House of Darkness

by K. R. Alexander

  He stood, shook himself in a halo of gray fur, and stepped along the quilt to sniff at the card.

  I hadn’t seen him in the light of day before—in any shape. The main part of his fur was a ticked rather than solid gray. A black stripe ran down his tail into the tip that was also black. His legs and underparts were a buff/orange color like a red fox, growing as pale as cream and white on his stomach, paws, chest, throat, and cheeks. A band of orange formed a collar on his chest, then extended up each side of his head and the backs of his ears, while his jaw was white and a black patch on each side of the pointed little muzzle completed the face mask.

  His long black whiskers and black button nose probed at the card while he sniffed. His tail swished.

  “Go away.” I reached to pick it up.

  Too late. My hand had hardly begun to move when he snatched the index card and sprang back as swiftly as a real wild fox expecting a trap. Landing on the spot he’d just vacated, he began thoughtfully chewing the card.

  I knew better from a lifetime around dogs and cats and occasionally other animals than to attempt recovery. If I seemed to want it the game was up. If I didn’t want it, it wouldn’t be worth having.

  “Whatever.” I unlocked my phone—after first having to remember the code I’d set and making sure he couldn’t see the screen. New voicemail. Another answer to the ad? No, just an auto-junk call.

  While I held the phone to my ear to confirm this, the gray fox on the foot of my bed was busily noshing the purple index card.

  “Hey!”

  His tail twitched, hunched down in meatloaf form, focused on his work, body sideways to me, ready to spring from the bed if I reached for him.

  Grab it with magic? That would send him spinning. Only it was too late to do anything.

  I deleted the voice mail and stared while Vel neatly polished off the paper pulp mess he’d created and swallowed it.

  He licked each side of his whiskers, sat up, and looked at me, ready for another snack.

  I stared back.

  His dark eyes focused with even more than the intensity of a cat.

  “You’re a sadist,” I said calmly.

  His ears pricked up a bit more. The tip of his tail twitched. It seemed he liked the sound of that. Or maybe he was saying, You ain’t seen nothing yet.

  “I suppose now you have to stay like that for a while also?”

  He stood, ready to hop off the bed. I knew in a flash he intended to change.

  “No!” I leaned forward, letting the phone drop, while he jumped at the near-shout. I derived great satisfaction from managing to startle him. “Don’t even think about it. I know what you’ll be like if you shapeshift. You stay in that form because I have something to say to you and you are going to listen. Not talk. Right?”

  He sat on the corner of the bed, facing me with his tail around his paws, ramrod straight, ears keen. Only his hooded eyes gave away his mocking gaze.

  “As you’ll have noticed, I’m involved with someone already. Last night was just … you being probably who you usually are, but no more than momentary bad judgement for me. Okay? I’m glad you’re going to help us tonight. Maybe you can be useful. And your vampire non-friend. What matters is that we clear Midway City, so the more help we can get the better. But you need to understand something since it looks like we’ll be spending time together. It’s very simple.”

  I leaned in a bit more. Eyes riveted to his. “Do not disrespect me ever again. You caught me at a bad time. Today is not that time. I already saved your life—twice. There won’t be a third. Do I make myself clear?”

  Partway through my speaking he’d started turning and twisting his head, cocking his ears, then pinning them back like he couldn’t comprehend the sound he was hearing.

  “What is it? You don’t think it was a bad time? I’m not clear? You don’t think you were disrespectful?”

  His tail flicked at that, eyes and ears focusing in on me again, eager for the explanation.

  “You’re kidding.”

  He waited, intent.

  “Trespassing and breaking into my home? And my bedroom? Twice? Hacking my phone and going through my accounts? Coming into my room while I was sleeping and creeping around? Sneaking up and surprising me, assaulting me? Seduction? Using coercion to have sex with a stranger in the aforementioned circumstances? Dressing in my dad’s clothes? Eating a love note left to me? Stowing away in my car? Frightening and misleading me in a dark house full of vampires? Using me as cover when you were thrown to the wolves? Climbing on me and clawing me so badly you ruined my blouse? None of that sounds even questionable to you?”

