Chapter 3: Childhood Shadows

Maybe because there weren’t many cars out so late, the driver got me to the bar fast.

The guy at the wheel—a sleepy-eyed college kid with a Buckeyes air freshener—barely spoke. I tipped him extra for getting me there quick.

After thanking him, I hurried inside—only to realize Derek hadn’t given me a booth number.

I stood under the flickering bar sign, shivering in the spring chill, wondering how I’d find him. My phone buzzed uselessly in my hand.

I didn’t care. I pulled out my phone to ask as I headed upstairs.

My thumbs fumbled across the screen, half-typing a text while weaving through the crowded bar. The place smelled like stale beer and old leather. A couple of guys shot pool under the neon lights, but no one paid me any mind.

I was halfway through typing when the thick carpet muffled my steps.

As I made my way up the creaky stairs, the sound of my footsteps disappeared, swallowed by the plush carpet. The air was heavy with cigarette smoke and cheap cologne.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice from a nearby booth with the door slightly ajar.

The low murmur drew me closer, curiosity prickling at the back of my neck. I stopped just short of the doorway, heart thumping.

"Just watch, between me and Marcus Grant, Rachel’s definitely going to pick me. What’s the point of Marcus’s talent? As long as I keep Rachel wrapped around my finger, he’ll always come in second."

It was Derek.

No doubt about it—his trademark cocky drawl. My breath hitched. I wasn’t supposed to hear this.

I froze.

Time slowed. My phone nearly slipped from my hands. I strained to listen, afraid even to breathe.

What did he just say?

I replayed the words in my mind. ‘Wrapped around my finger?’ Was that really how he saw me?

What does he mean by keeping me under control? That I’ll always pick him?

Was I that predictable? Had he always been playing some game I didn’t know about?

And what does this have to do with Marcus?

Why did Marcus’s name have to come up? I thought this was between me and Derek.

The next moment, some unfamiliar voices chimed in.

The other guys in the booth—faces I only half-recognized from the neighborhood—chimed in, concern in their tone.

"Yeah, yeah, you fox shifters are born smooth. You can’t stand Rachel, but you still manage to charm her. But this time you’ve gone too far. If a half-demon goes through adulthood without their partner’s comfort, it could kill him. Now you’ve tricked Rachel here—if something happens to Marcus, it’ll be a mess."

I was even more confused. Do half-demons, like shifters, have an adulthood crisis too?

My mind spun. I’d never heard Marcus talk about it—was this something he’d been hiding from me? Was it really that dangerous?

"What’s there to worry about? When the time comes, just throw Rachel under the bus. Who cares about all that ‘destined partner’ stuff? Only half-demons have those gross attachments—low-level creatures, dying is their own fault…"

That familiar voice again, now so full of contempt, cruelty, and gloating it nearly drowned me.

I felt sick to my stomach. My vision blurred as I tried to process what I was hearing. This was the real Derek—mean, dismissive, ready to toss me aside.

My hand, which was about to push open the booth door, suddenly stopped.

I held my breath, frozen. I couldn’t go in—not now. Not after hearing all that.

Derek… what are you talking about?

I felt like a kid again, standing outside my own birthday party, not invited in.