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

by Brogan Thomas

  “Would you pick that up and hold it in your right hand. Keep your hand on the desk at all times,” Matthew says quietly. I nod and take hold of the crystal in my trembling palm.

  The dragon waits a few seconds and asks, “Can you give me your full name and age, please.” I nod again, and I lick my lips nervously.

  Shit, I can do this. Please, voice, please don’t fail me. I cough to clear my throat.

  “Forrest Hesketh, and I am…” I feel ancient. “I am twenty-three.” The crystal goes red. Is that bad? It went red! The dragon sighs with disgust, and I glance at Mr Brown in alarm.

  “Mr Brown, your client can’t even say her name and age without lying! You are wasting my time!”

  “General, you have just read Miss Hesketh’s file. She has been in her human form for only three months after spending fourteen years as a wolf. I believe her age might be the issue.” The room is silent, and everyone is back to staring at me.

  “I am sorry, sir,” I say, my voice raspy and breathless. I wiggle in the chair. “I don’t feel like I am twenty-three. My age is twenty-three. I am twenty-three.” The crystal goes red again. I feel like thumping my head on the table. I am trying my best—bloody hell, I’m useless. The dragon is going to eat me!

  “Repeat your name!” the dragon barks. I flinch and suck in a ragged breath; my heart is pounding in my ears.

  “My name is Forrest Hesketh,” I rasp.

  “You are here today to deny the charge of assaulting Councilman Kerr?” he asks. I glance over at Mr Brown, and he nods.

  “Well, no...urm...I mean, yes, I did,” I state quietly. The crystal stays clear. The dragon scowls at me with exasperation.

  “Explain!” He barks again, in frustration.

  So I tell him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  When I finish speaking, my throat hurts. I cough—my mouth is so dry. I told the dragon everything, from the beginning. I kept my eyes on his nose, not brave enough to meet his gaze.

  The crystal stayed completely clear the whole time I spoke.

  Thank. Fuck.

  “Show me your human claws. Matthew, will you please get Miss Hesketh a glass of water?” I blink at him in surprise—he wants to see my claws? A shade of impatience crosses his expression. “Miss Hesketh, they are the weapon in question. If you please.” Matthew places a glass of water on the table. I mumble a thank you, and I guzzle down almost all of the glass.

  Oh my God, the performance pressure, to produce my claws in front of a dragon—a dragon! If I couldn’t, would he eat me? My heart pounds anew. I close my eyes, and I centre myself and try my best to ignore my fear. I take a deep breath in and let my shifter magic do its thing on my fingers. I open my eyes to see—to see a blue flame dancing across my fingertips.

  Where are my bloody claws! What the fuck is that!

  I whine in shock, and without thinking about it, I stuff the offending hand into the water glass.

  With my frantic movement, I unbalance, and with no hands free to steady myself, I squeak as I fall onto the floor in a heap. Oomph. My dress goes over my head.

  I stay where I am, hoping they will forget about me down here. My breathing is panicked, and I am still whining with fear.

  What the fuck was that! Fuckity fuck fuck.

  There’s movement above me and rustling. I peek up at the dragon in shock as he uncovers my face from underneath my dress. I blink. There’s a piece of hair that’s sticking in my left eye. I blow out a hard puff of air, trying to dislodge it. The dragon squats in front of me; he tilts his head to the side as he studies my hands. I am still clutching the crystal in one hand, and the glass is wedged on the other.

  “Have you ever done that before?” I shake my head no. “I need the words, Forrest,” he says quietly in his smooth chocolate voice. He brushes the annoying strand of hair away. I gulp and stare at his hands. Big hands, the biggest I’d ever seen. He’s proportional, so it shouldn’t surprise me. He is so close; the dragon towers over me.

  “No, never, I was trying to show you my claws.” The crystal stays clear.

  “What were you thinking at the time?” he asks me intently. His voice is deeper, softer too. He is almost hard to hear. I lean forward, and for the first time, we make eye contact. Wow, his eyes are such a beautiful silver. He smells fucking incredible, the smoky musk of burnt wood. I hum.

  “I was frightened that I wouldn’t be able to show you my claws and that you would… eat me.” The dragon huffs out a laugh, stands, and helps me back to my feet.

