Can't Tamee Me

"Lyra, hurry up; the customer is waiting!"

I snatched the package from the hands of this cretin of a secretary to run to my bike. I work as a courier in New York, and this idiot just made me lose precious minutes because he packed it wrong. Time is money, and I don't have enough to waste. I have already covered more than 100 kilometers today, yet I would like to do at least two or three more runs to increase my daily earnings. To achieve my goals, I race through traffic, weaving between cars, sometimes hitching onto a bus or taxi to pick up speed.

My next client is in the middle of Manhattan. I have to go to the Verona building, in one of the Big Apple's business districts. It's a place I've never set foot in, despite my job, because it's a vampire neighborhood, and they tend to call on their own minions for the kind of service I provide. However, it is not a problem for me to go there because money has no smell, no race, and no country; no matter where it comes from, I take it without shame.

Following my GPS with one eye, I look at the buildings around me, vaguely wondering what to expect. As far as I know, I've never met non-humans, and unlike the rest of the people I meet, I've never been interested in them. Luckily, vampires are by far the most regulated, so despite living in a district exclusively inhabited by my race, I have some notions about them. First of all, knowing there was a time when they hunted my kind for food, I'm glad to be protected by the Primary Agreement. It is a non-aggression pact that prohibits the unauthorized hunting and consumption of other individuals.

Even though I have never trusted the law to defend me, the bonus my company offers for coming so far from my usual neighborhood helps me put caution aside. If things go wrong, I'll handle it. Anyway, this isn't the first time I've had to take care of my own safety.

Leaning my bike against the wall, I tell myself that, after all, all humanoid bipeds look alike, so I don't have to fear them any more than others. Looking up at the building with its impeccable windows and dizzying lines, I also think that most of the people inside must be careful about their brand image. Eating the delivery person would probably be bad for business.

Pushing my cap down, I wedge my package properly under my arm before going through the automatic doors and trotting to the reception, chasing all doubts from my brain. The woman at the entrance watches me arrive with a stern look, wincing at my jeans-torn at the knees-and my Squirtle t-shirt. I'm well aware that I'm past the age of Pokemon, but I don't care what the rest of the world thinks.

Anyway, I'm not here for a fashion show. Without giving her time to make a remark, I attack directly: "I have a package for Mr. Veroni; I have to go upstairs; it's urgent!"

She hesitates to give me access to the upper floors, pouting in disgust and still staring at me. What does she think? That I came to spray-paint graffiti in the building?

"Well, at worst, I can leave the package with you!" I say, shrugging my shoulders. For me, it's not a problem; I would just say, "It's your fault if the customer didn't get it in time."

She bites her lip, worried, fiddling with her files as she weighs the pros and cons, while I pretend to turn on my heels.

"It's fine, it's fine!" she ends up snapping at me.

Courier strategy number one: When the welcome is not warm, remain calm, then insinuate that the person is risking their job. It is one of my favorite techniques. I love seeing petty department heads go from arrogance to fear. With a smirk, I watch her hand me a badge with her fingertips.

"It must be returned on your way out!" she spits at me, turning immediately back to her computer screen.

"No kidding!" I say in an acidic tone. "And here I was, dreaming of starting a collection!"

I leave while she throws me a furious sidelong glance. The remark wasn't mandatory, but I added it for fun. I walk through the elevator doors, finding myself squeezed in the middle of a group of men and women in severe dark suits, dressed to the nines. I suppose most of them are bloodsuckers, but I wouldn't know for sure, and deep down, I don't care. I think only of my bounty, and in the meantime, I slip into a corner to watch them.

Finally, I rush to the indicated office, knocking on the door before entering without waiting for an answer. After all, the sooner I get this over with, the sooner I get out of this place that makes me uncomfortable. In my haste, I come face to face with a tall, dark-haired man in a suit and tie, whom I bump into, caught in my tracks.

While grumbling about people with oversized builds, I take a step back; however, I've barely moved when he catches me by the arm.

"Your smell is very pleasant..." he says in a dreamy voice, his nostrils flaring.

I blink, puzzled, thinking he doesn't look sane. Raising an eyebrow, I try to free myself by explaining why I'm there. "I have a package for Mr. Veroni!"

He doesn't let go of me, his black eyes staring as if trying to enter my soul.

"That's me," he says, a crooked smile stretching his lips. "What a coincidence! I believe we were destined to-"

I cut off his reply, which I feel will be very heavy, by pressing the package against his chest somewhat brutally before handing him my tablet for a signature.

