Chapter One
I wiggle my shoulders, and a low moan rumbles in my throat as sweat beads down my spine and soaks into my black combat top. Gross. About now, I could really do with a spell to keep myself cool.
I snort. Yeah, right. Those things are super expensive, and I use them to keep myself alive, not to make myself comfortable. I’d rather be sweaty than broke. I stifle another moan. I’m so not a hot-weather fan. I’d rather add layers to keep warm than wish I could peel the skin off my bones.
Summer is way more irritating. I much prefer winter. I love those perfect English mornings when the sky is bright blue and everything is cold and crisp. The world looks so much prettier with a dusting of ice. For those first few hours in the morning, it covers all the crap and makes even the worst eyesore look magical. Except for that one time when I was a kid and I was homeless. I didn’t like winter then. No, that winter was horrendous.
Instead, it’s August and the country is going through a heatwave, and tonight is unpleasant and muggy. To add more insult to the mix, what feels like a million of those horrendous biting flies are zipping around me like flying piranhas.
Usually the little monsters don’t bite me. I don’t make much of a snack—something to do with the awful taste of my hybrid blood—but tonight the little suckers… I moan louder and rub my burning face on my shoulder. They are in good form. I’ll give them that.
An old memory skips and shudders to the forefront of my mind. I duck my head and rub my mouth to muffle a laugh. As a kid, I once asked my adoptive grandad if the flies consumed my blood, would I turn them into vampire midges? He laughed for about twenty minutes. I don’t know what he found so damn funny. At the time, I thought it was a valid question. If not a horrific thought. Vampire midges. I shudder.
Gosh, I miss him. It has been nine years, but it feels like only yesterday since his premature death. The Reaper takes all the best people first. Isn’t that the truth.
Uncomfortable with both my thoughts and the solid, unyielding ridged roof sheet I’m lying on, I rock from side to side. Being stuck in this prone position is causing my lower back to ache. It shouldn’t be too much longer. I know from experience that with jobs like this, you must have the patience of a saint.
I drag my arms into a better position, and my left hand trembles. I stuff the annoying limb underneath my chin and do my best to ignore it. It makes me look like a blood junkie. Hand tremors are the first unpleasant reminder; I’m overdue a ration, and seeing my blood donor is… awkward.
“Stand by,” I whisper when I catch the distant sound of an approaching vehicle.
The rhythmic squeaking behind me stops.
I don’t have to look at the wolf shifter to know my whispered words have gained her attention, and while I still have some foresight to keep most of my awareness on the road and on any unfriendly company within the rapidly approaching car, my eyes, without my permission, are drawn to her.
Forrest.
I do a mental eye roll. She’s still hanging upside down on the leftover scaffolding. Hanging by her knees like a manic monkey. Her pale pink hair pools onto the roof, washed almost white by the moonlight. I refrain from shaking my head, and I barely conceal my exasperation, which also contains a splash of amusement and perhaps a smidgen of jealousy.
Such wacky yet endearing behaviour. There is something to be said about being strong enough not to care what other people think, and that shifter has nailed it. She has the ultimate freedom of being unique. Plus it looks like she’s having fun hanging up there.
The pink-haired shifter is my sole backup, and I admit I’m lucky to have her. I’ve heard plenty of rumours about her history—the creatures in our world love to talk—but there is no way I’m asking for her story. If you look beyond her compact, tiny pink packaging, Forrest projects a quiet menace. You just know by gut feeling or sixth sense that aggravating her is a terrible idea. One look in those cold, dead yellow eyes of hers expels that silly notion. Even now, as she hangs upside down like a child, she stares back at me blankly.
She is not right in the head and is more wolf than person.
An unpleasant shiver follows the sweat trickling down my spine, and I give her a respectful nod. I turn my full attention back to the road just as a black car trundles around the corner and into the empty industrial estate. The tyres crunch against the tarmac and grind against the kerb as it pulls up to the nondescript warehouse. A warehouse we are crouched upon.
The front passenger door clicks open, and a big vampire gets out. As he adjusts his cheap suit, the car door thuds closed behind him. He takes in the surrounding area with a narrow-eyed glare. He doesn’t even think to look up. I recognise his face. He’s a prominent target.
My lips part as each one of my breaths becomes shallow. Adrenaline sloshes through my system, and in response to the spike of the neurotransmitter and hormone, my limbs tingle with the need to move. I love this part of my job. The hunting. It must be the vampire side of me that enjoys stalking prey.
