Unknotted

“He’s late,” Boy Band mumbled.

Finally. I had been waiting for these two to speak since they entered. They weren’t the chatty type. Boy Band spent the time thumbing away messages on his phone, occasionally shooting a glance at the front entrance that he and I faced. His grim-faced companion glared at his burger as if unsure the meat was dead enough and watched the side door.

“He’ll be here when he gets here,” the older enchanter grumbled, leaning his forearms on the table and making his business suit strain over his muscled back. He glanced my way, and for a moment, our eyes connected. His neon green eyes with pink exploding from his pupil narrowed. I curved my lips into that awkward smile strangers caught staring offered, before turning back to my empty drink. The enchanter lowered his voice, but my Jik-designed earpiece enhanced it enough for me to hear him say, “Or he’ll send someone if he can’t get away.”

“He better be here soon,” Boy Band said, tapping a beat against the table with his flatware.

“Have somewhere more important to be, do you?”

“Tooffany said she would let me take her out tonight.” There was a smile in his voice.

I glanced over the top of the bubble wall just as the enchanter stretched an arm across the table and cuffed the youngster’s ear.

Boy Band jerked back, holding the side of his head. “Hey—”

“There will always be another girl. Another date. Focus on this task. It’s important.”

“There will always be another shipment too,” Boy Band grumbled.

“Not this size,” the enchanter replied. “You know that flashy car you’ve been ogling? You’ll be able to buy two when we’re done with this shipment. Imagine how much we will make off the parts from three dozen clunkers.”

Boy Band perked up at that news, while my fingers clenched around my glass.

There it was—the truth I sensed the first time I had eavesdropped on them. Shadow Market poachers. How was I not surprised. I knew their lingo well enough. “Clunkers” was code for hybrids. And “parts” could mean anything from skin or fur to make enchanted clothing, or internal organs to brew into potions, or claws and fangs and poisons to enhance weapons.

I wasn’t the blood-thirsty, use-violence-to-get-my-way type. Not anymore at least. But poachers riled up my dominance and primal instincts. The urge to put on my beasts form and butcher these two as they had so many hybrids grew almost irresistible. Seeing as the tide was out, and I needed them alive to gather intel, I would reluctantly have to grant them permission to keep breathing.

“We can’t move that much merchandise through a portal in Keadan,” Boy Band protested. “Not with their strict inspections of anything going to Tredema.”

“We’re going to have to jump portals—Keadan to Namen—before sending the shipment across the Between. That’s why this meeting is so important. Without this contact, we can’t circumvent Keadanian inspections.”

Boy band jerked his head to the side, flicking his hair from his eyes. “How high up on the hybrid pyramid is this guy?”

The poacher leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper that my earpiece could barely pick up. “He’s in the ultra’s inner circle. Selling off his own people without realizing how it’s weakening his territory. Dumb beast.”

Boy Band frowned. “You can’t really hate them. You’re always so…”

“Pleasant?” The vinyl seat creaked as the poacher sat back. “Do you think his kind would do business with me if I wasn’t?” He tapped Boy Band’s temple. “Think, Wanddy. Lure with sweetness. Kill with stealth.”

“I know.” Wanddy pushed the hand away. “And harvest before they rot.”

I was shaking with rage. I waved to the waitress for the check. As she arrived at my table, the bell above the door jingled.

Five men entered, dressed in gray and silver Keadanian military armor. The tension in the air thickened to a choking level. They carried that muted gloom and wariness most hybrids did when the tide was out. I understood that; not having access to my beasts form was a vulnerable feeling. Luckily for them, they wouldn’t have to endure their gloom much longer. Like the growing sound of a wave rushing to shore, I felt the tide drawing closer.

By the easy way the soldiers walked toward the bar—not timid like a submissive or watchful for a challenger as a dominant would be—they had to be somewhere in middle of the dominance pyramid. Regardless, I used the waitress as cover to avoid their attention as they passed my table. I scratched the fake name that went along with the one on my card onto the receipt and handed it back to the waitress, wishing, “Good luck.”

The poor woman was wide-eyed, her free hand clenched tight into her skirt. She stiffly approached the new arrivals. The family in the other booth was hastily gathering their things and slinking out the side door.

