by Zoe Chant
This was, unfortunately, a distinct possibility. As a wyvern shifter, Ivy was the most venomous creature on Earth. And thanks to her uniquely sucky combination of genetics, she was always venomous. Even in human form.
At the best of times, Ivy’s briefest touch would give someone an instant, agonizing rash. And this was most definitely not the best of times. If she’d been in human form now, the storm of fear and anger currently churning in her gut would have had deadly poison sweating from the palms of her hands.
As it was, she had to be careful to keep her sharp-toothed jaws clamped tightly shut. She couldn’t risk any of the boiling acid rising in her throat dripping out over the buildings and streets below.
Spit. Kill. Destroy. Her inner wyvern was a blaze of fury in her soul, urging her to rip apart the entire city of Brighton until she found her sister. Rescue! Defend!
Ivy shook her horned head, trying to suppress her beast’s snarls. Wyverns were the smallest of all the draconic breeds, but like all dragons they had a bone-deep need to hoard treasure, and an equally deep instinct to defend it. Anyone who stole from a dragon soon regretted it—briefly.
Ivy’s treasure wasn’t cold gold or unfeeling gems, though. Her treasure was flesh and blood. Her flesh and blood.
Her sister.
Other dragons have it easy. Their treasures don’t skip merrily away while their backs are turned. At least she left a note this time.
The note had been written in purple glittery pen. Hope’s messy handwriting, always ridiculously girly, had sprouted heart-dotted i’s and extravagantly curling loops of excitement. The exclamation mark situation had gone critical.
Got a ride to the party!!!! See you there?? If not, don’t wait up!!!! Love you!!!!!!
Hope had signed her name with a little smiley face in the o.
Ivy could murder her little sister sometimes.
Well, technically she could murder Hope all the time. She had to work very, very hard to make sure that she didn’t.
And right now, Hope sure as hell wasn’t helping.
Ivy narrowed her eyes, trying to pick out the apartment block she sought. She wasn’t used to flying over Brighton, and it was hard to recognize neighborhoods from the air. She tried to spend as much time in human form as possible. The less she reminded other shifters of her existence, the better.
One building caught her eye. It rose at least ten stories higher than any over the apartment blocks around it, thrusting up into the air defiantly. It had a wide, flat roof terrace, illuminated by dozens of LEDs. The bright lights marked out a wide circle bisected by a cross, something like a helicopter landing pad.
This landing pad wasn’t intended for human machines, though.
That has to be it.
Beating her emerald green wings hard, Ivy landed in the circle. She dug her talons into the graveled surface of the roof terrace, finding her balance before folding her wings. Unlike most dragons, wyverns had two legs, not four. She was built for speed in the air rather than agility on land.
Her arrival hadn’t gone unnoticed. Two hulking brutes straightened up form where they’d been lounging on either side of the open door leading into the building. They were both dressed in artfully-ripped designer jeans and leather jackets that strained across their broad shoulders. Ivy’s sixth sense prickled at the unmistakeable aura of feral energy exuding from them.
Ivy’s long, scorpion-barbed tail instinctively curved above her back, ready to strike as the two shifters sauntered forward. She hissed in warning.
The two men stopped in their tracks, eying her arched tail warily. “Shit,” the smaller of them muttered. “I told Gaze this was a bad idea.”
“Take a chill pill, freak,” the other man said to Ivy. A snarling wolf-head tattoo on the side of his neck marked him as a member of the Bad Dogs, a local pack with a particularly vicious reputation. “You may think you’re a big deal, but if you start something you’re sure as hell going to regret it.”
Ivy let her scaled lips wrinkle back from her foot-long fangs. Acid dripped from her jaws, sizzling as it hit the ground. She had the pleasure of seeing both men flinch.
*Stay back, puppies,* Ivy said telepathically. *I can obliterate you with a single breath. Now where is my sister?*
She had the unmistakeable sensation of her mental demand bouncing unheard off the men’s skulls. Shifters could generally only talk in animal form to others of the same general type—cats to cats, wolves to wolves, and so on. It was one of the reasons packs and crews usually tended to be formed of similar types of shifter.
