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

by Brogan Thomas

  I grimace and rub my chest again. I could learn to live with that just fine.

  I snap my seat belt into place.

  The car sets off and the doors lock, I hope automatically —although the smug, nasty glower the driver gives me from the rear-view mirror suggests otherwise. The driver is male, a shifter with a bald head and a goatee. With a blatant sinking feeling, I realise he is Meathead One, the guy who I knocked out a few weeks ago.

  I put my head in my hands and rub my temples. Oh, fucking hell—without being a genius, I now know who Daniel is. I spoke to Daniel once before; he is Bossman, the guy who ordered the two meathead wolves to track and take me.

  I can’t believe I got into his car. I’m a fucking idiot!

  I lean my elbow on the door and nudge the electric window button. It quietly moves the window down an inch, which is a good thing. It means I am not trapped. I peek up at Daniel, and he is silently watching me, a satisfied smile on his face.

  “Do you know, since our last conversation on the phone, Forrest, I have been more than a little intrigued about you. Your story, your history. In wolf form for so long, trapped. Yet despite the disadvantages, over the last few months, you have thrived. Now that I have met you in person, I am fascinated.”

  I think Daniel is waiting for me to reply. I don’t feel comfortable chatting with a man who has more than likely just abducted me.

  One thing I have noticed is, the less you talk, the more others seem prone to do so. They talk and talk. My silence makes them a little uncomfortable, so they fill in my silence with noise. It’s such a weird thing that happens—even guys who generally only give one-word answers or have a grunting system open up to me like I am a priest on confessional duty.

  “You are so different from other females of our species. Unique. I am almost six hundred years old and even in my long lifetime, I have never had the pleasure of meeting someone like you. It’s as if you, little wolf, were created for me.” What? I gape at Daniel with what I’m sure is a confused and horrified expression. His eyelids droop, he licks his lips. Is he trying to seduce me? Eww, I’m not at all impressed. He looks at me as if the sun shines out my bum. Creepy. Apart from our telephone conversation a few weeks ago, I have never spoken to the guy. Yet it’s like he’s starting on the path of declaring undying love. I wiggle in my seat. The way he’s talking...it faintly reminds me of another car-journey conversation with a demon.

  “If I hadn’t seen the CCTV footage of you taking down two of my best men, I would have never believed it. I am impressed; you are a talented young woman. I’m so glad you made the right decision to leave with me.” I have no idea what he wants me to say. Does he want me to give him a gold star?

  He inches closer to me, turning his body so he’s facing me. He reaches over and tries to paw my face in the same way he did in the café. I growl at him. Instead of taking that as a warning, he leans further into my space with a throaty chuckle. Fear and rage flood my system, and I start to shake. Daniel takes a deep breath in, breathing my scent at the pulse point on my neck. He groans. I growl. Everything inside me screams that I need to get away, that I’m not safe.

  This guy is not right in the head.

  I move as far away as the seat belt will allow, squishing myself into the corner of the car. I am still growling. His right hand takes hold of my hip, and he slides me back across the leather, closer to him. He puts his hand on my seat belt, tightening it so I can’t move, basically trapping me in the seat. With the seat belt across me like this, I won’t be able to shift. Well, I can, but I will still be trapped. His hand is blocking the belt-buckle release.

  Becoming frantic, I lift both my legs up to try to kick him away from me, but he blocks the movement with his body weight, pinning my legs to the seat. Daniel is almost entirely on top of me. His right hand has managed to grab hold of both of my wrists. I watch him wide-eyed, panting.

  I grapple with my rising panic.

  What the hell is happening? I try again to escape him, and his grip becomes painfully tight—the lack of room a problem.

  “You’re not getting away from me again. You. Are. Mine,” he snaps. I flinch at the venom in his voice, and he immediately calms. His tone switches to cajoling. “There’s no way out of this, Forrest. Hasn't today proven your poor judgment and that you are not safe left to your own devices? Little wolf, no one will appreciate you as I will. No one will keep you safe as I can.” I try to squirm away, unsuccessfully.

  I don’t know why he’s doing this.

