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

by Brogan Thomas

  Who is this person? Can I trust her? What does she want in return?

  “There, I’ve sent everything I have to your email address. Now, instead of going to your hellhound brother with this information, I think we should aim a little bit higher, don’t you think? If you’re up for it and if you can trust me, let’s sort out this nightmare once and for all.”

  “I want to trust you,” I whisper. My voice wobbles only a little. “I’ve had a shitty day. I don’t know what to say…Ava, this is too good to be true. But I will trust you. Thank you, thank you.”

  Ava chuckles, her voice warm. “Jodie will be pleased. It is not going to happen overnight. I will have to arrange a meeting, and in the meantime, Forrest you must keep your head down. I can’t protect you until I get this evidence to the right person. That’s, unless you want to disappear? I can help with that if you don’t want to fight. I think you have an excellent chance to clear your name. But I can help you run instead..?”

  “I want to try.” I’m so glad she’s on my side—I hope. I can’t believe that she’s got hold of all this information and she knows everything without me telling her. It’s awe-inspiring. Maybe Ava is a computer hacker? Is this too good to be true? I have everything crossed and have faith that she will not try to fuck me over. “I will keep my head down and stay here. Ava, thank you. If I can help you in return, you only have to ask.”

  “It’s no bother, Forrest, it is what I do. I will ring you when I know more. Take care.” After we’ve said goodbye, still on the kitchen floor with my whole body shaking, I check my email.

  Ava came through.

  The camera footage is damning. This is what I needed; I hope it’s enough.

  I think I’ve found my rope.

  * * *

  I am standing outside my portal door. I shift from foot to foot and wriggle as if I have ants in my pants. I am kind of bricking it. I tug my coat into place and with my fingers comb the loose strands of hair back into my bun. I’ve been procrastinating on using this gateway for weeks. I’m hesitant to leave the safety of my apartment, frightened that either Daniel or John is going to grab me and lock me away. So I’ve locked myself away in my apartment—how is that for irony?

  I’m also nervous I will hit the wrong gateway symbols and end up somewhere I shouldn’t. I regret telling Owen I didn’t need his help when it was first installed. In reality, I should have done this weeks ago.

  I laugh when I remember the gateway witch and her disgust, which was overflowing when I told her I wanted my portal to be inside my walk-in wardrobe—come on, who doesn’t want a portal in a wardrobe? Hello Narnia.

  She spent hours doing her amazing portal magic to connect my apartment to the ley lines. The witch was seriously not amused when for fun, I asked her if I could send out some of the clothing I didn’t like through a random portal, to give someone a present. The no was said forcibly, the look of utter incredulity on her face was priceless. The ward witch was much nicer.

  I have been spending my time avoiding Daniel’s goons, training with Owen, and reading every book that I can get my hands on. Time has disappeared; it has fluttered away while I’ve been hiding. Now I need to use the portal, and Owen isn’t here to help. Owen, along with the other hellhounds, has been sent away—some important council thing that’s all hush-hush. I have a terrible feeling Daniel is messing about in the background, but that might be me being paranoid although I doubt it.

  The Meatheads and other guards have been outside for the last few weeks, and I have avoided them like the plague. I have been getting my food delivered, but since the hellhounds’ departure, my food deliveries have stopped. It’s as if I’m in my castle, safely locked in the tower, and Daniel’s sieging, trying his best to starve me out. The prick.

  Ava got video evidence of the Meatheads accepting and promptly destroying or eating my food. The bastards ate my bloody chocolate cake! My cake! So in cake desperation, I’m going to take the Betty disguise out for a spin. I need to be brave.

  I bounce on my toes and examine the gateway with apprehension. I know the codes and where I need to go. I just don’t know what the portal looks like on the other side, and it’s freaking me out.

  I take a deep breath, and with a shaky hand, I start to input the code.

  The codes are magic symbols; they look similar to Egyptian hieroglyphics but are closer to cuneiform in structure, a magical language not related to human history—the witches call them “runes.” There’s a fancy big-ass name for them but don’t ask me, I haven’t a clue. My magical education ended at age nine.