As a wyvern, Ivy herself was a mythic shifter, one of the rarest of all the shifter groups. Although Britain had more mythic shifters than pretty much any other country, they were still uncommon. It wasn’t too surprising that neither of the men could hear her.
Ivy concentrated, pushing her wyvern’s endless anger down to the bottom of her soul. Her scales tingled as she shrank back into her human skin.
Both men’s taut shoulders relaxed. Ivy was no lightweight, but in this form both men had at least six inches and a hundred pounds of muscle on her. They clearly thought they now had the advantage.
They were idiots.
“Fuck me,” the shorter man muttered, staring at her curiously. “It’s just a girl.”
Ivy aimed her sharpest scowl at him, yanking off one of her gloves. “Who can still kill you with my little finger. Stay right there.”
“Like either of us would want to touch you even if you weren’t a monster,” the tattooed man sneered, his eyes flicking dismissively down Ivy’s curves. “Anyway, you got an invite. That means you’re safe…for now.”
“I’m not here for the party.” Ivy’s fist clenched on her glove, her bare hand still raised and ready. “I just want my sister. Go get her.”
He jerked his thumb at the half-open door behind him. “Go get her yourself.”
Ivy switched her glare to the smaller man, but he just shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning casually back against the wall. It was clear neither of the men were going to move a muscle. No doubt they were under orders from their alpha to make sure she went inside.
Ivy bit back a curse. When the mysterious party invitation had arrived last week, she’d known it had to be some sort of trap. No-one invited a wyvern to a Christmas party. Not even an all-shifter Christmas party. She’d told Hope it was a trap.
And her stupid, stupid sister had happily bounced straight into it.
Now Ivy had no choice but to take the bait.
Lifting her chin, she strode between the two men, heading for the doorway into the apartment complex. It led to a stairwell, the bannisters decorated with twining boughs of holly. Festive music and laughing voices drifted up from the penthouse apartment below.
Ivy grimaced, but jammed her hand back into her glove. Much as her wyvern screamed that she needed to be ready to defend herself, she could hardly walk into a crowded room with bare skin exposed. Her entire body was venomous, and she couldn’t risk hurting anyone.
Tugging at the sleeves of her thick denim jacket to make sure every inch of her arms were safely covered, she headed down the stairs. The sounds of revelry got louder, making her wyvern’s hackles rise. Her inner beast was on hyper-alert, its protective fury making Ivy’s stomach churn. She was unpleasantly aware of a wet stickiness starting to fill her gloves. In her agitated state, her venom would be deadly enough to kill instantly.
She had to find Hope and get out fast. And pray that no-one tried to get in her way.
Taking a deep breath, Ivy pasted her very best I-give-zero-fucks-about-anything-especially-you expression onto her face. Then she strode into the party.
Thankfully, it was loud and raucous enough that her appearance didn’t immediately attract attention. A couple of nearby Bad Dogs gave her a professional once-over, but didn’t move in her direction. Ivy had a moment to scan the room.
Her sense of unease deepened.
What the hell is this?
The lux
urious, open-plan penthouse was packed with a wild assortment of shifters. Ivy picked out the distinctive heads of the Wild Cats crew, their hair shaved and dyed into leopard spots or tiger stripes depending on their inner animals. She was pretty sure that the trio of women in slinky, short dresses shaking their booties on the dance floor were snake shifters from the Cold Blood gang. And if the pack of red-headed men in the corner yelping encouragement as one of their number attempted a keg stand weren’t foxes from the Urban Vermin pack, then Ivy herself was a bunny.
Regardless of species, every shifter in the room had one thing in common. They were all members of some of the less-domesticated—and less law-abiding—groups in shifter society.
Exactly the sort of shifters that she’d sworn she’d never associate with again.
“Ivy! Ivyyyyyy!”
Ivy winced at the ear-splitting shriek. When Hope was excited—which was way more often than any sane person should be—she could reach a pitch high enough to stun bats.
“‘Scuse me, coming through.” Hope’s running commentary cut through the crowd at waist-level as her wheelchair shunted startled shifters aside. “Beep beep! Pardon me—oh, I’m so sorry! Was that your foot?”
