The Last Wolf Fae (A Wolf Fae Saga Book 1)

by T M Caruana

  “What have you eaten today?” he whispered gently.

  Mickey let off yet another high-pitched sound through his nose and sat down, crossing his legs. He was still staring at the clock on the wall, making rocking motions forwards and backwards to the rhythm of the tick-tocks.

  “Let him be. He has been impossible all day,” Wallace’s mother called from the kitchen. “I have made you beef stew today and an apple pie.”

  The beef stew was Wallace’s favourite. His mother added potato, carrots and a magic touch that made him feel young again. The apple pie was good as well, however he preferred her rhubarb crumble.

  “It smells lovely, Mother,” he complimented, as he carefully sat down on the newly glued together kitchen chair.

  “Any interesting news today on the TV?”

  His mother grunted. “Only nonsense.”

  She scooped up some stew into a flowery porcelain bowl and placed it in front of Wallace.

  “The government is predicting there’s going to be another economic crisis and they’ve called a meeting to negotiate austerity measures to lower next year’s budget. I don’t call that news anymore,” she complained, referring to the reduced pension suggested, which seemed to be on the agenda constantly.

  “Mickey is getting worse,” Wallace commented after his mother had taken a seat next to him.

  “I think he’s the same,” she murmured, trying to defend her grandson.

  “Maybe he would make more progress in a home.”

  His mother stopped eating, obviously shocked and looked up at him. She didn’t speak and Wallace could see she was contemplating his suggestion. She would hate the idea, but would want to do what was best for Mickey.

  “Or become worse,” she finally commented.

  “We don’t know that.”

  “He would hate it.”

  “At first. But he could learn.”

  “Learn? He has been staring at the clock the entire day,” she blurted out angrily and pointed towards the clock and where the boy was still sitting.

  “I’m sure they have a clock in the home,” Wallace said with a surrendering smile.

  They both laughed, trying to find comfort in a sore subject. Then Wallace’s face suddenly changed.

  “If he got to grips with how to shift into a wolf I don’t even know if I could hold him inside the house. He could become dangerous. He has the gene you know.”

  “I know,” was the only thing his mother could say.

  “I had an offer today. By a grey wolf nonetheless.”

  “An offer? From a grey wolf? What type of offer?”

  “It was strange. A man sat down next to me at the pitch. He wanted to enter me into a competition.”

  “A competition?”

  “Yes. The cash prize was a large sum of money.”

  “Sounds too good to be true,” his mother warned and grabbed the oven gloves to bring the apple pie out of the oven.

  It smelt divine.

  “I’ll put on the kettle for tea,” Wallace offered as he noticed his mother’s back had become worse again. “You sit.”

  “So, you want to place Mickey in a home so you can enter this ‘competition’,” she said, and cut slices out of the pie to place on two dishes.

  “It would only be for a few weeks. They wouldn’t mind at work. They don’t need a caretaker at the school during the summer.”

  “And the coaching?”

  “I’m sure another parent can cover.”

  “I’m sure you will make up your own mind, but for what it’s worth, my opinion is that you shouldn’t put Mickey in and out of homes. It’ll be very stressful for him. If you place him in a home you should keep him in it.”

  “If I win I will have enough money to hire private help for him around the house. If I lose I will keep him in the home and we can visit him there. How does that sound?”

  “Well, I’m not getting any younger. Honestly, I do find taking care of him a challenge. Perhaps it was meant to be,” she muttered. “Please, just take some time to think it through though,” she urged, and finished off the last crumbs on her plate.

  Wallace nodded and took a deep breath to gather strength to approach Mickey. It was time for bed and he hated the daily fights. It normally ended up with him carrying Mickey into his room, kicking and screaming. He then had to force off his clothes to change him into his pyjamas, kiss him good night and leave him sitting balled up in the middle of the floor. Eventually, Wallace knew he would make his way into his bed, flick the night-light five times and then fall asleep.

  Knowing about the potential escape offered by Sir John made the routine seem harder than normal, as if he had a choice to get out of it.

  By the middle of the week that followed he had already decided to accept this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He went into the school library and after having changed three light bulbs, he accessed his email account from one of the computers and wrote to inform Sir John.

  Dear Sir John,

  Thank you for the opportunity to be a contestant in your competition. I’m pleased to confirm I will accept the offer. I’m looking forward to seeing you and the other contestants on the first of July at 10:00am.

  Kind regards,

  Wallace

  <><><>

  Sat in front of his computer, Sir John’s email pinged, showing an incoming message. He clicked it open and viewed the screen with much delight. He was happy to have secured all three of his contestants. He hadn’t been this excited of a challenge since when he had found and killed Alfred’s grandfather. After the red alpha had been concealing his tracks to his whereabouts for four years, Sir John finally had sighted of him. Sir John had wanted to weaken the red wolf pack, but not for his action to break out in a full bloody wolf war. If the event had been noticed by the packs, it could have jeopardised the entire Blue Wolfprint Treaty. But the Wolf War project had been a success. The red wolves were none the wiser of how the grey wolves were slowly penetrating into the red wolves’ territory, killing them and the Wolf Fae off. The message of Alfred’s grandfather’s death being an accident, had been music to Sir John’s ears. Now, one million pounds was in sight and the music would be even sweeter, knowing he could silence that stuck up Conservative Party boy and leave him with nothing – until he could make his next strike against his pack.

