Witch Heart - By Anya Bast Page 0,3

dealt with that one. Perhaps the elemental witches were rulers in this place. It would make sense, considering their abilities. Although that didn't explain all the blank looks she got when she asked about them. At least she'd found one man who understood about the Atrika. Hopefully, he'd know how to find Thomas Monahan.

The good news—if there was good news—was that there were only two Atrika and no more could follow, since Rue had destroyed the doorway.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up from her depths. She was penniless and lost in a foreign world she hadn't walked on since she was six years old and there only two Atrika who were chasing her. That was the good news?

The man looked concerned when she laughed. He hesitated, then pulled the door of a restaurant open for her. "We're here." Claire's mind had been spinning so hard, she hadn't even noticed they'd reached their destination.

She entered a small establishment, glancing at her surroundings. People sat belly up to a long counter. Others sat in the booths near the large front window that gave a view of the darkened street. Most of the restaurant's patrons turned and looked at her, making Claire self-conscious about her clothing and dirt-smudged face.

"No vagrants in here," said a skinny, sharp-faced waitress wielding a pot of some dark unidentifiable liquid.

Horror shot through Claire. "I am not a vagrant." She glanced away, knowing full well she looked like one. She'd been—was—handmaiden to the Cae of the Ytrayi daaeman breed. Slave, perhaps, but slave to the master. That meant the best of everything, even though she'd been property.

The man set a hand to her shoulder. "Of course you aren't." Then he turned to the waitress. "It's okay. I'm a clinical psychologist and…" He pulled the waitress aside and spoke in low tones to her. The waitress nodded and glanced at her.

Claire's intuition niggled. This was not a good thing.

That had not been a good glance.

A clinical psychologist? Her mind sorted through the notebooks filled with English lessons and vocabulary her mother had left her. A psychologist was a physician of the mind. Why had he mentioned that to the waitress? Did he think Claire was crazy?

She sucked in a breath. Her alarm factor ratcheted upward. She had to get out of here. What had seemed like a safe refuge a moment ago didn't seem so anymore. Houses, she had no idea who to trust in this world, which meant she could trust no one.

She lifted her gaze to the window and saw the darker skinned Atrika staring in at her. His eyes were shadowed and full of menace. He parted his lips and flashed fang at her—a silent promise.

The bell on the door behind her jingled and she turned to see the other Atrika, masking as human, enter the diner. This one was lighter than the other—tall, blond, broad-shouldered. Ripped with muscle, this one could break her bones with a twist of his wrist. This was the one she thought was called Tevan. If it was Tevan, he was one of the leaders of the Atrika uprising. A commander.

Oddly, he looked like Rue. It made her throat close with longing for home—safe, warm home. She had mixed feelings about the Ytrayi, but right now the thought of them was a familiar comfort in a world of threat.

Hundreds of years ago, the Ytrayi—leading two of the other daaeman breeds—had tried to exterminate all Atrika from the face of Eudae. They'd missed pockets of them and those survivors had gone underground, vowing to take Eudae for themselves one day. The attempted genocide had fueled an already growing war between the breeds.

The one she thought was Tevan caught her gaze for one long moment and she couldn't look away. Violent promise shimmered deep in his dark blue eyes. He ducked into a booth and pretended to read the plastic menu. He still wore his fighting leathers from head to toe and drew many curious glances.

All of the daaeman breeds, there were four of them, could mask their appearance through magick. An Atrika could appear to be Ytrayi or Syari or Mandari, for example. They only showed their true faces when angered or on a hunt. At the moment Tevan was indistinguishable from any other male in the restaurant, but for his powerful build.

Claire turned back around, her heart thumping. She pasted a purposefully bland look on her face. It would not help to allow the Atrika to know how badly they frightened her. They