The Infamous Beast

by T Shadow

  Copyright @ 2019 T Shadow.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form. This includes photocopying, recording, or through the use of other electrical or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, the only exception is in the case of brief quotations in book reviews.

  Any references to real people, real places or historical events are used for fictitious purposes. The names of the characters, places, and the characters themselves are products of the author’s imagination. Resemblance to any actual places, events, persons, alive or dead is purely coincidental.

  Reproduction of this copyrighted work without the consent of the author is considered illegal. This is considered under the Criminal copyright infringement and therefore will be investigated if copyrighting is confirmed.

  Purchasing of authorized electronic editions is preferred. Please do not participate in, or encourage the piracy of goods. Support of the authors work through legitimate means is greatly appreciated.

  This novel is categorised in the Reverse Harem, Paranormal and Romance genres, and therefore is not suited to anyone under the age of 18 years of age.

  Cover art by Rebeca of Rebecacovers.

  Contents:

  Way Back When

  Here and Now

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  "Go on now, run as fast as you can and whatever you do." She grips my shoulders and pulls me close, staring into my eyes like they hold the key to my soul. "Don't ever look back."

  It's with great heartache that I'm forcefully ejected from my home, my sister pushes my lithe body further and further away from the front door of our humble abode. I can't get a lick of a word in before I'm at the edge of the forest, with a pack of my most important possessions and my twin sister whose face is coated in salty tears.

  I go to open my mouth to say goodbye, but I know the words won't come. Goodbye means going forever and I have hope that I will be back. Banishment or not, I'll come back to my sister.

  It's only her gentle shove on my shoulder that puts me into action. With a new found strength and speed, I put one foot in front of the other and run towards uncertainty.

  It's only later that night, under the cover of darkness, shrouded by a shield of trees and the song of the wild animals in the forest that I am able to check my pack for food and reserves. My sister is smarter than she seems, because it's almost as if she's had this bag packed as an emergency.

  Inside there's some bread and meat for a few days, extra clothes, a roll of cash that I knew I had hidden under my bedroll and a hunting knife. But of all the things that my sister packed in my bag, I didn't expect her to pack my journal— it's the only thing that is important to me.

  But at that moment in time, I didn’t know that it would hold the truth to everything. I may not have witnessed what happened that night, but I had the truth between my fingertips.

  I just didn’t know it.

  Coming across a scent I couldn't place isn’t necessarily strange in this hokey-poke town in the middle of nowhere. A safe place and haven for shifters and supernatural alike, it houses all weird and wonderful creatures that hail from all over the world. Some that the council are aware of, and some which they aren't.

  The reason we're here though, isn't because of some fake tourist attraction. Oh no, we're here for a much bigger, and far more rewarding prize.

  We're here for the hoard.

  And we have no fucking idea where, or what it is.

  "I know how my story ends… it's at the edge of a blade or the barrel of a gun."

  "Huh, well, that's slightly morbid, but there you go."

  Mika and I are laying across my tattered old sofa, watching a ‘much needed’ Supernatural marathon on Mika's portable DVD player. I did express that I didn't need to watch the series, but my opinion was taken away, rolled, and shoved firmly up my own arse.

  I'm kinda thankful too, this show is quite... interesting.

  I could argue that I'm watching this purely for 'modern-linguistic-research' purposes, but for my sake, I don't want to receive any more unnecessary side-eye from Mika.

  It's been a couple of days since the encounter with Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome outside the pub. After the most confusing and worrying time of my life, I hauled Mika to my house, grabbed Lucius and camped out on the sofa. It was only a couple of days ago that Mika relented and escaped to her house to get the DVD's and the player itself.

  Poor girl probably couldn't stand the silence.

  The DVD player drones on as one of the brothers... Dean, I think? Talks this guy down from shooting him. It doesn't escape my notice that this guy can talk himself out of any situation, it’s almost as if he possesses the gift-of-the-gab.

  The other brother, however, reads the books, gets the information and always manages to get himself stuck in a situation that means he has to be rescued by the other.

  It has a lot of seasons and episodes but that's what I've summarised so far.

  With an almost endless supply of tea and biscuits, our camp-out and binge-watching can only last for so long before we need to vacate Fort Knox for simple things; like toilet roll, alcohol or snack-foods. Three days of hibernation only resulted in us consuming every morsel in sight. The food is beginning to be rationed between Lucius, Mika and I, and I feel hungrier than a soldier on the frontline in World War One.

  As the days have worn on, the sofa underneath me transforms from a soft, fluffy cloud to a concrete brick. I'm not sure if it's the dwindling density of the sofa that's made my arse lose all sensations, or if it's the constant weight on my posterior that caused me to have pins and needles of the butt.

  It's only as I get up and make my way to the kitchen to find some sustenance that my arse resumes its blood flow and I can feel tingles like popping candy under my skin. It seems that the need to inhale an obscene amount of food is the only way to cure sleepy appendages.

