The dense, old-fashioned red and gold curtains hang in front of a beautiful square bay window. I know from other sneaky endeavours as a child that they hide me and my scent well.
I take the opportunity to rub myself along the fabric in a vain hope that my fleas will jump off and disperse around the house, infesting the pack. Yeah, I have fleas. Plain old non-magical ones that drive me mad with the itching. My body is full of scrapes and sores. A particularly painful one at the back of my neck continually throbs. I can smell the infection as the pus oozes into my surrounding fur—I can’t reach the spot. I’m falling to pieces. At least my coat isn’t matted. The manky dirty, flea-ridden fur sheds without issue.
As I wait, I berate myself. Why on earth did I growl? I will be punished later. By the time lunch is over, Liz will have convinced the pack that I took a chunk out of her or something equally dramatic. It’s irrelevant that Liz wanted to go all stabby on me. That growl could be the one thing that tips them over the edge. I swallow. I am the idiot who put myself in that situation in the first place. Now I’m going one step further. Here I am hiding in the dining room, trying my best to put the final nail in my coffin. And I call Liz a psycho…
I blow out a breath. I care about Harry. Harry matters to me; his happiness matters. If I can keep Harry from making a mistake with Liz, irrespective of what happens to me, it will be worth it…
God, I am absolutely nuts! I’ve finally lost it. I have to be honest with myself: if I do this, there’s a big chance that they’re going to kill me.
I lie down. My back legs make it too painful for me to stand for extended periods. I try to swallow the lump in my throat. The truth is painful to admit—but I can’t live like this anymore. I’m barely surviving. I might as well die for something.
If I’m going to do this, I am going to own this shit.
I focus on the times when Harry intervened on my behalf. Maybe he doesn't remember his interference, but I do. What he did matters to me.
What type of person would I be if I rewarded his kindness by turning my back on him? Horrible people shouldn’t get away with doing bad things just because they can. If good people don’t do anything, then that makes them as bad. I know that’s probably a very naïve way of thinking about things.
You’ve got to remember, I’m not worldly.
I’m a memory of a girl.
I first met Harry when I was six years old and Harry, his two older, nastier brothers Vincent and Jason, and my new stepfather Dave came to live with my mum and me. When my mum became pregnant with Grace, our little sister, our pack of two suddenly became a pack of seven. My eyes fill with tears. Grace—
“So, no babies yet?” The clunking of Liz’s heels on the wooden floor follows her snide question as she enters the dining room. I freeze—I didn’t even hear them coming. Sloppy. “Being a human mate”—Liz sniffs, the distaste evident in her voice—“you would think you’d be trying. You don’t want to miss the boat. You humans die so easily. Or has Vincent decided to wait for a pureblood female to be available? Let’s be honest, your children would be next to useless—no offence—apart from the slight strength increase and a few more years added to a pathetic lifespan. They can’t even shift. I see no point in anyone breeding with you.” What a cow. Liz is talking to Beth. Beth intelligently remains silent.
I mentally grumble.
Liz is such a hypocrite—it’s okay for her to have a bitten lover. Bitten shifters—turned human’s who are always male—don’t shift.
Like I said before, female wolf shifters are very rare. Female shifters are treasured, as only one in a thousand shifters are born female. Male shifters like Vincent have no choice but to mate with other races, as no one wants to live alone. Vincent is fortunate to have Beth as his mate.
“It looks good on you, by the way—the extra weight.” Ugg, Liz is such a liar. Beth is gorgeous. I like Beth. When Vincent is out, she leaves the television on in the kitchen so that I can watch it through the window. She also plays music loudly so I can hear from the garden.
My thoughts drift to my estranged biological brother, John. I wonder if he has a mate and any children. John is a super-shifter, a hellhound—“hellhound” is a name given to all fire shifters, gifted with magic. The ability is rare, and only a few male shifters get to that level of power. My brother is a total badass. He’s the hero type you send in to save the world. Shifters have long lifespans and are difficult to kill, but shifters do die and all that’s left of my bloodline today is John and myself. Yeah, go John. No pressure—our bloodline now rests on his shoulders. It isn’t like I am going to be of any use. I won’t be popping out any babies.
