I set off in my little blue car.
When I arrive, the parking spaces are almost empty. I imagine that when summer finally comes, it will be difficult to park. There’s already a steady stream of surfers, braving the Atlantic all year round, so I can only imagine how busy it will get in summer.
I order my drink and cake at the counter and find a table. The traditional ice cream parlour has a warm beachy theme. The walls are a mix of blue and grey, with a black and white checkerboard floor; there’s even an old wooded surfboard attached to the wall. I find a seat with my back against the wall. As I sit, I slide the block of wood with my order number onto the distressed-wood table. I can see little grains of sugar that have fallen through the cracks. I stroke my hand across the wood and feel some of the grains; they’re rough underneath my fingertips.
I’m sitting next to a big picture window with a view of the sea. I watch the waves rhythmically crash into the sea wall, and my mind wanders to a different location. I’m glad it’s the same ocean—I miss Aragon’s glass house terribly.
I keep myself busy, but even with Lucifer’s help, I still feel alone. Should I care that the solitude that broke me as a wolf now brings me solace as I’m stuck as a human? Without using my rage, which is the only emotion left inside me, I’m nothing but a numb shell.
My body and senses have turned human-slow; I don’t need to try to walk like a human anymore. I lost that shifter prowl. I also find that I sleep more. Mercifully I don’t have many nightmares, but I wake in the middle of the night or early morning with the feeling of Aragon’s arms around me. In that time between sleep and wakefulness, I let myself for a few heartbeats imagine I’m in his arms. I live for the imaginary moments. When I awake fully, I feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest. I think missing him is the worst part of my new life. I wonder if he misses me, but I know that is wishful thinking.
A chair scrapes against the floor, and I glance up to find two strange men sitting down. One of them sits on the chair next to me, blocking my exit, and the other sits opposite me.
Their whole attitude screams aggression, and they aren’t human. Even though I no longer have my wolf senses, I can tell the guy opposite me is an influential, powerful, older Fae. With shock and fearful trepidation, I realise that the guy sitting next to me is a wolf shifter. That alone scares the crap out of me; his nostrils flare as he picks up the fear in my scent.
I take a deep breath in and close my eyes. Why is my life so fucking shit?
I can’t get away from them—even in Ireland, the shifters manage to find me. Without my fire magic and the strength of my wolf, I’m in real trouble. I open my eyes turn my body so I can keep both of them in sight, and I wait. I wait for them to make the first move.
The waitress comes up to the table with a smile and drops off my order. I smile at her with thanks. I’m too frightened to say the words, and there’s no reason to put her in any danger by attempting to run.
The Fae opposite me is elegant and deadly. Enormous pale blue eyes and pointed ears betray him as a full-blooded Aes Sídh, a warrior elf. His black hair is long as is their custom, styled into intricate plaits. I know enough to recognise his warrior markings—they look like human tattoos, and they start at his right hand and go all the way to his neck. He is dressed in all black, combats.
I’m so fucked.
The wolf isn’t as big as the hellhounds back home, not that I have seen him standing, but sitting, he still towers over me. The expression in his eyes is hard, and he screams “old shifter.” He looks as if he has been to Hell and back. His light hair is shorn to his scalp, and his eyes are brown. Both men are looking at me like I have stolen the last slice of cake. Maybe I have?
“You’re not human—I can see the witch magic all over you, covering your identity. You shouldn’t be using appearance-altering magic in my territory,” the elf points out acerbically. He narrows his eyes at me, but all he gets back is a blank stare. I shrug. What does he want me to do? Remove it?
“I demand you remove the magic.”
Okay, then. I glance about to try to work out how to get away, but my options are limited. I’ve stupidly cornered myself.
“You are not going anywhere. Whatever you are, you are dangerous, especially if you have had to alter your appearance.”
“This one is unusual or stupid, as it is more frightened of me than you. How strange. It reeks of fear,” the wolf says in a growling voice. He lifts his top lip and shows me his teeth–my, what big teeth you have. It hasn’t been that long since I was last called it. Instead of it making me want to rage, my stomach flips and the sadness gets me for a few heartbeats. I shake it off.
