The Wolfborne Saga Box Set

by Cheree Alsop

  “Jeffrey takes what he wants to wear down to the guest house and leaves the rest up here,” she said. “I like to steal his shirts.” She tossed one my way. “That should work.”

  I hoped she didn’t realize she was the reason she could see in the dark. She peered toward a stack of pants and the light grew brighter so that she could see it. Without noticing, she selected a pair of black jeans and tossed those at me to go with the red tee-shirt.

  “Socks, socks, socks,” she muttered under her breath. “Where does Jeff keep his socks?”

  “I’m fine with bare feet,” I replied.

  She gave me an exasperated look. “You’re lucky your feet aren’t torn to shreds. Jeff can spare socks and shoes, and anything else you want if you’ve a mind to it.” She gave me a conspiratorial wink. “I won’t tell him.”

  I cleared my throat uncomfortably and hefted the clothes I held. “These should be fine, thanks.”

  Isley pulled out a drawer. “Here they are,” she said more to herself than to me. “I knew they’d be here somewhere. And as for shoes.” She lifted her voice and asked as she shifted through the many pairs on the pull-out shelves, “Are you more of a basketball shoe type or a hiking boot type?”

  I had no idea that shoes required a type.

  When I didn’t answer, she glanced at me. “Oh, yeah. You like to walk.” She pulled out a pair of white shoes that looked as if they had never been worn before. “Tennis shoes for sure.”

  She set the shoes on the stack in my arms. A satisfied nod was followed by, “Go get dressed. I’ll meet you in the kitchen. We can warm up with some cocoa.”

  I was grateful when she left. Changing in front of a girl wasn’t anything new, but outside of the Lair, it felt completely different. We weren’t soldiers working together to protect our Master. This was a true human, innocent, vulnerable, and perhaps a little desperate. And I was a werewolf driven by mostly animalistic instincts. The combination wouldn’t be a good thing, especially considering any contact with her could be deadly. The more distance we had between us, the better.

  The voice in the back of my mind reminded me that she had already seen my scars. She had walked into the dressing room at the store Alia worked at when I was changing, and the look on her face when she saw the burns that marked every available place on my back, chest, and torso was enough to remind me that I would never truly fit in as human. But as Mrs. Willard had said in her own sweet way, nobody went through what I did and survived without having a life wish. The problem was figuring out what kind of a life went with a wish like that.

  It wasn’t until I was in the clean clothes that smelled of laundry detergent and aftershave that I remembered Virgo. I hopped to the door with one shoe tied and attempted to put on the other as I called out, “Isley, do you have another phone?” I would have skipped the shoes altogether, but Isley had already been suspicious about why I wasn’t wearing any earlier. Humans were funny with their footwear. Also, if Jeffrey didn’t mind me taking them, I was sure another werewolf back at the Willards could use them.

  A door opened further down the hall and Isley stepped out. She wore a clean white form-fit tee-shirt and jeans, her own feet snug in a pair of beige flat-soled shoes. She rubbed her hair with a towel as she looked me up and down. “You may have to shop here more often. It suits you.”

  I gave a nervous chuckle and replied, “Uh, thanks.” My thoughts shifted to what was pressing and I said, “Can we call Virgo? He’s probably still combing Brickwell trying to find you. We were supposed to meet at the Willards if we couldn’t.” I didn’t say it was to send an entire pack of werewolves after her. She truly would have hated me then.

  “I don’t have Virgo’s number, but we can call Alia,” Isley replied. “Come on. We’ll have to use my dad’s phone since I lost mine.”

  She led the way back down the stairs. I found myself watching her, the way she moved smoothly like a dancer, her feet light on each step. She would have made an excellent fighter.

  The thought grounded me. What was I doing in her house? Why was I watching her walk down the stairs? My defensive response was that she was walking in front of me and I had nowhere else to look. The cynical other voice in my head replied that she shouldn’t have brought me here and it was her fault. I hated when the voices in my head argued.

  “Go in the kitchen,” Isley called over her shoulder. “I’ll get Dad’s phone and meet you there. We can grab something to eat.”

  My stomach growled at the mention of food.

  She glanced back at me over her shoulder. “I heard that. When was the last time you ate?”

  The thought of the tea at the witches’ house made my stomach clench. “It’s been a while,” I replied vaguely.

  She shook her head. “Zev, somebody’s got to take care of you.”

  Alia had said the same thing. I gritted my teeth and turned away. I could take care of myself.

  I listened to Isley’s footsteps on the marble floor as I followed my nose toward the kitchen. Rain pattered against the windows of the open room. Huge marble countertops met white cupboards tall enough that a sliding white ladder like those I had seen in libraries on movies was used to access the tops. Two refrigerators, two stoves, and four sinks didn’t even clutter up the place. Uncertain where to begin, I took a seat on a stool at the counter beneath a suspended pallet hung with multicolored glass bottles. The recessed lighting above caught in the glass and sent colorful patterns across the marble countertop.