  6

  SIMON FIRELL

  Liz was still in shock when she left the research institute late that evening. It had been an exhausting day so she picked up a vegan pizza on her way home. The Green Skyway project had gone from; a highly expensive recycling, restraint of animal killing and replanting plan, to a human behaviour observation project. A project that was going to demonstrate how people would react in a situation of starvation. A reactive solution rather than proactive. Instead of preventing people from being starved we were going to see how to deal with the starvation as it came.

  ‘I can’t believe today’ was a thought that went around in her head many times on the car ride home. She didn’t want to disappoint Alfred – the only one who had supported her cause, however she couldn’t believe that they were to let people die unwillingly for such a childish bet. Perhaps the observations would prove that the Green Skyway project was necessary, and perhaps Alfred wouldn’t go to the extreme of letting anyone die. Of course that was just an exaggeration in the heat of the moment, right? It could demonstrate a good point and save a lot of suffering animals.

  Liz sat down to enjoy her pizza in front of the TV. She started to view all the actors in a different light as they displayed different characters. What type of candidates would she choose? A teacher? A chef? Or a policeman? Perhaps the question was not a profession but a stage in their lives. Should she invite someone who was already dying from an illness or old age? She needed someone who would be savage enough to kill, as that would win her the bet and initiate the project, yet someone who would have the mental strength to stay sane in captivity. It needed to be someone who no one would want to kill
or who was strong enough to defend themselves and not get killed. However, whoever she picked, she knew that she would have to live the rest of her life knowing that the person’s death was her fault.

  The following morning she headed for the hospital and snuck into the dayroom on the cancer ward. Her slender body felt lost as she sat in a large chair at a round table, trying to be invisible; dressed in black. She definitely felt like a black sheep. She shook her head back and tied her short brown hair in a ponytail, strapping it tightly so no strands could fall out.

  She watched a pale man standing by the window, looking lost and almost dead already. He had no hair, no smile and tubes stuck far up through his veins. He was scruffy, smelling of human. Although, Liz thought his appearance showed a man who had once cared for his looks. Suddenly, he walked slowly over towards her, pulling his intravenous drip after him, to sit down next to her. Liz didn’t know how to react and felt herself sinking further into the chair.

  “I haven’t seen you here before. Who are you visiting?” the man, who looked to be in his fifties, queried kindly.

  He looked over at the other patients and their trivial activities. Liz’s skin crawled on her arms. She couldn’t tell him the real reason why she was there. She felt uncomfortable, not knowing what to answer.

  “This place is overwhelming, huh?” he added as his gaze wandered over her once more.

  “A bit,” she admitted and bit her tongue.

  The gentleman next to her showed kindness. Not the type of man she needed to win, but one she could sacrifice and still feel like a human afterwards. She didn’t want to lie to him and felt an inexplicable urge to confide in him.

  “To be honest, I don’t know why I’m here. I thought I would find the right person, but now I’m not sure.”

  “Perhaps I can help you. Who are you looking for?”

  “I’m really sorry. I need to leave,” Liz excused herself, as she pushed back her chair.

  “Don’t be silly. Please sit down and tell me. I’m sure we can work it out,” the man said softly.

  He obviously didn’t want a scene, and patted Liz’s hand. She sighed. His eyes were truly hypnotically comforting. She couldn’t do anything other than sit back down.

  “I’m all ears,” he said.

  “I’m in over my head with a bet, and now I can’t get out of it. I need to find three volunteers.”

  “Oh,” he said and looked surprised. “I see. And you thought you would find competitive people here?” he stated, insinuating that he could understand why she had assumed all of them were dying sooner or later.

  A stab of guilt struck Liz, triggering in return a feeling of utter panic.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” she repeated and made a move to leave.

  “You know what? I think you are here to see me.”

  “What?” Liz questioned confusedly.

  “I only had to lay my eyes upon you from the moment you came in through the doorway, to see you were a genuinely kind soul in a pressured situation. Your true intentions are good, aren’t they?”

  “They were, but now I’m not sure if the line of goodness has been crossed.”

  “I’m sure it hasn’t. I’ll help you.”

  “You will?”

  “Of course. I don’t have many months left anyway and I would love to spend my last period on Earth knowing I have contributed to a good cause.”

  Liz felt even guiltier, as he wanted to give his help to a truly worthy cause and Liz didn’t know if this would be counted as such.

  “You really don’t have to.”

  “I want to. What do you need me to do, Miss..?”

  “Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Liz.”

  “I’m Simon.”

  “Nice to meet you, Simon.”

  “Likewise. Now, tell me how I can help you.”

  “Enter into a TV competition where you can consume anything inside a fully stocked supermarket until the last man is left standing.”

