Unlikely Magic: A Cinderella Retelling (Girl Among Wolves Book 1)

by Lena Mae Hill

  “She was attacked,” Mother says, her lips tightening into that familiar disapproving scowl. “One of those…those heathens came into our territory and attacked her.”

  I shove some crumpled paper into the bottom of the stove and cover it with sticks of kindling. “Is that why she’s still…like that?”

  “Yes,” she says. “She’s injured too badly to transition. We’ll have to get her strong enough before the next Moon.”

  I know what’s coming before she says it. I finish filling the stove with logs and strike a match, close the door, and turn to her.

  “When we’re out, you’ll need to care for her,” she says. “Let me show you what needs to be done. We’re going to the community center in a couple hours.”

  “Already? What if…?”

  “She’s going to be fine,” Mother says sharply. “And we have to discuss what we’re going to do. If they’re invading our territory, all-out warfare between the tribes could be next. You are not to leave this house, do you understand? Not today and maybe not for…Well. We’ll see what Zechariah says.”

  Zora whines in her sleep.

  “You always do what he says?” I ask. “Mother, she needs…she needs to go to a doctor.”

  “The doctor just left,” Mother says. “You don’t have to understand it, Stella. But this is the way it is for us.”

  “He’s the pack leader,” Elidi says quietly. “The Alpha. Defying him is not a choice, Stella. It’s like…a physical law. Like gravity.”

  I start to argue, but what do I know? They’re not human, not really. They only look human. How would I know what it’s like to be a wolf? Maybe they are still part animal even now, when it doesn’t show. They have to obey their leader. Isn’t that what Harmon said to me that day?

  “But what if…” I start to protest being stuck here with an injured, dangerous animal. She could kill me. And she hates me. But then I stop. By now I know that arguing does no good. Mother makes the rules for me the same way Zechariah makes them for her. I either follow the rules, or I resist and pay for it. And I always end up doing what she wants after my little rebellions, anyway.

  So I nod and follow her to the kitchen, where she shows me the tincture I’m supposed to shove down the throat of an angry, pain-maddened wolf who could rip my arm off. She teaches me what to do for her wounds and how to wait on her.

  Elidi wouldn’t mind. So I try not to mind, either. I try to be as good as she is, as caring. It’s not hard when Zora is lying there all covered in bandages. But I’m not as good as my sister. Because I’m still scared out of my mind by the wolf in our living room. When it’s time for them to go, though, I don’t argue. They’re all wolves, too. And the only thing more dangerous than a wounded wolf is a strong, healthy one. That’s what turned my angry, spirited sister into a dog that whimpers in her sleep.

  13

  An hour later, I realize what an advantage I have. Mother has left me with some tinctures to help Zora sleep and numb her pain. The first time Zora wakes, I expect her to snap my hand off if I get near her. I set a bowl of broth on a chair and push it closer to her, keeping the back of the chair between us. She howls and cries in pain until I raise my voice to shout over her.

  “You need to drink this,” I yell. “Mother says it will help you get better.”

  She stops howling and looks at me with huge, sad puppy eyes. The side of her face is torn, a jagged line bisecting it from eye to halfway down her muzzle. Mother has cleaned it, but it’s still nasty looking. Congealed blood clots in her fur and along her upper lip as she laps from the bowl of broth. Mother entrusted me with her care while they are gone, which means it’s just me and Zora. Me against Zora.

  It strikes me then that all this time, I’ve been at their mercy. They have fed me, brought me food. This time, she’s at my mercy. I could kill her and run.

  But when I see those sad eyes, and when she lays her head down on her paws with a soft whine, I know I can’t. It would be easier to kill her in human form than now, when she looks like a defenseless animal. For now, that’s all she is.

  She’s defenseless enough not to protest or question me when I prepare another batch of sleep potions for her and push it under her nose with the poker from the fireplace. No way am I putting my limbs within reach of her deadly jaws. The pain must be too distracting for her to argue that she just had one of mother’s potions, because she laps it up and then sinks into sleep, not even stirring when I nudge her with the end of the poker. I check the round clock Mother keeps above the stove, with the face of the full moon on it. It’s only been another hour.

