Raven

Trouble was in the air, and Raven McCulloch could feel it like a shrill whistle going off inside his head. It lingered on the edges of his consciousness, an invisible wave that sent a chill down his spine. He walked through the doors of Spy Glass—the bar he worked in—and felt the eerie sensation settling over him. His sharp eyes searched the darkness for some clue as to what was coming, but he found nothing out of place or amiss. In an excuse to give the bar a good walk around, he picked up the odd glass that’d been left here and there, he tossed down fresh beer mats, wiped down anything that needed cleaning, and checked the bathrooms—even the assisted toilet which had been out of order for a good month. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention as he moved around the bar. Something remained amiss; a deep-seated intuition telling him that lurking beyond his sight, trouble was coming. His senses were heightened; a sensation akin to tiny ants skittering across his skin tingled through every inch of his body. The panther inside him stirred, anxious and ready. Apprehensively, Raven continued with his tasks while trying to ignore these strange sensations. What the hell was wrong with him? It wasn't match day, so that couldn't be it. There wasn't an event planned where things could kick off for no reason other than that the rowdy drinkers had a few too many. Even the local radio said this weekend was going to be quiet. It was just another Friday night on the coast of the northwest, and he was serving beers, wines, and spirits to the bar's patrons. Technically, he wasn't meant to. At two months shy of his eighteenth birthday, he was still underage for alcohol. But Vanessa Maxwell—Max to her friends—made an exception, and no one bothered to question it, especially when Raven was built the way he was. He could handle himself. That was the appeal of employing him in the first place. A bar like Spy Glass got its fair share of trouble. Not that it was located anywhere prominent. Just a bar at the arse end of town, out of the way, overlooking the cliffs behind which lay farmland and the main road in and out of town. That was the problem. Strangers coming in. Strangers who didn't care because they could hop on the motorway and be gone after causing some trouble. So, Max had figured, what sane drinkers would argue with a six-foot-five shifter? Idiots mostly. And they tried. The odd chair had a lovely dent and the bar held the scars to prove it. Raven, despite his name, was a pure black, sleek panther. Rare in those parts and at seventeen, he could rival any rowdy crowd who dared to take him on. By the time the bar had been open an hour, Raven had already done a day’s work. He always got there early—much earlier than he needed to. It gave him the chance to get the bar ready—flush lines, change casks and that kind of stuff, but it also gave him a quiet place to sit and get his college work done. He liked working at the bar. It was quiet. He and his mother lived where all the sort-of-stray shifters lived. Not quite the underground, but not exactly the best parts of town either. He came in early to let his mother sleep. She worked two jobs. One as a cleaner in a large hotel and the other as a night carer. At least, that’s the job titles she had down on paper. What she really worked as was a paid woman down in the underground, offering services that Raven didn’t ask about and she hardly mentioned. She paid the bills, kept their heads above water, and Raven worked this job to put himself through college—a team—like they’d been since for as long as he could remember. Inhaling, he let out a long and slow breath, watching the room behind her, narrowing his eyes. “Maybe.” His jaw twitched and he scanned the crowd. Max turned to see what he was looking at. “It all looks pretty quiet to me. No hen dos, no stags. There aren’t even any big groups yet.” And she was right. It was just a few people eating and drinking. The largest party was a group of girls he recognised from college. They shared two pitchers he’d made up for them and had giggled when he’d served them. Human. Some Humans just liked flirting. As many had before, they asked him to join then, and as he always did, he refused. The evening passed easily enough, and Raven tried to push away whatever was bothering him. He kept checking, kept looking, kept watching the patrons of the bar. "Bloody hell, you're even making me jumpy. Will you pack it in?" Clayton, the head chef, handed Raven two plates—burgers and chips, and a side of garlic bread for table three. "Sorry," Raven muttered. "You need to get those eyes in check before someone sees and complains. You know what they're like." They, meaning Humans. They'd complain if they knew his eyes were flecked with green, like tiny stars dancing through them as his panther paced inside him. Taking a moment to compose himself, he angled his head to look in the mirror at the side of the bar. Blinking, he sent his animal back. Not now. It was around nine-thirty when a lone blonde woman entered the bar. He'd never seen her before; she eyed her surroundings from the doorway before committing herself to entering and heading to a table close to the staff door. It was empty because it was the crappiest table in the place and usually only used when every other seat was already taken; this night, there were three other tables she could have chosen instead. "Hey..." Clay leaned across the hatch and slapped Raven on the arm. "Table five would like their food when you're done drooling." He pushed three bowls of chips with curry sauce toward him and nodded at the girl. "You don't stand a chance. A girl like that ..." Clayton trailed off. She set up her work station, with her laptop, notebook and pens splayed out on the table in front of her. Raven grabbed the paper menu and a basket of chips to drop off at table five before he went to take her order. Her gaze met his, and his skin grew hot with awareness. His panther roared in approval, muscles tensing at the effort to not make noise. He placed a fresh beer mat on the table, trying to compose himself before speaking. "Do you need the menu? What can I get you to drink?" He could feel the green hue of his eyes deepening as he fought down his animal instincts. "I don't need the menu," she replied softly. "Can I just get a Coke and a raw burger?" His breath hitched; she was a shifter—a panther. It was rare enough to see any kind of shifters in this part of town, let alone another panther like himself. He’d maybe seen one other in his life and that was a stray his mother made him stay away from. This girl was most definitely not stray. He swallowed thickly, throat dry from excitement. "I'll get that for you," he croaked and stumbled back toward the bar to place the order. By the time he reached Clayton, he could feel his panther's growl vibrating through him. As Raven rushed back to the bar, his heart thundered in his chest. The panther inside him growled, threatening to rip free from its human form. He couldn't help but sneer at the patrons who eyed him warily as he weaved through the tables. Clayton stood by the kitchen hatch, eyeing Raven with a mix of concern and annoyance. "Orders are up for twenty-one, nineteen, and nine." Clayton gestured to the plates lined up on the steel shelf beside him. As Raven pinned a burger order to the rack, his eyes darted towards where the girl was studying. His heart thumped against his chest, urging him not to look at her but something drew him in like a moth to a flame. It was why he didn't see the men who’d come in as they made a beeline for the empty table near her and right into Raven's path. "Hey. Show some damn respect. Keep back." The first man barked at him, sneering at Raven. Not that he was shifter. The stench coming from him was all Human. And, despite the fact Max allowed Others and Humans in her bar, didn’t mean the Humans liked it or approved. It also didn’t mean they wouldn’t try to assert their authority over what they viewed as lesser beings. Raven gritted his teeth but forced himself to take a step back despite every part of him screaming otherwise. If he lost control now, it wouldn't matter who he was, the Humans would see him dead. "My apologies," Raven murmured with all the dignity he could muster. Blondie's blue eyes blazed, and his hands balled up into fists as he stepped closer to Raven, jabbing him in the chest with each word. “What did you say? Did you just speak to me?” He could feel the burn of his gaze boring into his face, and he tried to shrink away from them, but there was nowhere to go. His heart raced. His mother's warnings echoing through his head - never answer back; stay silent and don't retaliate. There was no way he'd win if he argued back; Humans would always have the upper hand against a shifter. Dropping his gaze, he stepped back again. He had too much at stake here—his college place, the money he worked hard for—it just wasn't worth the risk.