  The first three symbols are like an area code, and the next six are for the portal itself. The one I am inputting should take me to a portal door in an alleyway a few streets away from a bakery I want to try. I also need to start talking to strangers more, so I can use this trip as speech and portal practice.

  I am stalling. Here goes nothing.

  I finish the code, hold my breath, and step through.

  That wasn’t so bad—I am alive, and huh, it felt like I was plodding through a regular door. So anticlimactic—I expected a little bit of tingling or a flash of light, something. I glance about, pleased to see I am in fact in an alley—hopefully, the one I wanted.

  What is a little bit interesting and not expected is the two vampires that are standing in front of the portal door as I step out. I almost careen into them. Hopefully, they’re using the portal and not guarding it. I shuffle sideways and give a wary nod in greeting.

  I don’t like vampires.

  It’s not the undead thing or the blood-drinking thing; it’s a shifter thing. My nose is so sensitive, and vampires smell like dead stuff slowly rotting. I think it’s the start of decomposition before the human body turns, but it also might be what vampires smell like, as a base scent. Rot. Either way, they always make me feel a little sick. I try not to breathe through my nose or flare my nostrils at them in disgust.

  Both vampires look like regular humans. One is fat with a horrendous comb-over, the other is skinny. If I squint they look a bit like Laurel and Hardy—all they need are little bowler hats to complete the look.

  “So what is an old human like you doing, using the gateways?” Huh? Human? Oh yes, the scent masker and “Betty”...perfect! It works on vampires—that’s good to know. Well, if I am going to use today as practice, I might as well use my voice. Hopefully, they’re not going to want to try and eat me. Kicking vamp ass because they wanted to use me as a walking blood-bag doesn't scream “incognito.”

  I clear my throat and say huskily, “I apologise for almost walking into you gentleman. If you will excuse me, I’m on an errand.”

  They both look me up and down. “Maybe you can be of help, human. We’re looking for a female shifter. Pink hair, gold eyes. I don’t suppose you know of anyone with that description?”

  Oh, crap, the vamps are talking about me. They are looking for me. I give a shake of my head and squint at them with what I hope is a confused and worried expression.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “I have never met a female shifter before. Is she a criminal?” I do a little shudder, hoping that will disguise my accelerated heart rate.

  “No, but she has an outstanding arrest warrant. She has gained someone’s interest. Like I said, pink hair, gold eyes, and she doesn’t speak. Here is our card if you see anyone like that. You give us a ring, and we will give you some cash, a grand in cash, for a phone call.” I nod my head with fake enthusiasm and take the card.

  “How wonderful,” I say brightly. “I would love that money so I could visit my sister, how wonderful. I will keep my eyes peeled.” I pat my pink bun. “Oh, I have pink hair! I hope no one thinks I’m this shifter.” I chortle.

  “Do not be concerned, human. No one will mistake the two of you for each other,” Comb-Over Vampire scoffs.

  I wish them good luck as I make my way out of the alley. I keep myself calm, hoping the slight rise in my pulse will not give me away. I try to shuffle to make
myself appear more human. I probably look like I’ve shit my pants. I will have to add that to my practice list: my Betty walk. Humans don’t prowl.

  * * *

  Once I am home, I make myself a cup of tea, and I sit in the roof garden eating my chocolate cake.

  I thumb through my contact numbers. I first try to call Owen, but his phone is switched off. Before I put the phone down, it rings—Ava.

  “Hi, you’re home safe? Are you aware of the arrest warrant?” I scamper back into my apartment and throw myself down on the sofa. The ward will stop anyone from eavesdropping.

  “Yes. What the hell! I just found out this morning. Two vampires were offering cash for sightings of me. Is it Daniel? What is he doing?”

  “Well, yes. I can confirm that Daniel Kerr has instigated the warrant. He’s getting impatient; it works in our favour beautifully. Involving the Hunters Guild is priceless.” The smile in her voice is apparent. “I will email you a copy of the warrant, now. Fortunately, it’s not a substantial amount of money. He will get some sloppy independent players trying to get some easy cash. There are firm stipulations about your health and wellbeing, so he doesn’t want to hurt you. I feel the warrant is more for making you desperate and backing you into a corner, covering the bases rather than making a serious attempt at capture. Using the Guild to do his dirty work,” she tuts. “This illegal warrant has bumped us up the waiting list considerably. I’ve managed to get you an appointment with the Guild tomorrow.”

