Chapter 1

I am bored. When will we be leaving this horrendous place?

Rhys grimaced, trying to ignore his griffin as it ruffled its wing feathers, as if expecting that Rhys might shift into its form at any moment and take to the skies.

It's not horrendous, he informed it. It's a very nice café. So I'm told.

Perhaps the griffin had a point after all, he thought as he looked down at his six-dollar flat white. Six dollars?!

Maybe it was just because the Agency offices had a pretty good coffee machine in the kitchen and he'd become spoiled, but six dollars did seem like a lot to pay for coffee. And was it even good coffee? Rhys took a contemplative sip, and found he couldn't tell.

It is brown water, his griffin informed him loftily. What were you expecting?

Perhaps both he and his griffin just weren't cut out for the finer things in life.

Still, Rhys thought, looking around, this was a nice café, wasn't it? There were paintings on the walls, flowers on the tables. The staff looked busy, but happy. The tip jar seemed full, despite tipping being an optional extra around these parts. So those were all good signs, right? He could relax here, right?

No, his griffin screeched, rearing back. Do you think we can relax at a time like this? We must remain vigilant for the slightest hint of a disturbance. It let out a low, contemptuous snort. And I do not know why you think we should be relaxing in any case, while our good name is being tarnished.

Rhys sighed inwardly. Do you think I'm happy about being suspended from my job? 'Cause I'm not, he told it. But right now, trying to do anything other than accept it isn't exactly going to help my case.

Evidently, the griffin did not understand – or at least, it was choosing not to understand – if the hot rush of annoyance through Rhys's blood was anything to go by.

But he couldn't entirely blame the griffin for its mood. They were creatures of action, after all, hot-tempered and restless. They really weren't the kind of animal that was especially suited to sitting in cafés, sipping coffee, and trying not to eavesdrop on a couple of young, fashionable mothers who were loudly discussing the trials of finding a decent gardener.

And honestly…

And honestly, right now, Rhys was so bored he almost wanted to go over to them and offer to mow their lawns or trim their gardenias for them himself, for free, just so he'd have something to do.

He'd never been so inactive. He'd grown up with his brother Hector and his sister Evie on a cattle station in the middle of nowhere, and there had always been more than enough to do out there, from fence repairs to feeding cattle to driving a few hundred kilometers down the road to pick up supplies. And then, of course, he'd followed Hector in joining the Agency, which was about as much action as he could handle most days. This… this sitting in cafés having a nice time was something that simply didn't come naturally to him, and Rhys was pretty sure he didn't like it.

But really, it wasn't like he actually had a choice about any of this. He could sit around in a café, or he could sit around in a library, or he could sit around in his apartment. Because his work was pretty much his life, and being on suspension was wreaking havoc with his usual behavioral patterns.

Besides, even if he had had other things to do, he wouldn't have exactly felt like doing them. Being on suspension was putting a pretty strong damper on his ability to feel footloose and fancy free – to put it mildly.

Especially since he'd completely and utterly ruined another agent's mission by his actions.

Rhys grimaced. He knew that he'd done the right thing, and that his actions had absolutely been justified given the information he'd had at hand – but it still wasn't a great feeling. Especially since his bosses had come down on him like a ton of bricks for following protocol and extracting his fellow agent, Aaron Merrett, from a dangerous situation.

He knew Aaron pretty well from their days at the training academy. They'd both been in the same class, and so they'd spent years together training to become field agents for the Agency, a tiny, extremely selective law enforcement agency that dealt entirely with shifter crimes – the things that human law enforcement couldn't hope to investigate properly.

It was pretty hard to track drug dealers when they could turn into snakes and slither off, or gun runners who could seemingly vanish into thin air, though really they'd just turned into vultures and flown away, leaving the human cops helpless. You couldn't exactly snap handcuffs on a bird and haul it to the station.

Worse still, there were organizations that traded in rare shifter types, using the shifters like slaves and their powers for their own gain, or who forced shifters to commit every kind of crime, knowing the chances of getting caught were slim.

Shifter crimes needed shifter laws – and that was where Rhys and the Agency came in.

Or at least I did . I guess we'll see after today whether I ever get to do any of that again.

Aaron had spent years infiltrating a black market organization, going deep undercover to meet with the nastiest customers out there. A hell of a lot of time, money, and resources had gone into the project.

And then Rhys had gotten some intel saying that Aaron's cover had been blown, and that he needed extraction as soon as possible.

