His eyes fell on the page like it had burst into flames in front of him. He reached out to unfold it, the paper light and delicate between his fingers, and Ivy could see Mae’s ornate handwriting again, unmistakable. Hunter read it over at least twice then huffed. “Well, that doesn’t leave a lot up to debate.”
“I’m really sorry.” The words poured out of her as heat rose in her face. “I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid, and—”
“How long have you known?”
Ivy snapped her mouth shut.
His grip on the letter tightened. “How. Long.”
“If you count the time I was unconscious,” she said breathlessly, “it’s been about a week.”
Hunter dropped the letter on the table and ran his hands through his hair with a low growl.
“God, I know I should have told you immediately. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not mad at you.” He was running his hands over his face, and the words came out muddled.
“What? Why not?”
Hunter stood and started pacing again, this time quicker, more frantic, and Ivy took a step back against the bookcases on the other side of the room. “You knew for, what, seven days? And it’s clearly eating away at you.” He gestured to her as he paced. “That’s nothing compared to knowing for my whole life!”
He wasn’t wrong, but the tinge of relief from the pressure being lifted didn’t last. “I think Mae was protecting you,” she ventured carefully.
“She’s always trying to protect me,” he spat.
“Yeah, but this is different.” Ivy watched him, speaking even though her instinct told her not to. “In that letter Mae seemed worried about the rest of the Vlceks. Rufus could have left everything to you, you know? And that might have really pissed them off. You don’t know what they might have done. I mean, it sounds like she thinks they’ll kill you, even now.” Ivy’s heart pounded a little harder at the thought. “She loves you, and this might have been the only way to keep you alive.”
Hunter stopped at the window, his back to her. She didn’t know if her words sunk in, but she wished she could feel one whit of whatever coursed through him to understand. It would have been nice to have some kind of charmed ability, hexed or not, to feel what he felt, but Ivy was only human.
“I guess,” Hunter began, leaning against the window frame. “It sort of makes sense.” He let out a low laugh and wiped at his brow.
“Maybe you should sit back down.” She noticed a trickle of sweat running from his temple, his face red. “You don’t look so good.”
“Yeah, but I feel like I have all this energy all of a sudden.” He shook his arms and his head. “Like I need to go for a run or something. I mean, it’s just a lot of information, you know? This changes everything, doesn’t it? Everything about my life has been pushing me in a specific direction, to be a specific person, a pureblooded Proctor. But it’s not…it’s not true, is it?”
His hair was messy from running hands through it, and his chest even looked a little bigger as he took deep breaths. He started to pace across the room again. No, not pace—that wasn’t the right word for it, Ivy thought, watching him. He was stalking. “Hey, so I have a funny question.”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye but didn’t stop.
“Since I am just a dumb human and everything,”—she cleared her throat—“I don’t know a whole lot about how you people work, but in the movies werewolves are usually, like, made, ya know? Like, you get bit, yadda yadda yadda, then you’re a wolfman. But I have a weird feeling that’s not one hundred percent accurate.”
“It’s a curse,” he snorted, then laughed, a dark, hollow sound. “Passed on through blood.”
Ivy glanced nervously back to the window. The moon was full, and Hunter was really sweating now.
“So—” Her voice caught, her eyes flicking back down to his cell phone as it buzzed again, ignored. “If you’re not a pureblood witch because Rufus is your father…” She was staring at him hard, unblinking, but he was still stalking the room, and he was huffing a bit now too. And somehow he just looked bigger. Like, a lot bigger.
“I know I said I wasn’t mad at you, but you don’t have to rub it in. I—” He came to a stop, realizing without her having to say. Ivy felt a rush of relief like the ocean pulling away to reveal the shore, and then a cold wave of dread knocked any confidence right out of her.
Hunter turned to the window, the moonlight streaming in on him. From somewhere out in the darkness there was a muffled, low howl. “Oh, shit.”
