Marcus gaped. “You’re kidding me.”

“Her dad’s actually human, so he knows what it’s like to be targeted in a pack for being weaker. He didn’t want that for Shaya, so he taught her a few things. Being a Navy SEAL, he had plenty of stuff to teach her. Plus, he’s not totally stable.”

Dante chuckled. “No wonder I sensed a serious amount of impishness in that girl—there’s almost as much as there is in my girl.”

Jaime gave him a mock scowl and flicked her long sable hair at his face, making him puff it away. “I guess it’s an advantage that Shaya looks so sweet.”

Taryn’s smile widened. “Yeah, everyone’s fooled by Shaya’s innocent exterior. They never see the mad coming. If Nick does manage to find her, he’s in for a few surprises.”

CHAPTER TWO

SIX MONTHS LATER

I won’t aim this hairspray at her eyes. I won’t aim this hairspray at her eyes.

Shaya Critchley chanted it to herself over and over as she made the finishing touches to her client’s hair, pointedly ignoring the irritating woman at her side who was delivering snide remark after snide remark. It wasn’t that Shaya gave a shit about the peroxide blonde’s opinion. It was kind of hard to care what a person thought of her when said person’s face was so caked in makeup that she looked like a warrior going into battle. But after a long, busy day spent mostly on her feet, Shaya simply didn’t have the tolerance required to deal with Paisley right now.

Each of her fellow hairstylist’s insults had been delivered with the most patronizing tone and the falsest smile, and the message was clear: Shaya’s hair was too red, her body was too thin, and her skin was too pale. Yeah, well, at least Shaya wasn’t smeared in fake, blotchy, unevenly applied tan. The girl looked like she’d rolled in Doritos.

Having Paisley hanging over her shoulder as she worked only served to increase Shaya’s annoyance, and she had a feeling that Paisley was well aware of that. And why would she be so set on driving Shaya insane? Simple: Although Paisley had been working at the salon for four years, Shaya had more clients than her. Sensing Paisley’s distaste, Shaya’s wolf bared her teeth—she could be sassy and snippy like that. Though her wolf wasn’t a fan of confrontation or the type to begin brawls, she was quick to defend herself or those she cared about and had little tolerance for petty people like Paisley.

If Paisley knew that Shaya was a half-shifter, her attitude toward Shaya would be even worse. The girl and her family were all strong supporters of the human extremist groups that had been calling for certain laws to be put in place to monitor, control, and isolate shifters. There would be a court hearing in four months’ time to address the matter. If the human extremists were successful, all shifters would be chipped, placed on a register like child molesters, forbidden from mating with humans, and confined to their own territory. It also meant that any lone shifters would be forced to live outside human society in what had been referred to as “gated communities”—it was simply a way to contain and isolate them.

As such, Shaya had ensured that no one other than Kent—her boss, friend, and a fellow half-shifter—knew what she was. Not even the local shifters were aware of her mixed blood, as she had ensured she was never close enough for them to sense it. Why? Easy. Members of the Sequoia Pack had a nasty habit of “disappearing.” Given that their Alpha was a drug lord, it wasn’t difficult to guess who was responsible.

“How’s that for you, Mrs. H?” asked Shaya, angling a handheld mirror at the back of the middle-aged woman’s head so that the reflection would be seen in the large mirror opposite.

Mrs. Harley turned her head from side to side, touching her perfectly straight dark hair as she examined the reflection. Then she shot Shaya a beaming smile as she stood. “How you manage to make my hair look so smooth when it’s usually like straw, I have no idea, but I love you for it.”

Shaya laughed, removing the black waterproof cape from Mrs. Harley’s shoulders. “It’s not like straw.”

“Oh it is, honey. Not like your beautiful hair. What I’d give to have curls like yours.”

Paisley made a face at that comment, while Kent nodded his agreement and reached out to tug on one of the corkscrew curls. “They just make you want to play with them.”

