Cursed Wolf: Urban Fantasy Shifter Stand-Alone (Creatures of the otherworld Book 1)

by Brogan Thomas

  I let my rage out to play.

  I take one of Jodie’s don’t see me now potion balls from my pocket and flick it to the ground. It breaks on the floor at my feet, unnoticed by the wolves. God, I love witch magic, and that little ball will keep us invisible to prying eyes.

  I sneakily enter a fighting side-stance. The trick to this is not to telegraph my move, so I transfer my weight onto my back foot and roll the heel of my front foot across the floor. I lift my toes to turn my whole body sideways onto the ball of my foot. I point my hip towards Meathead One, who is helpfully standing at a perfect distance for this move. I lift my arms to protect my face and for balance. I spin, twisting my whole body away, and as I turn, I pivot on my back foot. I peer over my opposite shoulder at Meathead One in my peripheral vision. Spinning quickly, I jump to gain added height, and my leg shoots out at a forty-five-degree angle. I point my toes to compress my tendon, and I smack him hard with the back of my heel.

  I slam him with so much force in the back of his bald head, his body crumples. The whole move takes a matter of seconds, a perfect spinning-jump heel kick. I hum.

  Meathead Two blinks in shock at Meathead One’s unconscious body surrounded by my shopping bags. He looks at me, his brown eyes wide with disbelief, and his mouth hangs open. “What the fuck,” he whispers.

  My rage purrs, and with a manic smile, I launch myself at him. He recovers rapidly, and I duck as he tries to punch me in the face. I step under his guard and towards him. He helpfully leans forward, and I use my leg as a distraction. As he goes to block the kick, I thrust my palm out, hitting him under his jaw with a palm-heel strike. I then use my elbow to hit him in the face, catching his nose; I follow that up with a punch to the throat.

  Blood splatters from his nose and lip.

  He makes a strange gurgling sound and drops to his knees. With a smile and a little wave at him, I bring my right leg up in a sidekick and slam him on the head.

  “Night-night,” I mouth.

  I glance about, checking that the potion ball is doing its job. Perfect, no one is looking at us. I grin. I turn both wolves onto their sides in recovery position. I have no idea if that will help, but I feel magnanimous. I also flick sleep-potion balls at the pair; I don’t want them following me.

  Oh, I need to do something before I go. I liberate the mobile from Meathead One’s jacket pocket and hit redial.

  “Are you on your way?” a male voice asks gruffly.

  “Nope,” I say, popping the p. There’s silence for a few beats.

  “Hello, little wolf, it is a pleasure to hear from you. May I enquire why, and more notably, how are you calling?” the male voice purrs down the phone at me; I pull the phone away from my ear and frown at it. Bossman is slimy.

  “Your meatheads are in Market Square. Please send someone to scrape them up from the pavement,” I reply to Mr Slimy, my voice annoyingly rough and husky from disuse. In this instance, it’s handy that speaking on the phone is so much easier for me than speaking face-to-face.

  “Are they alive? What hap—” I end the call and drop the phone next to the downed wolves. I gather my shopping; I feel lighter. Almost skipping, I turn once again for home.

  I get back to zero fuss. Owen gives me a nod and asks me if I got him anything. Then he tells me he will meet me in the gym in ten to work off the cake I ate. The sneaky hellhound must have followed me. Huh, he didn’t interfere, so I guess I will take that as a win.

  The illusion of freedom.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It has been a few weeks, and I’m back at the cake café waiting for Harry to join me. I have a big mug of tea and a slice of carrot cake...urm, well, an empty plate that once held carrot cake. The plate now looks like it has been in the dishwasher, as it’s so clean. If anyone insinuates that I licked the plate, I will adamantly deny it—mmm, crumbs.

  A few days ago, a contrite Harry got in touch. He was full of excitement over his new place and the accounting job that he managed to bag. Harry asked if we could meet.

  I’m thrilled that he wants to spend time with me.

  Unfortunately, to my chagrin, my usual table is taken. So I am sitting at a table next to the toilets. It’s not ideal, but it’s the only free table that didn’t leave me with my back to the door.