Clearly, somewhere along the line someone's wires had gotten very crossed, because apparently that hadn't been the case at all – and so, when Rhys had turned up to get him out, things had gone to hell in a handbasket very quickly, and both of them had barely gotten out with their lives.

Rhys had expected that there would be an inquiry – there always was, after these kinds of things. What he hadn't expected was just how thoroughly the Agency would turn on him. It went way beyond the expected lines of questioning, barely stopping short of outright blame.

Aaron himself had at least seemed somewhat apologetic while testifying against Rhys, but the investigation panel had been outright cold, making accusations of hot-headedness and impulsivity – which Rhys knew were not exactly his strongest points, but in this instance, he had one hundred percent acted appropriately. The issue in this instance had been bad intel, but the Agency simply hadn't wanted to hear it.

If I didn't know better, I'd think that someone in the Agency was setting me up.

It wasn't a pleasant thought to be having. He'd dedicated his entire adult life to the Agency. He'd thought that the Agency would be at least somewhat dedicated to him.

But what had cut the most deeply during the investigation wasn't the way the panel were interrogating him – it was the way that those he most respected had been acting toward him. His immediate superior, Robb Lockwood, and his mentor from his academy days, James Eyre, had both been present at the hearing, and neither had stepped forward to defend his character or his skills.

Despite the fact he'd spent the last several years working for Robb, when Rhys had caught his eye during the hearing, he hadn't seen anything familiar in it – Robb's gaze was as cold as if he'd never seen Rhys before in his life. This had left Rhys shaken more than anything else that had happened. He'd thought that he could trust Robb with his life… but he was starting to wonder whether this was the case.

And James had just said a bunch of useless horseshit like Pull your head in, and Don't run your mouth, and Stay out of fucking trouble, okay? Even the somewhat more supportive statements, like You'll go far if you can keep your temper under control were rubbing him the wrong way. He'd had ice in his veins when he busted Aaron out, and he'd interpreted the information he was given in exactly the way he'd been trained. His temper had nothing to do with any of this.

His fingers tightened around the handle of his tiny coffee cup, even as his griffin screeched in fury and confusion.

None of that was our doing! the griffin cried out, its sense of justice in a state of outrage at what was going on. Why are we getting the blame for something we did not do?!

Because we're the ones who look like we fucked up, Rhys told it. We said our piece – we told them everything we had to say. Now we have to just wait and see if they listen.

Disgusting. His griffin ruffled its wings. Is this how pathetic you've become? Waiting around for others to tell you your fate?

Rhys grimaced. Well, apparently so. He didn't think it was pathetic so much as doing his damn job . Or trying to. If anyone would listen.

His griffin took his silence as a signal that it was a victor in this conversation, and Rhys decided to let it think that this was, in fact, the case.

He sipped glumly at his cold coffee, forcing his fingers to relax before they broke the cup, and stared out the window. The griffin helpfully provided him with an – extraordinarily detailed – fantasy of picking the entire disciplinary board up with its talons and dropping them into the Echidna Chasm, and he almost managed to crack a smile, but never quite made it.

He was drawn out of his morose thoughts by the sound of his phone vibrating on the table in front of him. Rhys grabbed at it, but he already knew it wouldn't be any news from Robb or James about his suspension or his future at the Agency.

u want me to come back, then?

Rhys grimaced at the message from his brother, Hector.

nah, he texted back. won't make any diff.

Which was true, but still. Rhys still knew Hector meant what he'd asked, and he was grateful for it.

Hector was in the United States right now with his mate, Myrtle, and their daughter Ruby, meeting Myrtle's family for the first time. Ruby, an alicorn who'd hatched from an egg Hector and Myrtle had recovered from the bikie gang who were trying to sell it as an exotic animal specimen, had only recently learned to shift into her human form after having been stuck in the shape of a tiny, winged, horned horse for the last few years – which meant, at last, she could spend more time out in the open.

And it meant that Hector and Myrtle could actually buy her a plane ticket and fly her across the world to meet the rest of Myrtle's family in the United States. Ruby looked like an ordinary girl when she was in her human form – albeit one with extremely striking pale, silvery hair and light blue eyes, which, from what Rhys knew, seemed to be traits that were shared with all alicorns when they were in their human forms – and at last, she was able to live a life that wasn't hidden away, in case the secret of her existence got out.

