the cook pot doesn’t fill itself.
It should have been my blood all over the floor
of our house.
Shoving myself away from the bathroom sink
and the broken glass, I force myself back into the
main part of my studio apartment. Dirty dishes pile
in the sink; the bed is unmade; the sheets
unwashed; clothes litter the floor; books and
whisky bottles spill over every surface. Most of the
books are ruined now.
When I first came to the snowy world of Alaska,
I thought to hide in those books. When that failed, I
turned to something stronger. But whiskey isn’t
cheap, not in the quantities it takes to get me
drunk.
I find a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam Black and
drain it in one long pull. Just to take the edge off.
Keep my mind off my personal demons.
That’s why I became a bounty hunter. With my
talents, hunting individual humans was easy as
falling. The locals got word out, and soon people
paid to fly me all over the world. They
compensated me enough to keep me numb for
months at a time. Now I only accept a handful of
cases a year.
Except, now I needed to spend some of that
money to pay back that backstabbing bitch
Jezebarra.
I can’t let her betrayal go. It’s bad for business.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. I
grab a gun and stalk to the door to answer it.
My Stetson waits on the hook beside the door,
and when I put it on, I feel the magic settling over
me like a cold blanket, hiding my chimera body. It
squeezes me, constricting my chest and face,
making it hard to breathe or move my mouth to
speak.
Swinging my front door open, I find Brogg
standing with his hand poised to knock on my door.
The smell of hamburgers and fries swirls around
him and fills the hall.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
He glances up and down the street, nervously
tugging on the golden chain around his neck. “We
need to talk, but the street is not the place to
discuss this.”
Growling, I step aside, and he passes me,
turning his wide shoulders to fit through the door.
Even glamoured, the man is huge.
Removing his chain, Brogg resumes his natural
green form—his ears perking up on either side of
the moss-for-hair. Most ogres are bald, and for the
hundredth time, I wonder what the half-ogre’s
other half is.
He drops a sack full of burgers on the table,
another still in his hand. The bag is so large, there
must be close to fifty burgers in there. The aroma
soothes my senses, and my stomach churns with
hunger. But I don’t touch the bag.
As I close the door, I drop the gun on the table
and put the Stetson back in its place by the door,
and the magical illusion around me slips away. I
take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I like the
feel of my own skin and fur much better.
He opens my fridge and bends down to peer
inside. “Got enough beer in here? You know some
folks use these things to hold food.”
I growl low in my throat. “Get to the point.”
Grabbing two cans, he tosses one at me—his fat
sausage fingers are long and dexterous with two
extra joints, more than I’ve ever seen on an ogre.
He points at the bag. “Dig in.”
I glare at him but don’t move.
“You’re call, but they’re delicious. I had some on
the way in.” He grabs a handful, which in his case is
about five burgers, and stuffs them in his mouth,
not even bothering to remove the wrappers, but
afterwards, he meticulously wipes the ketchup
from his face before reaching back into the bag.
“Why are you bringing me food?” One does not
accept gifts from the Unseelie fae (or the Seelie, for
that matter) without a great deal of caution, even if
they are only half.
“Just a small bribe for you to hear me out. No
obligations beyond that.”
“Fair enough.” I reach into the bag. How long
has it been since I’ve eaten?
hunter, a tracker could be a real asset. You’re smart
enough to evade the enemy and know how to get a
job done … when you’re sober. You’d make a great
scout.”
“Spyder sent you?” I knew he’d eventually try to
recruit me.
“Who?”
“What’s in it for me?” I say with my mouth full.
The taste of meat and cheese melts on my tongue.
Feeling almost lupine again, I grab another
hamburger and unwrap it.
“Revenge for your wife and kids.”
“How do you know about that?”
He snorts, blowing chunks of burger out his
nose. “It’s all you talk about when you’re drunk.”
My chest rumbles with a growl growing inside.
“Get on with it.”
“The Resistance could use a guy like you.”
I nod. I’ve heard all this before.
“We’re offering you a chance to get even. The
Usurper doesn’t belong on the throne. He killed the
king and all his legitimate progeny. He destroys our
land and our people, bleeds us dry.”
“Old news. Do you train all of your recruiters to
say the same old lines?”
It’s his turn to glare, the large ears lying flat
against the back of his head, like an angry cat.
“We’ve got a job that is right up your alley. A
straight-up item retrieval. Think of it as a test run. If
you like how we operate, maybe you think about
signing on full time.”
