Feral - Many Lives Book 1

by Laxmi Hariharan

  "You are the daughter of —"

  "No! I am not."

  "What do you mean?" His voice is puzzled.

  "Don't tell me you didn't already sense it, you with your heightened wolf instinct, you would have known I am not one of you. That I am not a hybrid. Luke, I am human. 100% human. Ma just told me I am adopted."

  "Adopted?" His voice is soft, his brow puzzled but he's not as surprised as I'd expect him to be. He'd suspected something was 'off' about me all this time, and yet, he too had never bothered to ask, to tell me.

  "You knew, didn't you?" I burst out.

  He walks over to me quickly and, dropping to his knees, takes my hands in his, "I swear I had no idea, a part of me felt the difference, but I just thought that was you. That is you, Maya. Human, hybrid, it doesn't matter to me. You are you. And you are mine."

  I can feel his sincerity, his affection, his loyalty pouring off him, a rush of warmth, heat, closing in around me. But my heart is so muddled, my mind still trying to make sense of everything, that I don't really acknowledge it. I pull my hands out from his and retreat back a little.

  "You are right. This is it. This is me," I point to myself. "What you see is what you get. Except I don’t know what it is you are getting Luke. I need to find out where I come from."

  "No, you don’t," he says, his voice urgent, and once again he takes both my hands between his; this time, he gently touches his lips to them. "You know how much you mean to me. Don’t do this to us. Don’t go, not yet. Wait till you turn eighteen and we are mated and then we can go together."

  I grip his hands, allowing their warmth to flow through me, letting it melt some of the ice in my veins. "Mated..." I can't quite bring myself to complete the sentence. It feels too final. I really like him, am attracted to him. But mated? How do I even know what I want when I don't know who I am?

  "Don't pretend you don't know what happened earlier Maya. What's there between us? It's inevitable. We belong together and you know that." He's angry now, and I am subjected to that full intense blast of his freezing eyes.

  "No," I reply, "I know exactly what passed between us. Know what you feel for me. You care for me. Love me." As I say that, his hands tighten over mine, till it feels he's crushing my bones with his superior strength. I don't flinch. Not this time.

  "But you forget, I don’t need to wait. Not any more. Those are your rules,” I remind him, “your laws. I am not one of you.” I can't stop the bitterness from spilling into my words. Yet when I see the pain on his face, and hope and longing, I stop, torn. I don’t want to hurt him. I care for him, I do. It’s just, I need time to digest everything I've learnt about myself. He can understand that much, can't he? “I want you too, and yet," I hesitate, "how can I let myself go on, allow myself to be with you without finding out what kind of blood runs through me?"

  "Isn’t it enough that your ma loves you, cares for you so much?" He pleads with his whole body, his whole being, holding me with more than just his hands.

  "She'll always be my mother … I’ll never forget what she did for me. But imagine what it would be like if you looked at yourself and suddenly didn’t know who you were. If all your history, if all your past is wiped clean in one swipe. And you look back and all there is … is this blank wall."

  I try to remove my hands from his grip, but he doesn’t let go and I sigh. "Now I know why it felt as if I never belonged here, why something always felt ‘off’. Not right. Because I don’t belong. I want to know who I was. Who I AM! I have to at least try to find my real family. See them for myself. Find out what happened. How did I end up lost and alone in the woods? Maybe someone's been looking for me all this time!”

  You're just creating some explanation; some ending that will be better than the story you are now trapped inside. Maybe you just want an excuse to leave, to explore. I raise my voice without realising it and, this time, Luke leans forward and shuts me up by covering my lips with his. I inhale that musky, cinnamon and sawdust smell of his, drink of his strength. I want to taste that essence of him which is pure and which has always made me reach out to him; from the very first time I met him. By the time we break apart we are both panting. Luke’s face is flushed, his eyes gone silvery white with desire.

  "Then, I’ll come with you," he says, but I am already shaking my head.