Hector and Myrtle's younger daughter, Opal – another alicorn – had been adopted more recently after her egg was found in an abandoned opal mine. As she was so young, she was still unable to shift from her alicorn form, and so she was staying with Evie and Evie's wife, Penny, while Ruby and the others went to meet Myrtle's family.

From all accounts, Opal was handling it remarkably well – which wasn't really that surprising, given that Evie and Penny lived on a vast farm in the country that was probably baby alicorn heaven.

Also, they both spoiled her completely rotten.

Rhys felt his mood lighten a little as he scrolled up through his messages while he waited for Hector to text him back, looking back over some photos Hector had sent him. They looked so happy – Hector, Myrtle and Ruby at the beach with their wide, joyous smiles, holding up seashells; Hector, Myrtle and Ruby, her face covered in spaghetti sauce, eating out at a restaurant; Hector, Myrtle and Ruby camping, sitting and roasting marshmallows around an open fire.

If he was being honest, Rhys had to say he'd never given much thought to finding his mate. In some ways, it had seemed like more of a hassle than anything else – if he had a mate to worry about, how was he supposed to focus on his job? It was an extra complication in his life that he just didn't need. He had enough stuff going on without romance and a mate bond to contend with.

But…

But, looking through the photos Hector had sent him of his ridiculously happy family, combined with the fact that each of his teammates had found their mates – Callan with Ella, Euan with Delilah, and now, Trent – Trent! The biggest playboy of them all, a family man! – with Zina – Rhys had to admit…

… It looks kind of nice, he thought wistfully, as, without even really meaning to, he opened his camera roll and started scrolling through photo after photo of smiling faces and happiness.

His fingers hovered over the screen for a moment. Despite not being the type to let others know what he was feeling – beyond when he was feeling pissed off or happy, he supposed – part of him did want to call up his other teammates and talk for a bit, let off some tension, even if it was disguised as idle chit-chat.

But he knew that he would endanger the investigation into his conduct if he talked with his teammates – and, more importantly, he risked getting them in trouble, too, which was the last thing he wanted.

They'd all already contacted him off the record, one way or another, to let him know that he had their full support, which he appreciated more than he could fully put into words. But he couldn't risk jeopardizing the process. No – for now, he had to go it alone.

Given that Hec was family, though, he felt that surely at least the Agency had to let him talk to him , so long as it was strictly family talk. And if they didn't want him doing that… well, they could get stuffed.

Putting down his phone, Rhys shook his head.

I'm only thinking that because I'm filthy about what's happening at work, he told himself. And I should be filthy! It's not fair at all!

As if on cue, his phone buzzed again, Hector's name appearing on the screen.

well, fine. i'll stay here then. but try and pull ur head in a bit, yeah?

Rhys snorted, tossing the phone aside as soon as he'd read the message. Like Hector had never been in trouble in his life! Who the hell was he to tell Rhys to pull his head in?!

Your older brother, his griffin reminded him disapprovingly. That is who he is. A griffin with a mate and two children.

Rhys ignored it. Was there anyone on earth who wasn't feeling the need to lecture him right now? The career he'd worked his arse off for was on a knife's edge over something that hadn't even been something he could control, and all Hector could do was tell him to pull his head in?

He did offer to fly back from the US if you needed it, a small, treacherous voice reminded him, but Rhys ignored that too. He was too angry right now to even think about it – and in any case, he'd been right when he'd told Hector it wouldn't make any difference. If Robb and the others decided he was screwed, then he was screwed. Hector messing up his holiday wouldn't change anything.

Anger flared through him. He knew he couldn't sit here brooding, but he'd already exercised for about three hours today, rising at five-thirty a.m. to run around the park near his apartment in the unrelenting rain, and then done weights until even his griffin's strength was completely exhausted. It had brought him relief from his thoughts for a while, but he couldn't spend twenty-four hours a day at the gym.

"You look like someone just stole your car and drove it into the harbor."

Irritated, Rhys glanced up at the sound of a voice from above him. The last thing he needed right now was a nosy parker telling him to cheer up – they didn't know anything about him, his life, or anything else.

The stranger – a man around Rhys's own age, with dark hair and wearing what was clearly an expensive suit – didn't seem even a little perturbed by the scowl Rhys gave him. If anything, his own smile got even wider.

"Bad day?" he asked, when Rhys said nothing, before he slid into the chair opposite him.

