Making the Rent the Hard Way - 9

 

For once, my luck was in. The husband headed straight home, giving me time to return to my place to eat something and change clothes before going to the club shown on Luca's credit card statement.

The second I walked in the door, I knew I was in mixed company, so to speak. A good half of the customers there were shifters. I wondered how many of the humans knew that. Maybe the name of the club should have given them a clue—The Lycan Den—presuming they knew Lycan was another name for wolf shifters. After all, even if they were definitely in the minority, it was no secret shifters existed. It hadn't been for more than a hundred years when a pack of gray wolf shifters decided they were tired of trying to hide what they were. From what I'd heard, things were damned tense for a while and could have been worse if they hadn't enlisted the help of two well-know politicians and a famous actor, all of whom were shifters.

Be that as it may, nowadays people were used to the fact they were around, although they might not have been aware they knew some—or been happy about the fact, as far as that went.

I found a seat at the bar, ordering a beer when the bartender asked what I wanted. As I drank, I watched the interactions around me. Some people were there for the dancing, some to drink, as always in a club. The shifters seemed to stick to their own kind, much to the dismay of some of the humans who were trying to hit on one or another of them, unaware of what they were. And that was happening—a lot. Not too surprising since shifters as a whole seem to give off an aura of sexiness. Clichéd, maybe, but still the truth.

Unfortunately, as far as I was concerned, Luca didn't seem to be around. I ordered another beer, and when the bartender brought it over, I asked if he'd seen Luca tonight.

"Who?" he replied.

"This guy," I told him, showing him Luca's picture.

"Never saw him before."

Given that the bartender was a shifter, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised he'd said that. He knew I was human. They all know who's human and who isn't. It's ingrained in their genes as a way of self-preservation.

I rested my elbows on the bar, leaning in to keep our conversation as private as possible. "I know he comes in here. I also what he is—and what you are."

"Impossible," the bartender replied adamantly. If I'd only been guessing about him being a shifter, he'd have given himself away at that point, which he obviously realized. Very softly he asked, "How do you know?"

"It's a talent I have," I replied, just as softly.

He studied me, then nodded. "Cade Warner, right? I've heard about you. You're one in a million, or so they say."

"I am. If you know about me, you also know I never reveal that a person is a shifter unless it's absolutely necessary. Even after all this time, there are folks out there that would love to see all of you eliminated."

"Tell me about it," he replied angrily. He glanced around. "I'm on break in ten. Why don't we take this somewhere more private?"

"That's fine with me."