Not having much of a choice, I reach for my ankle. The elf pulls an iron blade on me and points it in my face. The wolf growls. I glare at the pair of them—they either want me to remove my disguise, or they don’t. Can they make up their fucking minds? I hold up my hands to show I haven’t got any weapons, and I roll my eyes when they both look pointedly at my ankle.
The elf puts his big-ass knife on the table with a thunk and pulls my foot towards him, almost pulling me from my chair. I let out a squeak of protest, and the fucker pulls my leg harder. I want to scream at him, my bloody legs aren’t that long, you prick! In the end, he seems to come to the same conclusion, and he ducks underneath the table.
He pulls my leggings up and my boot off. He finds both my disguise- and scent-masker bracelets, and I feel the magic disappear. The wolf’s eyes widen as he takes in my young face and gold eyes. He makes a slightly shocked sound, which causes the elf to spring up from underneath the table, his iron blade back in his hand and pointing at me.
He too stares at me with absolute shock on his face.
“What the fuck? I wasn’t expecting that,” says the wolf.
I sip my drink as they continue to study me. I am not wasting it—it’s hot chocolate, plus it gives me something to do with my shaking hands. The wolf leans towards me, sniffing. I glare at him. Fucking rude.
“She still smells wrong, of magic,” the wolf grumbles. “I can’t believe she’s a wolf shifter. How old are you, kid? You look about...twenty? Where the fuck have you come from!”
“She has a curse on her,” says the elf. Just like the wolf, he’s looking at me with fascination.
“What type of curse? Why are you alone, kid? What the hell are you doing in Ireland?”
I ignore his questions and continue to drink. I also stare longingly at my slice of cake, which is on the edge of the table. The wolf grunts and slides the plate closer to me. I nod my thanks to him. I have no idea why—sometimes I can be too polite, but my mum drilled manners into me, and it’s an excellent habit.
“A curse to stop her shifting. It has blocked her shifter magic completely. It’s killing her,” the elf says matter-of-factly, tipping his head to the side as if he’s studying a strange bug. “Why would someone curse you?” I pick up the cake, ignoring the fork, and stuff half of it into my mouth.
The wolf lets out a really angry growl that makes me, embarrassingly, squeak. I spray little bits of cake onto the table. I glare at him. What a dramatic reaction to a few unanswered questions! I’m trying not to cough; my eyes water a little. I feel like I have inhaled some crumbs—what a bloody waste of cake.
He ignores me, his focus behind me. He grabs the back of my chair, dragging it around till he can get a good look at the back of my neck. I wonder for a split second what he’s looking at, what is so—the ragged bite mark. My stupid mate-mark. I want to slap my forehead; I can’t believe I forgot about it. I hunch my shoulders and quickly move my chair away from the nosy wolf.
I am not going back.
I hunch further into myself. I worry my chapped lips with my teeth, and the taste of blood fills my mouth. I need to get back to the cottage for my dog. Fuck. I won’t look at either of them. I try my best to stem my rising panic. I don’t want to have to fight them. I know there’s no way I can win. I remember a quote: “Appear we
ak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.” By Sun Tzu, The Art of War.
I sit up straighter and wolf the fuck up. I will do whatever is necessary, even fight them if I have to. My dog needs me.
I peek at my cup, contemplating what would happen if I threw my cup of hot chocolate in the elf’s face. He might spring to his feet; then I could grab his big-ass iron knife off the table and shove it up his left nostril.
“Well, we now know why she is wearing a disguise and why she is hiding out in Ireland,” the elf says matter-of-factly. “Runaway mate? You shifters can be barbaric.”
The wolf growls, “Says a member of the Aes Sídhe. She is still innocent, and I can’t smell a full bond on her. The evil bastard bit her—that shit isn’t right. I’d like to use my teeth on his throat, to rip it out. Female shifters are rare and should be protected, not fucking mauled.” I glance down at the table and notice his hands are balled into tight fists. “What about the curse?”
“It’s a bloody awful crude thing, presumably to stop him from tracking her?”
“Yeah, I guess? You said it’s hurting her?” The wolf shifts in his chair.
