Page 4 of Shifting Hearts

It takes everything I have inside me to break the connection between us and stumble back downstairs. My control on my beast is slipping and I can feel the change coming over me with every step I take away from her.

I need to get away. I can’t take the chance at hurting her, at letting my bear hurt her when my control finally snaps. She is my fated mate, and I will never allow anyone to harm her.

Especially not me.

Chapter Three

Akasha LaVey

First Day Jitters

For my first shift at The Gin Room, Ari and I go in an hour early. She wants to introduce me to the staff and show me around before it gets busy. Starting a new job on a Friday is a little strange to me but I’m not about to argue. Tonight will be fast and furious, a trial by fire.

Our uniform is made to accentuate the curves of a woman. A blood red strappy top with a black corset-like sleeveless overcoat, black skinny jeans, and charcoal flats complete the ensemble. I feel both sexy and comfortable which is another strange combination that works. I have only been in the city for a few hours and already I feel like a changed person.

Ari and I walk the three blocks from the apartment building to the bar. As we walk, I can’t help but take in everything around me. Everything is larger than life and completely unfamiliar but beautiful in a way I would struggle to explain.

When we reach The Gin Room, I stare up at the ten-story red brick building after we walk down a long alley.

“The building has been in Aldron’s family since 1818, when his great-great-great-great-grandfather came over from Europe,” Ari tells me. “Originally, it was a factory or something, but it was empty for a long time. Aldron converted it into The Gin Room on the ground floor and apartments on most of the other floors, although there are also some offices spaces. The top floor is where he lives.”

“That’s kind of cool. The history and all that.”

“It is,” she says with a smile before leading me inside.

The interior is dimly lit, and it takes my eyes a moment toadjust but once they do, I can’t hold back my gasp. It is massive and luxurious, not at all what you’d expect from the outside. There are seating areas with leather couches, aged wine barrels with high seating, and a massive bar running down the back with more seating. Even from here, I can see that the bar is a dark cherry wood with a stunning polished sheen.

Mirrors and frames with black-and-white photographs line the walls, all with gilded frames that look insanely expensive.

“Let me introduce you,” Ari says, taking my elbow and leading me to a table full of men. “This is Knox and Cruz. The twins are here to keep people from causing problems.”

“Hello,” they say in unison, and I can’t help but smile.

“This is Nyland.” She gestures to the other man at the table. “He is our manager. He is Aldron’s right-hand man and can help you with anything.”

I smile at him as well but all he does is grunt. He doesn’t even look at me, instead keeping his gaze focused on his phone.

Arina leads me across the room and behind the bar. She shows me where everything is and explains the single signature drink, The Bees Knees. Everything seems simple enough and just like any other bar I’ve worked in.

“You’ll do fine,” Arina says with a grin I can’t help returning.

Soon enough the first customers trickle in. Three waitresses, in identical uniforms to ours, serve the lounging areas, but all the other patrons order from the bar. Energy thrums through the room and I feel I am soaking it in through my skin.

The customers are friendly and welcoming, introducing themselves and chatting while I get their drinks. Coming from a small town, I always assumed people in the city would be aloof and disconnected from one another, but everyone here seems toknow each other. With all the different faces and conversations, the time passes quickly.

Three women stand at the bar, drinking shots, celebrating something. They laugh and chat, often including me in their conversation in one way or another. The center woman is slightly drunker than her friends and I know I will have to cut them off sooner rather than later. The moment the thought crosses my mind, I hear the crash of glass as she drops her cocktail on the surface of the bar.

I don’t know how she did it but there is a lot of blood pouring out of her hand. Grabbing a clean towel, I wrap it around her hand and apply pressure.

“Get the first aid kit,” I call to Arina only to see her already holding the little white box with the red cross in her hands.

The other patrons are watching us intently. My hands are holding the towel firmly around her wounded hand. For a split-second I wonder if I am applying too much pressure as the tips of my fingers tingle.

Slowly, I pull the towel away, hoping to clear enough blood to see where she cut herself. Shock courses through me as I clean her hand. There is no wound. How the hell is that possible? I turn her hand over again and again, looking for the injury that caused her to bleed all over the surface of the bar, but I can’t find one.

My gaze collides with Arina’s who just shrugs before stowing the kit beneath the bar and continuing toward her waiting customers.

“Thanks, Doll,” the woman says in a sultry voice, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

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