"Sign here, please!" I reply coldly, nudging him to let go of my arm, which he still held firmly.

Once he finally decides to release his grip on my wrist to grab the package by reflex, I show him the screen. Whatever happens, stay professional. Delivery strategy number four: This technique usually works with low-level flirts and annoyed paper-pushers. Unfortunately, this time he doesn't seem to be playing along; he just stares at me without moving, as if waiting for something other than the package, which doesn't interest him at all.

His eyes sparkle with a glint that tells me nothing good is coming. Hoping to get it over with as all my fears seem to come to life, I try to keep my composure despite the unease growing inside me.

"Mr. Veroni, do you want your package or no?" I ask insistently.

Unexpectedly, another mocking male voice resounds from further back. "So, boss, your pheromones no longer work?"

I lean my head forward to get a better look behind my strange client, discovering a man seated on a large walnut desk, watching us with a smile. He suddenly approaches with a predatory gait, confident, as if I were going to melt under his spell. I squint, observing this tall blonde with pale skin who contrasts strangely with his black suit.

"Are you vampires?" I asked him, wondering what trap I had fallen into.

"We can't hide anything from you!" he replied, amused. "This is Stéphane Veroni, and in case you didn't recognize me, I'm Nigel Caliene."

He looked confident, as if it were impossible for anyone in the world not to know who they were, let alone fail to swoon over them. Pissed off by their dumb duo, I shrugged my shoulders and stared at him sarcastically, oblivious to caution.

"Because you are famous?"

He looked at me speechless, while Stéphane burst out laughing at his annoyed face. Nigel, clearly offended, puffed out his chest before continuing with disdain.

"I am the most prominent model of this century! I'm one of the richest vampires in New York! The whole world is snapping up our brand! Not to mention that Stéphane is one of the greatest CEOs in New York; he makes the cover of the most popular magazines!"

I looked at him blankly. "And how does that interest me in my everyday life?"

He stared at me with round eyes, completely shocked, opening his mouth like a fish out of water. The situation wasn't progressing; worse, Stéphane extended his hand to grab my wrist with the look of a flirt who thinks he's caught prey.

I was losing patience. I'm a delivery girl; I'm here to work, not to put up with creeps. The longer I stayed still, the more they felt they could do whatever they wanted. Acting instinctively, I grabbed the thumb that was brushing the skin of my fingers and pulled it violently back. The vampire's eyes widened in surprise as I pushed further and further until he dropped to one knee. I saw utter incomprehension in his eyes, as if he were more surprised that the mouse was attacking the snake than he was bothered by the pain.

Shocked, Nigel rushed toward us. Not daring to break my grip, however, he simply gesticulated uselessly with growing annoyance, while the one in my grasp didn't bat an eyelid, just staring at me.

"You are a crazy child!" Nigel exclaimed furiously. "You're risking your life! Do you even know who you're attacking? He is the Blood Prince of New York!"

"In case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't give a damn! What I do know is that throwing pheromones at someone who doesn't consent is considered hunting! You're risking much more than me on this one!"

I released my grip as the two vampires looked at me dumbfounded. For my part, I tried to keep a straight face, though I didn't really know if the police would actually come to rescue me here. Taking advantage of their shock, I again handed my tablet to Stéphane, who was still on one knee.

"Please sign!" I ordered, hoping it would take him a moment to recover.

Blinking, still stunned, Veroni grabbed the stylus and scribbled on the screen. I snatched it back with a quick gesture before adjusting my company cap.

"Thank you for using Hermès Express," I told them both, smiling while the vampire tycoon looked at me with wide eyes. "Do not hesitate to contact us for future orders."

Delivery person strategy: Remain professional in all circumstances. Always follow the rules.

"However, be more polite next time!" I warned them. "Or you'll take my fist to the face. It will be much harder to make the front page of magazines with a crooked nose and broken teeth!"

I turned on my heels briskly, heading for the elevator as dignified and calm as possible while moving very fast. Once inside and the doors closed, I leaned against the wall, breathing hard as I ran a hand through my long brown hair.

I was close to having a heart attack. I don't know vampires well, but usually, prey breathing their pheromones is paralyzed. This is how they used to eat before the three races signed the pact. I narrowly avoided disaster because I believe Stéphane wanted to make me his dinner.

The doors suddenly opened on the ground floor, making me straighten up like a jack-in-the-box. I still had a lot of work ahead of me; I didn't have time to feel sorry for myself. It was just another misadventure in my hectic life.

