Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 131137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 437(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 437(@300wpm)
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 gay 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.