Author's note:
Yes, I realize there are some major continuity discrepancies between this story and the rest of the inhuman universe I've posted so far. That's done on purpose as time doesn't really work in a linear fashion for a Predator who can travel to the Underworld. It's not the wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff sort of timeline so much as the nature of the Predator makes it so their brain simply doesn't acknowledge the stuff trying to take up space there. So please, go in reading this knowing that humans are fully aware of the inhuman among them. Kaya just hasn't caught up to that fact yet.
This is still part of the Inhuman Universe, along with Bound and Reaped. There is no sex in this part of the story. I'm still actively working to get the end of this one right, so all I can really ask is patience.
As always, thank you for reading. Please vote and/or comment when you finish if you feel so inclined.
Sex in these stories happens if it works with the story. Just FYI.
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Loud banging on the door broke through the dream until all I was left with was a faint warmth and the memory of glowing green eyes. Every time I had that dream, it was interrupted. And every time I was left with an impression of heat and those eyes. The pounding came again, and I could hear the faint jingle of my phone ringing. Groaning, I rolled out of bed. I had fallen asleep in my clothes with my phone in my pocket, so at least I didn't risk flashing whoever was at the door.
Another pound on the door and I yelled, "You better fucking have coffee!"
Jerking the door open I growl at G, my keeper. Well, I guess he's technically my partner, but he's mostly my keeper. He holds up a big mug and I can hear ice rattling in it and beneath that is a box with the logo of my favorite breakfast taco place splashed across it. "I come begging forgiveness."
"I'll consider it," I take the coffee from him and move away from the door.
"You need to get dressed for the office, Kaya," he says, his voice careful. I can feel my hair shift at my annoyance and not for the first time I wish he couldn't see through the glamour that kept it appearing a boring blonde. I wasn't annoyed at G. I just hoped he knew that since he was the only one that stuck around through my bullshit.
"You're driving," I mutter.
I leave him at the little kitchen peninsula and head to my room. Office time meant they had a new assignment for me. Nevermind I had just finished tracking the last one and gotten home three hours ago, and they hadn't had a Feeder for me like they were supposed to. Bunch of assholes. So I stripped out of the jeans and tee I had fallen asleep in, took off the undies, and started concocting an outfit that would make them regret interrupting my sleep.
Clean undies because I never, ever wanted the chance that a paramedic would have to cut off my clothes and catch me in my period grannies, then tight black jeans, a bra with more criss-crossing straps than a BDSM harness, and a black racerback tank top that showed off all those straps. All of that and I pulled on my lace-up steel toe boots. If I was going to have to track anything today, the clothes were going to be comfy and the shoes would damn well be functional.
My hair got brushed out then left down because I just couldn't be bothered with the mess. The outfit would look like I straight disrespected every person in the office, but I could still go out in the field and do my job.
Any mundanes would see thick blond waves with streaks from various highlighting jobs, but the inhuman would see my tired gray hair beneath the glamour I wore constantly in the form of a pair of sud earrings. It wasn't a dye job.
Thanks to a vindictive aunt who hadn't liked me getting more than her in my grandmother's will, I had hair cursed to give away my every mood and emotion. She thought I had lied about what grandma left me and that the hair would prove I was lying. I hadn't been lying, but she hadn't undone the curse, either. Like the horse of a different color pulling the carriage in Oz, my hair would change on a whim. Right now I was dead tiredand more than a little annoyed, and my hair showed it.
Tracking was a soul sucking job. Literally. From a scrap of a person I could track their soul to the ends of the earth and had even gone to the Underworld more than a few times. Let me just say now, Charon doesn't like when I'm at his little dock. No, I don't try to Hercules souls up out of the Underworld. That shit is for the birds. But I do track them down and get answers out of them, up to and including where their body is so a medium can contact them in court. Even in death, there is no peace from the Bureau of Inhuman Affairs. Charon just didn't like me because I never brought him coffee, no matter how I explained that my bosses kept calling it a bribe. I could relate to his frustration.
I came out of my bedroom and G handed me the box of tacos and headed toward the door of my apartment. I grabbed my keys and badge and followed. G's truck was an old farm truck he had picked up for cheap, and it looked like it had been through hell. The front half was red and the back half was silver... on the right side. The left side of the truck was blue and green. The hood had a poorly spray painted skull and cross bones done in a neon turquoise. It was glorious, and loud, and he loved it. It also had more engine under the hood than any truck should rightfully have. I have to climb into the beast like it's a tree.
He starts the truck and pulls out into traffic, trusting that his truck is big enough to win any fights with the little hybrids around us. The office is downtown, near the county jail with all the boring architecture that implies. That means it's a good half hour drive from my place through traffic, so I have time to suck down spicy chorizo, fluffy eggs, and melty cheese wrapped in a homemade flour tortilla. Mana from Heaven.
I wonder for a minute if Heaven exists. I mean, I've met Charon on his little boat, ferrying the dead across the River Styx. I'm told the old gods of death and the Underworld get together on Tuesday nights to play cards, and I know for a fact Anubis is bad at poker. There should be a balance to that. Maybe the Christian God and Allah get together to bitch about their children.
My musings are cut short when we hit the ramp into a parking garage. I start paying attention because it never ceases to amaze me that G can park this damn truck in this tiny little garage. Hell, it impresses me that anyone in anything bigger than a roller skate can park in these. My own truck is not large, but I still prefer an open parking lot to this. Giving exacly zero fucks, G takes up two spaces and throws it in park.
"I don't know what's going on, but try not to piss too many people off this time, yeah?" He says.
"I never try to piss people off, G. It just happens."
"You know what I mean, Kaya." He gives me the keeper look. The look that says I'm being deliberately difficult.