  "No, no. This is something I have to do by myself. You understand that, don’t you? I need to do this on my own. I need to leave." As I say this, I know it is true, as if something inside of my heart is breaking.

  His face falls into stubborn lines and I lean over and brush my lips over his. It's a shameless way to distract, but I have to at least try. "Let me go, Luke. I promise I will be back."

  He grips my shoulders, not nodding, not refusing. He just holds me, and this time I feel that solid strength, the almost supernatural power that courses through his veins. The control he's trying so hard to hold onto. To hold himself back, to let me go. I cling to him, feeling the shape of his biceps, the muscles like sculpted iron beneath his soft skin. I know I am going to carry the imprint of his fingers on me for a long time.

  3

  Three weeks later

  Post the tsunami, Bombay’s new founders, its Council of Guardians as they call themselves, rebuilt the city into their version of utopia. Controlled planning, phased construction of apartments, and well-connected roads, with landscaped gardens and disciplined traffic. Drones at every street corner monitor the citizens. A big change from the traffic-jammed, filth-clogged city it used to be.

  To repopulate the city, they encouraged migration; but they prioritised only the brightest, the most educated migrants, to give them a chance at the new world. The hybrids, already persecuted in their home countries in Europe, were among those who tried to seek a fresh life here. But they hadn't been qualified enough and weren't allowed into the city. So the pack had travelled from city to city, trying to find a place for themselves. Until we'd find ourselves back here, on the outskirts of Bombay. Of course, we're better off than the hundreds camped outside the city. But still, we're not legal here, for every single resident is tracked via an Identity Card that they must carry around at all times.

  The IC is what makes you legal in this city. It’s also the most sought after commodity on the black market. Corruption and the underworld still exist here in Bombay. The one thing the founding fathers couldn’t do away with.

  With Luke’s help, I’d reached out to the more notorious black marketers and got my own fake IC. And that’s how I’d walked by the lines of people, the refugees camped out on the borders, waiting to enter this city. All of them fleeing the economic disasters of their home countries, hoping to seek a new life here in Bombay, the shining hope of the East. It’s my first lesson of this new world, that the more humans try to make things equal, the more unfair it is in reality.

  The only other thing the council haven’t been able to control—yet—is the weather. Despite the massive hidden vents trying to blow cool air through the streets, today the air is so thick with heat that when I breathe it’s like inhaling a furnace. Thanks to Luke’s contacts again, I’m renting a room in this little motel, at Bandstand, one of the more central suburbs located by the sea.

  Over the last few weeks, I've pushed myself a little further each day to explore the city. But I’ve never ventured too far from this little hotel. It’s not that it feels dangerous. Far from it. It’s just, in this city, the streets are clean, the traffic orderly, and everyone I've met so far is polite … too polite. Their emotions seem to be as artificially maintained as everything in the city. Civilized. As if their inner spirit's been caged. Have they already forgotten what it is to live in a simpler world, one where you can exercise free will, even follow your heart?

  Or perhaps I am too used to living with a pack: social, playful, cunning, but flowing with life force and emotions. You're homesick, aren't you?

  Yes, I am. I miss the warmth and friendship of my little community more than I thought would be
possible. Was it a stupid idea to come here in search of my blood family, after all? Should I just give up and return to my half-wolf clan? Perhaps a quick visit over the weekend? They only live a couple of hours away, right?

  No! Never. You can’t give up that quickly. You can’t go back empty-handed. At least find a job and stand on your own feet. You are human, right? A verified 100% human specimen, and you are here with your own kind. Surely you must be able to find work here? Having given myself a stern pep talk, I finally step out into the late-morning sunshine. My skin already glints with sweat, despite the shower I’ve had not half-hour ago. I’ve just walked out of the little motel when my stomach growls with hunger. I duck into the rather appropriately named Salt Water Café.

  At the counter, I order their speciality, the Brun-Maska. Small loaves of warm sweet bread topped with the homemade peanut butter and sprinkled with raisins and a dash of chilli flakes. As I pay for it, my eyes fall on the small note propped up behind the counter advertising that they need a waitress. Sitting down at a table near one of the windows, I pour a packet of sugar, and another, onto the buttered bread. Folding it, I dip it in the extra-strong tea and bite into it. The flavours burst on my tongue, and I sigh with pleasure.