  After a few minutes, Harry joins me, and as he sits, he wrinkles his nose. “Not the best table, Forrest.” He indicates with his head the toilets behind me, as if I missed them. I shrug. “So kicked any more shifter ass recently?” he says with a grin—oh yeah, he thinks he’s hilarious. I roll my eyes.

  “So have you heard about the vampires finding that girl?” He settles into his chair, eyes alight with fervour. Harry is a big gossip and has a fountain of information on all things creature—the guy loves to talk. “They say she got bitten by a cat shifter and she got all poorly-like. The vamps found her living in a garage.” It takes all my self-control not to flinch. Garages and me... we aren’t friends. “Homeless, only seventeen, the word is that she made it, that she turned. Can you imagine that? A bitten human female. I wonder if she will be infertile. If it can happen to her, imagine how many other women can make the change?” He nods, his face lit up with zeal. I glare at him. “Don’t worry, Forrest, I won’t hurt your precious humans. I’m not going to bite anyone. I don’t want any more grief with the council.” Harry mock-shudders and slurps his coffee in thought. “Vamps still have her—there's going to be war if they don’t turn her over.”

  If Grace were alive, she would be sixteen. Maybe I can find someone to help her? I make a mental note to find out if Owen knows anything about the girl’s situation.

  Harry appears different today; I can’t put my finger on it until I realise it’s because he looks clean. He is wearing smart pants and a shirt, his hair is short, and he has shaved that awful beard. I hum, pleased to see he is back to normal.

  The bell above the door jingles and out of the corner of my eye, I spot a walking nightmare.

  Oh, my bloody God, no other than Liz Richardson is swinging her hips towards us, a ridiculous sashay that gets every man’s attention. My first instinct is to drop my eyes and focus on my mug and pray she struts past. But I can’t give her that satisfaction—I’m no longer a frightened, starved wolf. So I lift my chin and hold eye contact. Please grab a silver sword now that I can fight back, you stupid cow. Liz snarls, showing me her teeth, and I huff out a laugh. What the hell was that? Huh, it’s not just her walk that’s ridiculous. I chuckle.

  Oh my, Harry is here! I mentally slap myself and squirm in my chair, aware that this could end badly. Poor Harry.

  Liz reaches our table. A choking cloud of perfume follows in her wake. I frown as I watch with growing confusion as Liz places one hand on the back of Harry’s chair and the other on his jaw. She turns his head, and while maintaining eye contact with me, bends down and delicately kisses Harry on the cheek. She leaves her red lipstick on him and flashes me a smug smile.

  “Hi, baby, so glad we could meet for a coffee,” she simpers, plastering a sweet smile on her lips.

  Harry goofily grins back at her. “Hi, Liz. Would you like a slice of cake?”

  What. The. Fuck.

  I blink. I feel blindsided. I’ve no idea what the hell is happening. What is she doing here?

  “Oh, no thank you, I don’t eat cake,” Liz says with a shudder. Psycho! I scream in my head—who doesn’t eat cake? “But I would love a triple-shot decaf skinny soya macchiato with sugar-free hazelnut syrup. If they have one,” she says again, sweetly fluttering her eyelashes. I have no idea what she ordered, although I am quite sure her pretentious drink isn’t on the menu. Harry scrambles away, and I watch him go to the counter. I can hear him mumbling the order back to himself, so he doesn’t forget it.

  Liz glares at me from across the table. I stare back at her blankly, kind of numbly. She sighs, drops her gaze from mine, and pulls out her phone. She types furiously, ignoring me. Fine by me.

  Harry arrives back at the table. I
watch dazed as with a flourish he places a regular-looking coffee in front of Liz. He steps back and rubs the back of his head. “It’s a normal decaf coffee with…urm, soya milk, they didn’t have the other stuff you wanted…” He bounces from foot to foot, anxiously waiting on Liz’s approval.

  “Oh well,” Liz says, again sweetly.

  What the fuck is wrong with her? Having her so close and her being nice is starting to freak me out. I know she’s not being nice to me, but still, this whole situation is beyond my comprehension. A few short weeks ago, Harry was calling Liz nasty names. She cheated on him! Now he’s presenting coffee to her like he has hunted her a prized rabbit. What happened to the whole “I can’t be with a cheater”?

