monthly shift, his wolf was already acting out, demanding to run.
“You look like crap.” Quintilius entered the room and advanced toward Raphael’s desk. “Another sleepless night?” His intent eyes roamed over Raphael.
“No, sir.” He unfolded his arms and placed his hands palm down on the smooth surface of the table.
The alpha frowned. For a moment, Raphael worried the man could see through his lie, but then Quintilius asked, “Are you okay?”
Confused by the question, Raphael was tempted to confide in him, but he saw Iris spying on them from her desk. She had it conveniently angled so she could see inside his office that was to remain open at all times per her request.
Raphael stifled the urge to talk and plastered a smile on his face. “Perfectly fine, sir. Thanks for asking.”
Quintilius sighed, turned and walked out, but at the entryway he whispered over his shoulder, “Don’t let me down, kid.”
At the alpha’s parting words, Raphael’s midsection cramped. The same RYS psychologist had told him it was how his body responded to uncomfortable situations. In the past, throwing up had usually followed the cramps, and migraines would start soon after. Uncomfortable situations sucked big time.
When the clock in the hall chimed five in the afternoon, Raphael escaped his office and cleared the personnel only exit before Iris could say anything. Running down the steps at breakneck speed, he reached the garage, then grabbed his bicycle and left the building. He passed the gym, but even sparring wouldn’t calm his nerves, so he kept pedaling, zigzagging through cars and pedestrians, and earning a few insults in the process.
His stomach still hurt, but his mind had cleared by the time he reached the Mattatoio. A whole different shift was in charge of the infirmary that evening. He nodded at the man at the door and asked for Carla.
“She was feeling much better and moved to the shelter.” The man pointed out at the hallway and at the door opening to their right.
Raphael thanked him and headed toward the shelter. Built inside the Mattatoio, like the medical facility and the infirmary, the youth homeless shelter helped paranormals without mortals being the wiser. Possibly the only tenet keeping all paranormals united, renegades knew how important it was to keep their true identities concealed at all costs. So, it wasn’t a surprise that Carla had opted out of the infirmary and gone to the shelter.
“Hi.” He found her in the common area where the kids were entertained with craft projects.
“Hi.” She waved at him from her low chair. Sitting at the small kid table, she was playing with a little girl with curly hair. “This is Lara.”
The girl bounced on her seat and Raphael smiled at her. “Hi, princess.”
The girl made a smack sound with her chubby hand over her lips.
“She’s her daughter.” Carla tilted her chin toward a group of teenage girls milling in the corner by an industrial stove.
The little girl was human and so was her mother, the one teenager with curly hair the same color of the girl’s. When you lived on the streets, problems were the same no matter the species one belonged to. Paranormals were more resilient, but they were susceptible to the same heartache as humans, and to the lure of drugs. Pregnancies happened.
Lara raised her short arms toward Raphael, and he took her in his embrace, then spun her around as she giggled louder and louder, asking him to go faster. Her mom came a moment later with a bowl of mashed potatoes and accompanied her to a nearby table.
“Her father is in jail,” Carla said when mother and daughter were out of earshot.
Raphael was surprised there was a father at all. “She’s lucky.” He sat on the little chair, his legs straight in front of him.
Carla tilted her chin toward Lara’s mom. “From what I heard, it seems he’s actually in love with her.” Carla’s voice had a sad tinge to it, she then turned to Raphael, leaned over
“You look like crap.” Quintilius entered the room and advanced toward Raphael’s desk. “Another sleepless night?” His intent eyes roamed over Raphael.
“No, sir.” He unfolded his arms and placed his hands palm down on the smooth surface of the table.
The alpha frowned. For a moment, Raphael worried the man could see through his lie, but then Quintilius asked, “Are you okay?”
Confused by the question, Raphael was tempted to confide in him, but he saw Iris spying on them from her desk. She had it conveniently angled so she could see inside his office that was to remain open at all times per her request.
Raphael stifled the urge to talk and plastered a smile on his face. “Perfectly fine, sir. Thanks for asking.”
Quintilius sighed, turned and walked out, but at the entryway he whispered over his shoulder, “Don’t let me down, kid.”
At the alpha’s parting words, Raphael’s midsection cramped. The same RYS psychologist had told him it was how his body responded to uncomfortable situations. In the past, throwing up had usually followed the cramps, and migraines would start soon after. Uncomfortable situations sucked big time.
When the clock in the hall chimed five in the afternoon, Raphael escaped his office and cleared the personnel only exit before Iris could say anything. Running down the steps at breakneck speed, he reached the garage, then grabbed his bicycle and left the building. He passed the gym, but even sparring wouldn’t calm his nerves, so he kept pedaling, zigzagging through cars and pedestrians, and earning a few insults in the process.
His stomach still hurt, but his mind had cleared by the time he reached the Mattatoio. A whole different shift was in charge of the infirmary that evening. He nodded at the man at the door and asked for Carla.
“She was feeling much better and moved to the shelter.” The man pointed out at the hallway and at the door opening to their right.
Raphael thanked him and headed toward the shelter. Built inside the Mattatoio, like the medical facility and the infirmary, the youth homeless shelter helped paranormals without mortals being the wiser. Possibly the only tenet keeping all paranormals united, renegades knew how important it was to keep their true identities concealed at all costs. So, it wasn’t a surprise that Carla had opted out of the infirmary and gone to the shelter.
“Hi.” He found her in the common area where the kids were entertained with craft projects.
“Hi.” She waved at him from her low chair. Sitting at the small kid table, she was playing with a little girl with curly hair. “This is Lara.”
The girl bounced on her seat and Raphael smiled at her. “Hi, princess.”
The girl made a smack sound with her chubby hand over her lips.
“She’s her daughter.” Carla tilted her chin toward a group of teenage girls milling in the corner by an industrial stove.
The little girl was human and so was her mother, the one teenager with curly hair the same color of the girl’s. When you lived on the streets, problems were the same no matter the species one belonged to. Paranormals were more resilient, but they were susceptible to the same heartache as humans, and to the lure of drugs. Pregnancies happened.
Lara raised her short arms toward Raphael, and he took her in his embrace, then spun her around as she giggled louder and louder, asking him to go faster. Her mom came a moment later with a bowl of mashed potatoes and accompanied her to a nearby table.
“Her father is in jail,” Carla said when mother and daughter were out of earshot.
Raphael was surprised there was a father at all. “She’s lucky.” He sat on the little chair, his legs straight in front of him.
Carla tilted her chin toward Lara’s mom. “From what I heard, it seems he’s actually in love with her.” Carla’s voice had a sad tinge to it, she then turned to Raphael, leaned over
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