Spellbound

by Kodilynn Calhoun

  I could run for it. I could catch her off guard, take off and not look back. I could outrun her…maybe. Unless she changed back into that beast—then I was screwed. But it was worth a try. If I screamed, would anyone hear it? I swallowed back the lump rising in my throat.

  I glanced back to her. She was grinning a malicious smile. Shit. Shit. Shit. The words thrummed in time with the aching pound of my head.

  “Oh, is the little princeling afraid?”

  She rushed forward, both hands on my shoulders, shoving me. I stumbled, my back slamming against the brick wall. Her hands caressed my face, tenderly gentle with the threat of claws slicing my throat open. My breath came in soft pants as I stared at her. She merely smiled. Her fingers danced at the collar of my shirt, then tightened, drawing me nearer.

  Great. I was going to be kissed by a werewolf.

  “You’re a werewolf.” I flattened myself against the wall.

  Werewolves didn’t even exist—they were fairytales, legends, and not even a well thought-out one. How the hell could a full moon turn you into a wolf? I checked the sky—moonless. So this crazy woman could become a wolf without the light of the moon.

  She laughed. “It’s not like you’ll be able to tell anyone. Consider this…a gift. I’m saving you from a ruthless man who would string you up by your organs just to see you writhe.” She paused with a twisted smile.

  Then her eyes softened. “You look just like him. Maybe, given a couple more years and a few scars, you’d be even more handsome. A shame you have your father’s eyes.”

  “What are you talking about?” My heart pounded. I clung to that pocketknife like a lifeline, the handle warm in my grasp. I should’ve just slammed it home, sliced her across the face, or buried the knife into her shoulder—something, anything—and ran like hell. This wasn’t normal or natural, and she was pretty much plotting my death. Something was wrong. But what did she mean?

  She tightened her fingers around my collar, her nails biting into my flesh, leaving welts behind. Her face darkened.

  “You’re heir to the throne. You’re the only heir that Kitane has with Skoll’s Sight. And unfortunately for you, you’re the one standing in my way. Consider this as me, weeding out the competition. You’re pretty much clueless; you couldn’t have been more than three or four when Kitane came home. And me? I’m destined to be queen. I may not have the Sight, but I’m twice the wolf you’ll ever be.” She showed a gleam of teeth, curving pointed at the ends.

  My head spun. She was certifiable. Had to be. I was getting the creeps, a shiver tracing its way down my spine, a cold chill. I arched back against the brick wall.

  “Listen.” The first time I said it, my tongue wouldn’t cooperate. I had to say it again. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about. My dad left when I was little. Just let me go. I swear you’ll never see me again. I don’t want to be a king, or whatever you’re saying I am. The place is yours—take it. Just please…” I bit back a strangled whimper.

  Heir to the throne. A werewolf throne. I pressed my eyes shut, rocking my head against the bricks behind me. Please, God, just get me out of here.

  “I don’t want to die,” I said softly, reaching for her. She flinched at my touch, a silent snarl on her lips. “Please.”

  “Nice try—”she smirked, but I was faster. I rammed the pocket knife home, right between her ribs. The blade sunk deep and I yanked it out, feeling warmth splatter my hand. I spun on my heel and darted for the mouth of the alley. My sneakers slapped against pavement, sliding in a puddle.

  She shrieked. I heard her footfalls behind me, slow at first, and then she must’ve switched or shifted or whatever-the-hell you called that monstrous change from human to beast, because I felt teeth snag my jeans.

  I tripped, falling forwards with a cry of defeat. I felt her fangs sink into the meat of my calf. Pain swallowed me whole and I think I screamed, but no sound came out. She bit down, and I felt the scrape of teeth against bone, a blinding pain. That time, I screamed for real, an anguished howl that tore up my throat like an encaged beast. Tears sprang to my eyes.

  There was a flash of silver, a shriek, and a yelp. I scrambled backwards, using only my good leg and my arms to drag me out of harm’s way. I saw Del latched onto the dark wolf’s neck, only half her size, but fighting fiercely. The shrieks muted, turning to snarls and growls. I could smell the sticky scent of blood, felt the throbbing in my leg. I didn’t want to look at it, so my eyes were locked on the fight.

