I juggle my shopping bags and glance about for a place to sit. Dotted about are ten small tables with bright, mismatched chairs. I spot a comfortable chair positioned so my back would be against the wall. I will not only see the whole café and the door, but I should also be able to see halfway down the street. I hum. It’s a perfect position for people-watching. With an amused huff, I wonder if anyone else will leave a nose print on the window while I’m here.
I settle into my chair with a contented sigh, the clatter of dishes and clink of spoons a gentle background hum. I sip my hot chocolate and nibble on a fantastic slab of chocolate cake. Okay, so I am shoving great mouthfuls of cake into my mouth. But I pretend I am eating like a lady, even if I have to remind myself to chew. It’s gooey chocolatey goodness. I will never go another day if I can help it without a slice of chocolate cake, nom nom.
The café's walls are clad halfway up with wainscoting, painted a pale green. On one side of the room is a whole wall full of books. My fingers itch to run across their spines. Tipping my head back, I glance up to study the ceiling, where a pink-blossomed tree branch spans the ceiling with dangling fairy lights. I love the unique, bright splash of colour.
This place is amazing.
Modern life is fascinating; the humans around me are so focused on their phones. Even humans sitting with other humans are staring and poking at their mobiles, occasionally murmuring to each other without their eyes straying from their devices. People no longer engage with each other; it’s such a strange development. Crap, I guess I must look like a complete psycho sitting here, staring at everyone, without a phone in my hand.
I am sure the predators are well fed.
I bet hunting humans has never been so easy. Not that I'm advocating hunting humans! Pure humans are an endangered species. Mixed-race humans are a lot more common. It’s rare to find a human nowadays without a drop of DNA from some creature. In evolutionary terms, it makes sense for humans to breed to make themselves stronger, healthier, and to ensure that they live longer.
According to Owen, there are thousands of humans that petition every year to be turned into vampires; everybody wants to be a vampire nowadays. I don’t think many humans want to be shifters—the conversion rate is low, and only a small percentage of males survive.
I have a council-issued mobile, which is switched off and in a junk drawer. No way I’m I giving the council information or carrying that thing around with me to be tracked. Today I bought my own phone to join the modern world.
I am not the only one people-watching; there’s a young wolf shifter sitting a few tables away from me. He seems equally fascinated and has not stopped staring at me. I look at him and raise my eyebrow as if to say, what are you looking at? I saw someone do this in a film and thought it was cool, so I’ve been practising. He takes the eyebrow-raise as an invitation and gets up; his chair scrapes on the floor. My pulse rate increases—shit, I don’t want to talk to him! I frantically rub my mouth to make sure I don’t have cake on my face. He swaggers past me, over to the door, and leaves. Huh. I puff out a breath in relief, although I didn’t mean to scare him off. I’m glad he didn’t approach me.
I drag the paper menu across the table and study it, humming. I contemplate buying another slice, and I wonder if I can purchase a whole cake to take home.
The bell above the door jingles. My eyes flick up, and I freeze.
My mouth drops open. “H-Harry,” I stutter in disbelief.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“How's it going, Short Stuff?” Harry strolls over to my table, a fixed smile on his lips that doesn’t quite reach his blue eyes. “Can I join, and do you want anything?” He nods, indicating both the empty chair and my clean plate. Speechless, I rapidly nod my head. I can’t believe he’s here—wow, this is kind of surreal. My eyes feel like they’re popping out of my head as I obediently poke at the menu. I bounce on my chair and grin goofily at him. How did he find me?
“So you’re finally out of the hospital, then.” Harry returns with another slice of cake for me and a coffee for himself. The plate clatters as it hits the table, and Harry slumps down in the chair opposite. He folds his arms across his chest and spreads his ripped-jean–clad legs wide. It’s a proper wannabe-alpha pose. I barely refrain from sniggering at him, but I don’t want to be rude—he’s adorable. His left leg bounces slightly.