Great. Maybe he's recruiting for his sales team, or he's in a cult, Rhys thought, staring at him as the man, seeming completely at his ease, made himself comfortable in the café chair.

"Was there something you wanted?" Rhys asked after a few moments of silence, when it became clear that the man himself wasn't going to tell Rhys why, exactly, he'd decided to take a seat here at his table in a half-empty café.

Oh, Rhys suddenly thought. Unless…

"Right," he said, as comprehension dawned. "Look. Let's just get this out of the way – I'm flattered, but I'm sorry, I don't swing that way. But you're a good-looking bloke, you won't have any trouble finding someone who is interested."

The man let out a low, amused chuckle. "Oh, no, Mr. Richardson. That's very nice of you, but don't misunderstand me – that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

Immediately, Rhys's ears pricked up – along with his griffin's.

"How d'you know my name?" he demanded, leaning forward. That wasn't normal. And, now that he was paying more attention, Rhys could sense a few more presences behind him too – glancing over his shoulder, he right away clocked two other men sitting at a nearby table. Not that they seemed to be trying to be stealthy, since they nodded and smiled at him when he looked over at them.

What the fuck is this?!

Turning back to the man across from him, Rhys didn't bother to conceal his anger. "You got something to say to me? Or a bone to pick?"

Well, there was no end of guys who had a bone to pick with him, Rhys thought, tensing his muscles. He couldn't exactly shift here – or, really, get into a fight – but that had probably been these guys' design all along.

"No bone, Mr. Richardson," the man said, holding up his hands peaceably. "Just a conversation. And if you don't like what I have to say, then I'll leave."

Rhys severely doubted that, but all he could do for now was bristle. He glanced at his phone, but it wouldn't do him much good. The only good thing about any of this was if these guys cared even slightly about maintaining their cover – whatever it was they might be covering for – they were about as trapped as he was in terms of being able to do anything out of the ordinary, unless they wanted to draw a lot of attention to themselves.

And are they shifters or not? Rhys thought, as he glanced again at the men sitting at the next table. He'd thought they were at first after he'd first sensed their presences, but now he wasn't so sure.

They felt… strange. Like shadows that faded in and out at the edges of his consciousness, there one minute and the next not at all.

But surely that means they have to be something, Rhys thought, growing more uneasy and confused with every passing moment. I just don't know what.

"I won't beat around the bush," the first man said, with a light shrug. "I represent a recruitment agency. A very, very exclusive recruitment agency."

Rhys stared at him. A recruitment agency?

It wasn't hard to understand what the man was talking about, however – private companies were always trying to scoop up people like him, in the same way private security companies often went out of their way to hire ex-army, special forces, or spy agency members, though usually it didn't happen until after they retired and were looking for easier work. Rhys wasn't retired yet – or at least, he hoped not, though of course things were a bit dicey just now – so why was this guy coming after him?

And how did he even know I was… okay, well, I'm not actually fired yet, so I won't think ‘fired', but how did he know I might be?

"Sorry," Rhys growled, feeling his griffin's hackles rising. "Not interested. Maybe go recruit the door to find your way out."

The man simply let out a light laugh. "Sorry, that was a little abrupt of me. I didn't even introduce myself yet. My name is –"

"Like I said, I'm not interested," Rhys repeated, his voice rising a little. He could see the fashionable mothers at the table by the window glancing his way, and, with effort, he lowered his voice. "Sorry. But for the moment, I'm happy where I am. You got the wrong end of the stick. Somehow."

He wanted to ask the man – whose name he'd cut himself off from hearing – how exactly he'd known Rhys might be on the market soon, but he resisted. Probably the man wouldn't tell him anyway, and Rhys knew from hearing about it from other agents that these ‘recruitment' companies had eyes and ears everywhere. It didn't necessarily have to be anything too sinister.

"You haven't even heard our offer yet," the man persisted, still with his small smile on his face. "Believe me – we have clients who'll pay a lot of money for a man with your skills and abilities, and they offer very attractive salaries – very attractive. As in, not only you, but your children and your children's children set up for life kind of money."

Rhys wanted to roll his eyes, but he held himself back. Maybe, if he'd been someone different, he would have been tempted – and to be honest, his griffin did perk up a little at the mention of how comfortable his family, if he ever had one, would be.

It would be providing for our mate, and our children, it pointed out. Our mate deserves everything we can possibly give her. More than we can possibly give her! And our brood of chicks, too.

