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

by Brogan Thomas

  I slip the silver knife from my coat pocket into my hand. I then let my returned fire magic heat my palm. I send the flame up the blade and push the heat level to violet, my hottest level. The silver knife quickly starts to melt.

  Daniel pulls me towards him, and he smiles in sick excitement.

  I bring the knife up, and I press the melting silver blade to his face.

  Daniel screams. I smile.

  I don’t have time to do anything further or see the damage I have done. I adjust my underwear and tights, shift into my wolf, pounce on the desk, and hit the window of the office.

  The window shatters. I run. I run so fast.

  I hear shouting behind me. Daniel has stopped screaming. What is it about that asshole that has me jumping out of windows to get away from him?

  A vindictive, cruel part of me knows there will be no healing the damage to his face. Silver scars; it scars horribly. I can imagine that Daniel’s face now matches who he is inside. He isn’t so pretty anymore. The thought makes me smile and gives me some measure of peace.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I have to wait for only a few minutes and a car arrives. There’s an electronic whirring as the boot opens. I exhale out of my nose, and my body sags in relief as I smell Owen’s scent on the air. I creep out from underneath the thick hedging where I’ve been hiding and spring into the back of the car. The boot closes electronically behind me with a click, and the car sets off.

  I shift back to human and climb into the front passenger seat. As I move, I shed little bits of crusted blood and glittering specs of silver that were clinging to my coat and dress. Owen grips my hand and squeezes it in relief. That relief turns to concern when he catches the scent of blood.

  “What the fuck happened? I got your text message at the same time as a phone call from a contact. He said that Daniel was on the move with a load of heavies and it had something to do with you...?”

  We head back towards the city. I settle into the seat. “It was a trap, an ambush. Liz Richardson stabbed me—silver knife to the side. I will be fine.” My voice sounds cold and robotic to my own ears. I warily watch Owen’s reactions as I curl sideways and lean my weight back against the door. My right cheek presses into the leather and I huddle into myself.

  Owen’s nostrils flare. “What the hell was that nasty cow doing there? The wound will scar. Are you feeling okay?” Owen flicks his eyes from the road and glances at me with concern. I smile sadly; he has entered nanny mode. “You shifted, so it must have cleared your system. Are you feeling dizzy or sick? Is your breathing okay?” I nod as he continues to give me a visual once-over. I ignore his worried questions; they aren’t important at the moment.

  “What happens when a male shifter bites a female’s neck,” I ask dully.

  Owen slams on the brakes. I brace a hand on the dash as the tyres squeal on the tarmac. The car skids to a stop. Owen turns in his seat and grips my chin gently in a shaking hand. “Let me see.” I peer up at him with dead eyes, unwilling to dip my head for him so he can inspect the back of my neck. Owen starts to growl.

  “Who? Did Daniel do that? Did he bite you? Mate you?” Owen growls out the words. My eyes fill with tears that I refuse to shed. If I start, I’m never going to stop. “It forces a mate-slave bond, makes the female more willing. Easier to control. Real archaic and illegal. Did…did Daniel bite you?” His grey eyes beg me to say no. I wish I could. I force a stiff nod. Owen roars and slams both hands on the steering wheel. His left fist smashes into the dash, and the plastic crumples.

  For a few minutes, there’s silence.

  In a quiet, horrified tone, he says, “Daniel will be able to track you. Is the bond entirely in place?” I look at him blankly. “Forrest, did Daniel….did Daniel rape you?”

  What Daniel did was rape—the bite, his touch—but I know that isn’t what Owen means.

  “No,” I whisper. Owen’s whole body sags. “And he won’t be able to track me for a while.” Owen’s eyes are glowing red; his hellhound magic is raging inside him. I reach across the console and place a trembling hand on his arm. “I stopped him, burned a silver knife into his face. He should be down for a while.” I say this matter-of-factly, not elaborating that I used Daniel’s face for anger-management therapy. But Owen gets what I’m saying, and he stops growling. He takes hold of my frozen hand.

