Rising Sun

by Lyla Oweds

  In response, the three shifters bristled, banding closer together near their witch leader. They seemed an instant away from changing their forms, and I could see them tensing as they prepared for me to do the same.

  But he was wrong.

  “I’m not shifting. I don’t need to change in order to beat you.” I growled. An itching sensation spread over my skin—forever out of reach. But I pushed it down.

  One of the dogs, a man with the pale blond hair, snapped his teeth at me, obviously torn between his own need to fight me as a dog or as a human. And my annoyance grew at the sight of his and the others’ obvious hesitation.

  If I prolonged this further, they’d shift first. Then I would be at a disadvantage.

  I had to make them fight me, now. “You lot are so far down on the totem pole, even shifting would be a waste of my time. You’re not qualified to be men, let alone dogs.”

  Time slowed and my breathing evened in preparation for his reaction.

  Sure enough, a second later my opponent growled, his muscles tensing. I expected his movement before he’d launched forward. And since I was prepared, before he’d even neared me, I’d already sidestepped his swinging fist.

  He was fast and quick to catch on.

  Within an instant, he was already aware that I’d moved. Spinning on his heel, he turned toward me again. His hair whipped out of his tie, making his appearance even more dangerous. A growl tore from his throat as his brown eyes flashed dangerously.

  But my nerves were steady—even now, he was no threat.

  And he seemed to sense this as well. The sharp edges of his face softened—he was tempted to shift. But he was prideful, his glare determined.

  I’d seen this before. I’d fought this sort of man countless times in practice. Even if he was losing, he wouldn’t shift first, because to be the first to shift would signify defeat.

  I had this.

  “You little sneak.” His voice came out in a hiss, barely discernible over the hoots and calls of the others. He leaned forward, clutching at his calf before he stood to face me once again—a knife in his hands.

  I frowned at this new development, my pulse picking up.

  So, he might not shift. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t resort to cowardly tactics.

  But why? I was a weaponless, fragile woman. And now it was four guys—one with a knife—against little old me. How was this even fair? Why did men always have to make things so much more difficult?

  “Not so confident now, are you?” He brandished the knife, smirking. “It’s too late to be showing fear. Your fate is already set in stone.”

  Fear? My lips pursed. Now however would he get that idea?

  “I’m not afraid of you,” I told him, meaning it. After all, this was only a mild inconvenience. But the outcome of this battle was already clear.

  His grin grew wider—he didn’t believe me. Without another word, he rushed forward. this time, swinging the blade in the air like a madman.

  I rolled my eyes at his dramatics. It was official. Forget Petra. This guy was the worst gangster I’d ever met.

  It was almost not even worth my effort. The weapon actually hindered him. Barehanded he was nimbler. Now he was a joke.

  And from the violent way he slashed the blade through the air, it was obvious that he was trying to kill me.

  Surely, I couldn’t get into trouble for any action on my part now. This was self-defense.

  “Sorry.” I sighed under my breath, watching his slow movements as they neared me. But if he heard me, he didn’t care, nor did it stop what happened next.

  When the blade was a breath away from my face and he was so close that I could feel his breath rushing past me, I moved. His body brushed against mine, and he stumbled forward.

  While he tried to regain his balance, he lowered the knife.

  Before he could regain his bearings, I grabbed his hand. Practice had drilled into me the location of tender points that would cause a man to submit. And my thumb dug into the skin between his wrist and forearm.

  He still looked surprised when his hand opened and the weapon fell to the ground with a soft clatter.

  The entire scene took only took an instant, but every breath executed perfectly. And the parking lot fell into silence as the men took an instant to realize what had happened.

  My opponent was still flush against my body, and he snarled. A loud sound as he twisted his arm.

  At the same moment, the other three men sprang into action. Stances ready, and another weapon drawn. A furious shout from one spurred the others onward.