We won't be having chicks, Rhys told it. We'd be having babies. And aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself? We don't even have a mate, let alone chi— babies to worry about.

He briefly considered trying to explain to the griffin that money wasn't really worth selling your soul, and in any case, he hoped the woman who was his mate – wherever and who ever she was – would want a man who cared more about morality and integrity than about just getting money any way he could. Rhys knew that most private security companies only cared about the highest bidder and their own bottom line – they'd work for whoever had the cash to pay, no matter what their goals were.

But in the end, he decided not to bother – his griffin, while it could be sensible about some things, was probably going to be blinded by the opportunity to give their future mate anything anyone could ever dream of.

Rhys would have been lying if he said that idea – if nothing else about the offer – didn't make him a little wistful, but then he shook himself out of it.

"Sounds great, but I don't think I'm a good fit for the job." Rhys kept his voice firm, not that it seemed like this guy was going to be easily dissuaded.

"Oh, I don't know about that," the man said, sounding vaguely amused. "We take all sorts. And our clients are not as… bureaucratic, you could say, as some places. Many former agents find they're much happier – and richer – after they make the switch. But we would have to get a bit of assurance they'd be getting value for money."

Frowning, Rhys narrowed his eyes. Is this guy saying what I think he's saying?

"It wouldn't be much," the man continued blithely after a moment or two. "Just something small to prove you are who we say you are. Perhaps just a little information, or something to show –"

He is saying what I think he's saying!

The rest of his words were drowned out as Rhys's temper finally exploded. He didn't know if this guy was especially stupid, or whether the people he'd dealt with in the past were stupid, or what, but right now, Rhys could tell immediately what he was doing.

"You're asking me to pass you classified information as part of this so-called recruitment process," he growled, cutting the man off mid-sentence. "I assume that's so you can say I'm compromised once I give it to you, and threaten to tell my boss unless I do what you say?"

Through his anger, Rhys was mildly gratified to see that the man briefly flushed bright red with anger.

Got it right, then, Rhys thought. Does that approach actually work on anyone?

He realized a moment later, however, that his own temper had gotten the better of him – if he'd been thinking with his head instead of with his temper, he would have let this guy say his piece, nodded, told him he'd think it over and then run straight back to the Agency to report it, in case they tried this on anyone with a little less integrity.

… So maybe he wasn't, in fact, in any position to be throwing stones.

"That's not what I was suggesting at all, Mr. Richardson," the man managed to get out through his incredibly clenched jaw. "But I can see you're not interested in our generous offer. In that case, I'll leave you to your coffee, and whatever remains of your… well, I suppose you could call it a ‘career' if you're not being too fussy about it. Good day."

Rhys didn't bother to answer – Who even actually says ‘good day'?! – but half of that was out of irritation at himself for being so quick to anger.

Story of my life.

The man stood with as much dignity as he could muster, jerking his head to his two goons sitting at the next table in the universal signal for ‘we're done here'.

Rhys watched them go from the corner of his eye. They hadn't even ordered a coffee – so they were rude on top of being unethical.

Speaking of…

Rhys sighed as he looked down at the lukewarm remains of his own flat white, before quickly sculling it down. He may as well get his six dollars' worth.

Despite the fact he hadn't really gotten anything useful out of those guys, Rhys knew he should still head to work and tell Robb – or someone else who he was allowed to speak to while he was suspended – about what had happened. They needed to know, so they could keep an ear to the ground in the future in case these guys tried this on again.

And then maybe I could hit the gym again… or go for a jog… maybe I could call Evie and ask if she and Penny mind me coming up to the station to hang around for a bit…

The last thought perked him up somewhat. There were always jobs that needed doing around the vast property Evie ran with Penny, and so he could at least say he was being of some use to somebody if he went up there.

Yes, his griffin said, stretching its wings. If it means you will cease this infernal moping, then this is definitely what we should do.

Rhys ignored it – mainly – though he had to admit it kind of had a point about the moping.

He pushed the door to the café open, shaking his head. Sitting around drinking coffee and going to the gym for hours at a time clearly wasn't doing anything for his mood. And it certainly wasn't going to change anything. He may as well get out of town for a while to clear his head.

He looked up as he stepped outside, light drops of rain spattering on his face. The whole damn city seemed to be doing its best to oppress him further, the low, ominous clouds and their ever-present threat of rain pressing down on him like a physical weight. It was the opposite of what he had grown up with – the endless expanse of the cattle station, the infinite skies of a pure, deep blue that you just couldn't see anywhere else. The clearest summer skies in the city had nothing on what you could see in the Outback. You could be out there and feel like there literally wasn't anyone else in the whole world.