  “Let us try that again, shall we, Miss Hesketh.” He shakes his head at my still-full hands and picks me up and puts me back on the seat, arranging my dress perfectly around me without effort. I stare at him in shock. He pulls the glass from my hand with a wet plop and puts it back on the table.

  “Okay, claws please, Miss Hesketh,” he says as he prowls back around the desk and sits.

  “What if I—?” I wiggle my wet fingers and make a weird flamey sound at the back of my throat.

  The dragon smirks at me. “You will not.”

  Okay then, okey-dokey—let’s do this. Instead of closing my eyes this time, I focus on my practice time with Owen. I think of the slice of chocolate cake I am going to have this afternoon.

  My magic tingles and my claws come out. I smile brightly in triumph.

  The dragon’s eyes drop to my lips, and his eyes dilate. A rumble vibrates in his chest, almost like a purr. “Very good,” he praises in a deeper and slightly gruff tone. The dragon tilts his head to the side and again breathes in my scent. I don’t know if he’s aware that he isn’t so sneaky about smelling me. He holds out his hand across the table, palm up. My mouth pops open, and I blink at him in confusion. “Your hand please, Miss Hesketh.”

  Oh. I put my wet hand in his, and he frowns. “Sorry,” I mumble.

  Then he inspects my claws. “Matthew, please update the file to say Miss Hesketh’s claws are approximately three inches in length.” He taps the end of my index finger. “They are not weapon class,” he says dismissively.

  It’s my turn to frown at him.

  What is wrong with my claws? They’re awesome! Not a weapon? I huff. “Daniel thought that they were,” I mumble under my breath.

  “Okay, if you will excuse me, stay where you are, Miss Hesketh.” The dragon gets up and walks away from us. “Matthew, test Miss Hesketh for all magic, including residual. I want a full report.” He disappears behind a hidden door near the seating area. Huh, It’s a portal.

  The room is suddenly colder without him in it. His smoky musk of burnt-wood dragon scent lingers.

  The scary dragon smells so good.

  I glance at Mr Brown, who nods at me. I bounce in my seat a little, relieved that my part in this debacle is almost over.

  I take the opportunity to tidy up my hair, which is still all over the place from my fall. Matthew disappears into the hallway and returns with a magic scanner.

  “Please put your claws away and place your palm on the scanner.” I do as he asks. I have been using my claws to run through my hair like a comb. Unfortunately, my lap is now full of little pieces of hair. Note to self: sharp claws are not suitable for hair-brushing. Thank God my hair is thick—otherwise I’d be bald.

  I place my hand on the scanner and watch in fascination as the scanner lights up. I saw one before at the hospital, and I know from my reading that hunters carry a basic version. This one isn’t a basic one, and even Mr Brown is watching on with interest. It also pricks my finger and takes a sample of my blood.

  We wait for the dragon to return; he has been gone for what feels like forever. Well, okay, a tad over two hours. But I have a date with a chocolate cake. Waiting for him is nerve-racking. It would be just my luck that the handsome bastard hands me over to Daniel.

  Matthew orders tea and coffee for us while we wait. I stuff two shortbread biscuits into my mouth quickly before anyone else grabs them. I love shortbread, and this is the good stuff from Scotland. My mouth is
full, and I probably look like a hamster.

  That’s when the dragon decides to walk back into the room.

  He appraises me with a frown, taking in the scattered pieces of hair. The dragon raises an eyebrow at Matthew. “Miss Hesketh brushed her hair with her claws,” Matthew explains.

  The dragon rubs his hand across his temple and sighs. “Nutty,” he says with a shake of his head. He sits back behind his desk and takes the tablet back from Matthew, I presume to read the magic scan report.

  “So the anti–body-hair potion and the shifter–clothing-retention potion are active in her system? Traces of a scent masker and basic disguise magic also.” I chew the shortbread that’s still stuffed in my mouth, trying not to choke. Bloody Jodie and that hair potion! I can’t believe the dragon knows about that. I told him about the scent masker and my disguise, although I didn’t go into detail—Betty is a disguise, after all. I can’t say to a dragon that I am planning to dress like an old human lady and sneak about.

  “Who is your potion supplier?” I have almost finished eating my shortbread, but I puff my cheeks out a little to make out that my mouth is still full. I hold up a finger and point to my cheeks. I am attempting to give myself more time to think. The dragon frowns, not buying my move.