  My blond prisoner was holding me back now—so I used the movement of his own body against him. I twisted his arm and turned my hips until he’d been thrown effortlessly over my shoulder. He fell to the ground, stunned, but my attention moved from him almost immediately.

  Faces blurred together, until all that existed was the next strike and my targets.

  A strike brushed past me, but I dodged. Someone pulled at my hair, but they were gone an instant later as my foot cracked against their ribs. That one went crashing onto the hood of a nearby vehicle as he yelled, grasping his stomach.

  The instant distraction was all they needed, and another attacked from below. His leg kicked mine from under me, and I fell onto my back. For a quick second, I was stunned, blinking at the distant, flickering light from the street lamps.

  But a shadow moved over the edge of my vision, reminding me that this was no time to be vulnerable.

  I had already recovered.

  Pushing myself to my feet, I remained focused on my breathing. Keeping my inner beast calm. Nothing good would happen by giving into panic. My focus shifted to the remaining three men—the one on the car out of commission.

  Another dog rushed toward me, another blade sliced through the air. Then an instant later, that was gone too. I kicked the weapon from his hand, and it flew through the air. I’d gotten the wielder, and he crashed into the metal trash cans. He fell, unconscious, to the ground after his head slammed into the brick wall.

  And then there were two.

  I wasn’t sure when, but at some point, Mr. Thomas’ face had been injured. The corner his lip was bleeding. He was no longer smirking either. “You bitch.” His breath was heavy, and humiliation tainted his already foul scent.

  “We’ve been over this.” I shifted on my feet. One of my shoes felt a bit unstable, as if the heel were about to break. A shame, I rather liked these. “I’m a wolf,” I clarified in response to his annoyed expression. “If you must refer to me as anything, the proper term would be to call me a ‘she-wolf.’ A bitch is a female dog.”

  “You know damn well that’s not how I’m using it.” He stepped forward, arm pulling back. But his movement was strange, jerky.

  And so obviously a diversion.

  Because there was no way he’d expect to successfully hit with that stance. At the same instant, the final opponent moved out of my view. Clearly intending on attacking me from behind.

  They set themselves up for it, to be honest.

  The last fighter was a bulky man whose breathing was especially loud. There was no guesswork involved to know when to crouch down.

  And sure enough, his arms circled exactly where my face and neck would had been a second before. Mr. Thomas had stepped forward at the same time.

  But they’d missed, and this time I didn’t give them a chance to recover.

  Using the larger man’s arms as leverage, I kicked up. I used him as a guide as I gained even more momentum from pushing a second step off the ringleader’s leg.

  My knee crashed into Mr. Thomas’ face. He folded forward, and my foot pushed off the back of his head as I flipped over the man who’d tried to grab me.

  He stood dumbly, staring at his leader, who was now on the ground, leaving the back of his neck wide open. And with an expertly placed jab to the neck, he, too, dropped to the ground in a heap.

  Chapter Ten

  I was still frowning at my
fallen foes, wiping the back of my hand against my skirt, when Gregory’s groan pulled at my attention. My vision snapped in the direction of the two cars where I’d left him.

  Quite honestly, I’d forgotten about him. He’d been uselessly resting on the ground through the entire ordeal, and my mind had been otherwise preoccupied.

  But now—while my heart pounded in guilt, as I had pushed him there rather roughly, after all—everything hit me at once.

  Before I could move, his head popped up between the vehicles as he pulled himself to his feet. He blinked for a second, touching his forehead, before his sight turned to me.

  He was still heavily drunk. His expression was as unguarded as before, but his eyes slightly clearer. My breath caught, almost in fear—because what if I’d gone overboard—as his attention drifted toward the men lying at my feet.

  His lips pursed as his eyes narrowed. Slowly, his gaze moved to meet mine once again.

  “Don’t let Caleb know,” Gregory said dryly. “He’ll be too afraid to look you in the eye ever again.”

  I frowned, the idea both appealing and heart-wrenching at the same time. “Good.” Why was my heart turning to ice at the thought?