… Just how long had it been since he'd last been home?

All right, fine, he told his griffin as he cut down an alleyway, taking a shortcut to get back to his boxy apartment, which was mainly empty – Rhys couldn't really say he was a homey type, and he didn't spend all that much time at home anyway. We'll go call Evie and ask if we can come up and make a nuisance of ourselves.

The griffin, however, didn't respond with the happy crooning and feather-puffing he would have expected. Instead, it seemed to be the one ignoring him for a change.

Something's wrong.

Rhys blinked, but then his own human mind caught up with what the griffin had already sensed: Danger.

He glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, someone was following him.

Rhys knew who they were immediately: one of the men who'd been sitting at the table across from him in the café. He hadn't gotten a good look at their faces, but he hadn't needed to. The man following him down the alleyway now just felt the same, that same weird is he a shifter or not? feeling, fading in and out at the edge of his senses.

Okay, seems like someone doesn't like to take no for an answer… Rhys thought grimly. But somehow, given how much his griffin's sense for danger was going off, he didn't think the men were here now to renew their offer.

Sure enough, when he turned back to look in front of him again, there stood two more men, blocking his exit.

They cannot stop us from going where we will, his griffin cried in outrage. How dare they even try?!

Rhys was inclined to agree with it, but he also knew this wouldn't exactly be the best place to shift. Even if this alleyway was kind of secluded, only backing onto restaurant and café delivery doors and lined with nothing but dumpsters and milk crates, it was still the middle of the day in a bustling city. Someone would see him – and Rhys definitely didn't think he could pass himself off as an especially large bird.

Still, if that's my only option, he thought, then I'll just have to do what I can.

"Ah, Mr. Richardson, we meet again."

Rhys tried not to roll his eyes at the sound of the familiar voice – though he hadn't actually gotten the man's name. And now seemed like a kind of awkward time to ask, when the guy was clearly in the middle of trying to sound like the villain from a cheesy action movie.

Rhys hated it when guys did that.

"Yeah, we saw each other five minutes ago," he replied, balling his fists by his sides. "And I'm pretty sure I remember telling you I wasn't interested in your little offer."

The dark-haired man, still not a wrinkle in his expensive suit, only smiled.

"Yes, I do remember," he said, his tone caustic. "And that's where we have a problem."

Oh, so he really doesn't like taking no for an answer. Well, there were only three of them, Rhys thought – not the best odds, but definitely not the worst he'd ever faced either. And he was a griffin . These guys – whatever they were – would be making a mistake to think it was an easy task to take a griffin down.

"We have a problem?" Rhys asked, cocking his head. "I was under the impression we left things on a pretty friendly note, didn't we?"

The man chuckled. "I'm afraid not. If you're not going to accept, then I'm afraid I have some different orders. So I'm going to ask you one more time – are you sure you won't take up my generous offer?"

Rhys was about to tell him Of course not, you absolute drongo, when his griffin alerted him to movement from above.

Glancing up, Rhys found himself looking up at yet more figures standing on the rooftops above, looking down into the alley. Clearly, they were here to try to persuade Rhys of the wisdom of accepting what was on offer – though Rhys couldn't say he responded well to being threatened.

The opposite, even.

"I'm giving you a chance to rectify your mistake." The man smiled – slimy as an oil slick. "I can't say my offer this time will be as generous, however."

"That's fine, because my answer is still the same," Rhys spat out. He tensed his shoulder and thigh muscles, getting ready to charge. He could tell that the man was pretty built underneath his suit, but Rhys didn't think he was any match for his griffin's strength.

Not even when the man, shrugging as if Rhys's refusal was a matter of indifference to him, reached into his suit, and pulled out a gun.

"Well. I'm very sorry to have to say that in the event of your refusal, I had some different orders," he said, as he leveled the gun at Rhys.

Hah, Rhys thought, as he lowered his head, springing forward. Maybe these guys weren't shifters after all – if they had been, they would have known a bullet, unless they got in a very lucky shot, wasn't going to be enough to put him down. All shifters had massively accelerated healing powers, but griffins especially. He could shrug off an injury like that easily.

