Cursed Wolf: Urban Fantasy Shifter Stand-Alone (Creatures of the otherworld Book 1)

by Brogan Thomas

  It feels like hours since I called John. The phone is still on the floor by the door, abandoned. I can’t make myself get up and grab it to check if he’s still on the line. I can no longer hear him from where I am perched.

  The constant pain from my long-ago shattered pelvis has gone, and my skinny legs show no signs of the poorly healed trauma. I’m shaking, and the toilet seat is squeaking in protest.

  I don’t know if all this is a dream; it doesn’t feel real.

  Emotionally I feel like an autumn leaf: dead but still clinging desperately to the branch and dreading the next gust of wind.

  When the knock on the door comes, I start, burning my leg on the radiator next to me. I let out a little hiss between my teeth. Bloody hell, this still isn’t a dream.

  “Forrest, it’s me, your brother. Can you open the door for me, please.”

  I peer at the door and nibble on my bottom lip. I take a deep breath and pull myself to my feet, using the wall and the toilet as leverage. I find it challenging to place my feet onto the floor. They want to curl inwards instead of staying flat.

  Ha, it’s a bloody miracle, and it’s thanks to a shitload of adrenaline that I managed to get this useless bag of bones into the bathroom in the first place.

  I’m pathetic.

  I grit my teeth and use the wall to steady myself. I decide that I have little choice but to chuck myself at the door and hope for the best.

  Oof. I hit the door with a thump. Once I am steady and in no danger of falling, I attempt a little bit of modesty. I pull the horrendous pink hair forward to conceal as much of my body as I can. Weirdly, the hair is mega thick and long—it reaches halfway down my thighs.

  My fingers fumble with the lock, and it takes a few attempts to get the door open. The heavy door swings open with an ominous creak.

  I nervously peek up through my hair at the huge man in the doorway. I probably resemble a pink Cousin Itt from the Addams family. John, my brother, is broader and taller than the door frame—he dwarfs me. John has to hunch over slightly to see into the small bathroom. He towers over me, frowning as his green eyes quickly take me in. He doesn’t look impressed. I have a massive urge to close the door and lock it.

  “You didn’t bother to get her any clothes?” John asks, directing his question behind him.

  “Well…urm, I can grab something of mine—Forrest hasn’t got anything,” Harry answers quietly. “I am sorry. I didn’t think.”

  There’s the sound of movement in the hallway. My brother moves slightly to the side of the door, and a man appears next to him. He grunts and slips a backpack from his shoulder. Unzipping the bag, he hands my brother some clothing.

  John steps towards me but then freezes in place. Total horror crosses his face. I flinch. Without my seeing him move, he has Harry by the throat, pinned to the hallway wall.

  Shit! What did I do?

  “You put a fucking dog collar on my sister!” John growls menacingly into Harry’s face.

  “Not me—Vincent,” Harry sputters, going red and desperately clawing at the big hand around his throat.

  I freak out.

  My fight-or-flight must have kicked in, as I am trembling with the adrenaline rushing through me.

  Heart pounding, I can’t get enough air into my lungs. I take a step back.

  I’m going the wrong way. I should be trying to stop my brother from hurting Harry. What am I doing? But I can’t stop. I can’t even stand up properly. I’m too weak. This body is too alien. Knowing all that still doesn’t stop me from feeling disgusted with myself. I am a coward.

  Even worse, I scramble to close the door. The shifter with the backpack blocks me. “John, now is not the time—you’re frightening your sister,” he says. John’s head snaps around, and he drops his hold on Harry. Harry takes big gulps of air. His face is red, and he’s shaking.

  I’m so sorry, Harry. This is all my fault. God, I’m surprised he didn’t wet himself—that scared the crap out of me. A hellhound grabs hold of your throat like that, I would sure pee a little.

  “I will be talking to Vincent later,” John says, shoving Harry back into the wall. Harry nods, dropping his eyes. “Now fuck off.” Harry visibly deflates. He nods, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor submissively. Please don’t go! I mentally scream as I watch Harry shuffle down the hallway. He disappears from my line of sight.