“Everyone is going nuts wanting to know about you, the new female shifter.” Harry sniffs and scrubs his nose with the back of his hand. I wrinkle my nose and swallow the cake in my mouth. A new shifter? Huh, do they think I appeared overnight as a fully-formed adult? Harry’s left leg continues to bounce. “Not much of a talker? Yeah, heard that too. Are you…are you alone? I can’t believe you’re out in the city alone. Where are your bodyguards?” He looks about as if they’re going to jump out of the woodwork and attack him. I part my lips to answer, but frustratingly my throat locks up. “I heard you have hellhounds watching you?” I nod and take a sip of my hot chocolate. I hope the warm liquid will convince my vocal cords to work. “Spending time with all those hellhounds must be fun, huh?” Harry wiggles his eyebrows.
Eww, gross. Why would Harry say that? This isn’t a conversation I want with him, he’s my brother. I shudder. I vigorously shake my head, and if I let them, my eyes would roll back into my head and disappear without a trace. Maybe even get stuck back there. I’m not blind—I’ve noticed the handsome, buff hellhounds. But they are John’s men, and they treat me with the utmost professional courtesy. Harry’s words are disrespectful. I love Owen, he’s my rock, but the thought of romantic feelings for him—for anyone at the moment, especially the hellhounds—would be wrong.
I’m not ready to have a romantic relationship—shit, I’m barely adjusting to the confusing world around me. In my head, I feel like I could be a hundred...hell, a thousand. But in this body, as a human, I feel overwhelmed and utterly lost.
“I’m sure the council has a mate picked out for you. I was chosen for Liz…” Harry’s eyes light up, and he puffs out his chest proudly. He then flinches, pulls a face, and visibly deflates. Harry scans the café, avoiding my concerned eyes. “Yeah, that turned out great…cheating bitch. Now I've gotta watch while she fucks every bitten human that moves. As far as I know, she’s been with half the shifters in the country…dirty bitch.”
My eyes widen, and I gasp. I’ve never heard Harry rant like this before.
Harry sneers and holds up his hands, mockingly. “Please don’t start talking about, ‘time is a great healer’ and all that shit…oh, I forgot, you don’t speak.”
The angry, bitter energy that comes off him in waves makes me uncomfortable. I open and close my mouth like a goldfish, and I squirm in my chair. I wonder if it would help if I smiled—should I smile again?
I have no idea what to do.
“Well, if you're not going to ask…if you’re interested in me…I’ll tell you about my shit-show.” Harry points at his chest and narrows his eyes. He sniffs again, and his leg continues to bounce.
What I’ve failed to notice until now is that Harry looks like shit. His dark blond hair is greasy, and he has scraped it back into a dodgy-looking ponytail. Unshaven, his facial hair has grown in a bit patchy. Harry looks like he needs a good wash.
I have not seen Harry since that last day at the house. I always meant to see him; he’s important to me. But circumstances and with everything that has happened, it was difficult and then impossible. I should have tried harder; I feel ashamed.
God, I am a shit person.
“After Vince got dusted, Jace split, so that left me the bad penny of society. Everyone is gossiping about my pack, my dad. I’m now known as the rogue who couldn’t satisfy his mate.” Harry lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “Oh, and I can’t forget I’m the rogue whose father killed his mate, and daughter.”
My eyes prickle with tears. I knew it. I knew Harry would have found it hard to adjust to his new rogue status, the death of Vincent, and the thing with Liz
. I should have tried harder. I presumed wrongly that John would have stepped in.
I’m stupid.
Harry is hurting, and he has no one on his side. I twist my fingers in my lap. I deserve his ire; I’m selfish. I hunch my shoulders, and a small, sad sound escapes me.
“Don’t pretend you give a shit. I’ve been sofa-surfing for weeks. Oh, don’t worry, I’m not asking to stay with you and the hellhounds in your fancy-ass apartments.” I open and close my mouth again, but none of the words on the tip of my tongue feel significant when compared to Harry’s pain. “But if you can help me out with a few quid?” His leg stops bouncing, and his gaze becomes intense. “A deposit for a place? I’ll pay you back when I’m up and running.” He tips back, lifts his hips, and removes his phone from his back pocket. With a few stabs at it, he leans across the table and shows me the screen. It’s an ad for a studio. “Forrest, I need a place to live. Being a rogue…it isn’t safe. I’ve lost count the number of times I’ve had the shit kicked out of me.” Harry sighs and sits back in his chair, leaving his phone on the table.