As I grabbed the book to leave, the hairs on the back of my neck stiffened. Someone was watching me. I glanced over my shoulder to the bar, but none of the soldiers were paying me any attention. Facing forward again, I caught sight of the poacher, his eyes locked determinedly on me over the top of my closed book. His lips curled into a smile that made me shiver. What a creeper…

The poacher rose and rested on a knee on his seat, elbows on the bubble glass divider. His gaze flicked down to the book, then up to me. “What are you reading?”

My brows pinched. “Excuse me?”

“Your book. The cover is quite…colorful.”

I flipped the book over and examined the cover. An unrealistically beautiful couple, with their clothing clinging to them in an indecent fashion, stood beneath a bus stop. A dark storm brewed in the background. Not exactly what I would describe as colorful. I shrugged, warning bells sounding in my head. “I guess.”

He leaned closer, about to say more, when the chime above the door jingled again. Three more hybrids dressed in day clothes strode in. They brought in a warm summer breeze and the magical tide in with them, as if masters of both forces. The new tide pulled the blanket off my senses, tuning them back into clarity. Guessing a hybrid’s dominance tier while the tide was out was one thing, feeling that power when it was in was another. The aura of these hybrids’ dominance smacked into me like a hammer to the face and made my own dominance bristle.

One thing about Peth’s novels that was utterly accurate was the effect most dominants had on hybrids lower than them. Like a held breath, every hybrid, even the ones in the blasted kitchen, turned to watch the newcomers. The five sitting at the bar, quieted and rose from their chairs to offer them up. Clearly these three were in the highest levels of the pyramid. Strange they would stand so companionably beside each other. Dominants were more likely to rip each other apart than get along as friends.

The first dominant through the door was in his mid-forties, very lean. One of his eyes was dark brown, the other dissected by a web of scars surrounding a milky white, likely blind eye. His black dreads and short beard were threaded with white. Unlike his two companions who were smiling and laughing together, he was serious, a frown fixed on his face.

“Is that him?” Wanddy whispered excitedly.

The vinyl creaked as the poacher sank back into his seat, followed by a smack, and Wanddy’s groan. I fished the phone from my pocket, pretended to dial, then set it to my ear. Really, I had opened the camera, angled so my ear pointed toward the dominants, and hit the camera button with my thumb. I assessed the picture. It wasn’t the greatest but would be clear enough for Helt to run it through facial recognition software.

As the dark-haired hybrid led his companions toward the bar, I hid behind my book again. I had endured enough dominants to know how to circumvent their attention. Hunching my shoulders and keeping my eyes down, I made myself as small and non-threatening as possible.

The last dominant in the line paused by my table. My fingers tightened around the book, my mouth going dry. Slowly, I glanced up and breathed out a soft sigh; he was only checking his phone.

“Dariya’s says she’s not going to make it,” he said.

The second dominant stopped. “She texted you?”

He held up his phone. “Yeah. Did she not say anything to you?”

“No.” The second dominant’s lips pursed, and he marched toward the bar.

As luck would have it, my phone rang, causing the trailing dominant to glance my way. I had to admit, he was nice on the eyes in his fitted tee and jeans. His wavy sun-bleached hair had a stylish cut that kept his locks off his ears, while partially concealing scars on his brow. The trimmed scruff on his jaw gave him a roguish appearance. When he caught my stare with his gray-blue eyes, I held it as if he had entranced me. Long enough to boost a dominant’s delicate ego.

His mouth quirked into a half grin. “You going to answer that?” His voice was rich like dark chocolate. I had always preferred sweeter milk chocolate though.

The next step of circumventing a dominant’s attention was always the hardest. My dominance was rising to the surface, rumbling in my chest like a building growl, as it noted a tireless challenge in his stare. I willed my eyes to pull away from his in submission. My dominance was quivering like an irate dog on a chain. But I wouldn’t accept his challenge and further draw the poachers’ attention. Not even to satisfy my own, equally delicate ego.

I fumbled with the phone and hit the answer button without checking who had called. “Hello?”

“Georgie.” Helt sounded relieved. His warm voice was usually comforting, except when it was on edge, as it was now. “I have something to tell you and I need you to not react. Understand?”

From the corner of my eye, I watched the dominant, concluding I wasn’t worth his attention, continue to the bar. “Yes,” I answered Helt.

“We identified the enchanters from the factory. Are you still at the diner? Are they?”

“I was just leaving.” I flipped through the book, feigning nonchalance. “And yes.”

“Leave. Now.”

“But—”

“No, Georgie. No, buts. You’re spying on Wanddy Haidar, nephew of Caspella Broshot and his uncle, Harhort Lewisfur.”