  But still, there was the matter of what to do with Gregory. “Now what?” I asked, glancing at him. “Where’s your car?”

  “You have blood dripping from your hair.” Gregory eyed me. “And your hands. I don’t want you in my vehicle.”

  “It’s just a little blood.” I glanced at my hands. Even drunk, he was still so argumentative. “It’ll wash right off.”

  “Are they even breathing?” he continued, almost as if he hadn’t even heard my response. “Or have you killed them.”

  “They’re not dead…” I cocked my head at him, wiping my hands on my shirts. “Can’t you see spirits? Wouldn’t you know if they’re dead or not.”

  His attention returned to me, and he raised his eyebrow. “That’s not quite how it works, love.”

  I blinked at him, unsure if I heard correctly. I mean, ‘Love?’

  Gregory must really be feeling ill, or be even more socially clueless than I previously believed. While I might have rebuffed his attention, it was a fact that his best friend had already tried to lay some kind of claim to me.

  Maybe it was a fae thing. The few I’d met so far in my short life had been odd creatures, to say the least.

  In either case, it didn’t matter. I still had to get Gregory home, somehow.

  But I still had no idea where he lived.

  “Gregory, where do you live? Where’s your car?” I stepped toward him, stumbling as the heel of my shoe chose that moment to snap. I sighed, slipping off my pumps before picking them up off the asphalt. “We need to get out of here,” I added, glancing at the bodies around me. They’d be waking up soon.

  “You’re walking strangely. Clearly you are inebriated. You’re in no condition to drive.” Gregory somehow managed to hold himself up this time, and crossed his arms.

  “I… what?” My attention returned to him. “No, I’m not drunk! My shoe broke!”

  “You seem drunk to me. You’re so angry,” Gregory mused, eyeing me.

  “I’m always angry!” I snapped. Besides, I was angry for good reason: the world was full of idiots.

  It was a good thing I had started moving to him, because not a moment later—when I’d barely reached him—he had begun to sway on his feet.

  I cursed, ducking under his falling form and barely having time to brace myself before his upper body fell on top of my back. “Seriously, Gregory? What’s gotten you into such a frenzy that you had to go and get this drunk?”

  “I don’t go into frenzies…” he mumbled, breathing hot over my neck. “I get even.”

  He got even? What did that even mean? “Should I expect to hear about a dead body in the news tomorrow?” I was being half-sarcastic, half-serious with my query.

  He’d started leaning on me, leading me through the lot while using my body as a crutch. Not knowing what else to do at this point, I allowed it. Following along as he pulled me toward a red Camaro.

  “How much money do you have?” I grumbled, studying the shiny vehicle as Gregory shifted over me, reaching around in his pockets for his keys. “I thought you were getting paid minimum wage? Michael looks like he’s taken a pay cut.”

  “Michael may find it amusing to play pauper, but I’ve become accustomed to certain things in life. Things that I will not give up,” Gregory replied, brandishing the silver keys in front of me. “Like my baby. Caleb doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

  “He’s a greaser, right? So does Caleb own a bike?” I wondered, my attention drifting over the tan leather seats. They seemed so plush and comfortable—would it be terrible to make Gregory sleep here?

  “Yes,” Gregory responded, aiming to unlock the vehicle but failing miserably. “He’s obsessed with that stupid thing. Always wants to know how mechanics work. Such a busybody.”

  I grinned, pulled the keys from him, and then leaned forward as I unlocked the back door myself. “It sounds like you two have similar hobbies. I can definitely see how you’re related.”

  “I am nothing like that scoundrel.” With a sudden glare of aggression, he pushed from me. His voice was tight with anger, causing my humor to be replaced with wariness. “Don’t say such insulting things.”

  Frowning at him, I watched as he clumsily pulled open the door and crawled into the back seat.

  I didn’t know him very well, but I’d only ever seen him be poised and proper. And now he was a mess: his clothing rumpled and his hair wild. His tone still… somewhat prickly.