He heard the muted gunshot and dodged to the side. He didn't think he'd been hit, but his veins were so full of adrenaline at the prospect of a good fight after days of feeling useless and inactive that Rhys doubted he would have noticed it, even if he had been.

He glanced up as he shot forward again, but the guys on the roof hadn't moved a muscle so far. But then, they wouldn't while their boss still had a chance of a clean shot – they were probably just there to box him into the alley. Well, Rhys would deal with them soon enough.

Another silenced shot rang out, and this time Rhys definitely felt it as the bullet buried itself in his shoulder.

The pain would dissipate in a moment, he told himself. This was no big deal at all. He could still –

Wait, Rhys's griffin suddenly said, its head perking up, wings twitching. Something's wrong.

What? Rhys demanded – but a moment later, he sensed it too: a smell, almost chemical in its strength and pungency, and yet, Rhys knew it wasn't that.

No. I know what that is.

It was wyvern venom.

The most toxic substance on earth – the only thing that could effectively poison a shifter. Wyverns were so venomous that one bite was enough to kill anything in a matter of moments.

It was also incredibly rare, wyverns being extremely secretive creatures, with no one knowing how many of them were even left in the world. They tended not to be forthcoming about it, since too many people had tried to use them for their venom, knowing it was the only thing that could effectively poison a shifter, or any other mythical creature, quickly and easily.

Is this guy a wyvern, then? Rhys thought, as he dodged behind a dumpster as another silenced shot went off.

No – he didn't think so. He wouldn't have been giving Rhys such mixed signals otherwise. He'd just read as a shifter.

No, I know what it is.

The answer came to Rhys a moment later.

He's using bullets coated in wyvern venom.

Rhys had heard about this before. He'd just never actually encountered it, what with wyvern venom hardly being in strong supply.

And this guy's just popping off bullets like it's nothing, Rhys thought, his hand going to his shoulder. The wound was burning now, the pain, instead of lessening, getting worse and worse by the second. It felt as if someone had stabbed him with a red-hot poker – and the red-hot poker had been covered in… well, wyvern venom.

There was absolutely nothing on earth that could compare to it, and Rhys had to admit, he'd never felt pain this severe before in his life. It radiated throughout his whole body, like it was tearing him apart from the inside out.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

As if even this could harm us, if our blood is up! his griffin screeched, spreading its wings wide. Do they dare to think they can take us down?

The griffin's confidence was appreciated, but Rhys knew he couldn't afford to take it too seriously. He was in worse trouble than he'd thought – But to be fair, who the hell just carries around wyvern venom?!

He could see the smirk on Suit Guy's face, clearly enjoying having one-upped Rhys, but that only made him more furious. But when he tried to gather his momentum and keep going forward, he found his feet simply wouldn't obey him.

C'mon. This is nothing.

Rhys tried to force his legs to movement, but, aside from pain so severe it was making his eyesight blurry, his legs seemed to have turned to rubber. They sagged underneath him, refusing to hold him up anymore, and he crashed sideways against a dumpster, panting, his breath suddenly too thick in his throat.

"I'm sure you wish you'd taken me up on my offer now, don't you."

Despite the agony that was now engulfing him entirely, Rhys still felt a flare of anger at the suit man's smug tone, and he forced himself to look up and meet his eyes.

Rhys gritted his teeth. His jaw felt like it was locking, all his muscles seizing up – but then, that was the effect of wyvern venom. It paralyzed your muscles, stopping your lungs from breathing and your heart from beating. And it did it fast .

Still, he made himself maintain eye contact, and forced his vocal cords to work.

"You wish ."

Gratifyingly, he saw a flash of surprise pass across Suit Guy's face, right before, scrounging up every last scrap of strength he could find, Rhys launched himself forward again.

He staggered a little, but still, the fact he was able to move at all seemed to catch Suit Guy by surprise. Rhys lifted a fist, slamming it into his jaw.

He was only able to put about half of his full power into it – if that – but it was enough to have Suit Guy – I really should have found out his name, Rhys reflected – stumbling backward. One of his henchmen caught him before he could fall, but Suit Guy shrugged him off, clearly enraged.

"You really don't know when to quit, do you?" he growled, as he raised the gun again.

Rhys felt the second bullet like a wave of fire through him, though he could tell, unlike the first one, that it had only winged him and wasn't inside his body.

That didn't seem to make it any less fucking painful , though.

He lurched over, pain tearing through him, but he managed to maintain his footing.