A massive grizzly shifter swore viciously, clutching at his leg as he rounded on his unexpected assailant. “Why you little-“
“Sister,” Ivy finished for him, stepping forward. She met his angry gaze cooly. “My little sister.”
The grizzly’s eyes widened as he took in her green-streaked hair. Ivy had deliberately adopted the dyed, asymmetric haircut in order to stand out. It helped to have a distinguishing feature that other shifters could use to describe her to each other.
The wide, acid green stripe in her dark hair was her own version of a wasp’s black-and-yellow warning: Don’t mess with me.
The grizzly shifter swallowed his growl, his face paling. Like most shifters in Brighton, he’d obviously heard about her. Without another word, he hobbled away.
“Sorry again!” Hope called after the retreating bear. “Can I get you a—oh, you’re gone. Well, I guess you have shifter healing anyway.” Hope swiveled her wheelchair round to face Ivy, a beaming grin splitting her thin face. “Ivy! You came!”
“Briefly,” Ivy growled. She reached for the handlebars of Hope’s wheelchair. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Hope spun her wheelchair out of reach with a practiced flick, evading Ivy’s grasp. “Nuh-uh. There’s someone here that you have absolutely got to meet.”
She’s seventeen years old, Ivy thought in despair. And she still has all the survival instincts of a toddler on a sugar high.
“For once in your life, listen to me,” Ivy hissed, her hands sweating in her gloves. “We have to get out of here. Can’t you see what sort of people these are?”
Hope lifted her chin, her jaw setting in a stubborn line. Despite the fact that Hope was thin, blonde, and beautiful, for a moment it was uncannily like looking into a mirror.
“Yes, I can. They’re people who have to cope with powerful, dangerous inner animals, in a world that’s not made for them. People shunned and feared even by other shifters, just because they’re different.” Hope folded her arms across her chest. “Remind you of anyone?”
Ivy clenched her fists, matching her sister’s glare. “I am not like them!”
“But you could be,” said a deep, amused voice from behind Hope.
A tall, broad-shouldered man sauntered out of the crowd. He was wearing tailored black dress pants and a fine white shirt, the top few buttons undone to show off a hint of the deep crease between his hard pecs. Wrap-around designer sunglasses hid his eyes.
“Gaze!” Hope squealed, clapping her hands. “Ivy, this is who I wanted you to meet! Gaze, look, this is my sister!”
“So glad you could join my little party after all, Ivy Viverna.” The man flashed brilliantly white teeth at her. “I’m Gaze Holden.”
“Never heard of you,” Ivy said, eyeballing the distance to the nearest exit.
The man chuckled, not looking in the least offended. “Then I’ve been doing my job right. But in any case, I’ve heard of you. I’ve been looking for an opportunity to meet you for quite some time.”
Out of his sight, Hope was silently mouthing something that looked suspiciously like the words your, true, and mate. She was practically bouncing in her wheelchair, her green eyes alight with excitement.
Ivy repressed the urge to groan out loud. Of all the disastrous attempts Hope had made to set her up, this definitely ranked somewhere in the top five.
For all she knew, of course, Gaze could be her one true mate. Shifters typically didn’t recognize their mate until they made eye contact, and Gaze’s eyes were completely concealed.
Not that it mattered. Finding her true mate was top on Ivy’s list of Things Not To Do. What would be the point, when they could never touch?
Gaze, for his part, seemed to be fascinated by her. His chin dipped a little, as if he was taking her in from head to toe. Even hidden behind his sunglasses, she could feel the heat of his appraisal.
“You are an elusive woman, Ivy. But I very much hope to be seeing more of you in future.” His voice dropped to low, thrilling murmur. “We have so much in common.”
“Yeah, no.” Ivy sidled closer to Hope, trying not to be too obvious about it. “I don’t think so. We’re leaving now.”
“But you’ve only just got here.” Gaze rested a hand on the back of Hope’s wheelchair, and Ivy swallowed the possessive snarl that rose in her throat. “And Hope doesn’t want to leave yet, do you, sweetheart?”
