Goodbye, My Mate

Chapter 220

Leah's POV

Liam's bitter laugh could've curdled milk. "Tried that shit. Dockyards wanted truckers with clean sheets - mine's dirtier than a motel porno magazine. Dealership garage? Turned out to be ex-cons crew running protection rackets." He leaned across the red vinyl booth, eyes dark as burned coffee. "I'm no saint, but I don't peddle drugs to kids. I used to keep my pride, trust me, I really did... till Nana's med bills hit." His throat worked like he'd swallowed glass. "Pride's just dead weight when your world's sinking, feel me?"

"But the girls, man..." I trailed off, the words sticking like a bee.

"Wake up!" His fist hit the table, silverware jumping. "You think this shit disappears 'cause it skeeves you out? My girls eat regularly. Don't get beat black-and-blue like some dollar-store pimps allow." His finger stabbed the air between us. "Without me? They'd be turning tricks in back alleys on Monday, end up as another Jane Doe in a dumpster by Tuesday. That sit better with your conscience?"

A breath caught in my throat, words evaporating like morning dew beneath the weight of this revelation. An existential chasm yawned between my claws - centuries of forced coexistence, yet we werewolves had never truly pierced the veiled theater of human existence. These ephemeral creatures moved through life like drunken cartographers, mapping their brief existence with compasses dipped in faulty logic.

Their mortality astounded me most - these flickering candle flames who crammed lifetimes into decades. They shackled themselves to social niceties and moral codes that shifted like desert sands, all while chasing grotesque parodies of our primal birthright: not mere longevity but immortality, not casual lovers but destined soulmates, not survival instincts but crystalline clarity of purpose.

-

The stench of fish guts clung to my nostrils like a curse. I watched Liam's back as he wove through the predawn crowd, his shoulders relaxed in a way that made my teeth ache. Humans moved around us in a blur of rubber boots and shouted prices, their voices sharp as gulls fighting over scraps. Across the harbor, the Huffner Bridge's skeletal outline dissolved into morning mist - a ghostly reminder that Mediland's shores lay just beyond the horizon. It looked so near, yet so far away.

"Ever seen a monkfish alive?" Liam tossed the question over his shoulder, fingertips brushing the ice-crusted edge of a vendor's stall. His smile didn't reach his eyes today. "Ugly bastards. Got teeth like rusty nails. Pop used to say they'd bite through your boots if you pissed 'em off."

I said nothing. The sea's metallic tang mixed with the sour sweat of laborers unloading crates. My kind rarely set foot in human ports; the stink of mortality clung to these places, a rot no salt could cleanse. Yet here I stood, exiled royalty playing tourist beside a boy who smelled of cheap whiskey and unresolved vengeance.

He paused at a tub of glistening eels, their bodies knotted like strangler's rope. "Used to haul these up by the bucketful. Pop'd sell 'em to fancy restaurants uptown. Called 'em ‘sea serpents' to jack up the price." His laugh sounded hollow. "Worked every time."

"Why show me this?" I demanded. The question had gnawed at me since he'd roused me before dawn, his hands trembling slightly as he'd pressed a steaming mug of coffee into mine. Humans and their compulsions.

He scuffed his boot against the dock, avoiding my gaze. "Thought you'd like the chaos. Also, I'd like to show you where I'm from. My pop used to own this pier. He had boats coming and going all year round. But then, nothing left."

"What happened?" I frowned.

Liam coughed in the salty morning breeze. "Life happened."

Before I could dissect that remark, a voice cut through the din.

A gull shrieked. My spine tightened an instant before the taunt came.

"Well, look what the tide coughed up."

The man's voice slithered through the market din. Liam went rigid, his smile crumbling. Five men fanned out around us, their stink of stale beer and unwashed skin cutting through the fish rot. The tallest one wore a gold anchor chain - tarnished, cheap. His eyes crawled over me, lingering on the silk scarf hiding my throat.

"Upgraded your clientele, Madison?" Anchor Chain leered. "Though the bitch looks half-chewed already."

Liam stepped in front of me, hands raised. "She's nobody. Let's keep this between us, Darryl."

Nobody. The word pricked sharper than I'd admit. Darryl's crew laughed, a pack of hyenas scenting weakness. One kicked over a basket of clams; shells crunched beneath boots as they closed in.

"Your old man owed us a lot of money before he got knocked off that damn boat," Darryl said, jabbing Liam's chest. "It's time for you to pay his debt." His gaze flicked to me. "Or collateral."

Liam's pulse hammered in his jugular. I could smell his fear - sour, metallic - but he held his ground. "She's not part of this. Leave her alone."

"Oh, she's part of something." Darryl's grin widened. "How 'bout a demonstration? Show the lady what you're worth on your knees."

The world narrowed. My gloved fingers twitched, craving the give of a windpipe. But Liam's hand gripped my wrist, a silent plea. Don't.

"Alright." Liam's voice frayed at the edges. "But she walks first."

Darryl backhanded him. Blood speckled the dock. "You don't make terms here."

They forced him to his knees. I counted each button they ripped from his shirt, each slur spat in his face. My muscles coiled, the beast beneath my skin snarling to tear through this farce. But a werewolf can't disembowel human beings with bare hands in a crowded place like this. Not even a Lycan princess on the run.

"Stop!" My cry trembled with artful fragility, looking to the crowd. "Someone! Help him! He's done nothing..."

No one dared to step forward.

Darryl seized my arm. "Be quiet, sweetheart. You'll get your turn."