  “The bond will be only partly formed, then. If the bond is consummated, you will be stuck with him. Till death do us part, in the most literal sense. Fucking hell, Forrest, we can’t let him near you. I don’t recommend we kill him either; I have no idea what it would do to you. It could kill you too.”

  “Can the bond be removed?”

  Owen turns away from me and stares out of the window. The worry and anger are evident on his face. I don’t think he can bear to look at me.

  “No…yes, theoretically. It is attached to your wolf; if you’re willing to give up your wolf, I know of a curse. The curse will cut you from your wolf. In Daniel’s mind, it will be as if you have died.” Owen lets go of my hand and grips the steering wheel. “It will make you human. Cut off suddenly like that from your magic, it’s not healthy...it's risky. Without shifting, you will age. If you live that long. It’s a curse for a reason…” Owen restarts the stalled car, and the vehicle moves off.

  I contemplate his words. The bite mark feels sore and heavy on my neck. I curl my lip with disgust as I skim the back of my neck with trembling fingers. I trace the ragged scar with my fingertips; it seems as if slave-bites, like silver wounds, don’t heal from shifting. I huff out a breath; I am glad I messed that fucker up.

  I glance at my hands, and in a split second, I decide it’s what I am going to do.

  I want out. I want the curse.

  To choose this, after the trauma I have just experienced, is crazy. I must be insane. But when is the right time to make this choice? I want out.

  I’m ruined. I let out a self-deprecating laugh; I’m half-bonded to a fucking psychopath. He won’t stop till he has full control of my body and mind. Daniel will never stop coming for me, and if not him, there will be other Daniels.

  I realise that my mum is no longer the winning DNA EuroMillions ticket. No, that’s me.

  In my nightmares, my mum told me again and again that I was cursed. All this time, have I been prognosticating?

  My heart has just one instruction left— run.

  I let out a strangled laugh. What the fuck had I been thinking! Floating around in my happy bubble. My childish, pathetic antics, the embarrassing shit attempt at being a sweet, happy, lovable person. That stupid childish kitchen-climbing, chair-spinning idiot died in that office when Daniel bit her. I scrunch my nose, and my lips turn up in self-disgust.

  I let out and nurtured every spec of childish hope that I had hidden away from the rotten parts inside me. I believed my own lies. My innocent, sweet mask got so wedged onto my face, I forgot for a while that it was just a guise. I forgot I’m rage, hate, and ruin.

  Sometimes the people you love aren’t safe for you, and sometimes it’s you who are the toxic one. I am not safe. I’m cursed. Will it take one curse to end another?

  I should never have been let out of that cage.

  I forgot for a while that I was never meant to be safe in this world. The illusion of safety, of freedom, of contentment, of fucking love. It is all a cosmic joke, and I’m the biggest joke of all, with my stupid childish dreams. I thought I could make a difference. I naively thought I could alter perceptions. Help others. I can’t even help myself.

  I run unsteady hands over my face. I feel utterly overwhelmed and exhausted.

  My fingers creep to the chain miraculously still around my neck, to the diamond Aragon gave me. Aragon...I think about him, and my heart flips. Devastation slams into me and my eyes fill with tears.

  How is all this happening?

  Aragon and the meeting yesterday. The council meeting. The reality of what Aragon has done makes me sick to my stomach. It was a meeting ab
out me; it was about my life. He didn’t even bother to tell me, to warn me about Daniel.

  My head drops back on the window behind me, and the cold glass touches the bite mark on the back of my neck.

  I love him—stupid naïve lost wolf—I have fallen so hard for my beautiful dragon. A life with him, to even contemplate it? To dream it? Loving Aragon, and him loving me back? The idea is preposterous. Impossible.

  God, it is a selfish muscle—the heart.

  I rub my face again, refusing to cry. Aragon will forget me. I have previously been forgettable. For fourteen years, I was forgotten. Now I will be again, perhaps remembered as collateral damage from the council’s scheming.

