When you came in the air went out.
And every shadow filled up with doubt.
I don't know who you think you are,
But before the night is through,
I wanna do bad things with you.

Bad Things, Jace Everett

One: claws extended & jaws snapping

Inexplicable and horrible things seem to happen around me. Some might call it coincidence, but not me. I’ve used that excuse to explain a few things. Explain my adoptive parents’ death, to explain my birth parents’ death, and to explain why I try my hardest to keep everyone in my life at a distance.

My boss doesn’t even have my address, just my cell phone number and bank information to direct deposit my checks into my account. I don’t go out with the other waitresses if our shifts end at the same time and not just because we’re not exactly good friends. I’ve never taken up the innumerable men who come in and sit in my section much longer than they should in their offers to take me out.

I live in a huge old abandoned Victorian house—with only one bathroom, the bedroom, and part of the kitchen livable—about as far from town as possible to still be within city limits and without any neighbors for miles around. I find the isolation comforting. I don’t like to blame things on myself.

Also, I use a fake last name, among other things.

I realize it’s sort of halfway between narcissistic and delusional to think everything happens just because of you, but that night at the diner, when things started to go a bit haywire, I just knew my time had run out. I had to get out of here, lest things get worse or I get caught up in the middle.

You see, I get these feelings. It’s nothing concrete or anything, just an intense sort of intuition.

Somehow, I was dead sure my going postal on a coworker was only the tip of the iceberg. And, yet again, somehow, I was right.

—

“I think I’ll have the chicken fried steak and gravy, but instead of potatoes tonight, I’ve got a taste for onion rings,” Mrs. Laurence smiled up at me. Her dark hair was piled up on her head in an elaborate bun tonight, but that was the only difference. She usually wore it down and around her shoulders.

She reserves the bun for days working at the post office and loose luscious curls for late night evenings out, each one starting with me.

Every night between ten and eleven, she and her husband always come in for a late dinner. The Mrs. always has the chicken fried steak, only she rotates the side-dish every night. I’d already penciled in her order while taking her husband’s.

“No problem, Lorena,” I commented brightly. Mrs. L loves for me to call her by her first name. It makes her feel younger, though I personally have no idea why. She’s thirty, gorgeous, and rumor has it, she’s got a bun in the oven. I’d take that over being twenty-something and alone any day. “I’ll go put this in for you guys and get your iced tea. I’ll be right back.”

I grabbed a few glasses that needed refills on my back to the kitchen.

Tonight my usual boss, Terrence, sent his younger brother in to watch over the diner for him. Terrence owns the diner—Terry’s 24hour, not very original, but it worked—and a bar across town. I prefer to waitress her, but sometimes when he’s in a pinch I’ll cover for one of the barmaids.

I suppose if I have to move to a new town, I’ve got a lot of experience and a great recommendation from Terry.

Jacob grinned at me from across the kitchen and I couldn’t help it, I blushed a little. If I was interested in having a relationship with anyone, Jacob would be at the top of my list. He’s mixed, with skin the most perfect golden brown, dimples, and wide, almost cat-like green eyes. He’s tall and wiry-looking, but I’ve seen him with his shirt off while he was helping Terry unload some shipment.

Let’s just say, a loose t-shirt can hide a lot.

“God, it’s almost too pitiful to watch,” a silky female voice purred into my ear.

I almost jumped out my skin. I’d hardly realized I was staring while Jacob reached up to pull a box of hamburger buns down from one of the shelves above. I’d stood transfixed, staring at the small sliver of skin exposed between his low-slung jeans and dark green shirt.

Of course Lisa Jennings would be the bitch to catch me.

I tried to ignore her and stalk off with my dignity perfectly intact, only Lisa hates exits where she’s left looking even more childish than usual. She wrapped her hand around my forearm and dug her bright cherry red nails into the fleshy part under my elbow.

Lisa’s got a thing for the color red.