  The softness now in his eyes is disconcerting. Daniel is the worst kind of villain. He thinks he’s doing the right thing. Delusional wanker.

  My mouth is too dry to speak, my brain too confused to form words.

  Daniel leans forward, and I shudder. He smiles against my cheek and my skin ripples in disgust at his closeness. “Little wolf, I can’t wait to be inside you.”

  Oh my fucking God! I freak the fuck out.

  I lose control of myself for a few seconds. The primal fear screaming through my body stops me from thinking clearly. I whine, and I struggle desperately to get away. In those short moments, I forget all of my training. I need to get away!

  The meathead driving laughs.

  He. Laughs.

  I force myself to stop and breathe, to think.

  To Daniel, it might look like I have given up or exhausted myself. But I am desperately trying to get hold of my instincts. I am no way used to a grown-ass man talking to me like this. He’s got me trapped almost underneath him in a moving vehicle going God only knows where. Does he think it’s okay to talk dirty to me in this situation? Maybe some girls would like being trapped helpless with a handsome wolf. But that’s another type of story, and this is mine.

  I spent years trapped. I dealt with and took so much shit as a wolf. I am not going to deal with this shit as a woman—no fucking way. I have no idea where he’s going with this, but I am not a bloody victim, and I am not hanging around.

  This is not bloody okay!

  My anger triggers another response, and my shifter magic reacts beautifully. My fingers shift into wolf claws for the first time.

  Daniel drops my wrists in shock, mumbling the word magnificent.

  I don’t think—I react. Owen’s voice screams directions in my head, and I use my claws in one quick move to not only slash the seat belt, setting myself free, but at the same time swiping them viciously across Daniel’s neck and chest.

  The sudden pain forces him to move away from me—although Daniel, the weirdo, looks back at me with a thrilled appreciation. I take advantage of his distraction, and I smack the window-down button. Before the window has opened fully, and before he decides to try to restrain me further. I shift into my wolf.

  I leap through the window, escaping the still-moving vehicle.

  I am on the left-hand side of the car, so I don’t have to contend with any other vehicles. My shoulder collides with the pavement hard, and I roll with the force of impact.

  I shake it off. Apart from my pride, I am unhurt. I run.

  Luckily for Daniel, he doesn’t follow, as I am so bloody angry I could rip his throat out and chew his nose off with my teeth. I am that cross. I hate feeling frightened. I know it’s unrealistic, but I’d stupidly hoped that I would never have to deal with that kind of fear again.

  God, am I always destined to be somebody’s victim?

  The lack of respect he showed me is mind-boggling. I don’t know if it’s just my opinion, but men shouldn’t jump on you like that. Did his mother not teach him not to assault random women, or is it the case that he’s so good looking he has never dealt with rejection?

  I didn’t say No or Get off me you fuck. So maybe it was my fault—perhaps I should have used my damn voice? Why didn’t I use my voice! Harry is right on one thing—I’m bloody weird. I have a voice. I need to use it. What the hell is wrong with me?

  Bad things happen if I don’t talk.

  But Daniel is a shifter, and he must have s
melled my fear. He knew I was frightened, yet he continued anyway. He didn’t back off, but he didn’t touch me inappropriately either, a horrid little voice says helpfully in the back of my head.

  After I get my bearings, I realise he was taking me out of the city. The car was on the main road leading to the motorway. I was lucky on the timing of my jump, as the speed limit on this road is only thirty.

  I know where I am, and I also know Jodie’s coven shop isn’t too far away. I need to talk to my witch friend. I need a friendly female point of view, so I get my furry ass moving to Jodie’s.

  As I run, I wonder if it’s me and my circumstances that make male wolf-shifters react with zero respect. So far, all that I have been met with is scary misogynist beliefs. They seriously think that they can do what they want to me without consequence.

  For fuck’s sake, I just jumped out of a moving car to get away from that prick Daniel.

  The freaky fuck probably thought it was some kind of foreplay.

  I huff. Shit, I was better off sitting in that café taking nasty digs from Liz, and that’s saying something…why the hell did I get in that car?

  I have spent so much time in my wolf form learning about life from catching the odd TV show through the kitchen window. I have no idea how to behave as an adult shifter. I got lucky just now—the size of him compared to the size of me.

