Destined (Darkin World Book 2)

Chapter One

Breqlynn slammed the blonde shifter against a wall, then got in her opponent's face. "Didn't your mother teach you not to touch what doesn't belong to you?"

Blood dripped from Breq's split upper lip. A ticklish trail trickled down her chin. Using the collar of her shirt, she mopped it up with her free hand. Luckily the cotton material was absorbent as well as black and so wouldn't show the stain.

Being a witch in a were-run bar, Breqlynn couldn't risk leaving evidence of her identity behind. Blood was blood - its smell and consistency were the same across the board unless you were a vamp. But a single drop could be used to track, tie or compel. Rule number one to being in a race that all other races hated: don't leave a trace.

The cursed ones, as her brethren called them, had a good reason to want to kill any witch on sight. So long ago that no one remembered the exact era, one of Breqlynn's foremothers cursed a shaman clan. A couple of centuries after, the shifters were born. All these millennia later, the hate was still flowing strongly on both sides.

It was Breq's damn fault. She should have known a nightclub named Shifters in a were-run town such as Butte wasn't meant for the local miners. As soon as she'd stepped inside to meet her client, she noticed the place was full of tall, powerfully built patrons. Not being the dimmest bulb in the bar, she knew this was a sure sign of weres.

Breqlynn masked her magic in response. Since the curse, the shifter race had been cut off from using all but plant and pack magic. Still, they could sense it in others.

The werebeast in her grip struggled for freedom. Letting go of her shirt, Breqlynn brought her other hand up and slammed the blonde into the wall. The move showed the shifter that Breq was highly pissed and more than able to end the encounter swiftly.

"Well?" Breqlynn all but purred at the woman beneath her grip.

"I gave it back," came the snarled reply. Although temporarily subdued, the fight wasn't entirely out of the blonde. Breq would have to rectify that.

As if sensing her plan, Griffin – the client – brought Breqlynn's attention to his red-headed ass. "She did. I have it right here."

Griffin had been one of Breq's first clients. She knew he didn't like conflict, yet trouble seemed always to find him and - by association - her.

Suddenly, the artifact the female shifter had tried to steal was in Breq's face. Griffin waved it under her nose as if she were a dog and the egg-shaped antique a bone. She couldn't help but wince as it bumped her lip, causing freshly clotted blood to flow once more.

The blossoming pain brought Breqlynn's focus back to the one who'd caused the original injury. Her eyes narrowed at her target. With a jerk of her chin, she shooed Griffin away from her and her intended victim.

"You touched me, bitch." Breq's hand reared back, and she threw a punch, giving a similar wound. Ah, Karma was sweet.

Around them, the other patrons noticed the commotion, even over the irritating electronic music. They began to gather. Soon, the two women were surrounded by a rowdy audience. Cursed ones were notorious for being hot-tempered. A fight was nothing new, but it was something they loved to watch.

"By the looks of her, you've got this Kaylee!" one of the onlookers cheered.

Breqlynn didn't allow his shout to break her focus. It was because of this that she saw the woman in front of her begin to shift.

Shit. Shifters were more powerful when they brought their inner beasts to the fore. Breqlynn could transmorph, but her animal was a raven. In that line-up, wolf won. Unfortunately, she couldn't defend herself with her magic either. If she did, it would announce to all the cursed race that she was a witch. A "Ha-ha, just slumming it for the night," would not go over well with this lot.