Chapter 39
Ivy panicked. Panicking is, after all, exactly what one does when one finds themselves trapped in a room with someone who is transforming into a human-wolf hybrid. Suddenly Hunter’s anger at her showing up on his doorstep and the way he’d pulled her inside made so much more sense. Tonight was a full moon. What the hell was she thinking?
She watched as Hunter grabbed at his chest, silhouetted against the moonlight that streamed in through the window. He doubled over and began to retch.
She could run for it, she thought, glancing back at the door, but then she’d be out there, and she’d heard the howling. There would be many of them, and in comparison, one seemed better. Not good, certainly, but better.
Hunter stood straight then, his hand gripping the curtains. He was taking short, heavy breaths, his eyes focused on the ground. Still frozen to her spot, Ivy ventured carefully with her voice, “How’s it going, buddy?”
Slowly, he craned his neck toward her, and she saw in his eye the change. His lids were heavy, but the blue was sharp and icy. He didn’t have to speak for her to have her answer.
Hunter leapt onto the coffee table with the movement of something inhuman. He leaned forward, his arms freakishly long now, and he gripped the edge, his spine curved and hunching. Hunter cried out in pain as the back of his shirt ripped open, and Ivy screamed as each vertebra pushed up against his skin. He lunged toward her, and she finally broke from her fear, crashing back into the bookcases and out of his reach.
But then he flipped the table as he dismounted, clear he was not going for her, instead stalking across the room. Clumsily, he forced himself up onto two legs even as his limbs contorted, the sound of cracking bones and rending flesh filling up the space. His form smashed into the counter that separated the living room and kitchen, throwing the stools into the wall and sweeping dishes and pots onto the floor with a crash.
Hunter pulled himself up onto the counter, his skin changing as tufts of dark fur formed in amorphous patches. Ivy couldn’t catch her breath, choking out a cry of surprise, and Hunter stopped, turning back to her, poised on the edge of the counter like a gargoyle.
His face had changed too, a snout protruding from his skull and filled with sharpened, pointed teeth. Gods, so many teeth.
Ivy scrambled to her feet as she watched him throw himself over the counter and start to rip open the drawers in the kitchen. He was making an absolute mess and a racket, but he wasn’t ripping her to shreds, and as she saw his fingers change into claws, fumbling everything he attempted to pick up, she was thankful.
But then Hunter stopped his mad scramble, grabbing onto the counter and growling deep in his throat before releasing a howl that made Ivy rush to cover her ears. The creature that had once been Hunter threw back its head, its neck and face thick with chestnut fur, its shoulders wide and hunched, and with a final animalistic cry, it collapsed to the ground.
From her spot in the corner of the living room, she listened to the new quiet that spread out over the condo. There were noises coming from behind the counter, horrible, but muffled and weak. Like the wailing of something trapped and in pain, a wince or a yelp floated up over the counter, coupled with the grunting and growling of something ready to strike. Hunter was big enough as a man, she didn’t want to know what would become of him as a lycan, images of the beasts in the paperback handbook from the holistic shop flashing through her mind.
Then his phone buzzed agai
n, scattered onto the floor from his rampage and now at Ivy’s feet. She looked down to see the caller: Mom. It was his sixth missed call. What could be so important, Ivy wondered, then gasped. “The medicine!”
He’d taken it faithfully since childhood for some mystery illness, and Mae had been the one to first administer it. Hunter didn’t question what it was for, not really, and now, because of Ivy, he’d missed a dose of the one thing keeping him from this change his whole life. And on the worst day possible. His mad scramble for the kitchen suddenly made sense, the pieces put together seconds too late as his brain and body betrayed him all at once.
Ivy took stiff, short steps toward the kitchen where she ducked down and peeked around the cabinets. He’d smashed the hanging light, leaving the room dark, the glow from the living room just casting itself over some of the space. The drawers lay in pieces against the back wall, their innards spilled out on the tile, utensils, batteries, glass, junk, and in the center of it all lay a dark form atop a pile of tattered clothing. It was breathing shallowly, each one coming out through its snout with a huff, and its barrel of a chest rose and fell in violent jerks. The limbs were long and powerful looking, the paws massive with curling talons on each end, and wrapped around its form was a bristly, thick tail.
