Fate Of A Hybrid

Chapter 2

Now, finally taking a glimpse at who was calling, my heart sank. It was my landlord. Seeing his name blinking on my screen was enough to confirm the unwritten truth: my phone never rang for anything good. It was always about some bill or another.

Taking a deep breath, I gently closed my eyes. Then, steeling myself, I answered the call.

"How many times have I warned you mother-and-daughter duo to always pay my rent on time?!" His rough, haggard voice roared into my ear, sharp and grating like nails on a chalkboard. I winced, instantly regretting holding the phone so close.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before a single word escaped, his rant continued unchecked.

"I’ve tolerated you for way too long! I’ve been far too nice, far too kind over the years! And now you two take me for granted! If by the end of this week you’re unable to pay up, I’ll kick you and your useless moth—"

"You hold it right there!" I roared back, my patience snapping like a brittle twig. "I’m sick and tired of you acting all bossy, just because of an apartment that has the charm of a public restroom after the city budget cuts! Other than us, I doubt anyone would willingly stay in that place! And whenever we’re talking, you don’t speak ill about my mum!"

My voice echoed through the phone, each word fueled by anger I couldn’t hold back. Without waiting for his response, I hung up, hands trembling as I clutched the device.

There was no way I was going to let him talk about my mother like that. I could take the insults if I had to—but dragging her into it? That was crossing a line.

Although a small part of me felt a flicker of gratitude for his previous leniency, there had to be limits. Kindness didn’t excuse disrespect, and I refused to let him overstep. Boundaries were essential, at least to me.

Now my mood was thoroughly ruined, courtesy of that grand old fool. Fuming, I stormed out of the pub. Pulling a pack of cigarettes from my jacket pocket, I lit one up with a flick of my lighter. I inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in my lungs before exhaling slowly.

Over time, moments like this had grown all too familiar. I’d come to rely on these small escapes, the comfort of the cigarette between my fingers. It had become my only companion in these late-night frustrations.

Taking a smoke always helped clear my head, easing the anger and frustration that seemed to follow me everywhere. For just a short while, the haze of reality faded, and I let myself drift toward a fleeting sense of peace. It wasn’t much, but it was mine.

Just as I was savoring this temporary calm, a flicker of movement caught my eye. A group of panther shifters was lurking nearby, their predatory energy radiating from the shadows. I instinctively tensed, but as long as they weren’t here for me, I wouldn’t concern myself with their business.

All I wanted was to finish my cigarette in peace.

But peace, it seemed, was never meant for me.

The sharp, lewd laughter of one of the shifters broke through the night. My teeth clenched as I tried to suppress the growing urge to scream. And then, the leader of the group stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over me like I was prey.

"Hehehe, look what we’ve got here!" he sneered, his tone as oily as his expression. "Some little princess with a smoke. You really don’t want to burn down the entire Arrow Brooke town, do you? Especially since you yourself are smoking hot."

Looking at the the group of six people I couldn't help sighing in frustration.

Oh, for Goddess’s sake. His audacity soared higher than the stars. My irritation flared into pure rage. The way he looked at me—with eyes that lingered far too long—made me want to gouge them out and toss them to the dogs.

I wasn’t exactly a woman who would inspire love at first sight. At twenty-nine, my appearance was striking but unconventional. Grey, piercing eyes. Jet-black hair cut unevenly, as though someone had taken a hacksaw to it. A beauty mark near my mouth, wide lips, high cheekbones, and pale skin. My figure wasn’t the curvaceous type that turned heads. My bosom and hips were average, nothing out of the ordinary.

If this garlic-nosed pervert found me appealing, it was less about me and more about his ranking on the perverts’ leaderboard.

Behind him, his lackeys burst into laughter—a harsh, grating sound that grated on my nerves. They were like a pack of hyenas, eager to follow their leader’s every whim.

"Did you give up on growing taller and decide to polish your perverted skills instead?" I said, rolling my eyes. Taking a slow drag from my cigarette, I exhaled the smoke lazily, refusing to meet his gaze.

"You—!"

"Do you even know who you’re talking to?" one of his lackeys growled, baring his teeth.

I smirked. Their anger was a delightful little bonus. I’d always enjoyed riling up those who annoyed me.

"Huh, my bad," I replied mockingly. "Maybe I should grab some lenses to magnify your size, short stuff. Because honestly, you’re not much to look at."

Their rage boiled over as they charged forward, their fangs gleaming in the dim light.

"Tch. Such little self-control," I muttered, flicking my cigarette. "Funny how you had the guts to look at me with those eyes and still can’t keep your temper."

My aim was perfect—the cigarette struck the leader square on his garlic nose.

As they advanced, I steadied myself, preparing for a fight.

"Hey! Stop!"

A deep, commanding voice cut through the chaos, its power reverberating in the air.

We froze, turning toward the source.

And there he was.

The sight of him made my blood race and my heart pound with such intensity it felt like it might burst from my chest. The sheer presence of this man rendered me speechless, my emotions spinning out of control.