I glance down at my dirty paws and sigh.
While I’ve been reflecting and not paying attention—again, highlighting that I'm not in the right frame of mind—I have missed the rest of the pack's arrival. They have already taken their seats around the dining table. The clink of plates, the soft murmur of conversation, and the smell of food drifts underneath the curtain.
The smell makes my stomach cramp. I am always so hungry and God, it smells good. I take a deep breath in and briefly close my eyes in appreciation. Mmmm. I learned a trick many years ago: when I smelled delicious food, I’d close my eyes and imagine I’m eating it—the taste, the texture in my mouth. I don’t even know if my imaginary food tastes the same as food in real life. I’m sure mine is way better. I nod my furry head with conviction.
Come on, Forrest, get a grip. I take a steadying breath, trying my best not to disturb the curtain with my muzzle. I peek through a gap. I need to see where everyone is sitting.
Okay, Harry is seated next to Liz, and he’s sitting with his back to me. His blond hair brushes the collar of his smart blue shirt. He needs a haircut. On Harry’s right is Jason. Vincent is opposite Liz with Beth.
Vincent. My stomach tightens. He is the oldest of the brothers. He is my torturer, my tormentor, and will be the man who ultimately murders me. The monster has been killing parts of me slowly for years. He was initially assigned by my mother to protect me. Vincent and Jason were supposed to be my bodyguards. I huff. Instead, when my circumstances changed, they became my prison guards and self-appointed abusers. They’re both tall and bulky, with dark hair and eyes. Jason’s eyes are almost black. He is so creepy. The dread I experience when they’re near is like a living thing.
I can’t do this if I look at them or think about them—I will lose my nerve. I take another shaky breath and focus on the job at hand. I wrangle the butterflies in my tummy. They feel like they’re going to climb out of my throat and take flight.
Luck is with me, as Liz is sitting in front of my hiding spot. The phone is sitting at the end of the table next to her fork. My whole focus of attention switches to the phone and planning my next move.
So it takes me a while to tune in to the conversation, and I wish in a way I hadn’t. The members of the caring, sharing pack are all talking about killing me.
Yay, fun times.
Liz places her hand on Harry’s arm and pats it. “I’ve chosen you to be my mate. I could have chosen anybody. But I chose you, Harry. I’ve said that I will live with your pack—join your family, as the humans quaintly say. We’re going to be mated, and our future children will not be growing up in a home with a feral wolf. Harry, it’s getting ridiculous.” She fake-shudders and pouts annoyingly. “Every time I visit, the savage attacks me! It is dangerous and should be put to sleep.” Huh, “put to sleep.” Really? Why not say what you mean, Liz. Dead. Not that she has anyone to disagree with her, apart from Harry and a silent, wide-eyed Beth. “I am sure we can convince the brother to let it go. He doesn’t care about it, anyway. With enough evidence, the council will sign off on it.” I am surprised she doesn’t say, “It’s either the dog or me.” Liz sadly smiles. Wow, not only does she have an arsenal of horrible looks, but it seems as if she has a catalogue of impressive fake smiles as well. “You are selfish and cruel. Insisting on keeping that thing alive when it woul
d be much better—” Harry is shaking his head, and I guess he’s about to reply when Liz’s phone rings.
Oh my.
My muscles tighten in readiness. I know it’s the filthy talker—it’s the same ringtone.
I make my move.
I have seconds to somehow get to the phone.
Between one breath and the next, I spring from behind the curtains.
All I can hear is my panting and my heart pounding. With more focus then I have given anything else in my life, I home in on the handset.
I need to get this right. This might be the last thing I ever do, and I need to make it count. I ignore the pain in my back legs. I just need to…My hand lands on the phone, and I press the screen to answer. With another swipe of my finger, the phone is miraculously on the loudspeaker.