Ivy’s palms were slick with sweat as she tried to pull herself up on shaking legs. Painfully slow and silent, she took another careful but more courageous step into the kitchen. From this angle she could see the creature—Hunter—better, and it wasn’t exactly what she had pictured. Sure, it had four legs, a tail, a muzzle, but its skin wasn’t grey and patchy, and its teeth weren’t hanging out over its jaw, dripping with saliva. Really nothing about it read terrifying half-man, half-monster hybrid, and if Ivy didn’t know better—though perhaps she didn’t—she would have thought this was just someone’s rather big dog taking a nap in the trash it had exhausted itself on ripping open.
The animal raised its head, and Ivy inhaled sharply as a piercing, blue eye fell on her. Clumsily, it pulled itself to its four feet and backed into the corner of the room, dipping its head low and growling.
“Easy, boy,” she cautioned, her hands out, then stuck out her tongue at her words. “Hunter, it’s me. It’s Ivy.”
The wolf snarled, then sniffed the air, pulling its ears forward again.
“You recognize me, right?” She heard her voice crack as she nodded at him. “I’m going to help you.”
Hunter’s animal form flopped its head over, eyes narrowing.
Ivy took a few steps into the kitchen, and the animal growled again. She spread out her fingers. “Listen, you don’t have thumbs anymore. You need me.”
The dog let out a whimper but sat back and watched her as she carefully looked through a drawer that had already been pulled from the cabinets. As she searched, she gained confidence, moving quicker, being louder, but with glances over at the dog who simply watched, its ears twitching and head turning. Once she even reminded him in a gentle tone that this was why it was important to put things back where they belonged, and the dog grumbled back. Finally, Ivy found the vial, and she held it up with a happy squeal.
She turned to the dog and showed him. It took a few steps toward her, ears back again. As it came closer, she jerked back. No normal dog, this was indeed a wolf, so big it could have wrapped its jaws entirely around her head. Still, after letting him have a sniff, she pulled out the stopper and eased the vial near him to offer it. Then it was the wolf’s turn to pull away, and he stuck his snout into the air.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, eyeing him and shaking the vial.
The wolf gave it another sniff then whined and shook its head, its pointed ears flopping.
“Come on now.” She eased down onto her knees, level with him. “Don’t be difficult. It can’t be that bad.”
The wolf grumbled in that way only petulant canines do and turned its back to her, sitting on the ground and wrapping its tail around itself with a huff.
Ivy’s mouth fell open, then she grumbled back in that way that only exasperated women do, deciding she’d had enough. Crawling forward, she reached over the shoulders of the massive animal and grabbed his snout with one hand and tried to tip the vial into his mouth with the other, but he was strong, jaw locked shut. “Cooperate,” she muttered, trying to hold him still by pulling him up against her while he wriggled his head this way and that. “I’m just trying to help you!”
Ivy may not have had experience with hexed creatures, but she had dosed her parents’ cat twice a day for two weeks when it had a UTI, and she knew there was only one way to do this. When the wolf threw its head back again, Ivy wrapped an arm around his neck and slid a finger between its teeth. It was only one finger, she thought, and she had nine more which would be enough to get the liquid down his throat at least. Hopefully he had some kind of appendage reattachment spell if things went awry.
His jaws popped open then, and in a flash, Ivy tried to dump the contents of the vial into his mouth, the viscous liquid splashing over his snout and down her own hand. She dropped the empty container and wrapped her hand around his nose to try and keep it closed, running the other hand down his throat to coax him to swallow.
The wolf fought, trying to thrash away, but she wrapped her legs around his body and held him tight up against her. “Swallow it!” she yelled, rubbing his throat a bit more aggressively.