“I’m not agreeing to anything until I know what
it is I’m to retrieve. If I say no, you owe me nothing,
and I forget you ever spoke to me about it.”
Brogg is silent as I finish the rest of my burgers.
Finally he sighs. “So be it. You’re familiar with the
late Emperor Verestorm? He possessed a pendant
of unknown magical value, the mantle of authority
for his family. The Usurper was not able to obtain it
when he killed him. Whether it has powerful magic
or is just a symbol of authority is unknown, but if
the resistance could find it we could raise our own
emperor to oppose him.”
“He’s been searching for that for more than two
decades. What makes you think I would have any
more luck following such a cold trail? Besides, I try
to avoid trips to the Empire.”
“We have heard rumors that it’s not on Drakon.
They say it is in this world. Some even say it is here
in Alaska.”
“That’s all well and good. But that’s not how my
gift works. I need something more, something it
touched, someone who handled it. A picture at
least.”
“Hmm. I can scrounge up a portrait of the
emperor wearing it. Would that help?”
“Maybe. Was the portrait painted or made by
magic?”
“Magic. Does it matter?”
I shrug. “Maybe. Pictures are tricky, but magic
seems to hold the essence of the target better.”
“I’ll see what my sources can dig up. So does
this mean you’re in?”
“We’ll see. What you’re asking isn’t easy, and it
won’t be cheap.”
“How much?”
“One hundred large.”
“Son of a–”
“Hey, I haven’t kept off of the Emperor’s radar
this long by deliberately pissing him off.”
“Coward.” The ogre’s nostrils flare, his ears
quivering with anger.
I’m over the table with my hands around his
throat before the chair even hits the floor. “Have
you ever met him? Have you ever stood face to
face with him as the dragon fear sweeps over your
body freezing you in place? Have you ever looked
him in the eyes? Knowing he could kill you at any
moment, and there is not a damn thing you can do
about it?”
His hands wrap around my wrist, crushing my
bones. I tighten my grip and let my claws dig into
his throat, and he loosens his hold a little. I curl my
lip to show my teeth. “I’ve looked him straight in
the eye and denied him. When you can say the
same, you can call me a coward for avoiding him.
Until then, get out of my house.”
“I apologize; I spoke rashly. Please forgive me.”
He releases his grip on my arm and lowers his eyes.
He could probably have bested me in a ‘fair’
fight but not with his throat in my hands. Ogres do
not like being bested, and they don’t believe in
diplomacy. Must be his other side, whatever that is.
He must really want my help.
I release him. “Forget it.”
“So you really defied the Emperor to his face?
Damn, that’s hard core. What did he want?”
Shrugging, I grab another hamburger. “He
wanted me to hunt for him. Track down his
enemies for him.”
“What’d he do?”
“Nothing. He thanked me for my time. Then two
months later, he slaughtered my family.”
He nods. I appreciate how he doesn’t offer
empty apologies or insincere sympathy. He merely
acknowledges the pain.
“If you change your mind about the job, let me
know.”
“I’ve had enough of hopeless causes.”
He nods again and shows himself out.
Chapter 13
~ ANGELINA ~
Ten-thousand dollars. Get the money, their
raspy voices hiss in my ear.
The middle of the night, and I can’t sleep. When
I doze, they scratch at my skin, claw at the insides
of my skull, grind my bones to dust. Their hot
breath sears my insides until I kick my blankets
away.
This is ridiculous. I’m a simple college girl. I can’t
just go steal it. If I end up in jail, I can’t do anything
for them anyway.
Obey usss.
Slashing pain drives into my gut, and I double
over, clutching my stomach. Please stop. Please
stop. But they only laugh.
Think. There must be something I can do.
My scholarship fund is untouchable as it
deposits directly into my school’s account, and I
can’t steal from my parents because they don’t
have that kind of money lying around. Maybe I
could steal some credit cards from friends, but to
make withdrawals, I’d need their PINs. It’s not like I
can ask them, “So what is your PIN number?”
I can’t hold a fundraiser—who would donate to
the Love Potion Charity Fund? If I were on my
deathbed, sick with cancer, maybe people would
take pity on me, but you can’t fake that kind of
illness, can you?
What I need is a victim everyone would care
about. Someone to rally behind.
Abused puppies or sick children without any
hair. Add a name and give them a story, and
everyone would pull out their wallets to save them.