  “We can go to a better place next time. This place is small, and it smells funny.” She sniffs in my direction. Ah there she is...am I weird to feel a little relieved?

  “Yeah, next time.” Harry beams at Liz and throws himself down into his seat next to her. He sits slumped, with his legs and arms wide. Liz gives me a cocky smile. My bullshit detector sounds—she’s up to something. For some reason, her smile makes me want to hop over the table and smash her in the face.

  “I am glad you’re here, dog...” Liz covers her mouth and giggles over her fake Freudian slip. Dog. I briefly close my eyes. It’s just a word, and words only hurt you if you let them. I won’t give Liz the satisfaction of seeing me react. I sit taller in my chair, fighting my natural hunching reaction, and take a deep calming breath. I cough as I inhale a mouthful of her perfume. God, did she use the whole bottle? “I know that you are extremely good friends with my baby and that you want to spend more time with him.” She smiles the largest, toothiest, and phoniest smile I have ever seen.

  I tip my head to the side. Where is she going with this? Harry is pack.

  “What you don’t understand is that you can’t buy his affection by giving him a shitty house, especially when it was your fault in the first place that he was homeless and classed as a rogue.” Liz leans forward across the table and growls. My mouth pops open in shock. What? “Admit that you manipulated the whole situation for your own gain and that you staged that phone call.” Liz points a red-tipped finger at me, her nails painted to match the tight bandage dress that she’s wearing. “Admit it. I am here to tell you that Harry is mine and that you need to leave us alone! You also need to speak to your brother and fix Harry’s rogue status. Your lies will come out and you need to fix your wrongs before they do.” Liz sits back and raps her coffee cup with her red nails. A smug, satisfied smile flashes across her face.

  I blink. What the fuckity fuck fuck? What planet is this girl on? I flick my eyes toward Harry and scrutinise his reaction to her words. I wait for him to tell her to fuck off, but in growing disbelief, I watch as he nods his agreement. He nods his fucking head!

  Harry leans forward and with consolation pats my hand, which is gripping the edge of the table. I flinch back and rub away a sharp pain in my chest with my knuckles.

  Ouch. I fight to keep my face blank.

  “I am sure you’re upset. Liz explained everything and what she says makes sense.” Harry smiles lovingly at Liz. “You have issues, Forrest.” Harry makes a fake sad face and sniffs.

  “Her word is no good, baby. Look, she hasn't even bothered to deny our accusations! We have to see this as a righteous intervention. Your pack kept the ungrateful dog safe. What else could you do? She was feral! Why do you think she doesn’t talk? She is worried we will catch her out. No one believes her—she’s a liar.” Liz drops her voice. “None of this would have happened if you would have listened and had her killed when we had the chance.” Harry nods his head again, hate shining in his blue eyes.

  My heart is eviscerated.

  I squeeze my eyes tight. I refuse to cry. I want so much to curl in on myself, but by sheer will, I snap my spine straight.

  God, I so wanted to treat Harry with trust and kindness. I wanted to see the best in him. I thought he was my pack, my brother. Yet every time Harry gets the chance, he says something to hurt me, and a piece of me dies. I feel sick, my mouth is dry, and there’s a lump in my throat that I can’t swallow. The person I thought Harry was, doesn’t exist.

  I made him up.

  The realisation hits me with the force of a double-decker bus—the hole in my chest aches.

  I’m an idiot.

  “She isn’t a pureblood female anyway, right, baby?” Liz strokes Harry’s face and sneers in my direction. “She is like part Fae or dwarf or something.” She leans into him and whispers, “That’s why she is so small and went feral for all those years.” Liz runs her fingers through her bobbed hair, and her eyes sparkle with delight as she speaks. “I mean, look at her hair and eyes, what she is wearing—she’s a complete freak.”

  “Part dwarf”—how rude is that. I’m wearing sparkly silver trainers, leggings, and a cute jumper—normal stuff. I force myself not to adjust my grey unicorn jumper. Honestly, what is wrong with this girl? Why does she hate me? The poison dripping out of her mouth is pure fabrication, and Harry is lapping it up. She’s crazy, and Harry is nuts to believe anything that comes out of her mouth.

