I shrugged. “I’m the same as usual.”
I was never really all right. Hadn’t been for over two centuries. I was, however, pretty content with where my life was at.
Because I was banished from my clan, I should have gone crazy like most Wingless did. The lack of support from a clan mixed with trying to survive in a world where humans burned anything they didn’t understand at the stake should have been enough to drive me insane.
After spending the first fifty years of my banishment completely on my own deep in the woods, the world felt brand new by the time I finally emerged.
I spent an exorbitant amount of time trying to stay off of the human’s radar as they grew and created technologies that boggled my mind. Eventually, I was even able to get my hands on a spelled ring that gave me a human appearance.
Only then was I able to truly start to thrive, if you could call it that.
I left Ireland in 1925 and headed to America to chase any semblance of a life. The supes living in the states were less preoccupied with keeping to themselves, so there were entire underground communities in big cities like New York, Boston, Chicago, and San Francisco. While humans knew of us, they didn’t accept us.
The foggy bay of San Francisco reminded me so much of home that it was easy to settle down there for the next forty years. It was where I first started learning how to tattoo and where I first met Dallan.
Then the Accords happened, and for better or worse, monsters stepped fully into the light of ‘normal’ society.
“Nah, you’re broodier than usual,” Dallan continued, oblivious to my internal trip down memory lane.
Heath, who was just returning from a rousing game of darts with Fiero, heard the tail end of Dallan’s words. “Is he? He looks about the same to me.”
The pup reached out to poke me, as he’d done a thousand times in the four years since he came to work at Monstrous Ink.
As always, I caught his pointer finger in my fist and gave him a withering look.
“See? If he was broodier, he would have broken my finger instead,” the kid said with a snicker as he tugged his finger away from me.
“He probably isn’t happy because Effie decided to hire a fucking human,” Ambrose said from his place at the end of the table.
He’d been a thundercloud all day, stomping around the shop like he wished he could chuck our new receptionist into the ocean and call it a day.
“Cash hates humans as much as I do,” Ambrose continued, his dark eyes squinting into a glare as he tossed back the rest of his glass of tequila.
I wasn’t sure where he was getting that from. He didn’t know why I’d been banished from my clan—I’d only ever told Effie and Dallan the full story—and it wasn’t like we got many human clients at the shop anyway.
In fact, I wasn’t sure if Ambrose had ever seen me interact with any humans before at all.
“I don’t hate humans,” I told him with a frown.
Ambrose’s dark brows lifted in surprise. “Really? Because every time I’ve seen you look at the human it was like you were sucking on a lemon.”
Had I looked like that? I only saw her a couple of times and made sure to talk to Effie if I needed anything. Effie told me not to scare her and I’d been working my ass off all day to do just that.
Dallan’s rumbling chuckle filled the air and he reached out and gave Ambrose a sharp slap on the back. “You’ll understand when you’re older, laddie.”
“I’m not a kid,” Ambrose grumbled, his cheeks flushing with a sudden blue that stood out from his otherwise monochromatic features.
Fiero snorted. “You may look like an adult on the outside, but your insides are akin to a newborn baby fawn.”
“You’re twenty years younger than me, asshole,” Ambrose muttered as he pushed away from the table. “I’m going to get another drink.”
“I’ll take another beer if you’re going.” Fiero held his empty glass aloft with a grin.
Ambrose briefly looked like he wanted to murder the satyr right where he sat, but eventually he yanked the glass out of Fiero’s hand and stalked toward the bar.
“He’s gonna kick your ass one of these days,” Dallan said around a loud, barking laugh.
Fiero shrugged. “No he won’t, Ambrose is like a pissed off cat. He’ll hiss and sputter, but eventually come back for cuddles.”