I wouldn’t take all the money. I want to help sick
children too, but it wouldn’t hurt if I use a little bit,
right? After this is all over, I can make up for it, pay
it all back. Maybe I could volunteer at a hospital or
do another fund raiser.
Good, good, they croon to me. The pain abates
and euphoria fills me.
I am glad I can please them. Anything to make
them happy.
Opening my calendar, I count the number of
weeks I have left. Only three more weeks before
Jason arrives, and that gives me a week to plan plus
two weeks to make it all happen. I can get the
cheerleading squad to help, just the kind of thing
they’ll enjoy to boost their PR and to get attention.
The first week, I’ll put up posters. We can have
games and cupcake sales. Maybe we could do a
raffle with prizes like free tutoring, dates with
basketball players, and care packages. And of
course, all the prizes will be donated by caring
people.
Picking up my phone, I hit the speed dial to call
Sarah, captain of the cheerleading squad.
“Hello?” She mumbles.
I glance at my clock. It’s six in the morning. I’ve
been awake all night.
“Hi, Sarah, sorry to bother you. This is Angelina.”
“It’s all right. I was getting up anyway. I have an
eight o’clock today.” No cheerleader would go to
class without a two-hour beauty routine.
I take a deep breath. “In one of my nursing
classes, we were discussing children with cancer
and the horrible pain these young kids go through.
Some of these kids don’t have health insurance. I
really want to do something to help them.”
“I had a cousin who got sick and died when I was
ten. It was horrible for all of us. So what were you
thinking?”
“We could do a fund raiser. Sell cupcakes, have
games, hold a raffle to sell donated goods and
services. It’ll be awesome.”
“Since everybody’s a little uptight lately, we
certainly need something to pull us all together. To
get us excited about being a team again.”
“I can handle all the details.” I cross my fingers,
praying she’ll say yes.
“All right. Get things organized, make the to-do
list, and we’ll present it to the team tomorrow at
our meeting.”
“Maybe Brianna and I could work on it together.
I think she needs something to keep her busy.” I
have no idea why I said that. I never try to be all
chummy with any one of them, but it felt right. The
voices whisper about it, but I’m not sure what
they’re saying.
“I’ll ask her if she’s willing. I’ll let you know what
she says. Adios.”
I wait for the phone to click before hanging up. I
don’t like being the first one to han
g up.
Maybe I should feel guilty, but all I care about is
keeping the voices happy. Stopping the pain.
Now you may sleep. You have been a good girl.
It feels good to lie down. The softness of the
pillow soothes my aching head. Just a few minutes
and then I’ll get up and go to class.
Overslept and late to class, I barely bothered to
brush my teeth. Let alone curl my hair which I
merely covered with a baseball cap. No makeup.
No earrings.
And oddly—thankfully—nobody notices.
Nobody cares about you. Nobody but usss, one
voice whispers.
You’re ugly. They’re too disgusted to look at you,
another hisses.
I pull the baseball cap down lower to hide my
face and tug my oversized, fuzzy sweatshirt up
around the collar. Clutching my latte, I sink low in
my desk and avoid everyone’s eyes.
I blink and class is over. Glancing down at my
notes, the page is blank. Did I fall asleep?
“Hey Angelina, Sarah said you wanted to talk?”
Brianna, shoulders slightly hunched, stands by my
desk. Like me, she avoids eye contact. Her pain rolls
off her in waves. I can almost taste her fear.
I push aside all my own fears and turmoil. This is
a girl who really needs my help.
Leave her alone. Her problems have nothing to
do with you.
But I ignore them. I shove them away into the
farthest corner of my mind.
We’ll make you pay for not obeying us.
Later, they can torture me, but they won’t stop
me from helping her.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I say gently.
She turns to look at me sharply. “I—I just
haven’t been feeling well. Too much schoolwork,
you know?”
“Come on.” I touch her arm, and she flinches.
“Let’s go to the bakery. We can get some cinnamon
buns. My treat.”
Her tight shoulders slump as she visibly relaxes.
“All right.”
Sugar and spices, vanilla and cinnamon, freshly
baked bread—the aromas roll over us, and my
stomach gurgles. When was the last time I’d eaten?
All I had for the last twenty-four hours was diet
Mountain Dew and espresso.
The bakery is full of boisterous college students
and sedated professionals on their way to work.
After ordering cinnamon buns and cappuccinos, we
find a quiet … uh, quiet er corner and settle into our
seats.
Two men walk by us and smile. I smile in the