  What do I say? Will I get Jodie in trouble? I scrutinise Mr Brown, and he does his typical nod. My eyes fly to Matthew, but he isn’t even looking in my direction. I have finished chewing. I shake my head no. “You’re not telling who supplies your potions?” The dragon asks incredulously. I shake my head again.

  “Miss Hesketh, they will not get into trouble—you have not used anything illegal. You can answer the question,” Mr Brown says, trying to encourage me. I still shake my head. Jodie is my friend, and I will not send a dragon to her door. Even if he employs a male witch. No way. Nope. The dragon will have to eat me. I cross my arms across my chest but uncross them quickly, as the move reminds me of something Liz would do. Matthew has lifted his head and is now looking at me with interest and a small smile.

  The dragon puffs out a breath of frustration. “Lucky for you, I haven’t got time to torture you for information,” he says drolly; he rubs his temple again. “I have cancelled the arrest warrant with immediate effect. The evidence Mr Brown provided before our meeting corroborated your story. I have informed Daniel Kerr that I have placed you officially under my protection. I can’t believe the hellhounds were not more of a deterrent.” He regards me. Sternly he says, “You are a trouble-maker, Miss Hesketh, and you need better guidance. I have spoken in person to your brother. I showed him the video evidence of Daniel Kerr’s attempted sexual assault.” My eyes widen. Shit. Incredible shit—John knows the truth. He can’t argue with evidence and a scary-as-hell dragon. Boom. I love this guy. I wiggle in my chair, almost doing a happy dance.

  “After today, with you producing fire magic, he agrees that you will be better off in my care, for the short term.”

  So it was fire magic! Of course it was—I am such a divvy. I can’t believe fire magic scared me so much. “Does that make me a hellhound?” I ask eagerly.

  “No, Miss Hesketh. Hellhounds are warriors. It makes you a liability.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  That’s how I found myself moving into the lair of a dragon. I wasn’t listening to him properly at the end of the meeting, and all I heard was cancelled warrant, protection blah blah blah, and then my brain got stuck on the fire-magic thing. I may have mentally nodded off at the end.

  Anyway, before I knew it, Mr Brown was standing up, and we were being shown back to the elevator.

  Owen met us by the car. Which was a surprise—Owen told me the General had cancelled the mission and ordered him to accompany me home.

  What I didn’t realise at that moment was, I was only going to the apartment to pack my shit.

  I thanked Mr Brown and asked him to send me a bill for his fee; he informed me that my guardian had paid the bill. When I had looked at him blankly, he told me the General had paid. Huh.

  So here we stand on top of an actual cliff, the dragon’s portal gateway at our backs. I stare at the view—my mouth is almost catching flies, it is hanging open that wide. Wow. Perched on the rocky cliff, hovering over the untamed beauty of the wild Atlantic, is the dragon's Irish lair—a square building that’s made entirely out of glass.

  It’s a breathtaking ultra-modern James Bond villain house.

  Shit, I hope that’s not a sign of things to come.

  The sound and smell of the sea fill my senses, the taste of saltwater heavy on my tongue—the waves of the Atlantic crash into the rocks below. I never thought a house could be so impressively beautiful. It must be at least two hundred and fifty feet above the sea. The sheer scale and dramatic impact of the cliff and house are awe-inspiring. It makes me feel small and humble.

  The surrounding countryside is lush and green. The springy coastal grass at my feet is dotted with yellow, purple, and pink wildflowers. In the distance are mountains and trees. For some strange reason, for a split second I miss my trees around Temple House. But I dismiss the thought; I don’t want to see them again. So missing them is pointless.

  This is the first time I’ve left England, and I’m in Ireland. The land of the Fae. Typically shifters are not permitted on Ireland’s shores. But the dragon, because he is a dragon, is the exception to this rule. Now so am I! How exciting.

  The dragon opens his door when Owen knocks, and we enter a bright white hallway. I hide behind Owen’s bulk and greedily take in the house, forcing myself not to gawk up at the dragon. I end up watching him out the corner of my eye anyway. His very presence is impossible to ignore.