In high school my mom wouldn’t have let me hang around with a girl like Lisa. She’d call her a harlot and say she was fast and fast girls never get anywhere in life. I would have agreed with her then, but right now I’m in the same situation as Lisa, so really, it’s unlucky girls who never get anywhere.

“God Keira, what are you afraid of,” she sneers, “Never been kissed? You think he’ll bite? I could tell you; we all know I’ve rode that train before.”

I’ve had a serious issue with keeping a lid on my anger since childhood. I was notorious all through grade school for tearing into countless girls and boys on the playground.

My arm tensed up in her grasp and I stared straight into her dull grey eyes. Had they been dark like mine, I would have seen my anger mirrored in them. But I saw fear on her face and I knew my face could be a little scary when I couldn’t keep my anger at bay.

“I think things would go best if you let go of me right now, Lisa,” I replied slowly, cold as frost. I blinked and saw myself smashing her nose in with my fist and grinning at the blood dripping down her white blouse.

I shuddered, shook my head, and looked down my nose at her. “Now, Lisa. I’m not playing with you.”

“Jesus, don’t be such a tightly wound bitch, Keir,” she removed her hand and rubbed it, like she’d been the one being squeezed, “I’m trying to help you out. Nobody finds drool attractive.”

I wanted to slap her. I wanted to claw at her throat so that I’d never have to hear her whiny voice again. “Whatever, Lisa. I’ve got to get back to work.”

I heard her scoff behind me and call something flirty over to Jacob. My head must have been steaming by then and my face a horrible puce color. I clenched my fists and counted till fifty on the way back to Mr. and Mrs. Laurence in an attempt to dissipate some of my anger.

Good god, I thought, it’ll be a miracle if I make it through the night shift without ending her life.

I should have known I was right.

—

I wish Jacob wouldn’t have sat that group in my section tonight, because, really, I’m just not good with guys. Lisa could probably get a much bigger tip and a few numbers.

The problem is that rejection isn’t easy when you’re trying to make at least a hundred bucks in tips for the night. I have to live mostly on tips if I don’t want to tap into my savings. Because savings are for emergencies. Savings are a security blanket.

You’ve got to at least seem available for the cash to come rolling in and after all these years of staying closed off, I don’t exactly do available well.

I sidled up to the booth—chock full of rather attractive guys—with a somewhat flirty smile on my lips. Somewhat is all I can manage, even while knowing I look good.

A few minutes ago, I took a quick bathroom break, slid some dark cherry red lipstick across my mouth, pinched my cheeks for some color—I’ve been called pale as death before—and combed through the tangled mess my thick dark brown hair had become since I came in.

It always helps to look good late at night; I almost always wear a push-up bra and fasten one less button when I’m working the late night shift.

“How’re y’all doing tonight,” I asked, playing up my slight southern accent. Men like girls dumb and cute, and after a few years in the same job description, I could play both of those roles almost perfectly.

I don’t catch faces too often, but this one made my heart jump up into my throat and my stomach sink down into my butt. When his half lidded eyes rose up to meet mine, my knees buckled. I felt the force of his glance like a wrecking ball straight to the chest.

They were the strangest shade of green, a sort of golden lime green color. If I hadn’t been staring right into them, I would have sworn the color was the result of colored contacts over his original color.

Something swirled up in my mind right before I blinked and everything was back to normal. “Hmm? Did you say something?”

“I didn’t say a thing,” he said slowly. His voice poured over me like a cat’s purring. I felt it in my chest. And his accent was strange for around here; although I recognized it immediately. You usually don’t hear a Cajun accent too far up north of the Mason-Dixon line. In truth, you almost never hear a Cajun accent, no matter how slight, outside of Louisiana.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I could have sworn…can I start y’all off with some drinks?” My smile tightened a notch as I got a good look at each of them. All attractive, all staring up at me like I knew something I didn’t know, and they all had strange eyes, with colors too potent to be real.

There was some powerful force behind each of them. It made my breath catch in my throat just wondering what was so different about these five.

