Quellin stepped back and slipped his arm around Cody’s waist as he spoke. “If you ever run into trouble, take that to the Iara embassy located in New Haven’s South Bay. Someone from my family will assist.”
“You mean your Matron?” I was beyond surprised. Quellin’s Matron was a powerful woman, and I wasn’t sure if I felt comfortable calling on her for anything. The amused smirk that cracked Quellin’s face had a dark current to it.
“Not that family.”
“Oh.”
The Widow family.
I would absolutely keep that card.
“Well, I don’t have an assassin card to give you, so you’ll have to settle for a hug.” Jesse Woodlock, my favorite outlaw, was warm whiskey on a cool night. Gods, he was a handsome rogue and perfect for my dashing Centaur.
“I think Cal and I can agree your hugs are priceless,” I teased as I pulled him in tight. Cal was smiling, watching us with his arms crossed. Even with his new role as mayor, he still dressed like a cowboy instead of a government official. I wanted to see him in a damn suit at least once, but that stubborn man wasn’t having it.
It was probably for the best. Imagining Cal Klelbor in a fitted suit nearly drained the blood from my head and rushed to the other one.
“Don’t forget about your friends back in Stallion Ridge when you get all rich and famous from the stage.” Jesse winked. “I expect you to get us first-class seats for your shows.”
“Oh, you marvelous man.” I swatted his arm. “You flatter me. Don’t stop.”
Jesse finished his wonderful embrace and peeled away to make room for Cal.
Calhoun Klelbor, my Centaur in shining armor. If I had ever loved anyone, it was him. Beyond the fact that he was a tall, perfect specimen of male physique with long, pretty brown hair and the voice of rumbling sex, he was the best of us. Honest, true, fair, and unwavering in honor.
And kind. Always.
Well, unless you were harmful or cruel. Then he could use that big, hunky body to do some serious damage. Anytime I’d find myself in trouble, I couldn’t think of anyone bigger and brawnier to mimic than Cal to use as my weapon of defense.
As soon as I hugged him, I realized I wasn’t going to make it to the train with my makeup intact. Tears spilled over the moment I felt his arms around me, and I cussed in a very undignified way. His laugh rumbled my whole damn body.
“You’re going to be fine,” he said gently. I didn’t believe him, but I nodded anyway.
“I’m going to miss you so much, Cal.” I was aware of how miserable I sounded, but it was hard to care. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”
Cal rubbed my back, taking care not to ruffle the dress too much.
When he spoke, his voice was low and spoken from his noble heart. “You always have a home here, Scarlet.”
I cried. Again. Ruining my makeup completely.
Because I had never had a home before. Stallion Ridge-- the men standing at the station, my Centaur -- was home.
And I had to leave it to be who I wanted to be.
Chapter Two
“Life is a cruel bitch, baby. But it can also be beautiful. Focus on the pretty parts.”
Growing up with a single mother, I had learned some real facts about the world. She had taught me that humans and shifters alike could be mean, dishonest, and vile. The kick in the ass was that we also couldn’t be happy, truly happy, without connecting to others. Learning the trick of being able to be guarded and also allow yourself that coveted connection was like learning how to fasten a corset by yourself.
It became routine, and sometimes you could get it in one go, but other times the buttons snagged, it pinched you, and everything fell apart.
My mother was my hero. It had always been just us. She was everything I wanted to be: confident, strong, and unyielding. When I learned to mimic, my first mimics were always of her. I would be her tiny mirror image, a little whirlwind of blonde hair in a matching dress. I insisted on us being the same for well into my puberty, far beyond when we realized I couldn’t fully take her shape.
As hard as I tried, I could never change everything. The curves of the female body never formed, breasts never blossomed, and my sex never took the opposite fit. My mother could be a man or woman at will and did so with the grace and beauty of a flicker of light against rippling water. When she wasn’t a man for work or pleasure, she always fell back into her blonde, curvy, true self.
She apologized for nothing and taught me to do the same.
It used to really upset me that I couldn’t mimic her exactly. I hated my limits from my consistent male body to my unchanging eyes. They didn’t even match, for fuck’s sake. How could I color coordinate if my damn eyes didn’t change! One brown and one blue -- earth and water as she would say. I hated them.
She loved them fiercely. She also loved my red hair, which I rarely had. I was blond forever.
I was sixteen when she died, but her illness wasn’t a sudden thing. Even when I was young, I remembered her coughing late into the night, noticed when her weight dropped and skin paled. She had gone from a pillar of strength, wit, and charm to a ghostly wisp lying in beige sheets.
It had always been just us. She had many friends, many connections and stories, but it was just us in the end.
“Change your hair,” she said, playing with a strand while I cried. I was scared. I wasn’t ready to be alone. “I love your red hair. Ah, there’s my Scarlet. You listen to me, my baby. Life is a cruel bitch sometimes, but it can also be beautiful. Focus on the pretty parts. You love hard, be fierce. You are perfect just like this, my Scarlet Rose. Change for no one but yourself, and don’t take any shit, you hear me?”
I heard her. I promised.
And then it was just me.
The train whistle pulled me back from faraway memories, and I noticed Worthington station was fast approaching. It was nightfall by the time we arrived, and my bones ached from being confined to a train car for so many hours. It had been a spell since I had seen the impressive town far to the northeast of Stallion Ridge.
Last time I had passed through, nearly half a decade back, it wasn’t the type of place someone could stroll around at night. With Marshal Rowlett in charge, though, I wasn’t feeling as anxious this time around.
Worthington was nearly three times the size of Cal’s sleepy town, even with the recent expansion of Stallion Ridge. Home of the Devereaux railway, Crate & Kettle Coffees, Brightfeather textiles, and other such fine commerce made this town rich. Hell, staying a night here could cost more than my entire trip if I booked the wrong damn hotel. Fine imports and Worthington exports were carried in by Lake Divide, which ran the length of the continent.
My stomach was demanding food almost as much as my nerves were craving wine, so I grabbed my bag as soon as it was unloaded to find my hotel. The cobblestone streets made the rattle of wagon wheels and clatter of horse hooves almost melodic. Instead of fresh bread, Worthington smelled like cigar smoke and river water.
I saw the idiot far before he decided to make a play. Wearing a fine dress with a bustle was like a beacon for snakes -- the metaphorical ones of course. Cody was Lamia, and I loved him dearly. Often times, wastrels would assume I was some helpless thing, a wayward belle on a stroll through the big city. I saw the idiot far before he decided to make a play. Boy, was he dead wrong.