  I consider running, but I didn’t make it far last time, and this time, there’s something out there. Whatever got Zora could get me next, and I’m just a human. What chance do I have? I look around for weapons, but there’s nothing better than a hammer in the house. Out back, in the tiny tool shed, I find a hacksaw, wrenches, and garden tools. I survey the assortment of shovels, hoes, rakes and pitchforks before my eyes fall on the evil curved blade of a scythe. I’ve never wielded one before, but after swinging it a few times and nearly chopping my feet off at the ankles, I get the hang out it.

  After checking on Zora one last time and finding her sleeping, I creep out the front door. The place is deserted. No voices in nearby cabins, no children laughing and shrieking in the distance, no thump of chopping wood or whirr of an electric drill. Steeling myself, I sneak up the slight slope of our driveway, glancing back over my shoulder every few steps. Every muscle in my body is tense, clinging to the bones, sure that my sister or mother will leap from the woods and catch me.

  But I reach the rutted road without seeing anyone. I look in both directions before stepping out onto it. After barely leaving my mother’s house for years, even being this far from my prison makes me jumpy. As I take a step, my foot crunches on the gravel and I freeze. I’m so exposed. Clutching the scythe, I regain control of my breath and move on.

  No one comes out onto the porches as my feet crunch along the road. No dogs bark at me—there are no dogs here—and no one shouts at me to stop, to get back in my cage. So I keep going. If I can’t run, I’ll have to find another way out of here. I need a better plan than last time, when I ran blindly. It might take a few months to organize, but I’ll find something, some way.

  I take another step, and another, continually checking behind me for the monsters in the next community…or this one. Suddenly, a movement in the woods catches my attention, and my head snaps around. An owl is watching me from a branch just a few feet away. I stop short, not daring to move or breathe, not wanting to scare it away. It’s so beautiful, with its round eyes and speckled pattern. But aren’t owls nocturnal?

  I shiver and take a step back, suddenly distrustful of everything here. When I move, it takes off, its wings spreading almost as wide as a human with outstretched arms. I hold my breath, listening to the flapping sound of its wings beating the air. Finally, it swoops up and away, over the trees. If it’s nocturnal, did something drive it out of its sleep? With another shiver, I glance around, readjusting my grip on my weapon.

  I will not be scared into remaining a prisoner forever. With renewed determination, I continue towards the big lodge, walking more quickly this time. When I reach the yard, I pause. A huge oak tree spreads its branches over the rocky yard and the looping drive. A jeep sits parked towards the end of the loop, facing outwards, so it can continue around and leave on the one road that will get me out of this place.

  An idea lights in my mind, and I crouch low and race towards it, carrying my scythe awkwardly at my side. The doors are unlocked. I slip onto the leather seats and freeze, my heart racing. I could hide here, but once my mother realizes I’m gone, she’ll go looking. And I’d have to hide my cumbersome weapon somewhere. How long would it take the pack to find me, with their superior senses and wolfish tracking skills?

  Not long. I slip out of the jeep and, crouching low, race towards the house again. My heart is beating so loud in my ears
I hardly hear the gravel under my feet. I flatten my back against the wall of the house and wait to catch my breath. On this end of the big lodge, there is only one door, and the windows are high up. When I’m a bit calmer, I step around the corner, staying close against the wall. The huge porch runs nearly the length of the house, so I have to leave my scythe against the wall as I duck under the railing. I crawl along the wooden surface to stay hidden, slowing when I approach the window beyond which I hear voices.

  “Do you admit that it was not you that ran from the fire that night?” Zechariah asks.

  “Yes,” Elidi says, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  “And why did you lie to us, even knowing that I could sense your dishonesty?”

  “I don’t really know,” she says. “I don’t know what you can sense. I thought you might, but there was a chance you wouldn’t know. They say you can’t sense a mirror…”

  What the heck? I thought it was vampires that couldn’t be seen in mirrors.

