Page 7 of Bound By the Sleeper’s Harp

“So…no girls night then? Unless… You guys still want to get together, maybe go out instead?”

“Actually, I’m going to pass. I might just pick up an extra shift instead.” Or just stay home and wrap my head around what I’d seen on the news.

“What? Ewww. Come on! Let’s go out. You need to let loose⁠—”

“Ladies!” a voice barked, saving me from coming up with more excuses. Zach, also known as Eaden’s right hand, appeared. “Less talking, more working. Rose, boss needs to see you.”

Kaylee offered me a rueful smile. “Let me know if you change your mind. I’ll text the others.”

I nodded, following Zach to the back of the club and up a set of stairs. “What’s he want this time?”

“Fuck if I know.”

The first time I’d met Zach, all it took was a single blink to see what he was. A shifter. A massive lion’s head had replaced his face, the transparent overlay shimmering in my vision before I’d blinked it away. Like the other shifter enforcers that Eaden employed, Zach kept things under control at the club. Vortex was filled with supernaturals. Not just staff, but patrons.

Located in the heart of Walton, it was a popular congregation spot.

We stopped at Eaden’s door and Zach knocked. It was quieter here, but the walls still throbbed with the pulse of the music. Eaden’s voice was muffled as he called for us. Zach, with his supernatural hearing, heard him perfectly as he opened the door and let me through.

Eaden’s office was almost like a study. Plush rugs, a gas fireplace, a wall of books, and nature paintings in gilded frames. When I blinked, his transparent wolf form overlaid his human form, but only briefly. He had dark skin and muscles for days.

Eaden’s eyes lingered on his phone a moment before he looked up at me. “Rose,” he said, his voice a deep rumble, “there you are. Zach, that’ll be all.”

“Right.” Zach backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Everything good?” Eaden asked, eyeing me. He’d always had a way of seeing past the bullshit straight to the heart of me. It’s how he’d known something was up when he met me. How he’d guessed at what I’d been through. And probably why he’d offered me a job.

He’d run into me when I first took up MMA. He taught at the same gym, some of the more advanced classes. I’d known absolutely nothing about self defense when I’d started, and he’d been one of the subs when our instructor was out.

He’d guessed—rightly so—that I was a dancer simply because of how I moved. It just so happened he was short a couple of them. Coincidentally. I’ll never know if that was the truth or not.

It was only once I was more comfortable interacting with supernaturals, males in particular, that he’d allowed me to work the floor as a server instead. Something that gave me a much needed pay bump. Something that had helped boost my confidence and harden me—heal me, after Luke.

I was forever grateful to him for both opportunities.

Forcing a genuine smile onto my face, I shrugged and said, “I’m good enough, I guess. Did you need something?”

He hesitated. If he saw my lie, he chose not to call me on it. “I need you to dance tonight.”

I opened my mouth, then promptly closed it. “I’m on the floor tonight. Don’t you dare.”

“Micky didn’t show up. I’m short a dancer.”

I drew in a breath and released it, forcing my voice to calm. “Well, did you call her? She’s probably just running late.” He gave me a look. Because of course he’d called her. I probably wouldn’t be here if he knew where she was. It was unlike Micky to miss work without warning. She was a shifter, and Eaden kept a tighter leash on his people—on everyone who worked at the club. We were like family.

Sighing, he leaned back. “I need you out there tonight, Rose. Just give me this, yeah?”

I was one of his best dancers. Paired with my vibrant pink hair, and my stage name of Candy, I was an attraction for all sorts of clientele, especially the inhuman.

“I’ve gotta make rent next week, Eaden. I can’t survive on dancing wages—you know this.” Vortex served expensive alcohol and entertained a higher echelon of clientele. They tipped well for their drinks. I needed those tips.

“I’ll give you a hundred an hour. Give me two hours and two solos. I’ve got a couple of high rollers on the balcony. I want you out there.”

My shoulders relaxed. “Two hundred?”

“As I said.”

“Fine.” I could work with that. I’d already made a decent amount of tips over the past two hours, and if I could finish the night out with a few more VIP sections, I’d be solid.