My lips curled mockingly. Then I rolled to a stand—one of the hardest things I’d ever done. Somehow I didn’t cry out, despite the shooting pains lancing up and down my body. I swaggered to her—well, more of a swerve than a swagger. I noticed the shifters openly curse and grumble at having their fun interrupted, but they made no move to stop me. Were they afraid of the big bad kitty cat? I wasn’t. Far from it. The only thing I felt was annoyance.
Leaning in close to her, I murmured, “I don’t need your help, stalker.”
I strode for the exit and held my breath so I wouldn’t hunch over my aching ribs like the injured sap that I was. On my way out, I swiped a half empty beer bottle off a table, the owner too shell-shocked from the almighty lion’s appearance to protest.
At last, after huffing up a flight of stairs, I emerged from the place that had nearly cost me my pathetic life. Again. I think I have a death wish. As the night’s incessant downpour further washed the alcoholic haze from my mind, I groaned, thunking my head against the warehouse’s outer brick wall.
“This isn’t a safe spot to rest. Or wallow. Whichever one you’re doing.”
That voice! Would she ever leave me alone?
“Noted,” I mumbled, peeking at her through my damp hair. I shouldn’t have. My stupid male eyes went straight to her chest for the second time today. And this time all I saw was skin and more skin, and a red-and-black heart tattoo right between her—
“Do you want my help, or do you want to stand there gawking all night?”
My eyes snapped to hers and I scowled. “Neither.”
“Not an option. I’m taking you home.” She planted her hands on her hips and I quickly looked away.
I took a slow sip of beer, grimacing at the thought of shifter lips having touched that same rim, then settled more comfortably against the bricks. “You take your babysitting duties quite seriously. But no. I’m not ready to go home yet, and I sure wouldn’t let you know where that is.”
Leaning against the wall beside me, she crossed her arms and slid one leg over the other. “You’re literally the most impossible Fae I’ve ever tried to help. Why is that?”
Oh, she thought this was unburden my heart time? That wasn’t happening.
“Look,” I said, drilling holes into her eyes in an attempt to keep my gaze from wandering. “This city is crawling with Fae who would trip over themselves for some help. So help them, not me. I’m not your problem. You do, on the other hand, seem to have a stalking problem. It’s not attractive, I’ll say that much.”
Being as she was female, I expected the slight to offend her. But my attempts at getting rid of her once and for all failed yet again. She simply stood there, looking annoyed. Definitely not stomping away in a huff like I’d hoped. Like I needed. Time to up my game. She was giving me no choice.
I rose from my slouch and faced her fully, putting as much hatred and loathing as I could behind my words as I said, “You don’t seem to understand subtleties, so I’m going to say this as clearly as I can: I. Hate. Shifters. Every single one of you. The sight of you. The smell of you. Standing next to you repulses me. So the last thing, the very last thing I want is to be your charity case. In fact, if you ever see me beaten half to death in an alley, don’t rescue me. Never again. Got that?”
She stared at me, lips pressed into a thin line. Her breathing was even as she unfalteringly met my eyes. And then she sighed. “Yeah, I hear you. I mean, if you’re so eager to die, taking one of Mordecai’s shady jobs is a sure way to do it. But you’re right—you’re a waste of my time.” She spun on her heel and stepped away.
Instead of victory, shock zipped through me. I had anticipated dozens of reactions—anger, hurt, disgust—but not sadness. The look she had given me . . . Not pity, exactly. More like acceptance. Like I was a lost cause. Like I really was a waste of time.
Gaia. Watching her walk away was worse than a punch in the gut. Let her go. Good riddance. Go after her. My brain fired off conflicting commands and I shoved a hand through my hair, yanking on the ends. What was wrong with me? She was a shifter!
“There’s this boy,” I began, then blew out an exasperated breath. Why was I still talking? She paused, one pale foot off the ground. Didn’t turn around, but she was listening. My mouth started blabbing again. “His name is Benji. Eight years old and never shuts up.”
Her other foot lowered. “I may have seen him once or twice. There aren’t many Fae children anymore.”
For some reason—maybe because she was acknowledging me after what I had said—I continued. “You’re right, there aren’t. Too many lose their parents and get shoved into the Fae orphanage, myself included. That hellhole is barely livable—dirty, the children malnourished with hardly any supervision. Most don’t survive. And that’s where Benji’s heading if his mom doesn’t get better. That’s . . . that’s why I’m applying for the job on that flyer. She needs the money, and he needs his mom. So, yeah.”
I was all kinds of uncomfortable after dumping those facts into her . . . lap. My eyes dipped down her spine, low, lower, until they rested on a fiery red and orange bird tattooed across her hips. A Phoenix. The tail feathers swooped over her right—
I needed to get out of here.
“Look, I get it. The tattooed skin, the Enforcer title . . . what I