“Y’all got any iced tea,” one of them asked; the youngest looking one. In fact, he didn’t look a day over eighteen and not a footstep out of high school. His accent was thick, slow, and sweet. Most people around here would probably think it made him sound stupid and call him a hick, but when he smiled slow back up at me, revealing two matching dimples, I smiled back.

The kid was gorgeous. The curve of lips were all too sensual, his dark eyelashes too long, and cheekbones too high and delicate to be believable. And if I was a budding sixteen year old who’d never been smiled at like that, I know just what my reaction would have been. To snap my mouth back closed and make sure I wasn’t drooling. And then bat my eyelashes and shift my chest forward. But I’m twenty two years old waitress and I know just how to ignore those kinds of smiles.

So why was I acting so scattered, again?

“Sure. Um, five ice teas? Or do the rest of you want something else?”

I turned back to the guy with the weird eyes and started to ask him what he wanted, but the hunky blonde across from him spoke. “I wouldn’t mind a chocolate shake, Miss…what’d you say your name was again, sweetheart?”

I pushed my thick hair back off my shoulders to reveal my shiny little name pin and smiled. “I’m Keira. K-E-I-R-A—Keira. And I’ll have that milkshake coming right for you, hon. What’d you say your name was again?”

“I’m Jace. J-A-C-E—Jace,” he said. Or well, I thought he said, but his lips weren’t moving, just hanging ajar. I twisted around towards the voice and met a pair of golden-green eyes. “And I’d like a cup of coffee, black, Miss Keira.”

Now that I’d seen the eyes once, I could see past them. Super soft looking chocolate born hair dusted his shoulders, framing a tan face with a perfectly straight aristocratic nose and a pout that just begged to be explored with tongue, teeth, and lip. Just looking at him kicked my body temperature up to something dangerous.

It said a lot about my mental capabilities that I was able to speak without my tongue hanging out of my mouth.

“So three iced teas, a milkshake—chocolate—and coffee? I’ll be back in just a minute with your drinks,” I started backing away from the booth, with a little smile on my lips, “Just shout if you need me.”

I spun around just after the blond called, “I’m Bryce, Miss Keira. B-R-Y-C-E—Bryce! Just so you know!”

I bit my lip and tried not to laugh as I skipped back to the kitchen. Behind me I heard the younger boy yelling out that his name was Dylan, but someone stopped him before he could spell it out. I could almost visualize Bryce punching him in the stomach.

Lisa was waiting for me, just waiting to sinking her claws in. You’d think she had something better to do, like, um, I don’t know? Maybe attend to the women clear across the restaurant, all holding their empty glasses in the air, practically begging for a refill.

But of course, with Lisa, that’s never her agenda. Getting the job done well isn’t her top priority. Staying entertained is number one for Lisa; the only reason Terry hasn’t fired her yet is because I’m pretty sure he’s slept with her and doesn’t have time to deal with a sexual harassment case.

“They’re new here,” she commented as I slipped past her. Unfortunately, she doesn’t leave it at that, “You know your section is pretty filled up. I could take their table if you want; someone should get to admire them—since you’ve got that whole no dating till I’m fifty rule.”

“What makes you think I don’t date, Lisa?” I couldn’t resist asking as I grabbed a dark blue mug with “Terry’s” painted on the side in dark grey. It’s really annoying to have someone think your life is pitiful, no matter how pitiful it actually is.

“I can just tell.”

I called back to Geoff—the huge cook, with a shaggy beard and even shaggier salt and pepper mullet, whose eggs have been known to make people shed tears of the purest joy—for the shake and gripped the coffee pot in my right hand. “How’s that?”

“That whole frigid bitch thing is easy to spot, even miles off.” She’s really lucky I didn’t throw the scalding hot coffee on her right then. Fortunately, I’ve got this thing about staining white shirts and I really don’t need to get hauled into court on assault charges.