  Taste is the sensation produced when a substance in the mouth reacts chemically with taste receptor cells located on taste buds.

  Yes, yes, but I never knew such a range of tastes existed. And now I am spoilt. I’ll never be able to go back to eating the plain fare that my pack seems to thrive on.

  A burst of laughter has me turning my head and I see two men walk in. The taller guy has broad shoulders and thick wavy hair that brushes his collar. He is not too skinny, not too muscled, and rangier, as if he’s just filling out his frame. He’s also wearing spectacles with a silver rim that give him a slightly nerdy look. The other man is shorter with heavier shoulders and dark hair cut close to his head.

  As if sensing my appraisal, the taller guy looks at me. I quickly glance down, curling my fingers around the cup of tea. They sit down at a table at the end of the room and their low voices are lost in the chatter of the café. Finishing my chai, I walk to the counter and hover there till the person behind the counter smiles at me, a question in his eyes.

  "You’re looking for a waitress?" I finally ask. When he doesn’t reply, I lose my nerve and turn to go, when he calls out to me, "Wait."

  I pause. If he laughs at me, I am going to leave just now.

  "Are you interested?" I nod before I can change my mind. "Have you any experience?"

  "Uh! No." I hesitate and then add, "But I like the food here a lot."

  He chuckles at that. "Well, at least someone appreciates the cooking here. That will make the cook very happy. In fact, "why don’t you tell him yourself?"

  "Uh?" I stare in surprise and he just beams at me. "Nothing like getting on the job to find out if you can do it or not, right? Why don’t you go on into the kitchen and introduce yourself to the chef let him know you are the new waitress. New temporary waitress. Let’s try it out and see how we feel about each other first, shall we?"

  I nod. Shouldn’t you ask how much he’s going to pay? Guess I’ll find out soon enough.

  "Hey, wait," he calls out as I turn towards the kitchen, "what’s your name?"

  I turn a second time and say "Maya."

  "Maya what?"

  "It’s just Maya," I say. Hybrids don’t use last names for they can identify each other and the families they belong to by smell alone.

  "Okay, just Maya. I'm Shamil." He holds out his hand and I shake it, "Do you have your IC so I can register you, make sure it’s all legal? Obviously, you are if you are here. But you know how it is,” he shrugs, apologetic. “I just have to check."

  My heart begins to race, as I pull it out and hand it over, and goes into overdrive when he scans it by his machine. He looks at me puzzled, "It’s valid, but outdated. You seem too young to have been registered with this version."

  Say something. Anything! My mind draws a blank and I am floundering around for an excuse when a voice interrupts.

  "They do that sometimes. The people issuing the cards have been bringing back the older style. Retro is so in vogue, isn’t it?" It’s the taller of the two guys who had entered earlier. He stands next to me, his arm brushing mine and I jerk away, not daring to look at him.

  Shamil doesn’t look very convinced, but, to my relief he lets it drop, "Of course. If anyone knows about these things it has to be the Mayor’s son." So saying, he hands over my IC and I pocket it quickly.

  "I’m Jai Iyeroy," He smiles down at me. Golden brown—no—amber-coloured eyes twinkle behind his glasses. Warm eyes. The warmest I have ever seen. Familiar eyes. Where have I seen him before? I almost open my mouth to ask, before shutting it with a snap. Great! What an original conversation opener that would be! But why, why does it feel like I should know him? I glance over his features, hoping he doesn’t notice. Nice face, high cheekbones and a narrow jawline. His face is all sharp edges yet sensitive. He could've been a poet or a writer, but for the muscles rippling in his arm as he pulls out his wallet to pay his bill.

  "You’re new here, aren’t you?" His voice is deep but kind.

  "How do you know?" I ask, wary.