  I dimly notice the other two hulking shifters, who must have arrived with John and the Backpack Hound, and they’re all staring at my neck.

  I jolt with the sudden realisation; I want to scream at them, Bloody hell, still naked here, guys! I weakly tug at the bathroom door. The hellhound’s foot is in the way.

  John steps back in my direction, a soft smile on his face...it looks wrong. It’s that kind of smile that a predator gives its prey just before he starts eating.

  Shit, he’s scary.

  I need to trust him. But he’s scary.

  He is my brother…but he left me here to rot.

  My conflicting thoughts make me feel as if my head is going to pop off.

  “It is okay, Forrest. It’s okay.” He holds both hands up to me in supplication. I flinch. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, that I lost my temper. I will try my best not to do that again. I am sorry. I want to help you get into these clothes, okay? They’re going to be a little big on you, but we will make them work, right?” John’s voice is soft. The backpack-shifter hands him the clothing that he dropped while attacking Harry. John holds up his hand, the one that isn’t holding the clothing, towards me. I warily eye it. “Is that okay?”

  I want to shake my head no.

  I know I can’t do any of this by myself. There’s no way I will leave this house alive without his help.

  I reluctantly nod.

  John puts the black jumper over my head, and then, like he’s dressing a child, threads his hand through the sleeve. Taking hold of my wrist, John gently guides my hand out. He repeats the process with my other arm. He then kneels in front of me and helps me with the black jogging bottoms. The clothing is ridiculously huge.

  “Okay, let’s get you to your bedroom. Doctor Ross can meet us and check you over.” John turns and strides away down the hallway, expecting everybody to follow. I take a wobbling step forward and find myself tipping to the right. Before I can fall, the Backpack Hound scoops me up in his arms. I tense and let out a horrified squeak of surprise.

  “Oh, hush now, Forrest, you’re okay, I promise I’m not gonna hurt you. I promise that I’m not gonna let anyone else hurt you either—that includes you. You’re gonna hurt yourself if I let you walk. So let me help you, at least until you get your legs figured out again,” he says in a low, soft tone. He surprises another squeak out of me by gently stroking my hair away from my face. His humongous hands pull the mass of hair around so that it’s in front of me. It pools in my lap like candyfloss. “Hush…this is hard, isn’t it? Everything that is happening is some scary shit. Please …please let me help you.” His steady grey eyes are weirdly comforting; they stand out against his dark hair and skin tone. His whole expression is kind, and I believe him. “I don’t know what you’ve been through…I know you can’t talk about it. Heck, you do all of your talking with those big frightened gold eyes. Sometimes, it’s better to bury the bad things until you’re strong enough to deal with them, so that you can keep moving forward one step at a time to make sure your demons can’t keep up. You understand?” I blink at him. “Okay?” I take a big breath, release it, and nod. Miraculously I let myself relax, and I lean into his massive chest as he lumbers down the hallway with me tucked safely in his arms.

  We follow in the wake of my brother. Within minutes, we’re at my bedroom door. It’s kind of surreal as I haven’t seen this room in, well, forever.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I sit on the bed and glance around my old bedroom; I can’t remember it being so big. It smells of dust and forgotten memories.

  Everything is exactly how I left it: books on the shelves, an
abandoned notepad on the table next to the bed. I was never allowed to put up posters. My mum was convinced that they would mark the walls. But if I had, they would still be here.

  The room is like a time capsule.

  I glimpse a silver photo frame alone on a shelf, surrounded by a thick layer of dust. It’s a photo of my mum, my baby sister Grace, and me. If I could walk, I would pick it up, maybe hold it close to my chest, pull it to my nose and never stop staring at it. God, I miss them so much.

  For my sanity, I force myself to look away.

  Everything in here feels like someone else’s life, another girl’s life; it doesn’t belong to me anymore.

  Doctor Ross doesn’t look like what I imagined. He’s dressed in black fatigues like the other hellhounds, and there is no white coat in sight. With his big build, bald head, and intelligent blue eyes, he looks like a soldier.