“Killing her.”
“What the fuck, kid. The wolf that almost chewed the back of your neck out, he that bad you’d rather die?” I finally look up at the wolf. I let the sadness show in my eyes; I don’t hide it from him. I nod. “Fucking hell. Madán, we can’t leave her like that. Must be something in your fancy magic box of tricks.” The elf, Madán, shakes his head.
“It is none of my business, none of yours. We came to check out a threat. She has been warned not to use witch magic.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Do not use disguise-magic, wolf.” I nod. He pockets my bracelets and gets up. That’s it? God, I hope so. Madán strides away, and just as I am about to sigh in relief, he looks back at me. “No shifters in Ireland. Even ones that can’t shift. Out of courtesy, I will give you a few weeks to leave. If I see you after that, it won’t be a curse that kills you.” I nod.
Maybe if I get online shopping and never leave the house, I will be fine. I stuff the last bit of cake into my mouth. I’ve had worse odds; I am not leaving. I have nowhere to go.
“I will talk to him,” the wolf says gruffly; I don’t respond. “My name’s Mac.” I blink up at him, nod, and give him a small smile. “In case you need anything.” Mac flicks a business card onto the table and follows Madán out the door.
“Goodbye, Betty,” I whisper.
I glance at the card; it has his name, number, and the bold claim of Warrior. I pop it into my pocket. I have no intention of calling him.
I grumble as I hunt for my discarded boot underneath the table.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I find it impossible with my new shitty driving skills to tell if anyone is following me. So instead of trying to drive while keeping an eye in the rear-view mirror, I just drive around for a bit. I also fill up with petrol.
I get back, and Lucifer is barking at me like a nutter. I know I am not wearing my Betty disguise, but he’s used to me without it. He spends ages sniffing around my car, barking at it. My only thought is that some other dog has peed on the tyre.
I’m feeling so down I don’t bother eating—I just feed Lucifer and go to bed early.
The morning comes, and I ugg like a zombie to the toilet with my eyes still closed, not wanting to wake up from my dragon dream. I know I’m a bloody idiot, but my sleeping brain will not behave.
Lucifer is going nuts at the back door, barking as if he’s ready to kill something. It’s still dark out, so I flick on the outside lights. Hopefully, the light will scare away whatever creature is upsetting him, before I let him out. We have a young fox that likes to come to wander about and pee in Lucifer’s territory. I quite like him for his boldness but not for his driving Lucifer crazy, as some nights I can be fast asleep and then the damn dog is going mad with his barking. There was also a badger that Lucifer fought with—the badger won. He kicked Lucifer’s ass. I had to take Lucifer to the vet in the town to get a couple of shots and his leg stitched up. Lucifer has his own massive first-aid kit now...well, we both do, as I can’t shift to heal.
I open the door and he runs out like the house is on fire, continuing to bark, so I slip on my wellies and pop outside to make sure he’s okay. He’s using his big angry warning bark.
I stand in my driveway looking at the two men I met yesterday—they’re outside my gate. Really? Couldn’t they have waited till it got light?
Well, I am doomed now that they know where I live. I can wave goodbye to the home-delivery idea. I grab the keys for the gate and let them in; I might as well get this over with. It’s not like I can hide under the bed.
As I pass the car, I remember Lucifer’s behaviour towards it yesterday, and I want to smack my forehead for being so stupid. They must have put a tracking spell on it—something that six months ago I would have been able to pick out with my own nose. I also wouldn’t have been taken by surprise this morning. Being human is shit.
Madán is looking me up and down—of course he is, I am in fluffy pyjamas. I just got up and wasn’t expecting an ambush.
“Cute PJs,” Mac remarks. I growl at him.
Lucifer continues to bark at them from behind the safety of a tree. His beige fur and black muzzle don’t camouflage well. Even in these circumstances, he makes me smile. He’s supposed to be a scary guard dog, but he’s way too smart to come close and take on these two. It makes me oddly proud of him; he’s a good dog.
We go into the house, and I excuse myself by indicating that I need to get dressed. I get changed and return to both men looking around my home.
