Chapter 1 A Hell Of a Day

Nora

Today has been a fucking hell of a day.

My car coughs itself to death halfway to work, leaving me stranded on the side of the road with steam spilling from beneath the bonnet.

I leave it there and run the remaining two kilometres to the farm.

By the time I arrive, sweat has soaked through my shirt, my lungs are trying to claw their way out of my chest, and I’m seventeen minutes late. Apparently, that’s the perfect time for my boss to corner me behind the feed bins and suggest I make up the lost time by mowing his lawn in a bikini.

I tell him to get fucked.

He tells me to leave.

So I walk home.

What the hell else am I supposed to do? There’s no way I’m parading around his yard in a bikini for a minimum-wage job.

My feet are blistered when I finally reach my unit, only to discover everything I own is scattered across the front lawn.

The landlord stands beside the front door with his arms crossed and a smug expression.

“What the fuck is this?” I ask.

“Your ex surrendered the lease.”

My stomach drops right beside all of my things. “He doesn’t live here anymore.”

“His name is the only one on the agreement. He said you’ve been smoking drugs inside and damaging the property.”

“He lied!”

The landlord shrugs and reaches for the door. “Take it up with him.”

He closes it before I can argue.

Of course Evan’s name is on the lease. He said it would be easier that way. Just like it was easier to use his bank account, his car, and his friends until my entire life fit neatly inside his hands.

I search through the mess for my weed, but the fucker took that too.

Either that or someone walking past helped themselves. Anyone could have, because my life is spread across the lawn like the world’s saddest garage sale.

I stand there for a while, staring at it all.

Then I let out a long breath, find my duffel bag beneath a pile of towels, and start filling it with the things that matter.

The rest can rot.

There is no one I can call for help. No one I can ask for a ride or somewhere to leave my things. I made sure of that while defending a narcissistic piece of shit who spent four years convincing me everyone else was the problem.

I had people once. I had a good life, too, before Mum got cancer and everything inside our house went to shit.

By the time Evan came along, there wasn’t much left for him to take. He took what remained anyway.

I shove the last of my clothes into the bag and drag the zip closed.

I don’t have a clue what I’m going to do.

So I do the one thing that makes sense on a day like today.

I find the closest pub.

Cold air rolls over my damp skin as I step inside, carrying the distinct smell of stale beer and bad choices.

“Double rum. No ice.”

The bartender looks from my duffel bag to my face, reaches for the rum and starts pouring.

“Hard day?”

“Hell of a day.”

He slides the glass towards me.

I swallow half of it and feel the burn spread down into my stomach. It does nothing to fix my life, but it takes the edge off the part of me that wants to walk back to the unit and put a brick through the front window.

I sigh as the pokies blink at me from the room beside the bar.

I have one twenty-dollar note in my wallet. There are smarter things I could do with it. Food would be a good start.

Instead, I take my rum and sit in front of a machine covered in golden dragons.

“One dollar a hit,” I mutter. “Come on, you greedy bastard.”

I feed the note into the slot.

If I can win enough for a room tonight, I swear I will start praying. I don’t care which god answers. Jesus, Satan, Zeus, some ancient deity nobody has spoken to in a thousand years. Whoever keeps me from sleeping beneath a bridge can have my undying devotion.

The first ten dollars disappears, along with my hope. Then the screen flashes and music blasts from the machine as three golden symbols land in a row. The Mini drops. I double it, play some back through, trigger another feature, and watch the total climb past five hundred dollars.

I slap the machine and laugh so loudly that the woman two machines over glances in my direction. I raise my glass to her and cash out before the universe can change its mind.

The bartender pours me two more rums while I search for cheap hotels on my phone. There is one six streets away with stained carpets, shared bathrooms, and a review claiming someone found a tooth beneath the bed.

Tonight, that is luxury.

I finish my drink, sling the duffel over my shoulder, and step outside, swaying a little on the footpath.

Five hundred dollars. A bed. A locked door. Maybe a little breakfast to spoil myself.

I look up at the dark sky.

“Thank you, Jes…”

The footpath vanishes beneath me.

The rum in my stomach sloshes as darkness closes around my body, and I fall and fall and keep falling.

My duffel jerks against my shoulder while I tumble, and every nerve in my body lights up, as though I have been shoved through a power box while falling through the fucking Matrix.

Then my feet strike something solid, and my knees buckle.

I stumble forward, blinking hard against the sudden light as two strong hands catch me before my face meets the floor.

I suck in a breath and look up into a pair of piercing blue eyes.

They belong to a woman with pale skin, sharp cheekbones, and a messy blonde bob that reaches her chin in jagged, spiked layers. She stands a full head above me, dressed in black leather that fits close over a body built from muscle.

Her fingers tighten around my arms.

“Xarus,” she whispers.

A shiver runs from the base of my skull to the backs of my knees. Heat follows it, settling low in my stomach as I pull myself out of her grip.

The room sways around me, all black stone and dark-blue flames burning inside iron sconces. Weapons cover one wall, a huge bed with disturbed black sheets sits behind her, and beyond the arched windows, a red sky burns over the jagged outline of a city I have never seen.

I have a feeling we’re not at the pub anymore.

“Where the fuck am I?”