  Why wasn’t anyone hearing this? We were in town, for Christ’s sake. Someone should’ve rounded the corner, called 911 or something. I gasped as I moved my wounded leg. “Del!” I cried, my voice hoarse. I heard a shout from down the street and I felt hope surge to the surface.

  The dark wolf snapped her jaws together, shot me a death glare, and then fled the scene. Del stood, panting for breath, her sides heaving.

  “Del. Oh baby,” I whimpered, crawling towards her. My head was spinning, thudding angrily. She looked at me with those piercing, soulful blue eyes. I saw the wet shine of blood on her coat and I reached for her, burying my fingers in her ruff. My entire body trembling, I held onto her.

  “Kia…”

  I jerked back, scrambling away as if she’d bitten me. No.

  Del looked right at me and pulled her ears back with a whine, as if she were saying sorry. Then her body began to twist mid-change, revealing a yellow sundress, a flash of platinum blonde hair, and those too-mesmerizing eyes.

  “Arii…”

  No. That simple, beautiful girl from school was not a ruthless killer werewolf. Please, God, anyone but her…

  I opened my mouth to say something, but she crept nearer, pulling up the leg of my jeans and wincing at what she saw. Her fingers brushed the torn flesh and I did the only thing that came to mind as a yelp tore up my throat.

  I blacked out.

  The story continues…

  Wolfsong ($2.99)

  Excerpt: Souljacker

  Chapter 1:

  Lucy

  One more year till I’m out of this slaghole.

  The day I turn eighteen, I’m packing up what little stuff I own and getting the hell out of here. No more people playing pretend-to-be-Lucy’s-parents, no more stares and whispers from the kids at school: “Hey, look at the Freak; I heard she killed her own mother.” I’ll just be gone.

  The heels of my boots click against the pavement as I head towards Maelstrom High. Yet another day of droning lectures, homework assignments that I’ll never turn in, and the Need building up inside of me, burning hot and calling to me in a siren’s song.

  I feel a ripple in the air—it goes from late-June summer breeze to an icy draft, making the fine hair at the nape of my neck stand up and salute. I take a short breath in through my nose. Nothing. I turn, tipping my head towards the edge of the alley. And again, nothing’s there. Nothing visible anyway.

  I wrinkle my nose and duck my head, pulling my bag higher up on my shoulder. It flaps against my side as I pick up speed and I hear a muffled “oof” from inside. I pat it tenderly. My gaze flicks behind me, quickly scanning the mouths of the open alleyways I’ve passed in my haste.

  The familiar prickle of unease washes over me, my arms lined with gooseflesh. I would welcome the clicking of toenails scraping cement over the dead silence, but I can’t even dare to hope for one of the beasts—half hound, half machine with a red eye glowing like a beast straight out of Hell. At least then I’d feel some sort of peace. Cyberhounds rarely attack a human unless provoked, and I’m minding my own business.

  Instead, the air shimmers like heat on a hot summer day, but with a darker cast to it. Like ripples of murky water, floating in mid air. Forming. Crap. My heart ratchets into my throat and the fear is like a slimy ball of nerves I can barely choke back down. I spin away, breaking into a jog. Damnit, I really should’ve used the Portal.

  Icy tendrils slide across the ground like fog, snaking around my boots and I trip. My palms s
lam into the pavement to catch my fall, but I barely feel the burn as fingers tighten around my ankle and jerk me across the ground with inhuman force.

  I shriek, kicking my foot upwards, the pointy tip of my boot slicing through the Wraith’s half-formed face. It snarls, but without any teeth, its mouth wide and stretching. I kick and twist, freeing my foot. I scramble to my knees and hear a rip of fabric.

  It makes a sharp hissing noise, but I’m not stopping to see if it’s okay. I’m out of there, my legs pumping, hands clenched into fists. I’m so close.

  I bolt around the corner, but the Wraith’s fast on my heels. My lungs burn even though I’m gasping down breath. Cars bullet past me, riding on pockets of air—one of the perks of year 2027. Someone lays on the horn as I jolt out in front of them. They swerve, the red-headed driver giving me the finger through the window with a snarl on her face.