  Ava gives a satisfied chuckle down the phone. “I couldn’t find anything on the Guild’s system—there’s no official case against you. Daniel has bypassed the rules and issued the warrant without the proper documentation. The document even states that you are to be handed over to him and not to the Hunters Guild for processing. To even have a fugitive handed over to the supposed victim is a big no-no. The whole thing stinks. It is such an abuse of power.

  “I’m going to use the vampires that you met today as a distraction for your bodyguards. Keep out of sight in the morning. I will make sure it is safe for you to attend the meeting to get the warrant rescinded. I’ll send you a car in the morning.” We end the call with a goodbye. It’s a significant risk to trust her, but it feels right.

  The email from Ava comes through on my phone, and I open the attachment and read. It’s the supernatural warrant-for-arrest paperwork. I quickly read through the official document declaring me a fugitive. Huh. In my head, I see myself dashing through tunnels with Tommy Lee Jones running after me. “I did not kill my wife!” I scream.

  Oh okay, so that was Harrison Ford. But to make the title of fugitive—even if it’s a load of bollocks—makes me feel like a bad girl. I hum a Billie Eilish song, “Bad Guy,” as I grab another slice of cake and flick the kettle on.

  THE GENERAL

  I am going to the Hunters Guild with a demon barrister, yes, a demon barrister, whom Ava has arranged to represent me. The demon, whose name is Mr Brown, is accompanying me for questioning in regard to the assault charges against me.

  I’m feeling incredibly nervous.

  My pink hair is loose, falling to my waist. The hem of the pretty high-necked white dress falls just to my knees. It has lovely ethereal 3D flowers embroidered onto it and a big bow at the back. Underneath I’ve put on a ruffled underskirt on that makes the skirt puff out. The dress is ridiculous, and because of that, it’s bloody perfect. If I’d been tall, the dress would have looked elegant—it’s a designer dress, after all. But on my small frame, it makes me appear more fragile. I seem merely like an innocent, harmless young woman. I pair the dress with a soft pale blue cardigan, pale blue tights, and delicate white shoes.

  My wrists feel bare without my magic bracelets. Ava had warned me I would be security-scanned for magic, so it’s best to leave them behind. I’m good to go.

  I mince out the lobby door. The bodyguards left in a big rush about half an hour ago, so the coast is clear. Ava has given me the car details, so I feel confident in leaving the safety of the building and its ward when I see the car waiting.

  My knuckles go white on the door handle. I tremble. I close my eyes, steady myself, and open the door. I slip inside and greet Mr Brown—he isn’t Daniel, I tell my quaking self—with a nod and a small smile.

  The demon isn’t what I expect; he’s thin, with wispy blond hair and pale, watery blue eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses. He’s wearing an ugly brown suit. “Miss Hesketh.” He nods back at me and then looks out of the window, not expecting a reply. I sit quietly. I don’t put my seatbelt on.

  It doesn’t take us long to arrive at the Hunters Guild building. The car drops us off at the main glass doors, and we’re greeted by a harassed-looking lady who rushes us through a magic and weapon screening. Once we have been security-cleared, she shows us to an elevator, where she flashes a card at the panel instead of pressing any buttons. We bypass all the marked floors and head to the top of the building. When the elevator doors open, we step out into a very nicely decorated hallway. At the end of the hall is a single door.

  That is not ominous at all.

  The door doesn’t have a name on it. I have no idea who we’re meeting. My nerves must show on my face, as Mr Brown looks down at me with a kind, confident expression.

  “Now, Miss Hesketh, all you have to do is speak the truth. I will deal with everything else.” I nervously nod and twist my fingers together. The lady opens the door and ushers us into the room. She stays in the hallway and closes the door behind us.

