Page 295 of Evil Hearts

Definitely not where I saw myself ending up, but it could be worse.

I’m not sure how, exactly, but the thought makes me feel better.

“You’ve got five minutes,” Sparky snaps behind me, and I roll my eyes.

“Do they have an outfit request?” I don’t even bother turning around. He can stare at my bare ass while he talks to me. Serves him right for being such a prick.

“No.”

I tilt my head to the side in thought, still staring at the black and silver items hanging there. Nothing specific means that I can choose anything, and they can’t complain. Chances are it won’t stay on long anyway—it’s hard to transform when I’m constricted in leather.

Today, I’m feeling unusually carefree. It might be the nerve Sparky got on earlier, or I might just be growing numb to it all after doing the same thing for so many years, but I don’t care about the client’s opinion like I normally do. They should have been more specific if they didn’t want the most boring outfit I could conjure.

“Jeans it is,” I say with a smirk and dive for the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, bearing Sparky my entire asshole without regret.

I pull on a T-shirt with my most worn pair of jeans, and slip on my only pair of shoes before glancing at the mirror on the wall. Eyeing my reflection, I run my fingers through my short hair to make it lay somewhat flat.

My human clothes are familiar enough. When I’m in my room—which is most of the time—I lounge in them, but I’ve never worn them to meet with a client. Maybe they’ll approve. Or maybe they’ll complain to the mistress.

I guess we’ll find out shortly.

Sparky grunts from the doorway.

“That’s enough, Fucker.” He clearly enjoys using my name as an insult because he hisses a laugh when he speaks. “You know our clients don’t like to be kept waiting.”

I groan and drag my feet across the cement, pausing at the barred door. “Yeah, yeah. We must uphold the professional nature of the business. Blah blah blah.”

Sparky’s eyes zero in on me and narrow. His rage is almost palpable, and there are only a few metal bars separating us, but I’m not too worried. He can’t kill me—one of the benefits tobeing immortal—and if he injures me, the mistress will handle him.

Quite frankly, I’m more afraid of her anyway.

“Hands,” he says through gritted teeth.

Just like every other time I’m allowed to leave my room, I shove my fists through a gap in the bars and roll my eyes while Sparky slips silver shackles onto my wrists, locking them in place with one of his monster claws. Once secured, the shackles shrink and conform to the exact shape of my wrists. A soft, humming magic kicks on inside them, preventing me from utilizing my shapeshifter abilities. Even after years of being trapped here, I still don’t understand the tomfuckery behind them, nor how the same magic extends to my room.

They take no chances when it comes to keeping me locked up, even though it would be impossible for me to escape even if I managed to slip one of the guards. The entire mansion is crawling with hulking monsters, all waiting for an opportunity to skin me alive. Unfortunately for them, the mistress forbids it. She has to keep me healthy and safe for her clients, after all. If I made it out of the mansion by some miracle, there are a myriad of other dangers lurking outside the mansion doors, and my human scent is a death sentence here.

Not to mention, I can’t create a portal back to the mortal realm.

I’ve had plenty of time to ponder it all, and I’ve yet to come up with a viable plan to escape. Until then, I have to keep my head down and do what and who I’m told.

With a flip of a lever in the hall, Sparky releases the metal door and pulls it open to let me out.

There are four other rooms in this hallway, all with identical barred doors and similar interiors, but none of them are occupied. A few years ago, an old warlock occupied the room at the end, but from what I heard, he challenged a guard and got himself killed.

That’s another reason why I’m content to keep plotting my escape, rather than doing something rash. At least one person has tried and failed to reclaim his freedom.

Sparky locks the door to my room again and gestures for me to walk ahead, which I do so obediently. I’ve stalled long enough.

It’s time to meet the client.

Chapter Two

Syn

I’ve never beendrawn to the idea of entertaining a human partner. Their lack of fangs and claws has always seemed boring. Disappointing even. However, since Mistress Raiine let slip that she has a shapeshifter working for her, I’ve been unable to get the thought out of my mind.

Enthralled by fantasies of countless appendages and a physique that can change in the blink of an eye, I’ve lost more time than I care to admit daydreaming about paying the shapeshifter a visit. It’s embarrassing really, but here I am, poised at the entrance of the mansion, only minutes from making my delusions a reality.

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