“Your place is nice,” Mac says gruffly when I catch him looking through my kitchen cupboards. I point to the kettle, and he nods. I politely make us all tea, with Mac happily telling me how they take it. We all sit in the living room; this is so weird.
Lucifer has gotten braver and is barking at them through the window. I keep my mouth shut and wait for them to tell me what they want. According to Madán’s get-out-of-Ireland-and-I-won’t-kill-you speech, I still have thirteen days left.
Madán starts the conversation. “Do you know what I am used to? Begging. You tell a grown man that you are going to hunt him down and kill him, and they either run, or they beg. The amount of begging...” he sighs. “Even the most insane beg, trying to appeal to my sensibilities. You get the idea.” He takes a sip of tea. “Then there is you, a pink-haired girl on her own in a hostile country, with your sad, angry eyes. Unbelievably just giving me a shrug and a nod. You at least could have cried.” He shakes his head. I narrow my eyes at him. Is he disappointed that I didn’t cry? What. A. Wanker.
“It got me thinking, Forrest...” My stomach drops when Madán uses my real name. They know who I am, which is just great. “You look good for a dead girl...although it won’t be long until you die for real with that curse. Is that what you want?” He widens his eyes at me, mockingly. “How long are you sleeping at the moment, around twelve hours?” It’s more like sixteen, but why does he care?
“I have an old friend who turned England inside-out in your name, Forrest. Do you know what has been happening while you’ve been dead?” Madán has my full attention. Shit. I feel sick. “The council has been decimated. England almost had a shifter civil war. Replacing the council, a new assembly has been founded, with members voted into power. Their first official act was to introduce an emergency law to protect all female shifters—'Forrest’s Law.’” Madán raises his eyebrows. I carefully keep my face blank. “Forrest’s Law”? Oh my bloody God, I wonder if they will amend the name once they find out I am still alive and kicking? “The shifters’ old laws are in the process of being updated or changed. Modernised. It has had a positive knock-on effect on shifters all around the world. The other races are looking on with interest.” Madán drops the information bomb on me as if he is talking about the weather. He sips from his cup, his eyes never leaving mine.
I wiggle in
my seat. I feel a tad uncomfortable and a bit like a fraud. It was never my intention to be a martyr. I selfishly ran.
Will this new assembly fix the rot in shifter society? I’m unsure, but anything positive is a step in the right direction. I think about Madán’s words: the council has been decimated.
“The Hunters Guild, Aragon? The General, is he okay?” I husk out. My heart beats faster. Worry hits me full-force in the chest. I haven’t got the energy to care about myself, but what about Aragon? My dragon.
“Shit, you do talk,” Mac says happily, smiling at me. “Yeah, the dragon is fine. He kicked everything off, knocked heads together, set up the whole assembly, and then disappeared.” I puff out a relieved breath to hear that my dragon is safe. The world is a better place with him in it. Thank God.
I make a mental note to check on Owen, and indirectly, my brother John.
“Killed over half the council, is more like it,” Mac says with a laugh.
“You might be interested to know that your mate is still alive,” Madán says. I wrinkle my nose and narrow my eyes. Does he mean Daniel? He’s no mate of mine.
“Fuck me, kid, you did a number on that fuck-pig—you burned half his face off. He looks like Harvey Two-Face from Batman.” He shakes his head, chuckling, “You have some impressive skills, or you did….” Mac says, looking me up and down. He frowns at me. Yeah, I look like shit. I admit it, the curse is eating me alive. I shrug, unconcerned.
Madán continues, “Yes, well, Aragon left him alive after spending a few hours questioning him. I think the dragon was happy to leave him with his life as a warning to others. Especially after the punishment you gave him. Though Aragon cut his right hand off and pulled out all his teeth...I’m sure they returned with his shift, but it must have been an unpleasant few hours.” Madán looks at me, a curious expression on his face. “I didn’t understand why he had left him alive, until now. I don’t believe Aragon would have risked killing him if there was any chance that you could be alive. He didn’t find your body...well, for obvious reasons.”
Cursed Wolf: Urban Fantasy Shifter Stand-Alone (Creatures of the otherworld Book 1) Page 20