  I feel the touch of the Wraith on my skin, trying to get a grip. Its fingers encircle my wrist and it jerks me back towards it, like a bad dance move, and I fall into the frigid—now solid—arms of the dark Fae’s twisted creature.

  I hear someone on the streets shriek. The Wraith looks down at me as I struggle and twist, hunger gleaming in its pale, pale eyes. I open my mouth to scream, taking in a lungful of air, then suddenly, I can’t breathe. The Wraith is sliding down my throat, burning like dry ice in my lungs, tendrils twisting and driving hooks into my soul. I shudder and let loose a cry, but no sound comes out.

  I scrabble, my fists slamming like a drumbeat against its hard chest, but my arms are so tired. They drop like lead weights and I’m sinking, shivering, splintering…

  A shriek rips through the air. I’m thrown to the ground. Humid city air rushes into my lungs, thawing me out. I choke, my throat tight with cold, and drag myself away on my hands and knees. The Wraith is screaming, mouth gaping as a static howl rises from its chest. A massive cyberhound is latched onto its neck, bone-white fangs gleaming as it rips into it, jerking its head from side to side.

  My savior is a huge, Mastiff-like beast with sleek ebony fur, brindled by shadows. It growls, a menacing sound, and I see the gleam of a metal plate running down its skull. I’m on my feet, stumbling, but alive.

  I don’t risk a glance behind me—I just run. My foot catches on the step leading up to the massive steel building that is Mael High, but I right myself. My hand presses into the keypad and I lurch into the school, aching and panting. I collapse, safe, against the tile floor and realize that people are staring at me with bemused expressions on their faces.

  I pull my bag closer to me, pressing it against my stomach. I just sit there, my too-skinny legs stretched out, my back against the wall, probably looking like some sort of sideshow freak.

  I hear the whispers, but I try not to listen. They slither around me, gossip even though I’m sitting right-freaking-here, but they don’t care about my feelings. All they know is what they’ve been told by their parents: “Lucifer Swift is Satan’s child. She killed her own mother. Even her foster family is afraid of her.”

  I lift my lip in a snarl, shooting a boy with lime green hair a death glare. He merely laughs and bumps shoulders with his buddies as they saunter off. Jocks.

  I huff and shove myself to my feet, wavering there for a moment as a spell of dizziness washes over me. I feel a hand on my arm and twist away, only to look into the face of a younger girl with frizzy blonde hair and dark eyes, curiosity nipping around their irises like wildfire set to a forest.

  “You okay?”

  “Never better.”

  “Seriously?” An eyebrow arches up. “You look like you just ran a marathon while being chased by zombies.”

  I’d take zombies over Wraiths any day. I look at her, crossing both arms over my chest, trying to calm down. I’m still trembling, but whether it’s from leftover fear or exhaustion, I’m not sure. “I’m fine.”

  I turn away, running both hands through my dark hair, untangling the blue metal and rubber cord extensions that are braided in at the roots. My palms burn and I find that they’re scraped pretty badly, tiny rocks embedded in the deepest area of the cut. I make a beeline for the bathroom.

  It isn’t until I shoulder through the door and set my bag down on the counter that I realize that the girl has followed me. She’s leaning against the wall, head tilted to one side, regarding me with a quiet sort of interest.

  I shrug and unzip my bag, the darkness inside illuminated by a pale blue light. A small, shiny cylindrical robot floats up, the tip of her antennae glowing brightly. On the front of her body is a wide black plate with a glowing LCD screen—giving her expressions, even though she’s just an old robot.

  Sync makes a few clicking sounds, buzzing above my head. She was given to me by one of my foster moms—the one I thought I’d have for the rest of my life—and ever since the accident that nearly killed my best friend, Sophia, she’s been my best friend since, even if she’s slightly out of date.

  The girl doesn’t say anything as I carefully wash my hands with soap, gritting my teeth against the burn, then dry them under the automatic airflow. I hold up one of my hands to Sync, whose digital cat-face turns down into a frown.

