Chapter 1 Chapter One

Kadia

The bar was called The Underground, because it was literally built into a section of an old underground parking garage under a defunct shopping mall. Jaelen hadn’t done much to improve the decor. The cement girders still had the original graffiti tags, and the parking space lines were still faintly visible on the floors between the tables. I often wondered how she had gotten the building inspectors and the health inspectors to sign off on her business license, but I didn’t ask questions. I was just grateful to have a job.

I set two glasses of foamy stout in front of a pair of suits at the far end of the counter and collected their cash without making eye contact. Eye contact invited conversation. Conversation invited tips that never materialized and grabby hands that occasionally did.

Six weeks in, I had a system.

Jaelen had built something real here, even if it looked like nothing on the surface. The Underground drew a crowd that didn’t exist anywhere else in the city — supernatural and humans sharing the same concrete floor, the same drinks, the same unspoken agreement that nobody asked too many questions. It worked because Jaelen managed it.

Jaelen had a way of making people understand, without raising her voice, exactly how far they could push before she pushed back, harder.

I understood the assignment. Keep my head down. Do the job. Don’t stare.

I was good at two out of three.

The fight started around eleven.

I felt it before I heard it — a shift in pressure, something pushing at the edges of the room, the air getting heavy the way it does before a storm. My father would have called it the hunter’s sense.

I called it inconvenient.

The sound came a second later. Not from inside the bar, but from somewhere outside the cinderblock walls, out in the rest of the undeveloped parking garage. I heard a sharp crack, something heavy hitting something harder, and then the quiet that follows when a fight gets serious.

I glanced around the bar. Nobody else looked up. A woman laughed at something on her phone. One of the suits signaled for another round. The bartender at the other end of the counter, fully human and fully oblivious, kept polishing glasses like the world was exactly as uncomplicated as it appeared.

Shapeshifters. Had to be. Humans wouldn’t tweak my senses like that, and the other supernaturals wouldn’t be sloppy enough to fight in a public place.

Whatever was happening out in the parking lot, it was moving too fast and too quiet for anyone without hunter’s blood to notice.

I noticed. And I wished I didn’t. I wished I could just switch it off, like an old radio with a dial.

I turned back to the counter and started wiping it down.

Not my city. Not my fight. Not my problem.

The mantra landed a little flat, but I’d gotten good at ignoring that too.

“Hey.” A beefy hand closed around my wrist.

I looked down at it. Then up at the man it belonged to — mid-forties, red-faced, oozing the brand of confidence that comes with a corporate card and zero accountability. He’d been nursing the same drink for an hour and watching me for most of it.

“Refill,” he demanded.

I smiled. It was the smile I’d perfected over six weeks of this exact interaction — pleasant enough to avoid a scene, empty enough to communicate everything I actually thought about him.

“Let go of my wrist,” I said, “and I’ll get you that refill.”

He didn’t let go.

I thought about my overdue electricity bill. I thought about the rent, which was due next week. The difference between what I had in my bank account and what I needed was like an accusation. I thought about the fact that Jaelen was in the back, the bouncer was by the door, and the other bartender was useless.

Making a scene would solve exactly nothing.

I looked at his hand on my wrist again.

“Last time,” I said quietly.

Something in my voice must have landed, because his grip loosened — not all the way, just enough. I could see the way he recalibrated, reassessing whether I was worth the trouble.

I held his gaze and let him do the math.

He let go.

“Refill,” he said again, but the edge had gone out of it.

I poured it without a word and moved to the other end of the counter before he could find his confidence again.

The tension in my shoulders hadn’t fully released before a familiar figure eased up to the bar and shoved a hip over the stool.

I knew it was Kit Williams before I looked up — something about the way the energy in the room shifted slightly when he entered. He was good looking, in that all-American college boy kind of way. Tall, broad shouldered, dirty blond hair that was a little too perfect, easy, contagious smile. He caught my eye, and gave me the look. The one that said he’d been watching the tail end of that interaction and found it entertaining.

“Don’t,” I said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

He picked up a cocktail menu he had no intention of reading. Kit never drank alcohol. “I was going to ask how your night was going.”

“It was going fine.”

“Uh huh.” He set the menu down. “You want to tell me why there are two shapeshifters beating each other half to death in the parking lot next to your workplace, or should I pretend I didn’t notice you noticing?”

I leaned on the counter and dropped my voice. “You heard that?”

“Felt it.” He shrugged. “My clan’s not exactly tuned for shapeshifters but a fight’s a fight. What are we dealing with?”

“I’m not dealing with anything, I’m working.” I glanced toward the emergency exit door out of habit. “It’s quiet now. Might be over.”

Kit turned on his stool and looked in the same direction, casual as anything, like he was just stretching his neck.

“Might be,” he agreed. He didn’t sound convinced.

Neither was I.

Kit’s hand settled over mine on the counter for just a second — warm, easy, unhurried, nothing like the sweaty hand I’d pulled away from a moment ago.

“What time does your shift end?” His voice was casual but his eyes weren’t. “I’ll walk you home. Just in case.”

I should have said I was fine. I didn’t need an escort to walk three blocks.

“Two,” I said.

The corner of his mouth pulled up. He flicked the menu aside. “Good. I’ll take a ginger ale on the rocks while I wait.”