This time, however, it wasn't only pain that filled him – it was also rage. The rage of a griffin that refused to be taken down by any old lowlife like these ones.

We will never surrender our life so easily! his griffin screeched, its wings spread wide, even though Rhys knew it could feel everything he was feeling.

We can't fight them all off, though, Rhys told it, and he knew he was right. He forced himself upright again, looking between Suit Guy and his cronies.

You may not be able to, but I can!

Before Rhys could stop it, he felt the griffin surging forward.

Wait!

He tried to hold it back, knowing that in this state, if the griffin took over, there was a real chance that in its rage it would totally bury the human side of his consciousness – Rhys would never be able to shift into his human form ever again, and he'd remain as a griffin for the rest of his days.

Having said that…

Having said that, Rhys knew his life right now probably couldn't really be measured in days – it was more like a matter of minutes. Maybe even seconds.

Fuck it. What've I got to lose?

This was his last chance. Either way, he was probably going to die. Might as well go down swinging.

He let go of his control, and felt the griffin take him over.

Its wings unfurled from his back as his hands became massive, cruelly curved talons. A lion's tail swung out behind him. His face became the visage of a massive golden eagle, hooked beak at the ready.

Now we'll see who's finished! the griffin cried out, even though pain was still suffusing every cell of its body.

Despite everything, Rhys, from his passenger's eye view in the griffin's body, could see the fear on the men's faces as he shifted.

Suit Guy, clearly panicking, raised his gun yet again – but even weakened, the griffin was too fast.

With a screech of fury, it shot forward, one taloned foot sending the gun flying from his hand to clatter to the ground. The man himself staggered back, blood gushing from his arm.

Just as the griffin opened its beak to roar with triumph, Rhys felt a weight on his back, and realized some of the henchmen who, until now, had kept their distance, had leapt down from the roof – right onto him.

Screeching again, the griffin shook itself to throw them off, lashing at them with its claws as they fell.

We can't fight them all! Rhys desperately tried to regain at least a modicum of control. The griffin, in its rage, wanted to fight – but Rhys knew they had no choice but to flee. He wouldn't last much longer with this much wyvern venom in his system. He needed to – somehow – get back to the Agency and have them administer the antivenom.

And then he needed to tell them everything that had happened here.

Fly, you idiot!

Finally, something seemed to get through to the griffin. For once, it obeyed him, forcing itself to bound down the alleyway, wings tucked close to its sides. It was too narrow for it to take off here – the long, golden feathers of its wings would scrape against the walls if it spread them fully. It had to find somewhere wider to take off.

I'll get a lecture about shifting in public, Trent thought, as the griffin, still seared with pain, finally emerged into an intersection of two alleys – just enough space for it to spread its wings and fly.

Rhys may not have thought so in the past, but right now, in a choice between death and a stern talking-to from Robb… he'd take the talking-to.

Exhaustion dragged at him. Every movement felt like agony. But the sound of the men approaching from behind him spurred him on.

Fly. C'mon. Fly!

The griffin steeled itself, clearly weakening. But then, with the last of its strength, it launched itself upward.

It wasn't the best flight he'd ever taken.

In fact, it probably lasted all of about three minutes before his wings faltered and he fell back down to earth, crashing down in a mass of feathers and fur into yet another nondescript alley.

Oof. That's done some damage, Rhys thought, as the griffin struggled to right itself, claws scraping against the stone of the alley. One of his wings was dragging badly, and Rhys could tell it was broken.

Well, add it to the catalogue of shit I have going on right now, he thought, as the griffin tried to get itself together to stand.

But Rhys knew it was hopeless. The wyvern venom was doing its work too quickly. And far from taking over his mind and meaning he'd be stuck in animal form forever, Rhys was quickly finding that the griffin was actually retreating , the pain too much for it. It was, in the end, an animal, and it was doing what it could to get away from the pain.

Before he knew it, Rhys found himself sliding back into human form. So at least when someone found him and called the ambos, he supposed, he wouldn't be dissected as a biological mystery, the kind of thing that might get written up in a salacious tabloid – MYSTERY ALIEN CREATURE FOUND IN ALLEY?! Or something along those lines.

Just as well he was about to die, or he'd really get a lecture from Robb about all this, Rhys thought, an ironic smile forcing its way onto his now once-again human lips.

Ah well. Might as well have a little rest, he thought, leaning back – and crashing straight through the window he hadn't noticed behind him.