the poisonous biting machines alight and gives them extra strength.
Yay.
The shifters reacted to the magical phenomenon by training these scary beasts into killing machines.
Of course, they did. It really adds to the entire fear factor.
They are the terminators of shifters and I have never met a hellhound before, as they are rare.
They are the Hunters Guild’s elite fighters.
Elite soldiers. They are the shit-has-hit-the-fan last resort.
And I have one in my room, a hellhound with pretty grey eyes and he is staring right at me. A predator, a fire wolf, looks at me from inside his eyes.
Hellhound. Hellhound. Hellhound.
Thank goodness I am sitting, and that I’ve already been to the loo. Why are the bad guys always mouthwateringly good looking? It doesn’t seem fair.
“Hey-hey, you are okay.” He takes hold of my hand and drops the potion ball that had fallen to the floor earlier into my palm. Gently manipulating my fingers closed, he holds my hand until he is sure I have it firmly in my grip.
A big-ass knife appears from out of nowhere and he places the hilt in my other hand.
The blade is heavy; I know they do something technical to the silver to make the soft metal hard like steel.
In seconds, in an attempt to make himself smaller, he is kneeling in front of me.
The hellhound angles the knife in my hand, so the tip presses against his chest.
My heart misses a beat.
The hellhound has given me the means to protect myself against him. At least I can swallow down my chaotic, frightened thoughts and listen to what he has to say. I peek up through my lashes.
His grey eyes are so earnest.
“Hey, Tuesday, you are okay,” he coos at me.
“Sweetheart, you are safe. I am not gonna hurt you. Breathe, you are okay. I promise you are safe with me.” His giant hands come up to cradle my face.
His hands are so warm. “My name is Owen. I am a friend of your sister, Jodie. Your dad sent me to help you. I’m sorry if me being a hellhound scared you.
” It’s a silly reaction but, I think, a normal one.
Why did my dad send a hellhound?
I take a deep breath and whisper. “My coven?”
“They are safe.” I close my eyes and drop the knife. My hand is trembling so much, I don’t want to risk catching him and cutting off his nose by accident.
No, accidentally stabbing someone is not on my to-do list.
“Everyone is safe. You are safe. I’m not with the guild anymore. I work in Ireland with the fae. I’ve been hunting your elf for the past three months.”
“He’s not my elf,” I grumble.