  “What did you get yourself into, Luce?” Her accent is more British than robot. The bottom of her base pops out and two long, slender robotic arms with pincers slide out. She begins to feel around, digging the rocks out of the wound, apologizing every time I whimper.

  The bell rings, sharp and shrill. The blonde girl looks at me. “Want me to tell the nurse that you need a sick pass?” Her voice is soft; she’s not afraid of me. I offer a smile, but in the mirror it looks more like a sick grimace with my pale, almost translucent, skin and dark hair. The bags under my eyes don’t help anything. I nod and she bows, slipping back out the door.

  “New friend?” Sync chirps.

  “Nothing like that. She just feels bad that I almost got eaten.”

  “Maybe you should take the Portal next time.”

  “Yes, mother.”

  ***

  Sync rests on my desk and if she hadn’t been a robot, I’d say she was snoozing as I slave over my English assignment. My stylus scratches softly against the tablet on my desk as I write the essay. My arms are heavy, like someone’s attached twenty pound weights to my both wrists. My tablet screen blurs and I blink rapidly, looking up at the ceiling to focus my eyes.

  My gaze flits across to Jale Halvers, a tall and skinny jock who always sleeps through third period. And there he is—head down on his arms, drool seeping from the corner of his mouth. His parents pretty much own the school, so he doesn’t need to study; the teachers give him good grades either way.

  My hands itch, a slow tingle that starts in my fingertips and works its way down my knuckles to my palms. A low ache roils in my gut, the Need flaring up. I shake my head and squeeze the stylus between my fingers, staring down at my essay.

  My heart hitches, picking up speed. How easy it would be to just…reach out, brush against the guy, and take some. It wouldn’t be enough to harm him. He’d never know anything was missing… Just a taste, enough to get me through school.

  I grind my teeth against the Need. It’s like a freaking drug.

  I’ve always been able to do this—steal soul from people, enough to energize me and keep me safe. Soul is the stuff that keeps you alive. Energy. Life force. Everyone has it and, like blood, it replenishes. If I only take a little bit, my victims will never know that it’s missing. When they sleep, it grows back.

  It’s when I take too much, too soon…that’s when I regret it. When I surge, it rips the life from their bodies with one jerk—sure, they still have a spirit, but not enough juice to keep their hearts pumping. I frown. My hands are full-on burning now.

  I glance up to the front of the class. Mr. W has his nose buried in a tablet, turned away from this side of the room. I slide my hand over and lick my lips, my fingertips caressing Jale’s wrist. He doesn’t wake, just snorts softly in his sleep.

&nbs
p; I close my eyes and will the energy through my fingers. It reacts like a wildfire, flaring up and bolting down my arm, soaking me in heat. I bite my tongue to keep from gasping out at the pleasure that spikes through me. The bitter taste of my own blood fills my mouth. I let the feeling ripple through me.

  Jale jerks awake suddenly. Warning bells chime in my head and I pull away, closing my hand in a fist. He blinks blearily up at me, his hair disheveled, and he’s almost cute…for a snob.

  “You dropped your pen,” I say, pointing to where it rolled off onto the floor. He regards me for a moment, shrugs, and flops back down on his desk, stylus forgotten.

  I pull my hand to my chest, feeling the burn ease away. My heart is racing—too close. Did I take too much? Did he feel it? I nibble on my lip and settle back in my seat. Sync’s too-large eyes watch, but she’s not judging me. She knows this is how it has to be. She saw what I did to Sophia…

  I shake my head at the memory of my once-best friend. No. Sophia’s in the past and she’s the reason I don’t do friends. Getting close to people just hurts too bad when you lose them, especially when you’re the reason they’re gone. I slump in my seat and lay my head on my desk, my hair spilling around me.

  No one tells me to finish my assignment. That’s just the way life works.

  Chapter 2:

  Iofiel

  My earliest memories are of a woman in a white lace gown, her hair dark and wild around her porcelain face. But it was her eyes that drew me in—wide and ocean blue and filled with so much warmth that I just cuddled in. She was the only one of the Nursemaids who actually held me with care. The rest of them were distant, frigid, holding the pups at arm’s length because we were merely specimens.