Two other men exit the back of the vehicle. I smile. Bingo. My smile fades as my somewhat insistent inner voice cuts through my excitement like a knife. Come on, Tru. It’s not too late for you to go home. You know this isn’t your fight.
I can fight. I scowl and roll my shoulders. I train hard to keep myself and my chosen family safe, but I know from experience there will always be a creature who can and will wipe the floor with me. Like most normal people, I don’t enjoy a fist to the face, and even though I can shift to heal, pain is still pain.
Yes, I’m an assassin, but I complete my contracts from a distance using illegal long-range weapons or from the shadows, and unlike the wolf shifter and her fearsome reputation, I’m not one to smash my way through a problem. That’s how you get hurt or, worse, get someone you love killed.
The door to the warehouse opens, and the vampires shuffle inside.
I know my apprehension is justified. The once small and simple assassination job I started with this morning has somehow morphed into this clustersuck of epic proportions.
Isn’t that the way of things?
This situation is well above my training and pay grade. There are so many professionals better suited to do this than me. I’m not a soldier.
Yeah, Tru, you are not good enough. I once again ignore my nasty thoughts and the screaming gut feeling that insists things are about to go spectacularly wrong. I push away the worry. It’s us or nothing, and there are kids involved. I can’t walk away. I won’t.
A tiny click sounds, followed by a tweak of pain in the middle of my forehead, and I signal Forrest to get ready. Targets confirmed. All targets are a go. I wince as the soft, lilting voice of Story, my best friend, explodes in my head. The communication spell is an unpleasant scratch against my brain.
Forrest hums a tune under her breath. I frown. Is that… I tilt my head and hold my breath to listen. “Mission Impossible?” It is. I huff out a silent laugh and then focus on a final weapon check as the humming wolf shifter prowls towards me.
Now at my side, Forrest gives me a nudge. “Tru.” She wiggles her right hand in front of my face. An impressive set of six-inch claws tips her fingers.
“Wow,” I whisper with a nod of appreciation. I press my hands against my thighs to stop myself from touching them. I can’t remember seeing anyone else do a partial shift in real life. It’s a powerful thing. You’ve got to be at least six hundred years old to be strong enough to do it.
No way is she that old. No, she is like me.
Forrest is as powerful as the whispers say. No wonder she scares the crap out of everyone. Good for her.
The wolf stares down at my pinned hands as if to say “Go on then. I’ve shown you mine; you show me yours.”
I smile ruefully and shake my head.
“What? I thought you were badass. Aren’t you a superstrong hybrid or something?”
Oh, I am.
“Can’t you shift your hands?” Her voice is shockingly rough, like the kind of rough where instead of water every morning after she brushes her teeth, she gargles with glass. It’s not the voice of a girl who is barely over five foot with pale pink hair.
“Me? No.” I scoff. I wave my arm in the air and loosely ball my hand into a fist. “Hooves,” I explain. I grin and wiggle my fingers. “Not as useful as your claws. It would be… you know, weird.”
“Oh yeah. I forgot about the unicorn thing.” She slaps her forehead. “Awkward.”
I pull out my phone.
“Cool. That is so cool. Unicorns are my favourite creature. I have these epic fluffy unicorn pyjamas…” Forrest is kind of oblivious to the fact that I can still hear her as she continues to mumble about claws, hooves, and unicorns.
I side-eye her as she waffles. Apart from the planning stage and a few grunted words, Forrest never said anything during the time we’ve been waiting. She has made zero small talk, and we have been waiting for hours. So this transformation from a slightly unhinged but consummate professional to a unicorn fan is jarring.
Her dead eyes sparkle, and her hands flop around animatedly as she whispers. She then lifts her top and flashes me her unicorn sports bra.
I blink a few times, nod, and hand her one of the military-grade sleeping spells we are going to use to render the baddies inert.
Still nodding, I slowly back away.
Forrest is still talking.
I glance down at the phone to double-check the footage of the cameras inside the building. A few hours ago, when I realised this wasn’t a single assassination but a rescue mission, I launched hundreds of microscopic flying surveillance cameras into the warehouse.
All the baddies are chatting with the new vampires. I stuff the phone back into my pocket and move to the gap in the roof where a transparent roof sheet used to be.
With precision, I lower myself onto one of the steel roof beams and drop into a crouch.
It says a lot about me. That I’m more willing to face a warehouse full of killers than deal with the excited, unicorn-loving wolf shifter. I ready the first sleeping grenade.
“What…? Tru? Tru? Where did you go…?”
There’s a moment of silence. I stare up at the gap in the roof and shake my head.
“Ha, wow, that’s what that feels like,” Forrest mutters.
It’s showtime.
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