Shaya scowled playfully as she swatted his hand away. He did that a lot—mostly because he knew it irritated her. If he wasn’t such a good friend, she might have chopped off his spiky blond hair. Years ago, she and Kent had studied hairstyling together at college, and they had clicked instantly—not sexually, though, seeing as he was g*y and all.

They had never once lost contact over the following years, and he’d asked her to visit him plenty of times. When she had called six months ago and asked if he would allow her to stay with him for a while, he’d been delighted. More perceptive than Shaya was comfortable with, Kent had immediately sensed that it wasn’t simply a social visit. She had admitted that she was hiding from someone but hadn’t wanted to say more—she had promised herself that making a new start would include not dwelling on having been rejected by the Prick of the Century, otherwise known as her true mate, Nick Axton.

Being as fabulous as he was, Kent hadn’t pushed her for more information. Instead, he had helped her find a place to live and had given her a job at his hair salon. In other words, she owed him big-time. But she still often found herself yearning to go back to California. She missed all her friends, especially Taryn, Jaime, Dominic, and Caleb. She often spoke with them over the phone or Skype, but it wasn’t the same. And, though she would never admit it to Taryn because her friend would come to collect her, she wasn’t happy.

It wasn’t just because of Nick’s rejection. Despite having a job, it didn’t exactly pay well. Although the home she rented was cozy, it was also slowly falling apart. Shaya did not specialize in DIY. Of course it was her landlord’s responsibility to fix the problems, but he was extremely good at dodging that responsibility. Then there was her hypochondriac of a mother and her constant calls to deal with. Each call was the same—she would moan about all her “ailments,” complain that no one cared, send Shaya on a guilt trip for leaving, and then become insulting when Shaya refused to return. It wasn’t that the woman was pissed about not knowing Shaya’s location or even that she missed her. She didn’t even care that Nick hadn’t claimed her. The woman just didn’t like not having someone to fuss over her and cater to her every whim. How nice was that. Shaya had taken to ignoring the calls altogether.

And then, of course, there was the fact that she missed the social touch her packmates had always provided. Her wolf, too, missed that closeness. Nonetheless, Shaya had no intention of returning to California. No intention of ever again coming face-to-face with Nick, even if he was the other half of her soul.

Shaya had already lost part of her soul before she was born. That was exactly what Mika, her twin who had died in the womb, had been—an integral part of her. All her life, Shaya had felt an emptiness inside like a part of her was missing…because it was. She had always felt the sense of being “alone” much more acutely—something that had been worsened by the incident that happened when she was four.

The guilt had lingered deep inside—guilt that she had survived and hadn’t been able to save her twin, despite how little sense it made. “Vanishing twin syndrome” people called it. During her teens, that guilt had led her down a path of self-sabotage as Shaya had felt that she hadn’t deserved to be happy. With support, she had eventually given herself permission to live a full and healthy life, honoring her twin and using her as her motivation. But the pain, the emptiness, was still there.

Losing Nick before she’d even had the chance to know him was exactly like it had been with her twin. She hadn’t had the chance to know Mika, to have a life with her…and now she would never have a life with her mate either.

Her wolf was going through a similar pain. She didn’t understand why Nick hadn’t staked his claim, and she viewed his actions as a rejection. But although her wolf was angry with Nick for rejecting her, she was also angry with Shaya. Her wolf still wanted to be in close proximity to her mate, not understanding that Nick had no intention of ever claiming her and that he would make life difficult. Awkward animal.

Snapping out of her ponderings, Shaya walked to the reception desk to say good-bye to Mrs. Harley, who was at that moment taking her receipt from Paisley. When Mrs. Harley tried to give Shaya a most generous tip, she shook her head. “That’s too much.”

“Honey, I’ve been going to have my hair done regularly for a long time. Usually, my stylist patiently listens as I moan and groan about all the trouble going on in my life—things that were always difficult to talk about with family members.”

“You don’t moan,” objected Shaya. If anything, the woman was a delight.

“Not around you,” agreed Mrs. Harley. “Because for the two hours that I’m with you, I totally forget all about my problems and find myself laughing and joking with you. What’s more, you always have me walking out of here feeling good about myself. So, honey, you will take this tip.” She forced the large tip into Shaya’s hand, winked, and walked right on out the door.