  I am so tired of being used and so overwhelmed with trying to work out different people’s motivations.

  I close my eyes. Be brave.

  I am a cool calm void.

  The strange calm that I feel spreading through my mind feels less like acceptance and more like the calm before a storm, made up of pure, unadulterated hysteria. I let out another strangled laugh.

  Fuck, I will do this. My fear will not stop me. Without my wolf, it might be a slow death sentence, but I will be free. Freedom is the only thing that matters now.

  “I want the curse,” I say quietly. More strongly I say, “I have a plan. I need to speak to my friend Ava. Can you help me?” Ava once offered me a chance to run. I’m going to take her up on that. I open my eyes and give Owen a pleading look. “Will you help me?” Owen shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair in frustration. “Do you trust me, Nanny Hound?” I meet his conflicted gaze; I swallow down my sadness and my shame as I look at Owen, I beseech him with my eyes.

  He growls at me— a real snarl— then scrubs a hand over his face, muttering unintelligible things to himself. His hand drops and some of the fury dims.

  “Yes, I trust you.” My heart hurts; Owen has faith in me. That’s when I start crying. Big body-wracking sobs leave my lips, and Owen folds me into his arms. So much for being brave. “I don’t want to,” he says quietly into my hair, “but I’ll help.”

  NORTH-WEST NEWS

  Police are appealing for information to identify a woman who was witnessed falling into the sea this evening at around nine o’clock. Police were called after witnesses reported seeing a girl jump from the sea wall in a presumed suicide. The coastguard will take up the search for the missing young woman in the morning, as sea conditions have made it impossible to search for her this evening.

  The police have asked the Hunters Guild for assistance, and foul play has not been ruled out. A police spokesman said, “We will know more about the circumstances when the woman’s body is recovered, but a curse or mental influence has not been ruled out at this time. Please call 111 with any information. We would like to identify this young lady and inform her family. Thank you for your help.”

  The police, with the help of a local technical expert, have released the following CCTV footage to piece together the woman’s last movements.

  Some viewers may find this disturbing, and viewer discretion is advised.

  The footage shows a broken-looking girl in a red coat at a bus stop in Singleton village. She’s captured on the bus’s CCTV and on the local fire station’s camera that’s located near the bus stop. She gets on the number 75 bus and pays her fare.

  She gets off the bus forty minutes later in the town of Cleveleys, and the cameras track her movement through the town via the police CCTV system and also through a few local shop cameras. She looks like she’s sleepwalking. The girl isn’t moving as if she’s injured, but there’s a dark patch and a hole in her bright red coat.

  She doesn’t interact with anyone, nor does she react to anyone around her. She just traipses towards the seafront and the promenade.

  We see her clearly on several CCTV cameras walking across the road, across the tram tracks, and towards the sea wall. The waves pound the sea defences, and when the sea spray hits her, she doesn’t react.

  Her long distinctive pink hair catches the street lights as it’s whipped around by the wind. She removes her red coat and drops it to the floor at her feet. She then climbs up onto the sea wall.

  The camera pans to the savage bite mark on the back of her neck.

  She takes one look behind, a glance, so her face is caught one last time on film. Then she turns, and with one step, she falls, disappearing into the sea.

  A clear photo of the woman flashes up on the screen, asking the public again for their help.

  * * *

  Morning News: Police have identified the woman who was witnessed falling into the sea yesterday evening at around nine o’clock. Police were called after witnesses reported seeing a young girl jump from the sea wall.

  In a presumed suicide, the woman has been identified as Forrest Hesketh, a wolf shifter. The woman’s pack has been informed.

  The shifter community has responded with shock, disbelief and sorrow, the loss of such a rare female a blow.

  The police have thanked the public for their assistance and request any further enquiries to be directed to the Hunters Guild.

  The police are also warning that the promenade has been closed to vehicle and pedestrian access. For the time being, all humans should avoid the area.

