3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

B old

If my ass wasn't pressed against the back seat of this Uber, my tail would be thumping with nerves as we drive farther from the Zone than I've ever been. Mr. Sinclair invited me to an interview dinner at his house. I'll meet his daughter, see if we're what he called "a good fit."

I was nine when we Others fell to Earth. One moment I was at the annual An'Wa Gathering of the Clans, climbing the tallest tree in the encampment on a dare from some friends. The next moment, a strand as thin as a spider web and as strong as a steel beam shot down from the sky, wrapped around me, and yanked me on a terrifying journey through the darkness until it dropped me onto the burning sands of the Mojave.

I arrived with no family, no friends—just the clothes on my back. It was devastating. For the most part, I've tried to forget the traumatic months that followed. They were too bleak to want to remember, but I recall the worst of it: the heat, the tents, the soldiers pointing their guns at me, the confusion, the grief… and the loneliness.

Then one day, Grandmother collected me. I'd never met her before. Grandmother is a term of respect for all elders. She was a middle-aged wolven who, once she got over the shock of being torn from her husband, decided to foster all the wolven orphans who needed her.

When the military transported us from the desert to the Integration Zone, the humans in charge gave her an apartment in one of the worst tenements in the fenced area and we became one big, raucous, loving family. In the quarter of a century since then, I've lived within the ten square block Zone except for a few random security missions outside the barbed-wire fence.

As the Uber navigates the unfamiliar streets, I find myself marveling at the stark contrast between the Zone and the manicured lawns and gleaming storefronts I'm traveling through. Even the air smells different out here, although most of the odor is my Uber driver, who's none too fresh.

When we pull into the circular drive of what could only be described as a mansion, even the driver must be impressed, because he mutters, "Holy shit, bro.".

One thought pounds in my head. I don't belong here.

Grandmother's determined voice rings loudly in my head, Your name is Bold. When you know what you need to do, do it.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself as I exit the car and approach the front door. Mr. Sinclair greets me warmly, but I can't shake the feeling of being utterly out of place as he leads me through the grand foyer and into the dining room. Crystal chandeliers cast a sparkling light over the long mahogany table, set with more silverware at each place setting than I've ever seen. I suppress a surge of panic—which fork am I supposed to use first?

My pulse quickens as Jasmine enters, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders and her intelligent brown eyes assessing me carefully. She moves with an effortless grace that her online pictures couldn't capture.

As a server ladles soup, Jasmine's melodic voice breaks the silence. "So Bold, I had my heart in my throat as I watched you climb that stack of orcs on the nightly news. Wow! That was heroic."

Clearing my throat, I choose a spoon at random. "I didn't give it a thought—there wasn't time. I just did what I had to do."

"Well, it certainly looked like you saved that woman's life."

"It was nothing." I shrug, trying to downplay the attention. My tail swishes through the opening at the back of my chair, betraying my discomfort at being in the spotlight.

"Mara, the woman I rescued, is doing well." Should I mention that she's moved to the Zone to live with Krull, the orc who pulled her into the embrace the news replayed on an endless loop? No. That would be gossip. Inappropriate.

Jasmine smiles, those dark eyes studying me. She's pretty, with her deep mahogany eyes and glossy hair, but the keen intelligence that shines through her expression is the most captivating thing about her.

She sets down her spoon, and I relax when I see I picked the right utensil. "Dad told me he explained the job duties to you. After watching you on the news, I assume you have the skills to protect me. Would you… be happy outside the Zone? You've lived there all your life, right?"

Her question floors me. I've never actually had a job interview before, but I'd assumed it would be a one-way street—that Sinclair and his daughter would grill me with questions about my skills but wouldn't be interested in me in a personal way.

At my obvious hesitation, she tries a different tack. "Tell me, what made you decide to come to this interview?" Her poise as she politely asks direct questions is impressive.

"The free meal, Ms. Sinclair," I say with a straight face. I flash her a toothy grin, hoping my fangs show prominently in the gleaming light.

It takes them both a beat too long to realize I was joking, but their eventual laughter cuts the ice.

Her dad sits back as Jasmine conducts a brief interview, reviewing my duties, which are pretty clear-cut. I'll be taking her to her office and back while ensuring her safety.

Jasmine leans forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, what would you say is your greatest strength as a bodyguard, Bold? Aside from your impressive orc-climbing skills, of course. And please, call me Jazz."

I can't help but grin, my tail swishing playfully behind me. "Well, I've been told my sense of humor is a lethal weapon. I can diffuse any tense situation with a well-timed joke."

Her laughter fills the room, a melodic sound that eases the tension in my shoulders. "Is that so? I'll have to put that to the test."

"Your dad mentioned you recently testified about abuse at a wilderness therapy program?" I ask, my brow furrowing. "That must have taken a lot of courage, standing up to a company that condones wide-scale abuse of children."

Her smile turns wry, a hint of something darker lurking beneath the surface. "Let's just say I have some personal experience with the topic. Which is why I'm not going to let a bunch of corporate bullies intimidate me into silence."

"Sounds like you've got guts." I can't help but wonder how a woman born to immense wealth wound up with steel in her backbone and such a clear sense of right and wrong. "I respect that."

Mr. Sinclair clears his throat, drawing our attention. "Well, this has been an enlightening conversation. Jasmine, why don't we take some time to think it over and—"

Jasmine cuts him off, her voice firm. "No need, Dad. I've heard enough." She turns to me, her smile warm and inviting. "If you're willing, Bold, the job is yours. When can you start?"