  He isn’t messing around, with his extensive array of medical equipment. It’s like he has brought a whole hospital with him. I have no idea why we’re doing this here. This is crazy. If they’re attempting to make me feel comfortable in familiar surroundings, they’re doing a piss-poor job. We would be better off in the garden or far, far away from this accursed house.

  The collar is removed immediately from my neck. Doctor Ross examines it, and he dictates his findings into some sort of magical video-camera-and-fancy-tablet combo. John has to leave the room for a few minutes to get control of himself when they realise that the collar is an electric shock one.

  How do you stop a wolf from running away? You snap their pelvis like a Polo mint. Then you put a magical collar on them that knocks them out if they crawl too far. The fancy collar is also voice-activated and can be electrified as punishment if they don’t come to call like a good doggy—yeap, fun times.

  Doc R uses a complicated-looking scanner to take my vitals. He waves the thing at me and it automatically processes my height, weight, heartbeat, blood pressure, and body fat. Samples of my blood and saliva are taken and added to the data. Huh, it even produces a little chart of me on the screen. It flashes red, and my eyes widen as it beeps an urgent tone. That doesn’t sound good. Doc R frowns at the screen and taps the device until it’s silenced. He then examines my eyes. He uses a small penlight scanner that flashes various lights, making me dizzy. He’s so close to me that our noses almost touch. Luckily his breath is minty.

  My head pounds and my eyes hurt.

  “Have your eyes always been this colour?” he asks me. I shake my head no.

  “Forrest’s eyes were the same colour green as my own. Her hair was red, and if I correctly remember, she was around the same height as she is now. Maybe an inch or two shorter before she shifted,” John replies on my behalf.

  “That is interesting. What age was your first shift?” Doc R asks. I start to hold up my fingers to answer him, but frustratingly I can’t seem to get the digits to work, so again John explains for me.

  “She was nine.”

  “Nine years old...that is extremely young. I’ve never heard anybody shifting before sixteen.” Doc R turns away and adds everything to the tablet. “How long has it been since she first shifted?”

  Well, that’s the question of the day, isn’t it? How long have I been stuck as a wolf? I observe John, terrified of his answer.

  I hold my breath.

  John clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. We make eye contact. His eyes are sad. “It’s been over fourteen years.”

  The room goes a little black, and I see black spots in front of my eyes. I am glad to be sitting down; otherwise, I think I’d be falling on my bum.

  Fourteen years.

  Fourteen.

  “Breathe, Forrest. You’re okay.”

  I gasp in a breath and rapidly blink. I focus on the kind grey eyes that are looking back at me with concern.

  The Backpack Hound is holding my face in his hands. When did that happen? I nod. I am okay. I am okay. All I can do is nod. I take another shaky breath.

  Fourteen years as a wolf. Shit shit shit.

  The kind hellhound nods back at me, gives me a small smile, stands from his squat, and steps away.

  Both Doc R and John gaze at me with concern.

  “Forrest, are you all right to continue?” I nod at the doctor—bloody hell, stop nodding, you look like a bobblehead, your head is going to pop off. I instead give him a shaky thumbs-up. “Well, hopefully I can give you a little bit of control so you know what is happening to you. Okay?” He places the fancy tablet in my hands. Even though it’s lightweight, I can’t hold it up. I prop the tablet on my lap; it digs into my thigh.

  The text swims slightly in front of my eyes as I try to focus on the words. It takes a few seconds for my brain to adjust. The data, the words, make zero sense.

  “You are emaciated. I’m unsure why that is, at the moment. We will have to talk about your diet, as you’re missing essential vitamins and minerals. I have never seen these kinds of dangerous results in a shifter.” He looks at me sternly, and I find myself physically leaning away from him. Not my fault. “It is very concerning. If you hadn’t shifted today, I calculate that you wouldn’t have lasted much longer. The results sho—”

  “What?” John barks. I flinch, and the tablet tumbles onto the bed. “I don’t understand why. What do you mean, she ‘wouldn’t have lasted much longer’? Forrest? What the hell have you been doing to yourself!” John’s whole face morphs as he bares his teeth. His rage, directed at me, fills the room. I sit frozen on the bed as the massive hellhound barrels towards me; a deep growl resonates in his chest. My lips disappear between my teeth, and I bite down hard to stop the whine that’s bubbling up in my throat. It’s better to be silent. I avert my eyes. I shove the tablet further away, and I attempt to make myself smaller. I hunch in on myself, using my hair as a shield. I avert my face close my eyes and prepare for the pain.