  I am not letting myself deeply analyse all the crap that just happened. Being upset, hurt, and frightened isn’t going to help. Nor is acting in anger and chewing Daniel’s face off, unfortunately.

  I have to think of things rationally. If I start thinking like a terrified woman, I’m going to make a mistake and get hurt.

  It happened, I am okay, and the best thing I can do is learn from my mistake.

  So I shove all this bullshit quite forcibly to the back of my mind. I push it into another mental box, this one labelled Deal with Later.

  At least today shouldn’t get any worse.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  It doesn’t take me too long to reach Jodie’s, as I set an excellent loping pace. I arrive at the shop, and it smells heavily of herbs and magic. I haven’t been here before, but Jodie gave me an open invitation to visit. God, I hope Jodie is around and not working at the hospital. I desperately need to see a friendly face.

  The magic shop, with a sign written in bold letters above the double frontage, proclaims: ‘Tinctures 'n Tonics’ - Specialists in Portable Potions. The store proudly sits sandwiched between an art gallery on the left and hairdressers on the right. Housed in a modest-sized building rendered in cream with an old bank sign engraved into the stone above the door, it is situated on Birley Street, a pedestrianised street in the middle of the city.

  I plop down in front of the closed door. I lift my front paw and give the door a tap-tap, being mindful of my sharp claws and that they don’t mark the paint. After a few taps, a young witch in a blue school uniform answers. She swings the door wide in welcome.

  “Forrest, how are you doing, come in, come in. Jodie! Jodie! Forrest is here, and she is all wolfy!” The young witch, Heather, squeals her excitement and gives me a huge welcoming smile. I met Heather at the hospital when she helped Jodie bring in a potion order. I find the young witch adorable. “Forrest, can I stroke you? Please, please, please?” Heather wiggles, waving jazz hands at me with a big grin on her face, her short blonde curls bouncing. “You are just so cute.”

  In response, I nod my head, my tongue flops out, and I give her my best wolfy grin. Heather squeals again in delight. I flop down on the wooden floor, and Heather throws herself to the floor next to me.

  Heather gently strokes the fur around my head and ears. She runs her hands along my back. It’s sooooo lovely. I’ve never had my fur stroked before. Thinking about it, I’ve never known a kind touch in this form. With each stroke of Heather’s hands, I find myself relaxing further into the floor.

  I glance around the shop with interest. It’s brightly lit—natural light filters through the big windows at the front. Fascinatingly, dozens of magical globes of light float in different corners of the room. As the light in the shop changes throughout the day the floating orbs will move to where they’re needed. One has already made its way above Heather and myself. So cool.

  I notice that the wooden shelves are filled to the brim with wonders. The tingling hum of energy from the magical artefacts fills the air, and the almost-overwhelming smell of herbs stings my nose.

  I close my eyes. Life isn’t so bad if you don’t focus on the negatives.

  “Come on now, leave her alone, you crazy child. She is a woman underneath all that fur.” I open one eye, and Jodie is standing in front of a door, for what I presume is the back employee area of the shop. A genuine smile is on her pretty face. “Forrest, so nice to see you, pumpkin. If you change back, I will make you a cuppa.” She turns and trots back into the room behind her.

  “Aww, I never get to see shifters in animal form. I wanted more time…your fur is so soft.” Heather whines her complaint as she scrambles up from the floor and stomps away.

  I huff out a wolfy laugh and get up with a stretch. I make my way over to the door, my claws clicking on the floor. I peek in.

  The room is large but cosy, decorated in warm tones of green that appeal to me. It has a proper wood-burning stove and a comfy seating area at one end and a beautiful, big, industrial-sized witches’ kitchen at the other, with a table that can seat twelve in the middle.

  As I enter the room, I allow the shift to take me. The magic transforms my body from wolf to my human form in seconds. It doesn’t hurt, and it feels natural. It’s not like the human-made racist werewolf films, where the bones break, strange fluid grossness comes out, and the werewolf screams in pain. It’s a blink-and-you-miss-it kind of transformation, pure, beautiful magic.