  I check my cupboards, but the sight that greets me is not welcoming nor helpful. It seems my 'almost endless' supply of food has finally been eradicated. I have at least one sixth of a packet of oatmeal left. Mika, or I, or Mika and I, have finally eaten ourselves out of house and home. It’s a phrase I never thought I'd say in my entire lifetime…

  The sound of feet walking along the floor behind me is the only sign that Mika has joined me in my quest for food. I feel as if this may be a long hunt for something edible to bide our time until tomorrow morning, yet, it's only when the quiet pitter-patter of claws following Mika that I remember it's not just us two in this overfilled two-bedroom house I call home.

  It seems as though our social-strike will have to end, purely on the basis that I can't feed Lucius dried oatmeal. We may have survived three odd days with a calm collected fox, but I better hop to it and get some fox approved food if I don't want to stumble upon the Lord of the Damned, Bringer of Flames, King of Hell and His Grace.

  I turn to look at Mika but she's skipped over to the sofa to pause the ongoing Supernatural marathon and to pull on her shoes. Thankfully she has forgone the New Rocks, instead settling on some Dr Martens instead. Both shoes are clunky but a
t least these ones won't send vibrations through the earth to wake the dead on our way to the shop. I'm just hoping that our outing is short, sweet, and doesn't happen to cross paths with any broody, ginger, jock-ish, book-loving, nerdy guys.

  I'd really like to avoid them all after the awkward encounter with the Alpha the other day at the bar. He smelled that I was something supernatural, but not what I was. It's peculiar, but I guess when you avoid your own species for a long time, and I mean really long time, your scent dampens.

  It's a plus for me but obviously a big negative for them, or him, rather. I overheard his name being spoken at the bar, the Draconis heir called him Remington, but he also referred to him as 'boss'. Sarcastically, I might add.

  Making my way over to my shoes, I slide my feet into my waiting Chucks, only needing to throw on a coat over my ripped jeans and baggy shirt before I make the painstaking journey to the shop for some food for us. Lucius's small body hugs the edges of the sofa as he stares back at me, his chocolate brown eyes all round and cute. Bending down, I give him a small scratch on the top of his head, reassuring that I will be back. Lucius acts like the Lord of the Manor, but I'm sure he experiences some degree of separation anxiety.

  He scampers off to his Hell hole as I grab my bag and head for the door. Mika's bringing up the rear, shutting the door behind her after I pass through it. Thankfully, we leave when it's still light out, so there isn't an ominous woods facing us but the picture of sweet serenity. The view of the woods a few hours before sunset is gorgeous, a vivid type of ecstasy for our eyes. Ribbons of scarlet and gold stream through the canopy of trees that surround my small home. I've been given permanent front row seats to natures technicolour performance.

  It's a sight that walks alongside Mika and I as we make the short journey to the town's small shop. It's by no means a superstore, but it harbours all the major necessities and a few sought after luxuries. You've got your milk and bread for example, but you can also buy make-up. The make-up aisle is Mika's third favourite place in the world, and I wouldn't be surprised if the store clerks knew Mika by name, face or smell.

  The door beeps as we walk in, alerting our presence to customers and staff. Mika, ever the conscientious shopper, grabs a trolley and runs towards the make-up aisle only moments after our shoes have touched down on the industrial sized welcome mat that sits just inside the shop's doors. Her speed is definitely more than that of a normal human because she's turning down the aisle before I've even had the chance to shout her name. In this moment, disgruntled and famished, I have no choice but to go and rescue the inanimate objects from Mika's clutches. I grab a shopping basket for the sake of it, knowing Mika’s previous history with shopping endeavours.

  I make my way down the aisle to procure Mika from her sacred place. I'm in no right mind to be saving make-up products, but here I am wasting precious minutes I may never regain, all to be the saver of inanimate objects from an overly obsessive, possessive tiger.

  Rounding the corner, I spot Mika crouching in front of the make-up line. There's compacts and brushes, polishes and liners scattered around her in a haphazard fashion. It looks like the God of Chaos went for a whirl in the supermarket aisle, causing destruction and disorder in his wake. Unfortunately for Mika, she sits in the middle of said destruction, so she cops all the death-stares, hard sighs and eye-rolls from the staff that pass by her.

  It’s only when she hears the sound of my trainers on the squeaky white-wash linoleum that she starts aimlessly grabbing at different products, balancing them precariously in her hands. She's making a functioning hand basket, but losing the main function of her hands in the process.

  I'm only steps away when Mika notices the basket I procured from the entrance of the shop, and proceeds to dump all of her shit in it. I look behind her for the trolley she grabbed, but fail to see it. It doesn’t matter, so instead I gaze over the assortment of items in the basket and summarise that there must be at least thirty quids worth of stuff in there. With the amount that she uses however, I’m not surprised she goes through about thirty quids worth of crap a week.

  A small, very un-feline like smile falls on her lips, and with a turn of her heel and a sashay of her hips, albeit out of time, Mika saunters off ahead in front of me to raid the ready meal aisle like it's going out of fashion. Me, I divert and head straight to the vegetable aisle to get Lucius's greens and some odd bits for myself.

  It's only about twenty minutes later when I hear the tell tale sounds of a struggle rapidly approaching that I can only guess that Mika's carrying way too much stuff. It's probably piled up like un-regulated Tetris blocks; stacked precariously, thwarting the progress while going nowhere.