  He’d been fixated all the time, waiting for me to say something that rang a “disrespectful” bell. On the last one he gave a start, newly surprised.

  He sat up on his haunches like a begging dog, to hold his own forepaws out before his nose. He looked intently at them, then me, eyes widening.

  “Yes, those are your claws, your massive talons, that you embedded in my flesh last night to save your own skin. It was really frickin’ painful and it still hurts, if you care. The rest of the world can’t just change our shape”—I snapped my fingers—“and heal wounds.”

  He regarded his own claws again, subjecting them to much scrutiny as he balanced there.

  What did I just say about sentimentality? But I’m going to pause here in fairness to honesty, and say that little fox sitting up and looking at his own tiny white paws in front of his tiny nose, turning his head from side to side in great puzzlement, was one of the cutest things I’d ever seen. So cute you want to push his black button nose with your fingertip and yell, “Boop!” So cute I wanted to wring his furry little neck.

  Then, oh my God, he sighed. A soft puff of sorrow through his nose as he lowered his paws back to the quilt. Muzzle aimed down toward them, ears hanging limply sideways so they stuck out like shelves, he rolled his eyes up at my face. The most mournful, soulful, deep liquid eyes of grief you ever experienced. It was sickening.

  He walked up my legs, on the quilt, into my lap, no heavier than a fat cat, tail dragging, posture low. He sniffed at the top of my shoulder against my neck where a deep scratch was bandaged above the shirt collar.

  He gave the Band-Aid a tiny lick, like a kiss with the tip of his tongue, then, with another little sigh of utter misery, he rested his chin lightly beside it.

  I mean … angels and demons…

  But I sucked in a breath. This was exactly why I hadn’t wanted him to change his shape and be able to talk. Well, one of the reasons. But he could do this on all fours?

  I hadn’t realized shifters totally kept their heads in their wild forms and would behave so anthropomorphically. I’d always heard tell that shifters were pretty wild in any form, in fact. Casters and shifters certainly didn’t mix and mingle under most normal conditions—although there was a movement lately pushing for more integration in the magical community as that community shrunk and became more and more isolated. I hadn’t even known there were wolf shifters within several states of here.

  Vel leaned in a bit more for a cuddle, ready for me to accept his apology. And what? Pet him?

  “No,” I said firmly, shoving him with both hands down to my knees.

  He crouched, flattening his ears like I’d screamed and threatened to hit him.

  “Do you seriously think I fell off the turnip truck like ten minutes ago? There’s no way you actually believe the claw thing is all you did that might possibly have been disrespectful or not okay. No way. Because you’re not stupid anymore than I’m stupid. You acting like that and thinking I’ll swallow it is just more being a jerk. Besides that, I don’t believe you. You don’t feel bad that you hurt me. You showed me exactly who you were all night. From biting Gideon for no damn reason at all except you were teamed up with the vampires—you thought—to stalking and assaulting me, only to then have the nerve to ask for my protection. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe what you saw of me last night led you to the impression
that I’m dumb as a box of rocks and ten times as forgiving as a saint. Well, pardon me if I was sending out those signals. But guess what? You’re wrong. I’m neither of those things.”

  He had quit cringing but still crouched on my legs, gazing up at me.

  I aimed a finger at his pointy little nose. “I’m not going to ask you again, so I’ll just say you better have paid attention to that. Your life could be on the line the next time something goes wrong.”

  His gaze had shifted to my finger, totally not paying attention. Then … he bit me. Bit my finger like a striking snake.

  Startled by the burst of motion, I jumped back, knocking into the headboard with a yell, and sending a blast of magic energy into his face. Overestimating the size of the target, I sent Vel flying right off the foot of the bed to smash against the unyielding corner of the antique oak dresser with a crack and sharp yelp.

