Raven

Chapter 1

ONE

Ever have that feeling where something is just 'off'?

I couldn't put my finger on it, but as I walked into Spy Glass—the bar where I worked—something just didn't feel right. It had every nerve ending on high alert, my mind screaming a high-pitched warning as I shoved open the doors and went inside.

Nothing out of place. Everything the same—the warm, worn-in décor I'd grown to love and the comforting smell of hops and oak. So why did my skin feel like it was trying to crawl off my bones?

I exhaled sharply, the sound harsh in the empty room. Max would be arriving soon, and I wanted to have everything in order. Not because she'd give me grief—Max was cool like that—but because I respected her and the bar.

Under the guise of my usual routine, I stashed my bag in the back and started the walk-through, picking up any leftover glasses from the night before, laying down fresh bar mats, and wiping down surfaces. I checked everywhere to appease my brain, even the bathrooms, including the assisted toilet that had been out of order for weeks.

My panther, usually content to doze, paced restlessly beneath my skin. He felt it too—the tang of danger, sharp as blood on my tongue. My body tingled—a thousand tiny claws skittering across my flesh.

What was it?

It wasn't a match day, ruling out the usual sports-related chaos. No events were scheduled, as far as I remembered. Events often spelt trouble—too much alcohol and reckless Humans never mixed well. Even the local radio station predicted a quiet weekend. It was just another Friday evening on the northwest coast, and my job was to serve drinks to the bar's patrons.

Technically, I shouldn't have been serving at all. At two months shy of eighteen, I was underage by Human standards. But Max—Vanessa Maxwell, my boss—had made an exception, and no one questioned it.

I knew the reason. Bars, clubs, and events often employed shifters like me for crowd control. Despite the Humans' general disdain, we were effective at keeping order.

Spy Glass had its fair share of trouble. Tucked away at the edge of town, overlooking the cliffs with farmlands and the main road beyond, it wasn't a prominent spot. This obscurity probably explained why Max got away with employing me; no one bothered to venture this far to check.

But our location was a double-edged sword. Strangers passing through town often dropped in, unconcerned about consequences since they could quickly hop on the motorway and vanish before any law enforcement—if they even cared—could intervene.

Max had once quipped, "What sane drunk is going to argue with a six-foot-five shifter?" Yet some tried. The occasional dented chair and the scarred bar bore testament to these confrontations.

Idiots .

Sometimes, I felt my height and nature were provocations to them, turning me into a target. "Act the hard man and take down the big guy," seemed to be their mantra. Being a panther shifter didn't help; we were rare. In my life, I'd only met one other, and that was my mother.

An hour into the bar's opening, I'd already completed a day's worth of tasks. Arriving early at Spy Glass was my routine, enjoying the quiet and solitude. It was the perfect time to manage maintenance tasks like changing the casks, and flushing the lines or focus on my college work.

Home life was challenging. Just me and my mother in a single room, a step up from our past underground life, balancing on the thin line between Society shifters and strays. I was determined to lift us from poverty, to make something of ourselves. That was the dream. I wasn't sure if it meant as much to my mother, though. On paper, she juggled two jobs—one as a cleaner in a large hotel and another as a night carer. The truth; she worked in the underground, offering services best left unspoken. But she kept us afloat, and I worked at the bar to fund my education. We were a team, and had been for as long as I could remember.

I exhaled slowly, surveying the room with narrowed eyes.

"You picking up something, big guy?" Max asked. She preferred that nickname over my actual name, Raven. Clay, on the other hand, called me McCulloch, my last name.

"Maybe," I replied.

She stood beside me, scanning the room. "Looks pretty quiet to me. No hen parties, no stags. No big groups yet."

She was right. The crowd was mild, a few people dining and drinking. The largest group was a bunch of girls from my college, enjoying pitchers I'd served. They'd flirted, as some Humans do, inviting me to join them. I always refused. Flirting was common, but as a shifter, I kept my distance.

As the evening progressed, I made a conscious effort to dismiss that nagging sensation. But, I remained vigilant, scanning the room and observing everyone with an intensity that eventually caught Clay's attention. "You're giving me the heebie-jeebies," he said, handing me two plates loaded with burgers, chips, and a side of garlic bread.

"Sorry," I mumbled in response.

"You need to keep those eyes under control, too, or someone will notice and complain."

"Ah, shit." I leant back to catch my reflection in the mirror. "Sorry." My eyes had shifted, a common occurrence when I was on edge. Usually a light pale green, they had brightened, speckled with gold as my panther grew restless. I took a moment to internally coax him to calm down. Whatever I was sensing, he felt it too, but this wasn't the time to lose control.

The clock had just struck nine-thirty when she walked in, and the world seemed to shift on its axis. I'd never seen her before, but something about her sent my senses into overdrive. She paused at the doorway, her eyes scanning the room with a predator's precision before she glided inside. To my surprise, she made a beeline for the corner table—the one hugging the staff door and toilets. It was the table of last resort, the one most patrons avoided like a bad hangover. Anyone unlucky enough to land there usually bolted the moment another spot opened up.