  Reports of a silver dragon aiding in the search have also been confirmed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Sunshine warms my face. It glows orange behind my closed lids. I blink my eyes open. I move, and the white duvet cover underneath me stirs the dust motes into the air. I watch them dance and twirl through a beam of sunlight.

  I blink. I gasp as the general awareness of yesterday immediately bludgeons me. It hits me so hard I want to curl into a ball and wail.

  Don’t look back…be brave.

  I don’t allow any of the terrible details into the forefront of my mind. I stuff everything again into another fucking box.

  Soon there will be nothing left but boxes rattling around in my head.

  A tear runs down the side of my nose, and I angrily swipe it away.

  I instead focus on the moment. On the here and now.

  I sit up and knock a thick envelope that has been left next to me onto the floor. I scoop it up and tear it open. Contained inside are my new identification documents.

  I sit on the side of the bed, my body slumped. Physically I feel okay, tired and slightly sluggish, but not as horrendous as I’d expected. I am disappointed that I can no longer feel my fire magic. It looks like the curse took both wolf and fire.

  I huff and shrug. I lived my whole life without access to magic, so to be trapped in my human body is less challenging than being stuck as a wolf. I guess it's a different side of the same coin. I had access to magic for only six months, not a long time in the scheme of things.

  I thumb through the documents. According to my new identification, I’m eighty-three–year-old Betty Green. I huff out a breath, and a morose smile pulls at my lips. I prod at the disguise bracelet on my ankle and notice that my scent masker is back on my wrist.

  I’m in Ireland.

  I grip my thighs tightly and hunch over in an attempt to stop the pain from crushing my chest. I’m in Ireland. I haven’t a clue how Ava managed it. It’s risky; shifters aren’t welcome here. I will have to be extra careful, although with the curse, I am as close to human as I possibly can get. Being so close to my dragon, yet so far away, is going to be a challenge. I swallow down the rising bile. I’m dead to him, and I know he isn’t my dragon anymore. It’s something I will have to get over.

  Don’t look back…

  I’m now living in County Sligo. I stand and lug myself away from the bright bedroom. If I don’t leave this room, I will pull the covers up over my head, as if they can protect me from the world and I’ll never leave. I unenthusiastically explore. The traditional Irish cottage is lovely; it’s modern and set over one floor. Ava must have spent a lot of money on making this cottage perfect. The bungalow style consists of one large bedroom with a
n ensuite bathroom and open-plan living room, with a beautiful farmhouse-style modern kitchen. There’s a hallway linking both the front and the back doors with a small utility room and another bathroom. The cottage is also in the middle of nowhere; my nearest neighbour is about six kilometres away.

  The tiny little blue car in the driveway is a shock. I have an Irish driving licence, yet I have not got a clue how to drive. The cottage came with a kitchen full of supplies, so I am not going to be hungry anytime soon. But being so remote, I decide that my priority must be learning how to drive, with hitting YouTube as my first port-of-call.

  If I had any light in me, it would be exciting. But I feel dead inside.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  It’s a cold April morning, and I decide I want to go to my favourite café on the seafront at Strandhill. I love the place. They serve the best ice cream in the country, but I want to grab a hot chocolate and a slice of chocolate cake. I haven’t left the house in weeks, so I do my best to make an effort. The stray dog I found in December isn’t for moving; he hates leaving the house. He takes it upon himself to be my perimeter guard and gets miffed if I make him leave the garden. He’s a character.

  I spotted the big beige dog, alone with his head in some bushes, sniffing about quite happily. I whistled to get his attention, and he turned to me and growled. I growled back.

  The dog blinked as if trying to work out who the heck I was—his expression hilarious. He’s big, a giant breed, well over 100kg, and after a few internet searches, I found that he’s a Caucasian shepherd.

  I love his company, and he’s delighted with his new living arrangements, especially as I will not under any circumstances feed him standard dog food, for obvious reasons. The bloody dog, whom I name Lucifer, eats better than I do. He’s an exceptional guard dog, and we get on tremendously, especially when the opinionated monster realises that I’m in charge and he can’t get his way.