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  Looking down, I realized there hadn’t been any pain. I’d felt his teeth but there wasn’t even a mark on my skin. Just a quick nip, responding to the motion like a wild fox after all? Or a simple practical joke.

  He stumbled across the floor. Another yelp when he hit it, then soft whimpers fading to tight silence as he limped to the corner, one forelimb held clear of the hardwood.

  I caught my breath and scrambled around with my feet to find the underwear. I pulled it on as I stood up. “Vel?”

  He didn’t look at me, lying in a dusty corner free of plaster or wallpaper bits since this room was practically finished.

  Whatever. He was totally faking. Anyway, he’d been a jerk again and nipped at me instead of giving a damn. Not that that was a reason to blast someone across a room, but the force had been an accident. His avoiding force in his bite hadn’t been an accident.

  “Sorry,” I said stiffly. “I didn’t mean to hit you that hard. Hope you’re okay.”

  There. I had to get in the shower. Presumably I still had company downstairs. Or they would soon be back if they were in town.

  Better take the phone with me. And use magic in locking the bathroom door. I pulled the cord from my phone, crossed to the dresser, pulled on the pair of shorts on top, and found a bra and sleeveless summer blouse to take into the bathroom.

  I looked around.

  The gray fox hadn’t moved from the corner where he’d dragged his injured body. He lay flat, chin on the floor, silently waiting out the pain—hiding in a secret spot as wild animals will do until recovery or death.

  I bit my lip.

  There had been nothing fake about the noise when he’d hit that corner at high velocity and yelped—screamed, really. If one of the cats had hit something that hard I’d have been mortified, already calling the mobile vet.

  “Vel?” I hesitated, set the clothes down, and walked softly over to him.

  He turned his head away.

  “Are you actually hurt?” I eased down to my bare knees on the boards. Couldn’t think what more to do. It felt awkward to try to pet him or pick him up. “Can I see?”

  He had his left side, the one that had hit the dresser, against the wall.

  No response.

  “You startled me. I didn’t mean to do that.” But maybe you’ll listen next time, asshole. The anger bubbled but faded quickly. He looked so still, so helpless, so much like the real deal: an injured wild animal that I was responsible for having injured.

  I let out a breath.

  “Let me see,” speaking very softly. “You’re not just faking, are you?” With both hands, I reached around at his side and under his chest, lifting him onto his little limbs.

  He flinched and shivered, otherwise only tense but also rather limp in my hands. I tried to set him on his paws, but he was melting like a rubbery cat. I pulled his right side against my thighs so I could see and gently feel over the left side.

  My stomach turned over when I saw he really was hurt. Not just bruised. He’d hit so hard the edge of the dresser had torn his skin. There was a trace of blood oozing from the gray fur along the side of the left shoulder, the skin tender and puffy—ready to become a massive bruise just like the bite last night. Worried he might have cracked ribs, I was afraid to feel him over any more than that, he was already so sore. I let out a slow breath, feeling sick.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I really, really didn’t, Vel. I’m sorry.” I stopped and again bit my lip, that horrible tightness returning to my throat.

  He didn’t pant or shiver or struggle. Just leaned, stiff with shock and pain, into my thighs, staring forward, head low and ears down. He seemed to be waiting for the executioner’s axe.

  I stroked his head and leaned over him, whispering, “I’m sorry. What can I do for you? How about a painkiller? Can you take what’s okay for a human? Or do you have to take what’s okay for a fox? I’ll ask the other guys. Or maybe you can change? Would that heal it? Vel?”

  He shivered, eyes blinking. He was shocky, probably seeing black spots and feeling cold with the sudden pain. That part would be okay in a minute. What about the rest? Then could he shapeshift? Would that make it better?

  Helpless, vision blurring behind my glasses, I lifted him gently against my shirt, trying to warm him, and kissed the top of his head. “I’m sorry.” Like that could help him.

  Vel shivered.

  I stood with him in my arms to go looking for help.

  By the time I reached the door, he turned his head, paws peddling. He wanted down.