  She must have got enough meals for the next two weeks in her hands, and my basket is only so big. I frown at the delectable item in my hand, wishing it could be bigger because I have no doubt that Mika will dump this crap on me, and then go and get more stuff before she finally clears the store out of house and home. Maybe I'll get her to grab a trolley again to save all of my anxiety plagued issues. What's turned into a full on shopping trip is now taking more than the original allotted time space.

  Reminding the poor girl is only going to make her rush around like a metaphorical bat out of Hell. Though it's probably the only way I'm ever going to get out of here with some of my life still left to enjoy. I feel like a mother who has a child that won't stop whining, picking things up and throwing tantrums. Just to make it harder for her, because I’m mean like that, I turn and make my way to the aisles that house the chicken for Lucius.

  It's only when I've retrieved both mine and Lucius's necessities that Mika emerges, looking like a petrified feline who's been caught being a tea-leaf in the confectionery aisle. Seriously, her eyes are wide and she's hurrying like her ass is on fire, her arms full of ready meals and Fox's biscuits. She's managing, by some sort of fucking miracle, to carry all if the shit in her arms, but only up until she reaches me and the half-full basket. Dumping all of her shit in it, she grabs my hand and hauls my arse towards the checkouts.

  There are only three manned ones here and as soon as we find one that's almost readily available, she separates our shopping from the persons in front, and starts throwing the items onto the conveyor belt with a newfound velocity.

  It's only when I really look at the guy in front that I realise it's Mr. Grigori, and he seems as if he's struggling slightly with the two nearly full bags. The small caring side of me won't let Mr. Grigori struggle like that, so I throw Mika my card and leave her to pack up and pay. I head over to help with the enormous bags of shopping the odd sea-water smelling old-guy has.

  "Mr. Grigori?" He turns slightly to see me, and a smile gracing his lips as he recognises me.

  "It's Remi, from the bookstore?" He nods. "I was just wondering if you'd like a hand?" I gesture towards the two full bags, the plastic handles straining against the weight of the bag itself.

  "Why, that would be lovely my dear." Awh, Mr. Grigori even has manners. Not like most grumpy old shits, "I always forget to pack extra bags… Not- not that I can carry more than two."

  My heart melts at his idle chit-chat. Bless the old man's cotton socks, "If it helps, Mr. Grigori, I don't mind coming out to help you shop."

  Wait a hot fucking minute, did I just offer to help someone?

  Mr. Grigori looks at me, his sea blue eyes capturing my light green ones. It's as if our souls connect, and the feeling that passes through me is odd, almost as if I'm enamoured by this man, but that couldn't be. Though, as soon as that feeling begins, it passes. And I suddenly feel comfortable, lightweight and carefree.

  It’s a struggle, but I manage to focus back on Mr. Grigori and realise he's smiling, not an all out, up to your eyes smile, but a smile nonetheless. I class it as the polite-old-guy smile, because Mr. Grigori looks about seventy-five years old, and I've never asked him what his first name is. He probably gets sick of me calling him Mr. Grigori, but that is his name.

  A smell in the air tick
les my nose as I take one of the bags from Mr. Grigori's hands. I probably wouldn't have paid much attention to it but the withered old man beside me suddenly stands ramrod straight, and those sea blue spheres harden at the approaching figures.

  It's only when I look up that I remind myself to breathe in again, and I instantly recognise the smell that's been haunting my dreams for the past couple of days. Smoke and ashes. It only becomes more pungent the closer the males come and it takes every ounce of strength to convince myself not to look over, but between my overwhelming sense of survival and my bewildering curiosity, I find myself looking at two of the fearsome four that rattle my bones the least.

  A glowing head of ginger greets me, as well as an unruly mop of light-brown hair. Both guys wear glasses firmly propped on their noses, their gazes soft but calculated. The ginger one is obviously Finnegan - or Finn for short. I remember the sharp angle of his jaw and his dark blue eyes that made sapphires envious. But I also remember the small details that highlight the eyes of the Draconis heir. I’m sure his name was mentioned - Leland, if I recall, and he’s definitely the youngest of the bunch.

  Even though they’re only walking into the supermarket, they still have an air of arrogance around them. It's probably because they’re the new kids, in a weird town that's suspicious of anything with a pulse. Finn looks the most at ease, grabbing a basket and walking off towards the vegetables without missing a beat. The Heir however? Reminds me of a kitten surrounded by big bad wolves - lost and alone. It probably doesn’t help that he’s been left alone in a seemingly foreign environment.

  I’m stuck between feeling like I should help the poor bastard, and leaving the fucker to figure this shit out himself. My badass-bitch side is battling my caring, nurturing side as we speak, and both sit on my shoulders, one caressing the side of my face the other jabbing a pitchfork into my temple. Thankfully, it's Mr. Grigori who gently clasps my hand in his, nodding his head up and down. Despite Mr. Grigori's encouragement, I’m still on the fence about going over to help the poor bugger, or leaving him to fight the wolves himself.