“No way! I haven’t even danced yet, and Betty promised to introduce me to her whole pack!”
Betty? Who the hell is Betty?
Before Ivy could ask, Hope did a transparently fake double-take. “Oh look, there they are now!” She pointed across the room at a group of teens in black leather lurking in a corner. “I’ll just leave you guys to it, shall I? I’m sure you’ll have tons to talk about!”
“Hope!” Ivy made a grab for her, but Hope was too fast. She zoomed away, heedless of the shifters she scattered.
“Can I offer you a drink?” Without waiting for a response, Gaze turned on his heel, starting to stroll away.
Ivy had no choice but to follow. The milling partygoers moved aside for him a lot more willingly for Gaze than they had for Hope. Even the toughest, most brutal-looking gang members gave way to him with respectful murmurs.
Who is this man?
Ivy couldn’t even tell what sort of shifter he was. With the scents of so many different kinds mingling in the air, mixed in with the fumes of mulled wine and the tang of evergreen boughs, it was impossible to get a good whiff of him.
His easy dominance told her one thing, though. Despite the powerful creatures all around—tigers, vipers, wolves, even the hellhounds of the Bad Dogs—Gaze was the most dangerous person in the room.
“Who are you?” she asked warily, as he led her to the gleaming kitchen area of the vast open-plan penthouse.
“A broker, of sorts. I make connections. Bring people together for mutual benefit.” Gaze extracted a bottle of champagne from one of the many ice buckets clustered on the black marble counter. He let out a deep chuckle as he poured. “And you could call this a staff party. All the shifters here are…private contractors, shall we say, who do business with me. Very profitable business, I might add.“
Ice ran down Ivy’s spine. “Let me guess. That business isn’t exactly legal.”
Gaze smiled behind his sunglasses, pushing a glass of champagne across the counter toward her. “I’m sure you’ll appreciate that I can’t discuss past jobs. But I do maintain a small, very exclusive list of clients, who pay well for quiet solutions to delicate problems. And they would pay extremely well for someone of your particular talents.”
Ivy knew exactly how much unscrupulous people would pay for what she could do. She’d carry the shame of that until her dying day.
Never again.
>
She swallowed the acid rising in her throat. Much as she wanted to spit in Gaze’s face and tell him where he could stick his offer, she was standing on his territory. Surrounded by his people.
Who were also surrounding Hope.
It took all her control not to look round at her sister. Ivy picked up the champagne glass, taking a sip as cover for her furiously racing thoughts.
Have to play this cool. Make him think he’s got me interested.
“I know how much I’m worth,” she said. “Why should I let you take a cut?”
“Because I can provide what your previous employer didn’t.” Gaze leaned back, resting his elbows against the countertop. Ivy was pretty sure he knew exactly how well the posture showed off the hard swells of his biceps. “Protection. I know your previous experiences with this line of work, Ivy. You were, if I may be so blunt, appallingly wasted by Killian Tiernach. You nearly went to prison because of his mistakes.”
“Yeah, well,” Ivy muttered, the shame of the memory heating her cheeks. “He did. I don’t want to risk getting into that sort of trouble again.”
“I would never ask you to.” Gaze’s voice dropped to that deep, seductive murmur again. “A unique treasure such as yourself should never be put at risk. I would treat you as you deserved.”
Which, apparently, is from three feet away, Ivy thought with dark humor. For all his flirtatious manner, Gaze was being very careful to stay out of arms’-reach.
Just like everyone did.
Ivy leaned a little closer, as though his attempt to charm her was working. To his credit, Gaze didn’t flinch, although she did notice his broad shoulders tense.
“You’ve got my attention,” Ivy said. Under the excuse of turning to gesture at the luxurious apartment, she scanned the party for Hope. “You’re clearly doing well for yourself, and I could do with some cash. What sort of—oh, crap.”
One of Gaze’s hands shot up, touching the frame of his sunglasses. “Something wrong?”
“No. Just my irritating sister picking the worst possible moment to interrupt, as usual.” Ivy faked a grimace, putting her champagne down. “She needs me to take her to the bathroom. Where is it?”