The animal was strong, its muscles moving under her, and her heart pounded as she shut her eyes. Ivy had a moment of clarity about what a horrible idea this had been, but she was committed and only squeezed tighter. She assumed that potion was meant to keep him from changing, but she couldn’t know that for sure, and even if she were lucky enough to have been right, she had no idea if it would change him back.
And how much had even gotten into his mouth? She could smell it all over her hand, sickly sweet, and feel the stickiness in his fur. That certainly wasn’t helping. Gods, she thought, holding on with all her might, any second he could throw her off into the cabinets, they would splinter and impale her, and he would rip whatever was left limb from limb with those horrifying fangs.
Then the wolf stopped moving. She ceased stroking his throat, but she didn’t stop squeezing lest he get some second wind. She was afraid to even open her eyes, so instead she listened. He was breathing differently, slower, longer, and there was no more guttural growl vibrating off his form. She let her grip loosen the smallest bit, the body beneath different now too, warmer and less…furry?
Ivy popped an eye open. She had her arms wrapped around his neck from behind and her chest pressed up against his back, but he was him again, totally human. No sign of paws nor snout, just skin and arms and legs, totally Hunter. And totally naked.
“I…” Hunter lifted his hands and flexed his fingers, voice cracking. “I’m back.”
Ivy’s eyes went wide, and she jerked away, banging her head on a pulled-out drawer and yelping.
“Ivy?” Hunter turned over his shoulder, surprised she was there.
She rubbed the back of her head and blinked, sitting up, her vision focusing. He was sweaty and pale, but otherwise himself again. Ivy swallowed, training her eyes on his face. “Good to see you’re…you.”
“That was wild.” He sounded groggy and far away.
“Mmhmm.” Ivy squinted, feeling her face go red. “That’s one word for it.”
“You saved me,” he said, turning to her fully. “You got me my body back.”
Ivy hadn’t blinked in a long time, afraid if she lost focus on his face her vision would end up somewhere else. “Yes. Your whole,”—she gestured to him—“completely naked body.”
“Oh!” He scrambled for what was left of his shirt and pants on the ground and pulled them into his lap. “Ha, yeah. Thanks.”
She covered her face to hide her laughter, relaxing more carefully against the cabinets. “I can’t believe that worked. I really thought…” Her voice trailed off as a smell hit her, and she pulled her hand awa
y from her face seeing the amber-colored stain. She knew that smell, unique and sweet. “Hunter, do you know what’s in that medication?” She pointed to where the empty vial had ended up on the floor.
“Lots of stuff.” He shifted uncomfortably, holding his tattered pants in front of him and reaching for the vial. He tipped it upside down, now empty. “Good thing we grow most of the ingredients.”
“What makes it smell so sweet?”
“Oh, uh, that would be the nifolia.”
“Nifolia,” she repeated, standing and going back into the living room. The Witch’s Encyclopedia of Herbs had been flung against the wall, and she grabbed it, searching the index for the plant.
“It’s not technically legal to grow, sort of like a controlled substance or whatever.”
She could hear Hunter getting up and moving through the condo behind her but convinced herself not to steal a look. Instead, she focused on the book and finally found the page, the blooming plant painted in detail alongside its description. It was under a section marked Dastardly, Devious, and Deadly. “Is it a poison?”
“Sort of,” he called back from where he’d disappeared down the hall. “It disrupts magic and can draw stuff out of you, so it’s great for anti-toxins. There was even some in what I used to treat that tarantula bite of yours.” Hunter emerged from the hall wearing sweatpants and carrying a shirt. “Huh. Maybe I should have realized…” He scratched at his head.
Ivy went to him and shoved the book into his face, making him stop in his tracks. “I saw this plant at your parents’ house, in the garden. It was all chopped up, but it had one bloom left.”
He looked at least a little guilty, but without his shirt on she cared less than she probably should have. “We grow it because it’s expensive and hard to get, but only a single bush.”
“This was in Rufus’s tea.” She poked the pages of the book, staring at Hunter. “The night he died.”
The Association Page 26