Page 39 of For Dear Life

“Happily? How odd.”

Leif looks down at me, which only annoyingly taller people can manage. “I might not have spells or flesh-ripping teeth, but I’d fight any bastard who hurt you.”

“Thank you, Leif, but that won’t be necessary.” I flick my fingers in their direction. “I’m more than capable of dealing with these people.”

“Violet. That’s why I’m offering. Grayson explained what you’re ‘dealing with people’ looked like. If you’re trying to keep out of trouble, best you let me deal with the situation.”

“And let you get into trouble when you’ve shifter elders waiting to snatch you?”

His throat bobs. “Just saying. If I see you tearing into someone’s flesh, I’d intervene.”

I study him. Joke or not? “If I’m tearing into someone’s flesh, intervening would not be a sensible idea. The hybrid Violet is unlikely to differentiate whose flesh, if there’re too many limbs in the mix.”

Leif breaks into a smile. “I was joking.”

“I was not.” I massage my neck. “Looking up at you is uncomfortable. Consider my curiosity piqued and show me this claw machine. Do you need to fight the claw?”

“I suppose.”

“Is that not dangerous?”

He laughs. “Only dangerous to my wallet.”

“The machine steals from you? Is that the game?”

“Oh, Violet,” he chuckles. “And yes, I suppose it does steal.”

How bizarre. I refocus on the shifters while Leif ponders some of the contraptions around me.

Which shifters are these? Not Viggo. If he was here, I would’ve definitely heard him before I set eyes on his delightful self. There’re three, but I only recognize one—an assailant from the park the other night.

Reaching out with my hearing rather than into their minds, I pick up the shifters’ conversation. Dull. Something about cars. They swap places in the fake leather seats, where loud revving noises and an accompanying irritating male voice emanate from the machine the steering wheels are attached to.

I turn to Leif, who’s midway through an explanation about how something works that I’m not listening to. “How many shifters do you know?”

“More than I’d like. Why?”

“Do you know that one who barely has any hair?” I indicate the burly guy who needs to buy clothes in a larger size—and who has wounds healing along his bicep and the side of his face.

“No. Like I say, I keep away from shifters.”

“Do you have your pendant? The one Grayson took from Logan?”

“Yes, I haven’t taken it off. No way would I leave campus unless wearing the pendant. Why?”

The shifter Rowan attacked stares at me in a rather aggressive way; now I’ve no choice but to approach him. “Wait here, Leif,” I say.

“Violet. What if—”

But I don’t catch the end of the sentence, already approaching the shifter from the park. He takes a look behind me. “Where’s your witch groupie tonight?”

“Practicing spells for the next time he meets you.” He’s chewing gum, a habit I find absolutely disgusting. The sound alone is like nails scraping on a chalkboard. I drop a look to his ankles. “Did Rowan burn you during your unwarranted attack on us?”

“Nah. I’m not scared of you.”

“Yet you ran?”

“I left.”

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