Ivy concentrated, pushing her wyvern’s endless anger down to the bottom of her soul. Her scales tingled as she shrank back into her human skin.
Both men’s taut shoulders relaxed. Ivy was no lightweight, but in this form both men had at least six inches and a hundred pounds of muscle on her. They clearly thought they now had the advantage.
They were idiots.
“Huh,” the shorter man muttered, staring at her curiously. “It’s just a girl.”
Ivy aimed her sharpest scowl at him, yanking off one of her gloves. “Who can still kill you with my little finger. Stay right there.”
“Like either of us would want to touch you even if you weren’t a monster,” the tattooed man sneered, his eyes flicking dismissively down Ivy’s curves. “Anyway, you got an invite. That means you’re safe…for now.”
“I’m not here for the party.” Ivy’s fist clenched on her glove, her bare hand still raised and ready. “I just want my sister. Go get her.”
He jerked his thumb at the half-open door behind him. “Go get her yourself.”
Ivy switched her glare to the smaller man, but he just shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning casually back against the wall. It was clear neither of the men was going to move a muscle. No doubt they were under orders from their alpha to make sure she went inside.
Ivy bit back a curse. When the mysterious party invitation had arrived last week, she’d known it had to be some sort of trap. No one invited a wyvern to a Christmas party. Not even an all-shifter Christmas party. She’d told Hope it was a trap.
And her stupid, stupid sister had happily bounced straight into it, and now Ivy had no choice but to take the bait.
Lifting her chin, she strode between the two men, heading for the doorway into the apartment complex. It led to a stairwell, the bannisters decorated with twining boughs of holly. Festive music and laughing voices drifted up from the penthouse apartment below.
Ivy grimaced, but jammed her hand back into her glove. Much as her wyvern screamed that she needed to be ready to defend herself, she could hardly walk into a crowded room with bare skin exposed. Her entire body was venomous, and she couldn’t risk hurting anyone.
Tugging at the sleeves of her thick denim jacket to make sure every inch of her arms were safely covered, she headed down the stairs. The sounds of revelry got louder, making her wyvern’s hackles rise. Her inner beast was on hyper-alert, its protective fury making Ivy’s stomach churn. She was unpleasantly aware of a wet stickiness starting to fill her gloves. In her agitated state, her venom would be deadly enough to kill instantly.
She had to find Hope and get out fast. And pray that no one tried to get in her way.
Taking a deep breath, Ivy pasted her very best I-give-zero-shits-about-anything-especially-you expression onto her face. Then she strode into the party.
Thankfully, it was loud and raucous enough that her appearance didn’t immediately attract attention. A couple of nearby Bad Dogs gave her a professional once-over, but didn’t move in her direction. Ivy had a moment to scan the room.
Her sense of unease deepened.
What the hell is this?
The luxurious, open-plan penthouse was packed with a wild assortment of shifters. Ivy picked out the distinctive heads of the Smile Time crew, their hair shaved and dyed into spots and stripes to match their inner hyenas. She was pretty sure that the trio of women in slinky, short dresses shaking their asses on the dance floor were snake shifters from the Cold Blood gang. And if the pack of red-headed men in the corner yelping encouragement as one of their number attempted a keg stand weren’t foxes from the Urban Vermin pack, then Ivy herself was a bunny.
Regardless of species, every shifter in the room had one thing in common. They were all members of some of the less-domesticated—and less law-abiding—groups in shifter society.
Exactly the sort of shifters that she’d sworn she’d never associate with again.
“Ivy! Ivyyyyyy!”
Ivy winced at the familiar, ear-splitting shriek. When Hope was excited—which was way more often than any sane person should be—she could reach a pitch high enough to stun bats.
“‘Scuse me, coming through.” Hope’s running commentary cut through the crowd at waist-level as her wheelchair shunted startled shifters aside. “Beep beep! Pardon me—oh, I’m so sorry! Was that your foot?”
A massive hyena shifter swore viciously, clutching at his leg as he rounded on his unexpected assailant. “Why you little-“
“Sister,” Ivy finished for him, stepping forward. She met his angry gaze coolly. “My little sister.”
The hyena’s eyes widened as he took in her green-streaked hair. Ivy had deliberately adopted the dyed, asymmetric haircut in order to stand out. It helped to have a distinguishing feature that other shifters could use to describe her to each other.
The wide, acid green stripe in her dark hair was her own version of a wasp’s black-and-yellow warning: Don’t mess with me.
The hyena shifter swallowed his growl, his face paling. Like most shifters in Brighton, he’d obviously heard about her. Without another word, he hobbled away.