  He laughs, "You’re looking for a job. And besides, we haven’t seen you before. God knows why, but we seem to like this god-awful café enough to come almost every day." He chuckles at Shamil who holds up his hands in a gesture to show he knows he’s being teased.

  "You come here because it’s close enough to your home and to the Mayor’s Palace and yet hidden away from the girls who pursue you everywhere," Shamil smirks.

  I look from him to Jai, not really sure what to make of him. Is he someone famous? Someone I should know by face?

  "Now, you’ve really confused her," Jai laughs. "Shamil’s just having fun, at my expense."

  Before I can ask anything further, a couple of girls walk in and as they pass Jai they quieten and giggle and nudge each other.

  Shamil looks from me to the girls to the menu cards on the counter. I take my hint. Guess my first day at work has already begun.

  When I say goodbye to Jai, he replies, "See you around, Maya." He winks and I redden. Dammit, my heart's racing, as if I've never seen a handsome man before. Luke, think of Luke! Snatching up the menu cards, I head to the girls.

  I learn later from Shamil that Jai lives not far away and that the man with him is his friend Gilbert. So, I am not surprised to see him again, very soon.

  4

  One week later

  Jai comes in early one morning. He’s dressed all in black, except for a blue armband. Over the left pocket is the insignia of a sword transposed against the wings of a butterfly; it marks him out as not just a Guardian but as part of the Mayor’s personal army. Torn shirtsleeves, stained trousers and dusty boots as if he’s been running or fighting on muddy ground. The lack of glasses adds to his craggy look. Also, he is armed; a stun gun strung up to his right hip.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I follow his progress as he walks by without a glance. Long legs clad in that leather-like material which grips his thighs as he walks. Shoulders slightly hunched, head bowed, as if deep in thought. He sinks into his favourite seat in the far corner. From there he can see all of the café and the sea.

  I make his coffee hot, black, with a dash of milk. Just like the last time. When I take it to him, he’s looking moodily at the sea. The breeze from the open window blows in the salty air, and it carries his scent. A lemony, honeyed scent; strangely soothing.

  "So, do you have any family in the city?" He asks without looking at me.

  "Ah. No" I shake my head, trying to edge away from him. As if unaware of my discomfort, he continues, "Must be nice, being on your own. No one to answer to except yourself?"

  I don’t reply to that. What’s going through his mind? He finally looks at me and the bleakness of the weather outside is reflected in his eyes. Something’s tearing hi
m apart. But what? What could someone like him possibly be lacking? Why would he be lonely?

  I choose my words carefully, "Actually, I do miss them, my family."

  At the level of gene expression, it’s not how many people you know, but how many you feel close to, that determines your feeling of loneliness. Loneliness is one of those bewildering human conditions that even scientists are unable to explain. And going by my definition, I am well and truly alone. It’s with distance that one finds perspective; and only now do I understand the real meaning of feeling lonely. I keep waking up at night and wondering where I am. Here, on my own, far away from anything familiar, it feels as if the world has forgotten me. I could even go for days without hearing my own voice. And, if I shut my eyes, would I cease to exist?

  "Sit, have a coffee with me," Jai says.

  I’ve been hovering by the table for the last few minutes and I glance to where Shamil is half dozing at the counter.

  "There are no other customers here," he points out. When I still hesitate, he yells across, "You don’t mind if Maya joins me for a few minutes do you?" Adding for good measure, "It’s not like you are exactly overrun with customers."

  Shamil puts his fingers to his forehead miming shooting himself. I swallow a chuckle at that and sit across from him.

  "So where is your family, Maya?"

  That’s what I’m trying to find out. "They live near Powai Hills. For now," I say, cautious.

  "Oh! Really?" His forehead furrows and he says, "I was called out there for a mission today."

  "You were at Powai?" My heart begins to beat a little fast.

  "Yes, on a training mission. A group of soldiers sighted a pack of wolves at the abandoned Institute of Technology."

  "Wolves?" I ask, my voice soft enough to hide the worry that’s twisting my gut.