  I rested him on the bed. “I’ll go see if Adam or Gideon are downstairs. They’ll know what we can do for you—even if they’re not happy about it.”

  Vel whined, flexed his forelimbs, stretching out on the quilt as if testing his own range of motion, then his whole body rippled.

  Alarmed, I stepped back.

  It was the most bizarre thing to watch. First there was just the size to consider. Maybe it wasn’t so crazy for the wolves, close to the same weight either way since they turned into such big wolves, but Vel was growing to more than ten times his foxy size. He expanded with the rippling effect continuing, body stretching out, reaching and then reaching more. He was the size of a border collie before the fur started to recede and bones started to twist and change shape. Then things got ugly—literally.

  I abruptly turned my back, still not able to block out the noise of it. If I’d felt sick before, now I actually pressed the back of my hand to my mouth.

  It took maybe thirty seconds before I was sure sounds of the change had stopped and Vel was panting in his human form on the bed, still lying on his side.

  I turned tentatively back to him. His head was by the footboard, facing me, left side uppermost. The raw line at his shoulder remained visible as a newly healed cut, pink and clean. Below that, the surrounding flesh was bruised, now also in an advanced stage—black and blue and green in places. His skin was richly coppery to start, but the bruises were no less visible.

  “Hey…?” I said. “You okay?” A time and place for that question. “Sorry I hurt you.”

  He nodded, gasping for breath, eyes shut. A fine dew of sweat was already breaking out across his newly existing brow. There was something still foxy about his face. Easy to see in daylight that I’d been right to think his face was all sharp angles and points. It was a bit too exaggerated. A face that looks exotic, even strange, in person, but probably photographs like a dream.

  Wade would make a nice picture also. The other guys were more the “rugged” handsome look that translated equally well in print or real life.

  I wanted to sit with him but he was on the edge of the bed and I felt too awkward anyway.

  “Want to stay here and get your breath back? Get in bed? Can you take a couple Aspirin? I’ll bring you something if you tell me what.”

  He nodded and rolled onto his back, dragging a forearm across his face.

  Relieved to have a task, I hurried for the bathroom. No one out there. Not even a cat.

  I returned with a paper cup of water and the Aspirin bottle whi
le Vel was heaving himself around to face the right way and creep between the sheets with the alacrity of a starfish.

  I hesitated, trying to not look at him and not make a big deal about his being sprawled out naked across my bed. It was far more difficult not to look at him than it should have been. Beauty being in the eye of the beholder and all that, I wouldn’t have called him beautiful. Striking, arresting, different, vulpine? Thin and slight, but with hints of those muscles so present on the wolf shifters nonetheless, with defined abs and sectioned muscles in the arms and legs like anatomy illustrations, all as fit and lithe and sleek as … well … a fox.

  Not that I was looking. I felt much too guilty and concerned to gawk at the man—or whatever he was.

  “There you go. I hope you’re all right. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He was apparently too feeble to drag the covers back enough to use them. I leaned over to help, pulling down the sheet below his legs, then tucking him in as he rubbed his eyes and sighed.

  He had yet to say anything as I pulled the sheet to his shoulders and he nestled down, though he was trying to get his breath back.

  “Do you want this?” I popped open the top and gave him two of the pills, then held the cup for him while he weakly lifted his head off my pillow.

  I resisted the impulse to reach out and stroke aside black hair that fell across his brow. He’d already shut his eyes drowsily after taking the pills. Maybe the change wore them out besides hurting. Pain, shock, and shifting all together—plus having had to change multiple times lately—probably put a body through the wringer.

  “All right,” I said softly, withdrawing my hand that had almost stroked his head like he was still furry. “Take a nap if you can. We’ll be up all night again. I’ll check on you later.”

  I collected my things and moved to the door almost on tiptoes. Easing it shut behind me, I glanced at him one last time. Hands folded under the pillow and his head, eyes shut, he was smiling like it was his birthday.

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