But not her. She claimed that table like a queen ascending her throne, despite three perfectly good alternatives being available. It was a move that screamed 'different,' and my panther took notice.

Her beauty knocked the breath out of me—radiant, but in a way that defied convention. It wasn't just her willowy frame or the way her white sundress clung to her curves like morning mist on rolling hills. No, it was something deeper. A spark of determination glinted in her eyes, sharp enough to cut. When she settled into her chosen spot, her lips curved into a smile that was soft yet knowing, as if she was in on some joke the rest of us had missed.

There was an aura about her, an intangible quality that set my fur on edge. Beneath a veil of vulnerability lay a core of steel, a strength that both intrigued and unsettled me. I found myself wanting to know more, to unravel the mystery she presented.

Clay's elbow in my ribs snapped me back to reality. "When you're done drooling, Romeo, table five is still waiting on their food," he smirked.

I growled low in my throat, torn between irritation at Clay and an inexplicable pull towards the blonde girl in the corner. “I wasn’t drooling. I was …”

Clay raised a brow, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. "Sure, but you don't stand a chance. A girl like that ..." he trailed off into a low whistle. I ignored him, but his words needled at me more than I cared to admit.

The blonde had set up a makeshift office, her laptop, notebook, and pens arranged with precision on the table. It was an odd sight in our usually rowdy bar.

Scooping up the bowls of chips Clay had prepared, I tucked a menu under my arm and made my way to her table after dropping off the food at table five. My heart raced with each step, a mix of anticipation and something else I couldn't quite name.

She met my gaze before I even reached her, and a jolt of heat surged through my skin. My panther, usually content to lounge in the recesses of my mind, suddenly sat up and took notice.

Her eyes, the colour of deep green, sparkled with a hint of mischief as I approached. The soft glow of the overhead lighting seemed to spotlight her in that isolated corner, and for a moment, just a moment, it felt like everything else faded away.

I stood at her table, lost in those captivating eyes before I managed to clear my throat. "Good evening," I said, my voice raspier than usual as I extended the menu. "What can I get you to drink?"

She waved the menu away with a graceful flick of her wrist. "I don't need that. Can I just get a Coke and a raw burger?"

Her voice made my breathing hitch. She was a shifter. A panther. What were the odds of another panther being in town? Of all the things that could have knocked me off balance tonight, this was the last one I expected.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "I'll get that for you," I croaked, stumbling back towards the bar to relay her order to Clay. By the time I reached the hatch, my panther's growl was vibrating through me, demanding to be set free.

My heart thundered as I fought to keep control. My panther wanted to break free, to shed this human skin and dance with her in our true forms.

Clayton eyed me suspiciously. "Orders are up for twenty-one, nineteen, and nine," he gestured to the plates lined up on the steel shelf. "What's got your knickers in a twist?"

I pinned her order to the rack and grabbed two of the waiting meals. "Nothing," I growled.

Try as I might, I couldn't stop my gaze from wandering back to the girl. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst from my chest. Was it the effort of keeping my panther at bay, or just her? Either way, I was so distracted I almost missed the group of men who entered, making a beeline for the empty table closest to her.

"Oi, show some bloody respect. Keep back," one man barked, his sneer pulling me back to reality. The stench wafting off him was unmistakably Human, and hostile at that.

I had to bite back my response, fighting the urge to let my panther loose. The cat inside me was ready to pounce, to go to the girl and slash at anyone who dared get in his way.

But I had no right to confront Humans, especially not here. Spy Glass was Max's pride and joy, a rare sanctuary where Others and Humans coexisted. It didn't change the fact that many Humans remained hostile, seizing any opportunity to assert their supposed superiority. The fragile peace here was always one wrong move from shattering.

Max, though, was different. She was Human , but she understood us, stood with us. Her acceptance made Spy Glass special, but it didn't change the reality of the world outside these walls.

My teeth clenched tight as I fought against my instincts, stepping back when every fibre in me screamed to stand my ground. Losing control now would be catastrophic; the Humans wouldn't hesitate to end me. With as much grace as I could muster, I murmured an apology, the words tasting bitter.

The man's eyes burnt with fury, his fists clenched as he invaded my space. His finger jabbed my chest to punctuate his words, "What did you say? You dare speak to me?"

His hatred was thick and choking. I retreated, trying to keep the peace despite my towering height. My heart pounded, echoing my mother's warnings—never talk back, stay silent, avoid confrontation. Years of caution and fear battled against the rage of my panther, who wanted nothing more than to show this Human exactly who he was messing with.

I could overpower them physically; I was stronger. But the Humans , in their cruelty, always had the advantage. Lowering my gaze, I stepped back again. Too much was at risk: my college prospects, the money I'd earnt, the life my mother and I had scraped together. It simply wasn't worth it.

This was a Human -run world, and I had to live in it.