Sighing, Harry rubs his hand across his face and scratches his patchy beard. The noise makes me want to cringe. “Don’t worry if you can’t help. It’s only me.” He widens his eyes and pushes out his bottom lip.
I drop my eyes and stare at his phone, contemplating. I own property around the city, and a few are safe houses not linked to my mum's estate. Harry doesn’t need to stay in a grotty bedsit.
I go through my shopping bags and hunt out the box with the new pay-as-you-go phone that the girl in the store had kindly set up for me.
Harry bristles as he watches me.
“So the packhouse is on the market? I looked online...” He whistles. “That’s a lot of money…you are keeping most of the land, though? That’s sick—it’s a great place to run as a wolf.” ‘Sick’? I glance up from my new phone, and I guess my face shows my confusion at the word, as Harry misconstrues my look. He angles his chin down and pulls a sad face. “You know it’s for sale, yeah? I know you girls are all about the mating and the pup-making. Must have been John that put it up? Shame, that.” He sniffs, crossing his arms again.
Harry is wrong; I put the place up for sale. I loathe that house.
After a few blunders, I manage to open my email. Using one finger, I haltingly type an email to arrange everything. I’m satisfied when I get an immediate reply; they can have the place cleaned and stocked within a few hours.
I nab Harry’s mobile from the table, open his messages, and type in the address and door code for his new home. I hold the phone back out to Harry, and with a sniff, he snatches the phone out of my hand.
“Woah, you’re joking—I can’t afford this place, it’s well out of my budget,” Harry sputters. He narrows his eyes when I smile. I nod and tap my chest, Harry growls. To explain adequately, I show him my phone and the emails. “It’s your place? Motherfucker, check you out, poor little rich girl, someone has fallen on her feet. If I had known about this, I wouldn’t have been slumming it.” He snarls, tapping the corner of his phone on the table. He stops and points it at me. “I have a request—can you tell your people to make sure the fridge is stocked with beer? Oh, and I don’t suppose it has sky sports? For the football?” I nod. I can do that, no problem.
I give him a hesitant smile, relieved that I can do something to help him and hopefully redeem myself.
“Thanks…hey, in all seriousness, you shouldn’t be out on your own. I thought with the hellhounds as bodyguards they'd be better, more experienced at keeping a female like you in check. Shifters don’t allow females to walk about alone. Only slags like Liz slip their bodyguards. You don’t want to get a rep as a troublemaker. Hell, you're already odd-looking. Any other issues and you’ll never get a decent mate.” I blink, absorbing his hurtful words. Did he mean to be so rude? “I can walk you home. Don’t worry, little sis, I got your back.” With a toothy grin, Harry pulls out a knife and slaps it down on the table.
What the fuck…my gaze skitters about the café nervously. Thank God no one has noticed the big-ass knife sitting in front of us.
I raise my eyebrows as Harry flips the blade into his hand and digs the tip into the table. I gawk, horrified, as he inscribes the letters L...I...Z into the surface.
What the hell is he doing?
I’m not normal, yet it wouldn’t cross my mind to deface someone else's property.
Instinctively I smack his hand, dislodging the knife, and I glare at him. Harry shrugs and smirks. He rubs the marks with his palm, knocking the curled shavings onto the floor.
“This place is owned by humans—who gives a fuck if I scratch the table?” More like gouge. I think indignantly. I care. I like this café. Whoever designed the décor did so with care and attention to detail. I don’t want to see the place defaced because Harry is in a mood. I can’t sit and watch that.
“What a sad existence you have, from being feral to being a human-loving goody-two-shoes. Don’t worry; I won't mess up my new digs. In fact, here, take the blade.” Harry flicks the knife, spinning it across the table. “You’ll need protection. If you won't be a good female and keep your bodyguards close, you should at least learn to protect yourself, not that it will help. Fucking hell, Forrest, you can't even talk…it’s fucking weird.”