  I think I prefer Liz being fake-nice.

  The horrible cow can’t even address me while insulting me. The least she could do is say this shit while looking me in the eye. I lift my bum off the chair with the sole intention of beating the shit out of her. I might knock both their heads together while I’m at it.

  “Sweetcheeks, are you ready to go?” a rumbly voice asks behind me. I sit back down and turn to take in the shifter who has swaggered up to the table, somehow appearing from the toilets behind us. He’s dressed impeccably—charcoal custom suit and matching overcoat. I examine Liz, and her face shows zero recognition.

  Is he…talking…to me?

  I frown. He dips his head, his full attention on me.

  Bloody hell—he is talking to me.

  “Come on, sweetcheeks. I know you wanted to do your normal thing with your brother, but we had better get going. We have so much to do today.” The strange wolf smiles warmly at me.

  I blink at him. Is everyone on drugs, or am I the only person who has not got a clue what the fuck is going on today?

  He leans across the table and offers his hand to Harry. “I am Daniel Kerr, it’s good to meet you, Harry, finally.”

  Wow, the strange wolf is good—he gives Liz zero acknowledgement. It’s like the mad cow is not even sitting there. I can almost forgive him for calling me “sweetcheeks”—almost. Like bloody hell, that’s annoying. Grrr, “sweetcheeks…”

  Daniel doesn’t even glance at Liz, even when she squeezes her ample breasts together. She’s almost propping them up on the table. Steady, Liz, if you squish those puppies any more, they’re gonna pop out.

  “Yeah…” says Harry as he shakes Daniel’s hand. Total confusion is written all over his face.

  Daniel inspects me with a gentle smile, his blue eyes sparkling. “You are looking beautiful today, little wolf,” he whispers as his hand gently cups my face. He runs his thumb across my bottom lip. I am so surprised, I don’t react aggressively—I sit and gawk up at him. The gesture is so intimate, I have no clue how to respond.

  How many times does an absolute stranger swagger up to you, make out that you are in a fake relationship, and start touching your face? Nothing could prepare me for this shit.

  Liz is livid and has gone from smug to downright murderous. She has also gone bright red, the colour closely matching her dress and nails. Her gaze bounces from Daniel to me and back again. Liz again tries to gain Daniel’s attention by flapping her hands about, frantically trying to highlight her table-boobs. She’s also glaring at Harry—she wants him to do something, but Harry is also clueless about how to react.

  I guess this wasn’t part of their righteous intervention—fancy that.

  “So you’re Harry, the rogue? From the dissolved Oakland pack? Thanks for keeping my Forrest company, Harry. I know she doesn’t
talk to you, but she finds you amusing.” He slaps Harry on the back, in a supposedly friendly gesture. But his big hand wallops him hard enough to rock Harry’s body forward, almost forcing him from his chair. Harry winces. “If you will excuse us. We have a busy day and night ahead. Forrest, come.” He takes hold of my arm gently, and I stand. I gratefully allow him to guide me from my chair and between the busy tables. Before I go through the door, I turn and make sure to give the stunned couple a snide little wave goodbye. Fuckers.

  “I apologise for interrupting your conversation, but I couldn’t listen to that vile girl for one more second,” Daniel says when we’re safely out on the pavement.

  What the fuck just happened? Did this guy randomly rescue me? I look up and up. He’s of course, shifter-tall—he must be around six-foot-eight. The top of my head is about level with the middle of his chest. He looks down at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. I give him a suspicious nod of thanks and a little awkward wave, and turn to stomp away.

  “She is still watching, Forrest. Come on, I will give you a lift home.” I look up into his handsome face. His eyes are blue and his hair is dark. He has that square jaw and heavy brow– look going on that’s popular with movie stars.

  I strangely allow him to take my arm and lead me towards a posh-looking car at the curb.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Daniel opens the rear passenger door for me, and I slide into the seat. He closes the door and swaggers around to the other side of the car and gets in.

  Why I go with him, I have not a clue. If I am honest, I don’t want to give Liz the win. She tried to bring me down just now, and without Daniel’s timely intervention, I would have entirely and embarrassingly lost my head in there. The only thing I lost today was my rose-coloured glasses in regard to Harry.