Spellbound

by Kodilynn Calhoun

  I haven’t seen my Nursemaid since I was given over to the Pack to raise. Leaving her behind tore into my heart, leaving it a wound that the older males rubbed dirt into. Don’t get me wrong, I love my Pack. They’re my family. But I quickly learned to hide my wants and desires from them, especially from Lylan. Some things should just be kept secret.

  Like this.

  I stare down at the shriveled corpse of the Wraith I’d just killed, dust specks floating above it as it began to decompose. I shudder and shake myself, as if I could get the feel of its icy fingers off my skin, or get the rotten taste of it out of my mouth. Garbage tastes better than Wraith.

  Still, not a good thing. Just because Wraiths are evil, they’re still Unseelie Projects. And we cyberhounds are supposed to protect the Projects.

  People don’t stop or even slow down. If they’re driving in their fancy little hover cars, they just whiz past. If they’re walking, they give me and Mr. Death a wide berth. One look at my molded cybernetic leg and the eerie red glow of my left eyeball and it has them running like scared little mice. I huff and shake again. Let them fear us. Pack Rule #1: Don’t get close to humans.

  Which sucks hardcore eggs when you’re drawn to the girl you just saved from being eaten by a Wraith.

  I glance over my shoulder, taking in a breath. Her scent still lingers, like blueberries and warm sugar, and it makes my heart twist in my chest. There’s something about girls—forbidden, beautiful girls—that makes me just melt inside. I don’t know, that sounds sappy, especially coming from someone who’s supposed to be a boss cyborg. But this girl…she’s different than the others. She just feels different, like there’s something about her I should know, that I should figure out.

  Suddenly, there’s a creaking sound and the Wraith contorts into a position that shouldn’t be possible. It writhes for a moment, letting out a low hiss of air, and bends in on itself. Then it poofs, leaving a pile of black dust particles that the wind picks up and carries into the street.

  I flick an ear and watch it, unmoved. Too beautiful a death for such a creature, if you ask me. Not that anyone’s ever valued my opinion much.

  I start off across the street, following the girl’s scent until I reach the cement slab steps of a large building. I blink my left eye and the scanner zooms into focus, sliding across the school, picking up heat signatures from the populace of teenagers studying away inside. I turn, tracking back to the alley I’d followed her through. Why didn’t she use a Portal like everyone else? The streets were dangerous with the Wraiths lurking, ready to pick off humans like spectral vultures…

  But my queen requires harvested energy, so the Wraiths continue to exist.

  Technically I’m not on duty until tomorrow. Just a hound dog, joyriding the streets on four paws instead of my typically human two feet. With a soft chortle of canine laughter, I slide across the cement on my belly, pressing up against a large dumpster. I lay my muzzle on my paws and watch the traffic fly by the mouth of the alley.

  Secretly, I hope the girl comes back this way on her way home, despite the Wraith scare.

  I’m content to wait for her.

  ***

  I hear the familiar click-scuff of boots parading down the sidewalk, jerking me awake mid-snore. I scramble to my paws, wavering there for a moment as I compose myself. If I go bolting out there, I’ll scare her. Cyberhounds are the sentries of the city. I’m not some oversized Labrador without a home wanting a scratch behind the ears. She won’t see me as one. I drop my head, watching her from the safety of the shadows as she passes my alley.

  She’s beautiful. Unique. Long legs clad in tight pants and knee-high boots. I can’t help but notice the soft curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts showing off a little cleavage in the blue nylon corset top she’s wearing. Her hair pools around her shoulders in black and blue curls, the rubber-coated cybernetic extensions bobbing with each step she takes, making her look like a futuristic Medusa. Despite the sassy appearance, she looks…sad. Her lips are cast down in a frown.

  I wonder what she’d look like smiling.

  As she passes, I wait a few breaths, then slink out after her. She stiffens and risks a glance behind her. So I stop and wag my whipcord tail in greeting. I prick my ears and let my tongue loll out of my mouth like a good, happy puppy. She flicks her tongue over her lips and turns away, picking up speed. I follow her.

  This goes on for several blocks: Walk, stop, tail wag; lather, rinse, and repeat. Finally she stops and spins on me. Our eyes meet and lock, hers spitting defiance. She clenches her bag to her stomach and stares at me. I tilt my head.

  Oh, I’ve played the part of the happy stray before. I know the moves to melt girls’ hearts. I want her to run her fingers through my fur, want to feel the electric tingle where our skin touches. That first connection is what makes or breaks it for me, what makes me decide whether or not to pursue her as a human. Maybe that makes me selfish, to keep secret girlfriends, human girls who could easily be endangered if Lylan ever found out. But I can’t help it.

  But usually by now, the girl’s dropped to her knees and is clucking me over to her, hands outstretched with a tasty morsel.

  Not this chick. She stands, splay-legged, arms crossed over her cleavage as she regards me. “Go away.” Her voice is husky, like she’s been screaming or crying or both. Her fingers twitch. I inch closer. She narrows her eyes. “Go the hell away, you Unseelie freak—” She stops then, stricken.

  I take two more steps and add in another tail wag for good measure. She’s close enough that her scent envelops me in a cocoon of heaven. I plop my rump down in front of her, tail swishing up dirt like a street sweeper. The girl presses her eyes shut and drops one shoulder. “Freak-dog,” she says, softer. “Join the club, I guess.”

  I take that moment to scoot the rest of the way to her, bumping my nose up against her waist. She’s so small up close, petite and feminine. She drops her arms, her long fingers touching my muzzle. She runs them down my face, burying them in the ruff of black fur around my neck, sending sparks down my spine.

  She cups my head in her hands and our eyes meet and I’m almost knocked backwards with my want for her. It grips my heart in a painful vice, throbbing and burning and aching, and I want her, not just for a couple of days, but forever—her body, her kisses, her affection. I want to wake up in bed with her. I want to kiss those sad lips and I want to—

  No.

  I jerk out of her touch and it startles her. She stiffens, what little bond we just formed broken. She doesn’t say anything, just worries her bottom lip between her teeth. I drop my head, butting against her hip once before lumbering away.

  I can’t have her, not now, not ever. I’m a foolish, stubborn boy. This is the reason Lylan’s outlawed love from the Pack. Love only gets in the way of duty and want is just a stepping stone to falling for someone.

  But damn if it doesn’t hurt.

  I duck down an alley to watch her. She bunches her shoulders up, sliding her bag off her arm. She unzips the flap and a little round robot hovers at about shoulder height, its antennae casting a glow across the brick wall. They walk in silence for a few minutes and then, just as they pass my alley, I hear a soft Brit voice: “So where are you headed tonight, Luce?”

  My heart flutters.

  Luce. Her name is Luce… Short for Lucy?

  And Lucy—the girl I want so bad it hurts—says: “Cosmo.”

  I know where I’m going tonight.

  The story continues…

  Souljacker ($2.99)

  Back To Top

 

 

 
%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share