  “So you thought you might deceive your pack and your Alpha, for one of them?”

  “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice tremulous. “I felt sorry for her. I didn’t want her to get killed, even if she’s not a wolf. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “She disobeyed me,” Mother cuts in.

  “You keep her locked up all the time! You won’t even let me talk to her. Why don’t you just let her run away? It’s not like you want her here.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed, a smile stretching across my lips. Go, Elidi, go! I want to jump up and cheer for her, but more than that, I want my mother’s answer. Why can’t I leave? If something happened to me out there, and I was killed, she could tell the truth. She tried to protect me, but I ran away. She can’t be blamed for what happens after that.

  “She knows too much,” Zechariah says flatly. “If she’d done as Talia asked, and stayed there until she was old enough to live on her own, we could have returned her to her home. But that’s no longer an option. She’s seen us. She knows what we are. And now, Talia, you need to find a more effective way of containing her.”

  “What would you have me do?” Mother asks. “Chain her up?”

  “If you can’t control her, she needs to be locked up or thoroughly disposed of,” Zechariah says. “I can arrange for either option.”

  I bite my lip to hold back a gasp, but my heartbeat thunders in my chest. Disposed of. Like garbage. Like a dead body.

  Someone clears his throat. “Father, if I may speak,” Harmon starts.

  “You may not,” Zechariah thunders, and a loud thump follows, as if he’s pounded his fist on the table. Or Harmon’s head. “You have done enough damage, protecting her that night. Look what it’s cost us. Now one of our own lies injured while she is free to do as she pleases. Whatever happens to Zora, it’s on your hands.”

  I struggle to make sense of that. How is Zora’s attack Harmon’s fault, or my fault, or in any way connected to that night on the mountain?

  My mother is the one who answers that, never missing the chance to blame me. “If she hadn’t run, they wouldn’t have seen her and come here looking for her,” she says. “It’s Stella’s fault that Zora was injured. As her keeper, I accept responsibility.”

  Zechariah lowers his voice to deliver the next words. “This is your last chance, Talia,” he says in a deadly calm voice. “You chose between your daughters before, and you will do it again now. Will you protect Zora and this pack as if it is your very body and soul, or will you let this heathen take over your household? You’ve already let her discover what we are. Will you let her find out what she is next?”

  Before my mother can answer, the door swings open and Harmon steps out. My heart explodes inside my chest, and I scoot down the porch faster than should be humanly possible. I leap from the end and lurch forward. Catching my balance at the last second, I sprint across the side lawn, across the back lawn. In seconds, Harmon crashes into me, and I go sprawling at the very edge of the yard, next to a wild jungle of thorn bushes. With one movement, Harmon flips me onto my back and pins my hands beside my head, pressing them into the soft grass beneath me.

  “What are you doing out of your cage?” he asks with a sneer.

  “Why did you protect me that night?” I ask, spitting the words at his sculpted, tan face. “Was it just pity?”

  “I can’t disobey my father,” he growls. “As you must know, he’s our Alpha.”

  I remember what Elidi said, that it’s not a choice. It’s some werewolf law of nature.

  “What does that mean?” I demand.

  “It means I risked everything to protect you. You could be a little grateful.”

  “Grateful?” I ask, squirming under him. After a second, he reluctantly rolls off me and sits up in the grass. I sit up, too, glancing at the house to see if anyone else has seen us. But we’re behind the house now, not in front where all the windows are. I brush off my knees angrily and glare at him. “Why didn’t you just let them tear me to shreds like they wanted?”

  “One day, I’ll be Alpha and you’ll be mine to protect.”

  “Don’t count on it,” I say, pushing myself up and standing. “I’d rather die than be stuck here forever like this, waiting for someone to come and kill me. If it’s not one of that other pack, it’ll be one of you.”

  Harmon jumps to his feet, his eyebrows drawing together in a thunderous expression. “I would never harm one of my pack.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t think your father agrees. I was listening long enough to hear that.”