I was no frigid bitch. I dated plenty of guys in high school. I even slept with a few of them. Just because I don’t feel the need to flaunt my assets like some hooker in Las Vegas looking to get hired by the goddamn Bunny Ranch—

She stepped right in front of me, daring me to make a scene. I shouldn’t have said anything, really. I felt that familiar panic build in my stomach and the odd sensation of something thick, sticky, and frigid rolling down my back.

Something was about to happen. Something bad. And it would change more than just my budding friendship with the village hoe. It would change just about everything.

But of course, I had to get angry. I just had to ignore that feeling gathering at the back of my neck. I should have listened to my freaking intuition.

“Lisa, move. Because if you don’t, in about thirty seconds I’m not going to think twice about tossing this,” I held up the coffee pot and smiled slowly, my blood red lips stretching taught across my teeth, “all over and melting your pretty little face right off. I might even laugh while they cart you off to the emergency room.”

She flipped her candy red hair over her shoulder and held a few fingers over her delicate little mouth and feigned a giggle. “Well, aren’t you tough?”

I slid past her and thinking it was over. I couldn’t figure out what got into Lisa tonight. We usually share a few steady glares from across the room, maybe a not so friendly bump of the shoulders, but nothing like this before. And twice, in one night.

I should have known that bitch was crazy. She’d probably gotten high on something with one of her meth-head boyfriends earlier and…but, no. That was wrong. Her eyes we’re glassy, nor hands shaking. Lisa was completely coherent when she stuck her cowboy boot-footed leg out in front of me.

One more step and I was flying through the air and thanking god that I didn’t fall backwards, because then the coffee would have landed all over me. The skirts Terry makes us wear are sort of tiny, along with the sleeveless white blouses. I could have had burns everywhere, but now, I’d probably only have to keep my hands bandaged up for a few days.

But then I thought of all the glass and panic shot all the way up and down my spine.

And then I started wondering when I’d start feeling the pain, or at least the impact. Must be the shock, I thought, and then pried my eyes open, expecting to be lying in a pool of my own blood and coffee. A scene so macabre, no one expected to find themselves watching it all unfold in the back of a diner, especially on a Tuesday night, in a quiet little town meant for passing through two hours south of Chicago.

“Are you alright,” a voice murmured, lips brushing my ear. I didn’t quite recognize it in my panic, even though I’d just heard it moments before.

I stared down at the spilled coffee with pieces of glasses dispersed evenly through and somewhat dimly realized whoever was whispering in my ear also had an arm wrapped around my waist that kept me from going splat.

I started flailing then. Big, fish on dry land, flops, but he had and iron grip and was murmuring something. Something in a language I could understand, but was familiar and immediately calmed my nerves enough for him to shift me upright.

Staring into those freaky green-gold-and-glowing eyes I remembered his name. Jace, I almost said aloud, while my legs tried their hardest to slip from underneath me. He blinked at me for one immeasurable moment and then his gaze slid toward someone behind me and hardened.

I glanced over my shoulder and there stood Lisa, staring, wide-eyed, and looking just about dumb as a rock.

Quick as a whip, I snapped and lunged toward her, claws extended, jaws snapping.

Claws? I don’t have claws.

The thought crossed my mind just before I started screaming. I was really going to kill this bitch.

The red haze clouding my vision blurred everything else around me and I just knew that if this bitch didn’t kick off her heels and start running, real soon, I’d tear into her like a wild animal—a wild cat—no matter who was holding me back.

I’d rip into Lisa without any intention of holding back, without any intention of leaving her alive.

A/N: Sometimes I think I’m crazy and I’ll never finish a story, since I keep starting new ones. Not only am I starting one new story, but two. TWO! It’s funny that I never thought about it before, but in a way, both the new MCs are princesses, only in two very different worlds.

*ducks while all my readers chuck rotten tomatoes in my direction*

But what’s a girl to do??? My stifling a new idea for a story is like trying to stop a speeding train with my bare hands. I just can’t take it. And so, here we are. I’ll only be working on my two new stories, One of the Boys, Chloe, The Make-Out Games, and My Imperfect World for now.