  Oak-and-glass stairs—the perfect blend of old-fashioned and modern—lead upstairs, and another set of stairs goes down, to what I presume is a lower-ground floor. Halfway down the hall, there’s an oak door to the right and another on the left, with another double-glass doorway further ahead, perhaps leading to the living room. The smoky scent of the house is a delight to my senses. I weirdly feel like I’m home.

  Owen places my two small bags on the polished concrete floor, shakes the dragon’s offered hand, and then turns to me with a small smile. I look worriedly into his warm grey eyes.

  “You be good. Don’t be getting into too much trouble,” Owen says gruffly. “You have my number if you need me. I don’t want to hear from someone else that you beat up some troll or Fae creature, you understand me?” I grin. Owen folds me into his arms and gives me a gentle hug. “You’re safe here, I promise,” he whispers. I nod.

  “I will miss you, Nanny Hound,” I say, my voice rough. I wish he could stay.

  “Okay, that’s enough—you will see plenty of the nutty hellraiser. You can go now, hellhound Owen. Thank you for dropping her off.” The dragon glares at Owen, who nudges me gently away, and with a smile at me and a respectful nod at the dragon, he leaves.

  I forlornly watch Owen go.

  I peek up at the dragon. Shit, I have no idea what to call him. I can’t keep calling him “the dragon,” even if it’s in my head. Everyone has been calling him the General, but that isn’t his name, surely it’s his job title? Mr Brown said he’s my guardian. It’s all so confusing; I must try listening better and ask more questions.

  I am also frustrated that my bloody brother keeps on passing me off to others without asking me first. What is wrong with him? I don’t understand why John can’t find the time to talk to me and ask me what I want and where I want to live. I have money and I am supposed to be an adult. I feel like I’m in a game of Pass-the-Parcel and the music has stopped for another layer of me to be removed. If this keeps happening, nothing is going to be left. Now I am staying with a scary dragon! This is happening so fast it makes my head spin.

  “Come along, Miss Hesketh, let me show you to your room.” The dragon has been quietly observing me. He picks up my bags, and I follow meekly behind him. “I thought you would be comfortable on this floor. My bedroom is upstairs if you ever n
eed me.” I nod politely.

  The gorgeous bedroom smells of fresh paint and is at the front of the house. I am relieved that at least in this room I won’t be asleep dangling over the cliff. The external walls are glass, and the internal walls, ceiling, and woodwork are painted a magnificent dark navy. The floor is oak in a herringbone parquet. The navy should make the room feel small and dark, but it does the opposite, and the two glass walls bring the outside inside, highlighting the spectacular view of the mountains. The navy blue reminds me of the first time I saw the night sky after years of seeing nothing but bars. It's the colour when the sky is clear, the short time before the stars come out and it hasn't quite gotten fully dark. The smell of paint hints that the dragon had the room painted for me.

  The bed is king-sized, and I run my hand across the mustard-yellow bedding with delicate blue flowers. There’s a round mustard-yellow rug on the floor. I step further into the room and notice the floorplan narrows towards a door to the left, which I presume is a bathroom. It has open-style oak wardrobes on either side of the doorway. I glance behind the wardrobe, which is not flush to the wall, and see the reason for the narrowing. Next to the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows is a little hidden nook, also painted in the navy. I gasp as I take in the empty shelves begging for books and the substantial squishy-looking navy bean bag on the floor. It’s the perfect reading nook. I want to squeal. I hold in the noise by the skin of my teeth and instead grin like a loon.

  My eyes catch a familiar photo frame alone on a shelf, and for a second, I can’t breathe. My knees go weak. I trace the glass with my finger, and my mum and sister smile back at me.

  My eyes fill with tears.

  “I hope you find the room agreeable.” I spin and see that the dragon is still watching me from the door. I react without thinking. I rush towards him, throw my arms around his waist, and give him an impromptu hug.

  “Thank you,” I whisper into his abs. I might as well be hugging a tree for all the reaction I get from him, and wow his muscles have muscles. The dragon is solid. But I don’t care at this moment; the dragon deserves a hug. I bury my face in his shirt and breathe him in. After twenty or so seconds, I pull back and glance up. “Thank you…the photo...” I say, trying to hold in a sob; I swallow it down, and my eyes shine up at him. “The room is perfect. It is so very thoughtful of you to have it painted.” The dragon is standing awkwardly with his arms out at his sides, holding a bag in each hand. I step away and give him a watery, bright smile.