“You have a way with people,” Kent told her. “They like being around you, even seem to gravitate toward you. Considering you haven’t been here very long, you’ve built yourself a nice clientele. You should be proud of yourself. I’ve never known anyone to form connections with people so easily.”

Yeah, she was quite good at forming connections with people—lasting ones, in fact. She just had a really hard time forming deep connections. Although she craved one, she was too distrustful and guarded to allow it to happen. Was that really any wonder when her first real relationship had been an absolute mind-fuck?

She’d been just sixteen when she met Mason. She had been infatuated with him, practically worshipped him. He had told her he felt the same, that they were true mates. Still plagued by a feeling of emptiness after losing her twin, she had been so desperate to feel some sort of connection that she’d bought it hook, line, and sinker. Later she had realized that she had given her virginity to an a**hole who liked to target young females and convince them they were true mates.

After that, she had flitted from guy to guy, never letting anything deeper develop. Not that she’d been a slut or anything, but she hadn’t been in a serious relationship—determined to wait for her true mate…a guy she had spent the past half year trying desperately to hate. She was failing miserably with that. How could she possibly hate her mate, even if he was a prick?

Well, at least she didn’t cry herself to sleep anymore. That was an improvement. She’d even started dating again. Not that the dates had amounted to anything, as apparently she was flypaper for losers lately. The world seemed to be against her meeting a decent guy. As much as it would make sense for Shaya to want to keep things simple and stick with meaningless encounters or short affairs after Nick hurt her the way he had, she wanted more than that.

Yes, part of it was that she wanted someone who could cancel out the mating cravings, someone who could fill the space that her true mate would never fill. But another part of it was that seeing her friends so happily mated made her hunger for the same. She wanted a guy who would care for her, a guy she could trust and depend on. Was that really so bad?

Apparently so. Either that or he simply didn’t exist. Ah, maybe that was it.

Shaya almost banged into the reception desk as a ticked-off Paisley accidentally-on-purpose bumped into her as she passed. Oh, for the love of God. Shaking her head, Shaya went over to her station to clean and tidy it. It was as she was sweeping up the hairs that were scattered on the floor that Paisley returned to her side.

“I was just wondering, have you always suffered from gingervitis?”

Shaya rolled her eyes. The red hair comments were a regular thing, and she was used to them at this point, though she was tempted to point out again that her hair wasn’t ginger in any case.

“I guess it must be nice being Ron Weasley’s sister, though.”

Sigh. “Seriously, Paisley, you don’t need to keep this up. I honestly couldn’t like you any less than I already do.” Shaya walked to the trash can and emptied the clump of hair into it before returning the brush and dustpan to the cupboard.

Paisley trailed behind her. “As if being a carrottop isn’t bad enough, you’re—”

Shaya sighed again. “Can’t you see I’m trying to pretend you’re not here? When you speak, you kill the illusion.”

Paisley curled her upper lip and made a move toward Shaya, but Kent was suddenly there. “That’s enough,” he told the blonde.

“She’s only been here, like, two minutes and everyone’s fussing over her!”

Shaya shrugged. “If what you want is the same treatment, maybe you could try working. Just sayin’.”

Snarling, Paisley sharply twirled and returned to the reception desk, but the comments didn’t stop. By the end of her shift, Shaya had come close to stabbing the blonde with her own scissors. Instead, she grabbed her things, gave Kent a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and left. As her car had died recently and she couldn’t afford to fix or replace it, she made the fifteen-minute walk to her home. For a change, her closest neighbor—who was a hundred yards away yet still managed to be a pain in her ass—wasn’t holding a house party that could wake the dead.

She let herself inside her home, secured the door shut behind her, hung her jacket on the coatrack, and kicked off her shoes with a groan of relief. The fluffy, magnolia-colored carpet felt amazing under her throbbing feet. Although coming back to an empty house never gave her any pleasure, it was certainly nice to let her feet breathe.