  “That’s it? It sounds fun. Heavenly actually. What cause does it help?”

  “Well, it’s a survival competition…”

  “Ironic.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You are asking a dying man to enter a survival competition, just to actually die a few months later.”

  “That is ironic and morbid,” she murmured and stared down at the table.

  “It’s alright. You don’t have to tell me the reason for the competition. I will do it anyway. It clearly is a new hot TV series where you would want to keep the information secret from the press,” he said honestly and jokingly. “Am I right?”

  “Right,” she confirmed.

  “And you have never done anything like this before - no previous experience in mentoring?”

  “Never,” she confirmed, thinking that this wasn’t really the usual kind of thing people engaged in.

  “Well, I’ve practised staying alive for the last year and will do my best for you.”

  They both laughed softly, yet it was overshadowed by a gloomy sadness.

  “Now I have to make myself ready for my daughter’s visit.”

  “You have a daughter?” Liz queried and felt struck with guilt again.

  “Yes, two actually.”

  “Don’t worry,” he comforted, hunching down towards her to attract her eye. “They will be glad not to have to interrupt their everyday lives visiting me. They’ve had enough time with me.”

  He stood up and also helped Liz to stand, stretching out both his hands.

  “Give me the details of where I need to be and off you go.”

  Liz hesitated to grab her handbag. Eventually she slowly opened up the zip to search for a pen and paper to scribble down the time and address.

  7

  JENNIFER SALOMON

  Shaking, she went back to her car in the large hospital car park. After having slammed the car door shut she started weeping. She let the tears flood for a good ten minutes before she dried them with her sleeve. She had to think. She still needed two more candidates. She knew a classmate; a dingo, from her young school days that she hardly would call friend and Liz had recently found out she had been diagnosed with MS. Liz believed the dingo was still able to work and therefore she would find her at the photo studio. Jennifer had that desired mysterious Asian exotic look and made a decent career from modelling. She had always been tall and thin, not to mention being a total diva - typical dingoes. They always ran solo. No pack could ever convince them to join. Jennie’s studio was located outside North-east London and a whole day’s venture away.

  <><><>

  When Liz woke up the following morning she double checked the booking reference for the hotel she was going to stay in as well as ensuring she had her driver’s licence packed. Trying to save the planet; minimising emissions, she normally never drove, but the road to North-east London was long and with public transport there were a lot of stops and changes on the way.

  Before she zipped shut her bag she laid her eyes on the top item. The yearbook. She had dug it out for nostalgic reasons. It was also good to familiarise herself with her classmates’ names again in case it would serve to invoke old memories to convince Jennifer of her cause. She was glad she had as she spotted the comment Jennifer had written over her picture. ‘You’ll be somebody’. The comment felt more as a show-off when guessing classmates’ future position rather than an encouragement. But it suited Liz well right now, as she would be able to throw it back in her face.

  Liz looked around her minimalistic apartment to ensure she hadn’t forgotten anything as she spun her key-ring around her index finger. The walls were painted green to instil nature’s calm and they featured animals in artistic or abstract pictures to remind her of the similarity of their emotions compared to humans and their equal rights to live peacefully on our Earth. There was no need for Liz to check her fridge, as there was nothing in it that would go bad in two days. She was a vegan and therefore had no eggs, dairy or meat. She had bought some veg
an bread that hadn’t been very nice so if it was stale when she returned, it wouldn’t be a great loss.

  <><><>

  Jennifer sat at her stage table with all the light bulbs around the mirror glaring back into her face. She had a large contract this week and was pleased at not being able to spot any acne.

  “You’re up in two minutes,” an assistant informed her, prompting Jennifer to stand up so she could rub more oil on her legs.

  Jennifer dismissed her with a short wave of her hand. She knew she had to start making her way slowly as her nerves had started to disobey her. Sudden or fast movements had become excruciatingly painful. She chatted with colleagues along the way in order to portray a casual and popular image.

  “Jennie, hurry up!” the photographer shouted with his camera at an angle in front of the green screen.

  “It’s not a party until I’ve arrived,” she jokingly commented, not having to admit to her body’s defeat.

  It had become her catch phrase lately, as her condition only got worse by the day. She opened her arms in a self-confident manner stating ‘look at me, here I come’. She slowly strutted in her black stilettos to take her position. She spread her legs into a perfect pyramid and bent her body slightly forward to let her breasts become prominent in the black low-cut leotard.

  “Bend down a little more,” the photographer instructed and kept his finger on the button.

  Jennifer wanted to sigh, knowing that leaning forward further would be torture to her back, but showed a confident smile instead and did as she was asked. It was her job and if she couldn’t do her job she was out. It wasn’t a permanent employment but a contractual one that could be cancelled at the employer’s discretion. She needed the money. The doctor had predicted she wouldn’t be able to walk in six months’ time and it would be jerky even before then. It already was. She needed to save up money to live the luxury lifestyle she was used to. The sick pension didn’t cover much considering she would need extra help with personal assistants, if she wanted to die in her parent’s guest house at her childhood country home rather than in a home.