  I held my hand open and let a green splash of light splay across it. The burns from Isley had healed completely. My eyes traveled downward to the new one on my arm where she had brushed against me upstairs.

  “I’ve got it,” Isley said when she entered the room.

  I held out my hand, but she pulled back.

  “Not until you tell me something.”

  My stomach tightened. “What?”

  She watched me closely when she asked, “How stupid do you think I am? I may be pathetic and alone, but I wasn’t born yesterday.” Her eyes held a flash of the old Isley I knew, the one that stood up to me for spilling orange Julius on her at the mall and the one who cut my hair despite my PTSD reaction to the water.

  “You were there when the witches were trying to stop the bite from killing me. I remember bits and pieces of it. I felt like I was losing myself, like the light was too much. It wanted me to go to it. It needed me, but I didn’t want to go.” Her eyes lost their focus as she thought back. “I remember you grabbing my arm, and everything pulled back together. I found myself again. How did you do that?”

  “Well, I—,” I began, but she cut me off.

  She pointed to my arm. “Do you really think I fell for your spider excuse? I burned you! Am I going to burn everyone I touch?”

  Desperation showed in her gaze when she said, “Zev, I feel like I’m going crazy here. I need the truth. I need to know what’s going on, or…or I’m going to throw myself off the roof.”

  My heart skipped a beat at the deadly seriousness in her eyes. I couldn’t lie to her anymore. She might hate me forever, but there was no way I could make up anything plausible with her watching me so closely. As much as it would hurt to see her fear, I didn’t want to lie to her ever again.

  I gave in with a nod and saw her tight shoulders relax. “Sit down,” I said, motioning toward a stool that was far enough from me that the heat I could feel from her wouldn’t distract me. When she did as I instructed, I asked, “What did the witches tell you?”

  “They really are witches?” she replied. At my nod, she looked relieved but also a bit more distressed. “Why are there witches?”

  Caught off-guard by her train of thought, I replied with the truth, “Because there is good and bad in this world that is sometimes more powerful than normal humans can withstand.”

  Isley thought about that for a moment before she asked, “Are you a witch?”

  I shook my head.

  Her eyes tightened as she studied me.
“But you’re something else? Not human?”

  My throat tightened, but I said, “I’m not human.”

  Her voice was hesitant when she asked, “Am I safe with you?”

  Of course not, the voice in my mind growled. I’m a monster. I’ve brought about the deaths of many humans. I am a trained murderer, a warrior, a soldier who could snap your neck with a single squeeze. I’m an animal.

  I let out the breath I had been holding and said, “I will protect you with my life if I have to.”

  She nodded again. I could see the millions of questions in her eyes. It was clear by her expression that she didn’t know where to start. It was my turn.

  “Isley, you’re what is called an elemental.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, her tone flat as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  “You’re a nature spirit who derives your power from an element. In this case, it’s the light,” I explained.

  She shoved a strand of her mostly dry hair behind her shoulder in a rougher gesture than was necessary and asked, “So I’m a witch?”

  I shook my head. “Witches get their powers from spells and amulets, wards and runes. You’re different. You’re…,” I searched for the right word. “You’re rare. Elementals are all but extinct from this world. I didn’t know there were any more.”

  Isley sat silently for a few minutes digesting that. Finally, she asked, “Why me?”

  It was the one question I had never asked as a werewolf, and perhaps the first one I should have. Mitch had been right when he said that I enjoyed being what I was. I liked the training, guarding, running, protecting part of my nature. I had never asked why I had been born a werewolf because that was what I knew I was meant to be. I wasn’t like the others. I had never dreamed of being human. Only now, outside of the Lair, did I see how unique and wonderful that life could be.

  It was a strange thought to question my placement in this world. In my mind, if I wasn’t a werewolf, I wouldn’t exist. There was no other option. But I couldn’t imagine if I thought I was human first only to find out I was a werewolf later. To suddenly be told I was part animal, with animal instincts, needs, and wants, that I was part monster to be feared, I didn’t know how I would have taken it.

  “I’m not sure,” I finally said. “I don’t know how that part works.”

  “Did the witches do it to me?” Isley asked with a spark of anger.

  I shook my head. “All they did was unlock what was already there. I don’t know everything about elementals, but I know you don’t suddenly become one. You’re born the way you are. Now, you just are more of it because it’s not trapped inside you.”

  Isley lifted her hand. The light was pulsing harder in time to her heartbeat.

  “Can it be trapped again?” she asked quietly.

  I lowered my gaze. “I don’t think so.”

  She set her hand on the countertop and waited until I met her gaze again. “So what do I do, Zev?”

  I went with the one answer I knew. “You use it, Isley. You use your affinity to light in any way that you want. It’s yours, and nobody can tell you what to do with it but yourself. It makes you special and unique.” I saw the shadows in her eyes and rushed on to say, “And not in a bad way, but in a great way. Use it because it’s yours to use. Find the joy in it.” I looked away from her and said, “No matter what is inside of you, it’s there for a reason and you can find happiness with it.”