  “I’d die for anyone in this pack,” he says, his voice low and fierce. “Including you, Stella.”

  I swallow hard, my voice suddenly threatening to give out. “But I’m not one of your pack.”

  “You will be,” he says. “That’s the first thing I’ll do when I’m Alpha.”

  “I don’t want to be one of your pack,” I say hotly. “I’m not a wolf. I’m a human. I just want my human life back.”

  He hesitates, his strange, pale eyes searching mine. He looks uncertain, almost…vulnerable. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows once, twice. Then he growls in frustration and grabs his head between both hands. “You…can’t…have…that,” he says through clenched teeth, as if someone else is forcing him to say the words. Maybe they are. I shiver at the thought. Is that what it’s like being a werewolf—no autonomy, being owned and controlled by their Alpha, like a pack of deadly puppets?

  “Why not?” I ask, my voice softening. In a way, they’re all in prison, too. All under the control of Zechariah, and helpless to change their nature. “I won’t tell. I won’t tell anyone, ever, I promise. Everything will be exactly like it was before I came.”

  “It’s not my decision to make,” he says, dropping his hands from his hair. His shoulders sink in defeat. “They won’t let you leave, knowing what you know. Please, Stella. Just stop trying to run away. Stop disobeying. You’re only making it worse for yourself.”

  “That’s what psychopathic kidnappers say to their victims.”

  “I mean it,” he says, snagging my hand. His hand is hot, and my heart staggers in my chest as his eyes fix on mine, intense and pleading. This time, I’m the one having trouble swallowing. “It kills me that I can’t protect you, but I can’t. Not now. Just…just wait until I can. I promise, I’ll make you one of us no matter what you are. It won’t be like this forever. Just wait for me.”

  I finally manage to swallow. “Why would you do that? Everyone else acts like I’m an abomination.”

  “Because you didn’t ask for this,” he says. “So what if you’re not a wolf? That doesn’t mean you can’t choose the pack life. You could play an important part in our community. Do things that we can’t do. My father, I respect him, and I obey him. But he’s set in his ways. I see things differently.”

  I want to say something important, to keep him talking. I want to ask more, but I don’t know what to ask. My brain is spinning with all he’s told
me, and my heart is hammering, my blood thrumming with the energy buzzing between us. “Okay,” I whisper at last.

  He smiles, relief flooding his face. “We’ll talk soon,” he says. “I better get back. And you…you should, too.”

  My eyes narrow with suspicion. “Were you sent out to convince me to be my mother’s obedient slave?”

  Hurt flickers across his face. “No,” he says, frowning. “They don’t even know you’re out here. If they did…It wouldn’t be good. You should go.”

  “And you’re not going to tell them?”

  “No.” For a minute, we stare each other down. At last, I look away.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  He reaches up, his fingers grazing my cheek as he brushes back a strand of hair. “We’ll figure this out,” he says. “Just hold on a little longer.”

  With one last smile, he turns and lopes away across the lawn, leaving me standing there emptyhanded, cold and lonely from the absence of his touch, of him occupying my space with all that heat and energy and life. My shoulders slump, and I turn with a sigh and trudge back towards my prison, collecting my unused weapon on the way. That’s when I remember the one question I should have asked before any others—how long do I have to wait?

  14

  Zora’s irritable voice calls for me as I’m making her tea. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I grumble, sloshing hot water onto the stainless-steel tea ball. I spoon honey into it and carry it into the living room, where she’s propped up on pillows on the couch, now in human form. I hand her the cup and she takes a sip and makes a face.

  “It’s too sweet,” she says, handing it back.

  “So go fix it yourself,” I snap. “Your legs aren’t broken.”

  She narrows her eyes at me, and the angry red scar across her cheek crinkles. “I’ll tell Mother.”

  “So tell her,” I say. “What’s she going to do? Lock me in the attic? Oh, wait, then I couldn’t be your slave.”

  “After what you did, you’re lucky to be a slave,” she snaps. “You should be lying here, not me.”