The Gamble

POV: Layla

I was so furious I couldn’t even look at my thirteen-year-old brother, Jason.

The office door swung open, and Mr. Ignatius Cooper-Hill’s bodyguard jerked his head, signalling us inside. With his thick neck, buzz cut, and flinty eyes, he still looked more Lycan than human—even in this form.

Jason’s heavy breathing filled the office as we stepped inside, but I ignored it, letting him feel the pressure.

Behind an imposing desk, Cooper-Hill lounged like a king, reclining just enough to exude effortless authority. He was Kael’s personal lawyer—the legal voice of the dragon king.

Dark hair streaked with gray framed his pockmarked face. His deep-set eyes were unreadable, and his too-wide mouth curled slightly at the corners in something like disdain, which made my stomach twist.

I was about to take a seat when he barked, “Remain standing.”

Oh god. This was bad.

“The Bugatti Tourbillon is valued at four-and-a-half million credits. Do you have that kind of money?”

I shook my head and risked a glance at Jason, who looked like he was about to pee himself—and rightly so.

He should’ve known better than to sneak into the city at night. Egged on by his so-called friends, he’d taken a dare to throw a water balloon off the bridge over Canal Road—except it wasn’t water, it was paint, and it had splattered across King Kael’s passing car.

What were the odds?

The other boys had bolted, but King Kael always had a bodyguard, and tracking them had been a piece of cake. Why he needed a car when he could fly was beyond me.

“Sir, can the paint not be removed?” I asked politely. “Surely the car was insured?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You may as well buy a new car if there’s one available.” Mr. Cooper-Hill’s tone dripped with condescension. “Of course, the Bugatti is insured—but not against vandals. Does your brother have a policy covering his act of destruction?”

I bit back a scoff. He was human—he knew most of us didn’t have money for insurance policies, let alone cover a multi-million-credit mistake. No wonder so many humans stayed loyal to shifters, serving them like lapdogs in exchange for better lives. The thought made bile rise in my throat.

“Jason is very sorry. How long do we have to make the payment?” I asked, keeping my voice even.

“Layla, is it?” Cooper-Hill tilted his head. “You’ve got gumption, I’ll give you that. Two weeks. And that’s generous.”

“Fine.” I grabbed Jason’s arm and strode out.

Instead of taking the elevator, I made him climb down all twelve flights of stairs as punishment. He didn’t complain. Once we were outside, I inhaled deeply, letting the night air cool my temper, then headed toward the Chinese restaurant on the east side of the market.

Sometimes, it felt like a miracle we’d survived at all after the cataclysm that realigned our planets, merging them into something new. No longer called Earth, and nowhere near its size. In comparison, you could say it was about the size of Australia—just not as hot.

The Melding it was called, and now we lived on Melagorantia, divided into territories.

Tolougne, the central city, was open to everyone and had its own laws and rules strictly enforced by the city wardens. Its streets arced outward like a fan from the bustling market, spreading into the various enclaves. Each shifter type had its own enclave, which it defended ruthlessly.

We did the same, but when the Melding happened, we hadn’t expected shifters, and it had taken us time to adapt.

That said, most shifters were more beast than brain. Instinct before reason. Reaction before thought.

Not all, of course.

“Where are we going?” Jason asked timidly, struggling to keep up as I weaved between scooters and cars.

“I’m hungry. And I need to think. But you—” I shot him a glare. “You are grounded for life. I still can’t believe—”

“Okay, okay,” Jason groaned. “I know it was stupid. You’ve told me a hundred times.”

I huffed.

East Wind Cuisine came into view, and I waved at Chen before claiming my usual table.

Jason slumped into the seat across from me, his freckled face pale, his red hair standing up in tufts. “How many more times do I have to say I’m sorry?” he whined.

“For the rest of your life? Until you pay me back?”

“Geez. I didn’t know there was paint…”

“Which one of your so-called friends filled it with paint? Hmm? Don’t bother lying—I’ll find out. My money’s on Henry. Michael’s too much of a wimp.”

Jason stared down at the table, his fingers toying with the soy-sauce bottle. “Henry wouldn’t. He got the balloons from Ayrton.”

“Another good-for-nothing twerp. You’re thirteen, Jason. When are you going to wise up? No one is trustworthy. Understand?”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he mumbled dejectedly. “How are we going to come up with that kind of money?”

“We? You mean me?”

“Sorry,” he apologized.

I shrugged. “I’ll have to call in some favours. But it’s a princely sum.”

Jason gaped. “Do you even know enough people to call in that many favours?”

Chen arrived just in time, his weathered face breaking into a smile as he set down a plate of bao buns and a jug of Shaoxing wine.

“All good, all good?”

“That depends on the filling,” I replied.

“For you? Your favourite—seasoned pork belly.”

“Then all is good,” I grinned, patting his arm lightly.

The place was ideally situated, not far from work, and reasonably priced. I’d been coming here during my lunch break for years.

Chen gestured toward Jason. “The young man needs water?”

“Yes. No wine for him,” I said firmly. Then, under my breath, “Ever.”

Chen chuckled and shouted an instruction to his son across the restaurant. Jason bit into a bao bun, his eyes fixed on me as though he expected me to lay out a plan of action.

After a few moments of silence, he asked, “What happens when you ask for favours? Will you have to… prostitute yourself?”

“Jason,” I hissed. “Of course not. But I might have to work until I die.”

His chin trembled slightly. “I’m really sorry, Layla. As soon as I finish school, I’ll find a good job and pay you back, no matter how long it takes.”

“I know you will,” I sighed. “But for now? Stay out of trouble. Maybe dedicate yourself to improving your marks.”

“Okay,” he agreed, reaching for another bun.

I sipped my wine and planned my next move. Verifying that the Bugatti was completely ruined would have to wait, but that didn’t mean I had to sit still.

Shifters loved gambling, especially Liar’s Dice. Or just Lie Dice, as it was called and played in Brazen, a designated gambling area below Nightshades Club.

It hadn’t been easy getting access, but once you’d played and won, you were always welcomed back.

But in order to win, I needed a particular prescription from Remy and a new outfit. I walked Jason to the train station and made sure he got on before retracing my steps.

Shifters were attracted to me for some reason, and I used that to my advantage. I wouldn’t say I enjoyed it, but I didn’t hate it either.

On the old Earth, I was called a ninja ginga and teased relentlessly, but here, now, every shifter took a double take at my fiery red locks that hung to my waist—matched with sea-green eyes and a complexion like porcelain.

Of course, I turned them all down. There was no way I would ever fall for a shifter.