“Liz babe, when are you coming back to bed. I need you…” I smile with satisfaction as the male voice echoes around the room. Ooops, no talking yourself out of that one, Liz. Bingo, I got the cow, boom, take that, Liz. Eat your heart out, Liz Richardson.
Everyone but Harry is ignoring the phone. I wince. Poor Harry.
They are all staring at me. Uh-oh. Vincent has an evil look in his narrowed eyes.
Uh-oh. Oh no.
I wobble. My legs shake as I back away from the table. My hands lift in the age-old sign of peace. I didn’t touch Liz, just the phone.
HANDS. Oh my God. I let out a squeak of fright.
Oh my God!
I glance down at the tiny hands, so pale they seem transparent. My hands. They are no longer paws!
CHAPTER THREE
The whole table erupts into shouting. Everybody is trying to speak at once. Shit shit shit. I freak out.
I run. Adrenaline floods my veins as I make a wobbly run for the door—a wobbly naked dash. I am so not hanging about.
I think I am in shock. No. No, I know I am in shock. Did they kill me? I bounce off the wall as I run into the hall. I almost fall, but my momentum keeps me upright. I huff out a pain-filled breath. Ow. Nope, still alive.
The shouting from the dining room is getting worse, and the three bodyguards—yes, the ones with the swords!—are rushing to the dining room from the kitchen nearby.
I keep going. Please don’t see me, please don’t see me. They start shouting at me to stop. Oh crap, they have seen me!
I do the most sensible thing I’ve done today. On instinct, on the way past the hallway table, I grab the house phone. I bounce into the toilet door and manage to get the door open. I fling myself into the tiny bathroom, slam the solid oak door behind me, and hit the lock.
Wow, who knew I had that in me?
My whole body is shaking, and my heart is pounding. I gasp. God, I can’t breathe.
Running on two legs is not fun—how the hell do people balance?
My wobbly legs give out, and I slide down the closed door onto the cold, tiled floor. I shiver. I never thought I’d miss my fur...I feel so bloody cold. I pull my knees to my chest and grip the phone.
The door shudders behind me. I squeak in fright and almost drop the landline. Someone wants in here desperately. Shit shit shit. Thank God the shuddering door is solid oak and not made from a lighter wood.
I have no option but to ring my brother John. I hope he will come now—now that I’m human again. I do my best to focus and dial.
How many times have I imagined this moment…
I mentally cross everything that he still has the same mobile number. One by one, the digits pop into my head. It takes over a dozen attempts to get the right sequence, as the banging on the door is seriously disconcerting and my fingers are like useless noodles.
The phone rings, it rings and rings.
Please pick up. Please pick up.
“What! Why are you ringing from this number?” comes a gruff, angry voice.
I open my mouth to speak, and nothing bloody comes out. I want to say John’s name. But I can’t. Oh my God, I can’t talk! My hand not holding the phone flies to my throat and my heart skips a beat.
Finally, frustratingly, I say “J—” But it’s more like a puff of breath rather than a letter or word. No no no. I whine in frustration.
“Forrest? Forrest, is that you?” His tone of voice changes, gentles. Somehow he knows. My brother knows! I manage another soft whine. “I am on my way. I will be with you in just…in under an hour. Are you safe? Is the pack with you? Why haven’t they called me? Shit, never mind.” His soft tone of voice disappears. “What the fuck is that noise!” The banging on the bathroom door must have registered. “Is someone trying to hurt you? I am on my way. Stay on the phone. Do not shift back. Do you hear me? Do not shift back!” There’s a muffled shout, like he is half-covering the phone. “Owen, get one of them on your phone now! Forrest is back. Yes, now, damn it.” He comes back to me. “Hey princess, are you in your room? Somewhere safe? I am bringing Doctor Ross. Everything is going to be okay—”
I pull the phone away from my ear and squint at it incredulously.
Everything is going to be okay? Really? I have scary bodyguards…or is it the pack banging on the door at my back? Their screams echo in the hallway. I swallow back tears.
My brother is coming…
The pack wants me dead.
My brother is coming…
I feel lightheaded. I whine, and my bottom lip trembles.
