She’d told me to pass it on—to use my talents to help the people back home. That’d been my intention, too. Of course, it’d taken a back seat as I worked my way up through the firm. I’d had to do the grunt work first, until I rose to a position where I could have had more say in taking on cases. Back then, I’d had to do my job and defend the client—even if the client sucked barnacles. Because my job had been to defend… no matter what.
I shoved my hands in my pockets. Yet, here I was. Back in the Darkmoon District, far from thriving, and far from being able to offer anyone else a hand up.
I technically still had my license to practice law, but what firm would hire a shifter? Even other shifters wouldn’t hire me if I opened my own practice—no one wanted to show up in court defended by a known shifter.
And I certainly had no intention of sharing all that with Peter—no matter how open he’d been with me. I couldn’t.
I nudged Peter with my shoulder. “Well… thanks for sharing.”
He shot me a tight smile.
I grinned back, but it didn’t reach my eyes. I couldn’t open up to him, no matter how much I wanted to.
THE HOUSE OF HAHN
The House of Hahn Design Studio was located on White Sands Boulevard, the swankiest, most upscale shopping street in Bijou Mer. By the time we’d climbed the winding cobblestoned streets of the city to the upper tiers, a misty sunrise was peeking over the watery horizon and the gulls had begun to circle and caw overhead.
I covered a yawn with the back of my hand and followed Peter past evenly spaced trees and beautiful shops lining each side of the gleaming street. I took a deep breath—nothing but sea air and flowers. Kinda made me miss the sewer and fried food smells in the Darkmoon District.
My stomach twisted with unease. Back when I’d had my high-powered law career, I hadn’t thought twice of coming here for a new dress or a leather briefcase as a reward to myself for winning a case. I adjusted the shoulders of my ratty Banshee band tee. Now I didn’t even feel like I met the dress code for walking down the street outside—in the wee hours—with no one around to see me. Should someone lend me a dinner jacket?
I rolled my eyes at myself. Who cared what anyone thought of me? I’d thought my life back then was a dream come true after dragging myself out of the slums. And though my hard work had been legit, everything else about it had been a lie.
As soon as everyone I knew learned the truth, that I was a shifter, I’d lost it all—which meant it had never been real in the first place. My boyfriend and brief fiancé (the truth had come out almost the moment after I’d said “yes”) had left me. Sigh. And I’d thought he’d actually loved me. That was saying nothing of my so-called friends. Not that I was bitter or anything.
I’d lost my job—who’d hire a shifter? I’d lost my fancy apartment on the upper tier—the landlord didn’t want to rent to someone half monster. And goddess only knows what the neighbors would have thought. Eventually I’d even had to sell all my expensive clothes and bags for food money. Wah wah waaaah. If it hadn’t been for old connections in the Darkmoon District, I’d have ended up on the streets—and it’d been close.
That familiar weight settled on my chest. Hey. As crabby as my life was now, at least it was honest.
My stomach twisted again, and I pressed a hand to it. Well, except for pretending to be a pet psychic and hiding the truth from Peter while keeping the fact that I was working with the police secret from Ludolf Caterwaul.
I mentally face palmed myself. This was why you didn’t let anyone in—it got complicated. I glanced over at Peter’s tall frame. I needed to be more guarded with him… and probably needed to give some real thought to Will’s warnings about the shifter mob boss.
Peter must’ve felt me looking at him, because he glanced over and flashed me a bright smile. I grinned, then dropped my gaze to my feet. I looked back up at Peter and smiled broader; his eyes were still on my face.
But those were problems for future Jolene. For now, I just wanted to enjoy the first good thing that had happened to me in years. Was that so wrong?
I jumped to cut off my subconscious—don’t answer that.
“There—on the left.” I pointed, and Peter, Daisy, and I crossed the cobblestones to the tall, frosted glass double doors. Two golden H’s formed the handles—the logo of the design house. So classy. Peter pulled one open and held it for me.
“Ladies first.”
Daisy pushed past and strode inside ahead of me. She swiveled her head back to face me, dark nose flared. “Woof!” I’m the alpha—don’t forget it.
Inside, techno music blared despite the early hour, so I felt confident Peter wouldn’t overhear me. I let out a few quiet barks. Yeah, well, I also caught you trying to eat a fly back at the sweatshop when you thought no one was looking, so pardon me if I’m not too intimidated.
Daisy’s ears flattened.
I winked at her.
“Whoa.”
I glanced up, grinning first at Peter’s awestruck expression, then following his wide-eyed gaze behind me.
“Oh.” I took in the absolute chaos. “Whoa, indeed.”
Marble stairs led down to a large, open, modern space that contrasted sharply with the old stone exterior. Vaulted ceilings and skylights lent the space an airy feel, while abstract, modernist paintings in black and white lined the walls. People bustled back and forth—tall, thin models, workers shouting into their earpieces, others frantically paging through