  The office is massive, and like the hallway, it’s decorated beautifully in browns and golds. The very masculine room has wood panelling halfway up the walls. It has a seating area with a bookcase, a leather sofa, and two wingback chairs.

  A huge shifter is seated behind a desk that’s situated in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The shifter stands in greeting as we make our way towards him. I peer up at the massive fucker, and my eyes settle on the bridge of his nose. In a world full of massive shifters, this guy is hands-down the biggest guy I have ever met. He is shockingly so much bigger than any of the hellhounds, in both height and build—although if you looked at him in a photo, you would think he was a normal-sized man as he is so in proportion. Standing in front of him is a whole other experience.

  The navy suit he’s wearing doesn’t have a single wrinkle or mark. It flawlessly fits across his big chest and broad, round shoulders, his taut, tapered waist. Even in his suit, he’d look more at home with a broadsword in his hands. God, his shoulders are so wide! I bet he’d take your head off in one punch. He must be well over seven feet—I estimate around seven-foot-five. I know instinctively he is a dragon shifter.

  The dragon’s powerful energy makes my skin tingle, and all the hair on my body stands up. I don’t know who he is, but I know he must be very important.

  I am not too proud to admit he scares the shit out of me.

  He sends my instincts into overdrive. I even find myself stepping behind the demon defensively, which is a pointless move as the dragon can still see me. My eyes scan the room, looking for alternative exits.

  He is watching me. His face is not showing any emotion, but his nostrils flare, taking in my scent. His face is a work of art—chiselled, angular, with high cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a straight nose. His lips are full, with the bottom one slightly fuller than the top. The dragon's hair is long and silver; even his skin has a slight silver glow. The man is beautiful. I huff. How could he not be beautiful? He is a dragon shifter, rare and legendary, after all.

  God, he’s a handsome bastard. I let out an almost inaudible sigh.

  The dragon’s silver eyes flash, and I instinctively freeze. Predator. I try to act like smart prey. I don’t move a muscle. I keep my eyes on him and my peripheral vision on the room as a whole. I can feel my chest tightening, and my breath puffs in and out with my panic.

  I am both terrified of him and shockingly turned on at the same time.

  There’s a knock on the door, I jump and sq
ueak in fright— a fucking squeak! The dragon appraises me even harder.

  “Come in,” he says in a deep, rumbling voice. The door opens, and a dark-haired male witch enters. Wow, a male witch. The witch appears like he’s in his forties; he sneaks around the big desk and stands next to the dragon.

  That’s it, Forrest, focus on the nice witch and not the scary dragon.

  The dragon shifter sits back behind his desk and holds out a hand, indicating the visitor chairs. Mr Brown nods and sits. I stand for a few more seconds, wanting to run like hell out of the room. Prompted by the baffled look Mr Brown shoots me, I rush and take the seat.

  I scramble into the chair, the dress bunching awkwardly in my panic. I then have to wiggle around like a little girl, trying to straighten it. What makes the whole thing even more difficult is that the chairs are massively oversized, and my bloody feet are about a foot off the floor. I glance up when I finally manage to get sorted, and all three men are looking at me.

  I hope I didn’t flash them.

  I am so glad I am wearing tights. Bloody dress. The dragon grunts.

  I peek up at him. I try to ascertain whether the grunt is a good one or bad one.

  “Thank you for agreeing to this meeting, General,” Mr Brown says with a nod. “I am Mr Brown, and I am here today to represent Miss Forrest Hesketh in regard to an arrest warrant for assault.” The dragon doesn’t take his eyes off me. I refuse to move about in my chair. I lift my chin, but I can’t help glancing towards the exit with my eyes.

  “That is a serious charge, Miss Hesketh,” the dragon says in a mesmerising, low voice. I nod, trying not to shiver. The witch hands the dragon a tablet, and he reads through the information. After about ten uncomfortable minutes, he glances up. “Okay, I am going to ask you some questions, and you are going to answer them truthfully, Miss Hesketh. Matthew, the truth crystal, if you please.” The witch, Matthew, pulls a clear crystal from his pocket, and he places it carefully on the desk.