The same estranged brother that I haven’t seen since I shifted. John dropped me off like an unwanted puppy, and off he went to save the world without a backward glance, leaving me with monsters.
Am I safe? No, I am not bloody safe. I’ve never been safe, and I doubt it will ever be okay. I clamp my lips closed and hold in a sob that wants to wrench itself from my throat. I hug my knees.
The noise level in the hall drops, and finally I can make out individual voices.
“She rang John. Fuck! The hounds are on the way.”
“Are you sure that’s Forrest? Didn’t she have ginger hair?”
“Fuck’s sake, get away from that door! You will scare her and then John will rip your throats out. Get the fuck away.”
This is all too much.
“Go sort your female out. Liz is no longer welcome at this time. We will deal with this problem first. Thank you for your assistance, but this is no longer your concern as you aren't members of this pack.” I shudder at Vincent’s smooth voice. I think he’s speaking to Liz’s bodyguards.
Is Vincent getting everyone away so that he can come in here and kill me? Surely he can’t, now that John is on his way? Visions of Vincent crashing through the door with a silver sword make me shudder. I bite my arm to stop myself from crying out.
“Liz, don’t say a word, we’re leaving,” says the gruff voice of the big bodyguard. “The only job you had to do was land a well-connected mate. Produce the next generation. You can’t even do that properly without fucking it up. Wait until we get home—you will be lucky to leave your room. Father will be selling your ass to the highest bidder. You better hope that we don’t find that guy who called you…” His angry voice fades away.
There’s shuffling, stomping, and finally, blessed silence. I think everyone has left.
“It is okay, urm…Forrest. You don’t have to come out. Liz—”
Everyone but Harry.
There’s rustling as if he’s running his hand through his blond hair. I can picture it, as I’ve seen him do that hundreds of times. He lets out a puff of air. “Liz left. It’s over. She was cheating. I can’t…I can’t trust her anymore. The phone call, you did that. You did that for me. God, it hurts. I feel sick. I am sure other shifters wouldn’t care, but I’d rather be alone than that.” The door squeaks—he must be leaning against it. I let out a whine, and I bang my head against the closed door in frustration. I can’t talk. I can’t console him.
After a few minutes, I wiggle about, trying to get comfortable. My bottom is hurting. The floor is hard, and my bum is bony. It’s going numb, like the rest of me.
Glancing ar
ound the room, I spot the mirror above the sink. It feels like it’s miles away from my slumped position on the floor.
But I get the most overwhelming urge. I need to see.
I don’t know how I manage to get off the floor. The phone falls, forgotten.
I wobble on my feet. I brace myself against the narrow walls. My useless toes scrabble, trying to get a grip on the tiles. I lunge and grab hold of the sink. I hold on to it. Lift my head and look.
Hello Skeletor...My face is gaunt, and my features are way too big for my face. My eyes are huge and wide with shock. My left eye is an unnatural gold, and my right eye is almost gold apart from a sliver of green pooling at the bottom of my iris. The green sits at the bottom of my eye unevenly, practically taken over by the gold. But it is green. The green I didn’t imagine in my head. The green I dreamed of.
I touch my forehead to the mirror.
Oh, and my hair, it's not red. No, it’s a shocking shade of pink. I huff out a breath. I am a skull with hair, fucking pink hair and freaky eyes. Fuck my life.
Harry is continuing to talk to me from the door, and John is still talking on the phone. But it’s all white noise. I am so overwhelmed. Even in my human form, I am not normal.
My skin is so pale it’s translucent, the blue of my veins standing out. The black of my dog collar stands out on my pale neck. I don’t understand how it shifted with me—it must be the magic in the collar. The rest of me, my body...I am supposed to be an adult, but my tiny childlike frame is hideous.
I let out a silent sob that hurts my chest. I am repulsive.
CHAPTER FOUR
I am sitting on the closed toilet seat. I have used the available hand towels as padding underneath my bony bum—not that that is much use. My skeletal body aches.
Cursed Wolf: Urban Fantasy Shifter Stand-Alone (Creatures of the otherworld Book 1) Page 2