At the reception desk, I threw the badge to the outraged secretary, who caught it at the last second, almost falling from her chair. I sneered wickedly as I headed for the exit without slowing down as she lost her temper and started yelling. She went silent before I even walked through the door; her boss was likely coming to scold her for disturbing the hall's quiet atmosphere.

Without wasting time, I got back on my bike while glancing at my tablet, which told me I had a package to pick up in another neighborhood. I'm glad to be leaving the vampire side of Manhattan.

An hour later, I managed to finish two more runs before deciding that was enough for today. I returned to the depot, which wasn't far from my last client. While putting my bike away, I met Sam, an overexcited and always happy blond. Seeing me, he called out immediately with a big wave.

"Hi beauty! How are you?"

"Good!" I said tersely, hoping to end the conversation quickly.

"It seems you broke the quota again today!" he continued admiringly, looking at the day's data on his tablet.

After each shift, our data is uploaded to the intranet. We are all in competition because whoever makes the most journeys wins a bonus. Around me, I could feel the other couriers giving me acidic sideways glances, annoyed that I'm winning the money again. I know many of them dream of seeing me go under a truck. If they only knew how little I cared about their jealousy.

"Do you still need money?" Sam yelled, snapping me out of my reverie as he slipped next to me.

Sam is one of the few people I actually speak to. "I always need money!" I blurted out, shrugging.

I haven't reached my goal for a new life in Canada yet. There is a background requirement for a visa, especially since I stopped school at 14. As I put my gloves in my bag, he handed me a flyer for a vampiric center.

"You're in Olympic shape; you don't smoke or drink!" he told me. "Maybe you could go to this center; it pays well for high-quality blood! You could even find yourself a regular!"

I groaned. I'd heard of these places-voluntary blood donation for "bloodsuckers." Rumor has it if a vampire likes your "scent," you can extort plenty of money. But I refuse to sell my body in any form. I'm not a commodity!

"Forget it," I told him, pushing back the flyers. "That's not for me. Besides, I'm busy..."

I left the depot to catch the bus back to the Bronx. I allowed myself a 30-minute nap on a bench before getting off at my stop.

I work at a bar-nothing glamorous, just cleaning floors and supplying drinks. It gives me the extra boost I need. I've become a master at finding odd jobs and errands to make money, even if it takes me to unsavory places. My meeting with the two vampires wasn't my worst experience, but I did wonder how I made Stéphane bend so easily. Then, as always, I pushed it to the back of my mind to survive another day.

It was almost two in the morning when I got home to my small studio. I only need a corner to sleep and store my things anyway. I barely set foot inside before grabbing a bag of kibble and a jug of water and heading to the park next door.

It's the only thing I do that doesn't make me money. It's my personal pleasure.

I took the bowls from a bush, and my companions came running. They are abandoned dogs-big, small, old, and young. I see in their eyes the harm the three species have done to them. I try to appease them with food and affection.

I waited a long time because I've had a new companion for a few days who is very shy. I've only seen him from a distance. He doesn't trust me yet, but he's coming closer. He's huge, but very discreet.

The bushes moved on my left. The pack around me changed behavior-some pulled away, others flattened their ears. My new friend is dominant. I sat on the floor, taking a deep breath, waiting for him to show himself.

Finally, the others stepped back. He came out of the bushes, limping with his head down. I knew he was big, but not *this* big. His shadow completely covered me; he was the size of a small pony. His fur was dull and moth-eaten, his sides streaked with scars. He could barely stand. I'm going to need a lot of kibble to fill him up.

He suddenly sat down in front of me, lowering his head a little more to get level with my eyes. Those steel-blue irises made me miss several heartbeats. I felt like I could stay like this for hours. The hair on my arms stood on end.

Without breaking my gaze, he walked a little closer before laying his head on my thighs with a sigh of exhaustion. As delicately as possible, I reached my hand toward his muzzle so he could feel my presence, then I slid it over his skull. He softened at my touch before lying on his side, totally relaxed. He looked truly exhausted.

I vaguely wondered what breed of dog he could be. I know some Tibetan Mastiffs are massive, and I know more than one man in New York who hopes to cross them with Bullmastiffs to create an impressive fighting dog. I thought I might have one of those specimens in my hands.

In any case, wherever he came from, he was in a terrible state. I didn't want to leave him like that, but I wondered what my options were. He wasn't exactly a size I could carry under my arm.