  It was almost good to see that there was still a semblance of the old Gregory mixed in this current version.

  How would this Gregory respond to a threat?

  “You’re arrogant,” I told him as he turned onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. “You may be nice to look at, but you’re really quite rude.”

  “Well, you’re beautiful,” he said, not moving an inch. “And charming. That smart mouth of yours somehow makes you seem even more like a goddess.”

  Oh. My. God.

  I had expected a response, but not this…

  “Michael is interested in me,” I reminded him, slipping into the passenger seat and turning to look at him. It was darker here than anywhere else in the lot and much harder to see than the parking closer to the club. We’d moved a few blocks from where I’d beaten up the dog pack, but the area itself was far shadier from where we’ve left behind.

  Why Gregory had parked here, I wasn’t sure. But I highly doubted I’d be able to take him anywhere else tonight. And it was impossible to consider leaving him here all alone. I was going to have no choice but to supervise him.

  There was a single streetlamp, rows away. He parked at the edge of town, between a park and behind a line of shops. Illumination didn’t reach down to where Gregory lay, and even with my enhanced vision, it was difficult to make out the lines of his expression.

  But from what I could gather, he didn’t seem phased by my statement.

  In fact, had he even heard me?

  I sucked in my breath, needing to make sure he didn’t get any funny ideas. “I said—”

  “It doesn’t matter. He can look all he wants,” Gregory replied, his voice low. “But I’m the one you’re going to marry.”

  Words stuck in my throat, and my heart jerked. A long moment passed as I stared down at him in disbelief. He made no movement to look at me or say anything further. And the silence deepened as his breathing grew heavier.

  There was no way he was planning on breaking this awkwardness. So, finally, I sucked in a sharp breath. “Excuse me? What do you—”

  One of his breaths ended in a soft snore, and his body shifted as he curled onto his side.

  There would be getting no more answers out of him tonight.

  I sighed, resting my chin over my crossed arms. Why were these men so odd?

  “You’re crazy.”


  “Miss Gloria.” Gregory’s voice drifted through my dreams. A warm hand closed around my shoulder, shaking me slightly. “It’s time to wake up.”

  “Go back to sleep.” I groaned, tightening my arms over my face. The leather was sticky under my cheek and hot. But that didn’t prevent me from burrowing down farther into it. “You haven’t had enough time to sleep off your drunken delusions.”

  “It’s morning.” Gregory shook my arm again. “And I’m not drunk anymore. Although, I wouldn’t refuse some caffeine, toast, and eggs.”

  It seemed as though I’d fallen asleep sitting up. My back ached from the twisted position that I’d held all night, and my neck hurt from my improvised pillow. Cracking my eyes open, I glanced up, spotting Gregory.

  He was sitting up now, in the same seat where he’d fallen asleep. His clothing was slightly more put together than last night. Which meant he’d woken before me and tried to pull himself into order. And despite his controlled voice, his face only held a mild indication of discomfort.

  Shouldn’t he look worse than this?

  “Don’t you have a hangover?” I narrowed my eyes at him. While I was a morning person, this type of perkiness after a night on the fender was inhuman. “Why don’t you look like death?”

  “Don’t you worry.” Gregory’s mouth lifted. “It feels like my insides are eating themselves and I’m about to die.”

  “Then why are you smiling?”

  “Why did you stay here all night, Miss Gloria?” Gregory asked instead. “Surely your family will worry for you.”

  “They’ll get over it.” I fought back my grimace. The events of the night before had caused me to forget the potential consequences of my actions.

  I’d never stayed out all night before; my parents were going to be losing their minds.

  “What about you?” I sat up, stretching. “Don’t you have anyone who is keeping tabs on your whereabouts?”

  “Not quite.” His lips thinned. “Although this is unacceptable. You’ve been with a man all night. We must make sure to make things right in the eyes of our ancestors.”