  Magic is breathtaking in its complexity. For example, witches handle magic differently from shifters. There are so many branches of magic some witches are potion specialists like Jodie and her coven. Other witches specialise in elemental stuff.

  My point is, witches manipulate magic. Shifters are magic.

  One interesting fact I did find out about witches from Jodie is, witches have the opposite issue from the shifters: male witches are extremely rare.

  Jodie has her back to me and is making tea. Wow, she is pulling out all the stops. Jodie has arranged delicate teacups, saucers, and a beautiful teapot on a tray. She places on it a little milk jug and a sugar bowl, with actual sugar lumps…so fancy.

  I dig out the potion balls from my pockets. I might as well get Jodie to check them, as I am not sure whether the shifting back and forth has ruined them. The shifting magic Jodie gifted me with at the hospital makes my clothing part of the transformation, so I retain my clothing when I change back. It also shifts my weapons—how amazing is that! The only thing it doesn’t shift with me is tech, so I am not sure if it will like other magic coming along for the ride. I love not having to strip naked to shift.

  “You can put them in the bowl on the side table, I will check them in a bit.” I huff. Jodie still has her back to me. Freaky witch, I think with amusement. Grinning, I obediently pop them into the bowl.

  “Sit down,” she says, carrying the tray of tea things to the table. “So tell me, what is wrong? It isn’t like you to be carelessly running around in your wolf form.”

  I sit and chew my lip. I bet half the shit that happened today wouldn’t have happened if I’d opened my bloody mouth. I can’t let this control me anymore. I place my head in my hands and rub my temples. Where do I start…

  “Use your words, Forrest. It’s just us here. Please explain to me what has happened.” She smiles at me with encouragement. Her brown eyes are warm and reassuring, so I open my mouth, take a big breath in, and tell her.

  I explain what happened with Harry, with Daniel. At first, Jodie is livid with Harry and all swoony over Daniel’s timely rescue. But the more I elaborate, the angrier Jodie becomes. Jodie is furious
on my behalf. I feel so lucky to have such a good friend. I also feel a sense of relief that my friend knows the details about today and agrees with most of my conclusions. Jodie doesn't think I overreacted to either situation. She gives me the impression that I should have acted sooner.

  After she calms down on seriously wanting to maim Daniel for the car incident, Jodie finally decides against giving me an exploding dick potion. I think.

  “Here, this one is a male impotence potion.” Jodie hands me a bright red ball. “It is a witches’ version of pepper spray; not only does it make it impossible for a man to get it up for weeks, it also incapacitates even a shifter for about twenty minutes, so you can either escape or as an alternative stab him.” She grins.

  I stare at the small innocuous ball on my palm and blink up at my friend. I hope she hasn’t sneakily given me the scary one. As if Jodie can read my mind, she bursts out laughing. “Your face…” She laughs so hard, tears stream down her face. I watch her with bemusement. When she can speak, Jodie says, “I promise it’s not the exploding one, Forrest.” Jodie cackles again, slapping her leg, her eyes sparkling. “With this potion, if an afflicted man goes to any witch for help, she will know and will probably extend the life of the impotence potion. So be careful and only use it in a situation like today, as it is a very effective punishment.” She rubs the tears from her eyes.

  Wow. Note to self: don’t piss off a witch.

  “Thank you,” I say with a cautious smile. The wrath of Jodie is a beautiful thing. I dramatically shudder, and Jodie starts giggling again.

  “I wish you had smacked Liz about a bit…” Jodie says wistfully.

  Daniel inadvertently stopped me from kicking Liz’s ass, which did me a favour, I guess, in the long term. “I just have a new slimy stalker to contend with.” That sobers my friend up, and she gives me a sad smile.

  “Okay, well, we’re going to have to do something about the shifters being able to track you so easily. I do have a few things that will be perfect...give me a second.” Jodie claps her hands, jumps up, and starts rooting around in her stock room. After a good fifteen minutes, she producers a gorgeous bracelet. “Now first, this bracelet,” Jodie says, putting it on the table in front of me. “If you decide to use it, it’s not just pretty; it’s also incredibly complex magic. When you wear it, you will be impossible to track.”