1. Davien

Chapter 1

Davien

I'm hungry! my unicorn complained.

And I'm tired and ready for bed. You ate earlier. Go to sleep and I'll let you shift in the morning .

My unicorn headbutted my insides. He didn't like being made to wait. When I was in my human form and he was inside me, him poking his horn into me was similar to gas. A niggle here, an ache there, a burp.

Not taking any notice, I sing-songed as I got in the shower. My beast loved warm rain trickling over his flanks but wasn't a fan of man-made showers. He huffed and curled up, grumbling that I never let him have any fun.

I ignored him. Unicorns—or my unicorn—expected to play all day, eat berries and flowers, and allow the sun to shine on them as they shimmered and the world would admire them. And if he went outside in the evening, he'd allow the moon to bathe him in silvery light.

And my beast liked—even expected—to be admired. It was the way of unicorns. They were put on this earth to be beautiful. Or so he told me.

Unlike wolves, bears, and foxes, my beast was a vegetarian. He'd never killed another animal, so our relationship was different to my carnivore shifter friends.

While I brushed my teeth, I studied the scattered gray hairs at my temple. Grandpa told me he'd sighted his first gray hair on his thirtieth birthday, and it'd been the same for me. I twisted one way and the other, imagining myself wandering into a club and all heads turning toward me. People would whisper behind their hands, trying to identify the distinguished guy with salt-and-pepper hair.

Ah ha! You're not much different from me!

Thanks to my unicorn, my vision crumbled and I was back in my bathroom. My beast and I were very different. He lived to preen and be adored, whereas I imagined myself being the center of attention. In reality, I was an introvert. Not that that was a bad thing. But having a beast who yearned for the limelight when I preferred to stay in the shadows and enjoy my own company resulted in an internal tug-of-war.

I pulled down the comforter and took a running jump onto the bed. It was a habit I'd developed as a kid. I was brought up by my grandfather, and each night we'd both stand at the doorway of my room. He'd say, "Ready, set, go," and I'd fling myself on the mattress, often doing a somersault, and either my head or butt would bang on the headboard.

Grandpa was gone now, and while I didn't leap onto the bed with the same energy I had as a kid, I kept up the tradition. Something else I'd never gotten rid of was the landline in my house. There was one phone in the living room and an extension beside my bed.

When I'd saved enough to get a mortgage, Gramps had made me promise I'd always have a landline. He didn't trust mobile phones and had refused to use one, even though I bought him a device.

The last time the phone attached to the landline had rung, it was Grandpa's neighbor, babbling about him being taken away in an ambulance. I'd raced to the hospital in my PJs and made it in time to say goodbye. I liked to think he'd waited for me before he died.

No one had ever phoned me on that line again. But I couldn't get rid of the phones themselves or cancel the line. If I couldn't sleep, I'd pick up the phone and imagine I could hear Grandpa from wherever he was, telling me not to worry, he was happy.

I pulled the comforter up to my chin and grabbed a book from the nightstand. But it'd been a long day and my eyes kept closing, so I read the same paragraph three times.

A loud trilling, reminding me of a siren, had me shrieking and sitting up in bed. The lamp was still on, but it was the phone that was demanding my attention. Gods, no. Not more bad news. I should have disconnected the line, torn it from the wall, and then I wouldn't hear what someone was trying to say. Whatever it was would then pass over me and go on to someone else.

Answer it . My unicorn's version of bad news was not being allowed to take his skin, so he wasn't fearful of what the person on the other end had to say.

"It could be a wrong number," I said out loud to convince myself. If I didn't answer it, the person might give up, check the number was correct, and call the correct one.

Answer it. The noise is disturbing my sleep .

Oh well then, if it's an inconvenience for you, I'll do exactly as you command .

My clammy hand slid over the receiver as I grabbed it from the cradle, making me fumble with it.

"Hello."

"Oh, thank gods you're awake."

"Ummm, yes… I am."

"I need you to…" A sob interrupted what he was saying.

Oh no. Crying, sobbing… that wasn't good. This was a bad luck phone, and I was going to smash it against the wall as soon as this guy ended the call.

"You have to… it's Grams."

Was that grams as in a metric measurement, a person, or was it a muddled word that sounded like "it's grams." I couldn't fathom what that word would be, though.

"She's been arrested."

Grams was a person, and she was in a spot of trouble. She was alive, so that was a plus and my heart rate slowed, thinking I didn't have to help arrange a funeral.

"I don't have enough money for bail. Can you bring $500 to Stanmore Police Station? I'll be here."

"Hi, I'm?—"

He cut me off, telling me to hurry as he didn't want Grams in a cell with murderers and drug dealers. "Though knowing Grams, after ten minutes with her, those criminals would be begging the police to put them in another cell."

Grams was quite a character, and I kinda longed to know more about her. She and my unicorn might get along well. I wondered why she'd been arrested. The bail wasn't huge. Caught in an illegal gambling den? My imagination was running away with me.

"I'm not?—"

"I don't need to hear it. Yes, this isn't the first time. But you know Grams."

I was beginning to.

"We'll talk to her once we get her out. This can't keep happening."

"No, it can't." I'd given up trying to tell him I wasn't who he thought I was. I was intrigued with his Grams, but my beast was telling me I had to pay attention to the man's voice.

Can't you hear that?

Hear what? Other than the guy not pausing for breath, what was I supposed to hear?

Him, his voice. There's a tingling, like bells or a stream skipping over stone s.

I rolled my eyes. Unicorns were always prone to exaggeration.

You have to get down there. Grams will be fine in jail, but you have to meet this guy. If you don't, I'll go . He mumbled about getting to the police station without being seen.

But if I was heading down there, I should at least know the guy's name. Or Grams's name. I couldn't stroll up to the sergeant's desk and say I was there to pay Grams's bail. But how many older ladies would they have arrested tonight? Who knew?

"Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can. But I'll need to stop off and get cash."

"What? But you always pride yourself on having cash." His voice got higher, "Having cash in your pocket is like a safety net. You never know when you're going to need it is what you told me."

"Ummm, yeah, I spent a lot this weekend."

He sighed. "You and Grams are so alike."

Maybe I was right and she had been gambling.

"Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can."

He hung up. I couldn't go back to bed and go back on my word. I wasn't who he expected me to be, but I'd told him I was coming with the money.

Grams might not be as tough as he was portraying. Maybe he was putting on a brave front and she was a little old lady cowering in the corner of a prison cell.

I dragged some clothes over my PJs, got my wallet and phone, and skedaddled out the door.

Hurry , my unicorn urged. If I didn't, he might take his skin and gallop through the streets. Grams might not be the only one causing a stir if that happened.

I wiped sleep from my eyes as I reversed out of the driveway. Perhaps I'd make a new friend and we'd laugh about tonight while sharing a beer.

Not a friend , my unicorn insisted.

That made me a little uneasy. Was I walking into a trap?