  When nothing happens, I peek through my hair, and the Backpack Hound is standing directly in front of me, rigid, blocking John. I blow out a breath. Wide-eyed, I take in the situation. Is he…is he protecting me?

  “I made a promise. What are you planning to do, John?” he admonishes.

  “I wasn’t going to hurt her,” John snarls. He turns and stomps back across the room, his fists clenched at his sides, his shoulders tight and a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I’m too fucking busy to deal with this shit—if she wants to kill herself, she can crack on.”

  The Backpack Hound silently moves back to his position against the wall as if nothing happened.

  Bloody hell, what…why is John angry with me? He left me here with them. It was John who didn’t come back…as if I had a choice in what I ate?

  Betrayed. That’s what I feel, which is ludicrous. For there to be betrayal, there has to be trust, and I don’t trust John.

  I study my trembling hands. Wow, pack doesn’t mean anything to my brother. I don’t mean anything. What was John going to do if the other hellhound hadn’t stood in front of me? Hit me? I was right not to trust him. I puff out a breath. I don’t feel the need to scream or shout my case. Not that I can...I curl inward, a familiar feeling of inadequacy piling up inside of me. John is never going to believe me over them, so if I could talk, there would be no point—it would be a waste of words. I tense to ward off the full-body shakes and lift my chin.

  Doc R, looking pained, clears his throat. “Well, it is something we will have to make a priority. From now on you will be heavily monitored, to find the cause.” He drops another stern look at me. “Theoretically, being stuck in your wolf form should not have affected your growth rate.” He leans over and retrieves the tablet. I flinch away, and the doctor grimaces. He steps back, clears his throat, and continues, “Your height, according to previous estimates on your medical charts as a child, should be at least six-foot. Unfortunately, as you can see in the data—” Doc R points to the screen—“you are five-foot-two, and approximately three stone underweight. Your build is also a concern—you would be small f
or a human, and as a shifter, it’s unheard-of to be so petite.” He shakes his head in disappointment. “With weight gain your overall body aesthetic can be enhanced. We can’t do anything to improve your bone structure and height. It is permanent damage—at twenty-three, there is no fixing that any further.” He pokes the screen again. My eyes cross. I don’t bother to focus on the data. “Your eye- and hair-colour is a side effect of long-term magical damage,” Doc R continues. “Shifters are not meant to be in animal form for so long. There should be a balance within us—no shifter can stay in animal form indefinitely, or the other way around, and not shift—which is even worse. To have lasted fourteen years and not lost yourself is impressive.” Doc R taps the tablet again. “I am sure we will work it out as we go along. The good news is, we can improve your body weight with a controlled diet. Your natural healing will help. Unfortunately, your eyes will remain as they are, an amber-gold colour with the slight sectoral heterochromia.” He points to my right eye. “Although I think your eyes are quite beautiful,” Doc R says with a smile. “Your skin will improve with daylight exposure and a better-balanced diet. Your hair pigment has gone—again, a similar reaction to that of your eyes.” He tilts his head to the side. “I am surprised it is pink and not white.” He looks at John and then back at me. John is standing as far away as he can get. He must hate me.

  “What I do recommend is hospitalisation for a few weeks.” Doc R holds up a hand as if he expects me to object. “Just to get you healthy, walking, and talking. You need specialised help. Let’s get you back to normal, okay?” He smiles.

  I dare to peek at John, and he stiffly nods. So I nod also.

  I am up for anything to get me out of this bloody house.

  Fuck my life. I don’t even look like a shifter. I look like an unhealthy human. It couldn’t be that I was just stuck in wolf form for fourteen years. Oh no, when fate, that fickle bitch, finally allows me to change back to my human form, I’m an even bigger freak! I’m never going to blend into shifter society looking like this.