I decided to give it a shot, slowly getting up as he watched me. With a paw as big as my arm, he tried to hold me to the ground, but he lacked the strength. I pulled away easily, stepping back to lead him on, hoping I could get him home to safety.

"Come on, my little wolf..."

I held out my hand so he could scent it. Seeing him stretch his neck and get up as expected, I grabbed my water jug and empty bag, then shifted further back. At first, he hesitated, then he advanced slowly with a difficult gait. Leaving the park, he limped at my side, leaning against me so as not to waver. His back was almost level with my shoulder, and he was heavy, but I finally managed to bring him home.

Once inside, he crashed to the floor, taking up all the remaining space next to my mattress. I had to step over him just to move around. He remained surprisingly calm and stoic, which meant he must have lived in a house before, despite his extraordinary size.

I shrugged; his story didn't matter to me for the moment-he needed treatment first. I squatted next to him, showing him my hands so he could scent the supplies I'd gathered to tend to his wounds. After a few sniffs, he rested his head on the floor, reassured, and I began to work. Fortunately, the lacerations weren't deep, but it looked as if he had fought a bear... or perhaps another beast like himself.

Once his wounds were cleaned, I offered him food. He didn't seem to have much of an appetite, so I thawed my leftover cheesy pasta and added gravy. It wasn't balanced, but he desperately needed the energy.

When he finally finished the last noodle, it was four in the morning. With a sigh, I threw myself onto my mattress, rolling into a ball to recover as much as possible during the one hour of sleep I had left.

A few minutes later, when the alarm rang, I groaned and swiped at it to silence it. As I tried to get up, I felt my "wolf" around me; he had practically embedded himself onto my mattress. His head weighed heavily on my waist while his warm body immobilized my legs. I gave him a small caress between the eyes as he yawned. When I moved, he shifted, letting me get up.

The reflection in the bathroom mirror was not flattering: my emerald green eyes were surrounded by circles worthy of a panda, and I was terrifyingly pale. Hoping to look human again, I vigorously brushed my brown mane, tying it into a high ponytail before jumping into the shower. I put on black jeans and a gray t-shirt before heading for the door.

My wolf was standing, staring at me curiously. I noticed his wounds had closed surprisingly well since earlier, and even his fur seemed less dull. Maybe he just needed a meal. I was hesitant to leave him alone, but he nudged his muzzle under my arm. I could feel he wanted to go out, and I didn't want him relieving himself indoors.

I opened the door wide for him, watching him cross the threshold with a step much more alert than the day before. Going down the stairs, he wandered off like a young puppy, nose to the wind. It was pleasant to see him recover so quickly. I watched him disappear around the corner just as the bus arrived. I climbed inside, reassured. Maybe I'd see him again tonight, or maybe he'd found a better place to sleep.

I sat on the bench as the bus started moving. Suddenly, a howl rang out-one that broke my eardrums and my heart. The driver heard it too, but instead of stopping when I desperately asked, he accelerated. I was frozen in my seat. I tried to look through the window, but we had already turned the corner. I ran to the front, asking again for the driver to stop, but he wouldn't listen. He was too terrified.

I watched the streets go by, my heart sinking. I thought about getting off at the next stop to go back to him. Had he been hit by a car? There was no traffic on the road, though.

I was still standing, clinging to the bus railing, when my phone rang. I looked at the screen and my heart crashed to the floor. I wanted to smash the device against the glass. Yet, I picked up because I knew I had no choice. The voice of my stepfather, Carlos, sounded on the other end.

"You have the money?"

"Yes..."

"Tonight, 9 p.m. At your place. Be on time!"

He hung up. That filthy bastard.

I hate this man from the bottom of my heart. He is the one I am trying to run away from with everything I have; I'm not even sure Canada is far enough. He turned my mother into a stripper before making her a call girl. His only dream is to do the same to me. He has made every day of my life a hell of fear and pain since I was a child. He surrounds himself with the dregs of society, feeding on everything illegal and atrocious the city has to offer. All I can do to keep him away is give him the money he demands for "raising" me.

I could hit him, break his teeth-he's barely taller than me and out of shape. But no one says no to Carlos. I wouldn't even land a blow before his henchmen killed me. I already tried to run away once; the police were the ones who brought me back to him. It took me a full month to walk again after the beating he gave me.

I sat with my head down, trembling. I still fear every encounter with that man. My wolf will have to fend for himself for now; I absolutely have to keep raising money, or Carlos will end up taking my life.

I could hardly control my tears of rage, but I kept one thought in mind: one day, I will be free.