My heart shudders and drops into my stomach. I want to be understanding and show compassion for Harry and his feelings, but it's hard. I still don’t know the right balance between my emotions, and Harry is making me bloody cross. My nostrils flare with my growing indignation, and I stuff the last of the cake into my mouth and chomp. I better go now; otherwise, my mask will come off, and I am liable to grab hold of Harry’s greasy man-ponytail and smash his face into the table.
I rub my face on my shoulder and blow out a breath and remind myself sternly that Harry saved me. This is Harry. He has earned my respect. Harry isn’t a bad person, he’s hurting and what he’s saying contradicts conversations I’ve overheard in the past.
I need to explain myself. I’m nothing like Liz, and I’m nothing like the poor repressed female shifters either. I don’t want to be sequestered and bred, owned, while my male counterparts do whatever the fuck they like. My purpose in life is not to be a mate, a pup-maker, or to conform to unfair standards set by the council. His words make me feel sick.
I carefully place the new phone back in its box and grab my shopping.
“Oh, Forrest, don’t be like that. I’m only telling you the truth. I can still stay in the fancy house, yeah?” I give Harry a stiff nod. He scrambles for his phone, and I stomp away, heading for the door. “Do you want my digits?” he yells at my back.
It takes everything in me not to raise my hand above my head and give him the finger.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I decide I should get myself off home. I’m safer being on my own. When I say safer, I mean for others—me wanting to smash someone’s face in can’t be healthy behaviour. I’m not a nice person, and leaving like I did was childish. Everything was so much simpler when I was stuck as a wolf.
I stomp through Market Square, and things go from bad to worse.
I certainly didn’t count on being accosted by two beefy wolf shifters. One shifter swaggers in front of me, and the other one comes up behind. For a split second, I can practically taste my fear; it floods my mouth, bitter underneath my tongue. Freeze-or-flight is my natural response to danger, but I don’t see a way out of the alternative this time. The ever-present rage that simmers inside of me sweetly sings. The two shifters are trying to box me in, and I let them.
“Hello, female, why are you alone? Where are your bodyguards?” Oh, for fuck’s sake. I close my eyes and clench my fists around the bag handles—the plastic one in my right hand rustles. I forcibly blow a breath through my nose in exasperation. Honestly, what the fuck is wrong with these idiots? I move slightly so I can keep an eye on both of them.
Both men are suited and booted, wearing black suits that look expe
nsive. Even with fancy clothes, they look like a couple of meatheads.
Meathead One, with his shiny bald head and goatee, doesn’t wait for me to answer. He instead pulls his phone from his pocket and pokes at the screen with his meaty finger. I rhythmically tap my fingers on my thigh with annoyance. The nerve of this guy, his arrogance, presuming I'm happy to stand here patiently waiting while he makes a phone call.
It riles me, and my rage bubbles.
Meanwhile, Meathead Two is staring at me like he is in wolf form and I have a juicy steak tied to my tits. He has brown hair and eyes, with a face only his mum could love.
Maybe the hellhounds or John sent these guys?
“Boss, yeah, we found the female we scented…yeah, she is on her own…yes, sir, we’re bringing her in now.” He jams his phone back into his pocket. “Now, girly, you are coming with us. We have been following your scent for hours.”
Oh, okay, an interesting development. These two meatheads are random wolves that have decided to grab me off the street because they smelled me. That’s messed up.
“Our boss would like a word with you. He is… urm… concerned for your safety.” Sure he is. I clench my teeth to stop myself from growling.
Meathead One reaches towards me to take my shopping bags. I release my hold and let him take them out of my hands. Happy for him to hold them for me—for this.
“Come now. We have wasted enough time tracking you.” He also gives me a smarmy, lecherous look.
What is wrong with the shifters today? Treating me like I’m not a person—it’s as if I am just a walking uterus.
I am sick of this sexist shifter shit. I’m sick of being frightened, sick of behaving like I’m meek. Well, I am about to give them a lesson in leaving Forrest Hesketh the fuck alone. My overwhelming rage has buried any trace of fear, and I can no longer control my expression. My sweet mask cracks and a crazy, hungry smile crosses my face. I’ve got a whole lot of rage and aggression inside me, and this situation is perfect.
Cursed Wolf: Urban Fantasy Shifter Stand-Alone (Creatures of the otherworld Book 1) Page 9