  Isley sucked in a breath and asked the one question I had been dreading. “What about you, Zev? What makes you unique and different? Why do I burn you? Why do I…sense darkness around you?”

  My heartbeat slowed and the taste of bitterness filled my mouth. I opened my mouth to tell her the truth when her cellphone rang.

  Chapter Seven

  “Dad, hi!” Isley said. She gave me an apologetic look and mouthed, ‘Sorry’, before she turned away. “How are things going?”

  The voice that replied was deep and warm. It was obvious just by the tones how much her father cared about her. I tried not to listen to what he said.

  I rose from my chair and wandered across the kitchen to give them privacy, even though it was pretty much impossible for me not to hear them. I found myself at a table by the far windows. It would have been lit up with morning sunshine if it wasn’t for the downpour outside. Papers were spread across the surface in what first appeared to be a chaotic array, but on closer inspection, showed groupings by subject. A few bills addressed to the name Charles Mortimer had been stacked in one corner. The rest were white sheets covered in pencil drawings, sketches of deer, flowers, cars, people, the ocean, and even fantastic animals like dragons and griffins.

  I picked up one and studied it. The lines of the horse’s neck were strong and proud, darkened to emphasize the stallion’s strength. His right hoof was raised in defiance and his nostrils were open wide as his mane whipped around in the breeze I could almost smell. Light played across his dappled coat in a way that made him glow with realness. I felt as though I could set the sheet on the table and he would step free.

  The next drawing was of a choppy ocean that licked at the sides of a lighthouse dwarfed by the storm that surrounded it. A single beam of light showed through the clouds, basking the mirrors at the top of the lighthouse in a warm glow. I glanced to where Isley was still busy talking to her father. Her use of light in her drawings made me wonder if somewhere deep inside she had felt her true affinity.

  Each drawing was remarkable in its own way. The small smudges of Isley’s fingerprints from the pencil marked the sheets like signatures. Her lavender and sunshine scent lingered over them as if she had drawn her soul onto the pages. I felt as if I was meeting her all over again by looking at the lines of her talent.

  “My dad says to tell you thank you for seeing me safely home,” Isley said.

  I gave her a surprised look. “What did you tell him?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Only that a friend of Alia’s brought me home after I got caught jogging in the rain. I kept it light.” She winked at me. “I also failed to mention that Alia’s friend was a boy. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  I had the feeling that if he did know she was in the house alone with a boy, I might be meeting Mr. Mortimer sooner than I would like.

  “Also, I called Alia. She said Virgo’s there and worried sick. She only had to mention where we were and he said he’d be right over.” Her expression was contemplative when she said, “I didn’t know he cared so much.”

  “Of course he cares,” I replied with my attention still on the drawings. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  “About me?” she replied. “I hardly know him. He was in my graduating class, but now he works at that store, and I don’t really like to read.”

  “You prefer drawing,” I said. I held up a sketch of a one-eyed cat. “These are really good.”

  She took it from my hand and studied it. “I suppose so. It gives me something to do when the salon’s not open or I’m not with the girls.” She glanced at me over the edge of the sheet. “Do you draw?”

  I wanted to say no. Something inside my chest clenched at the thought of revealing anything about myself to this girl who was still such a mystery to me. Yet I found myself nodding before I could stop it.

  “I’d like to see you draw,” she said.

  Before I could protest, she had a fresh sheet of paper and a sharpened pencil in front of me. She pulled out a chair and lifted her hand to push me into it, but I ducked away from her touch and seated myself. Instead of making the moment awkward, Isley grabbed another sheet of paper and sat down with a chair in between us.

  I stared at the paper. It looked so pure and white, its surface unmarred by any marks. It felt a shame to mess that up.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked after a moment of silence.

  I glanced up at her and tried to hide my embarrassment when I admitted, “I’m not used to drawing on paper.” When her eyebrows pulled together, I ex
plained, “At least not like this. It’s usually just on scraps of whatever I can find, or on walls.” I thought of the walls of my little cave in the Lair. Sketch drawings lined every surface I could reach, even the floor. It was one way to pass the time when there was still enough light to see.

  “So what’s the problem?” she asked.

  “Knowing where to start,” I replied.

  She gave me a thoughtful look, then before I could stop her, she leaned over and drew a line across my sheet. The heat that emanated from her made my breath catch in my throat.

  Sitting back with a half-smile, she said, “There. Make that into something.”

  I looked down at the line. It wasn’t straight and only took up a small space in the middle of the paper, but the curve from the pencil lead gave it a bit of flare. When I turned my head, I saw the beginnings of a fire. Before I was aware that I had even begun, I lost myself in drawing what was around it.

  “And I thought I was good!”

  Isley’s voice broke through the wall of silence that had enclosed my thoughts while I drew. Nothing had been there but the quiet skritch of the lead, the slide of my hand across the paper, and the scent of both combined in a relaxing artistic tapestry.

  I sat back and looked at the paper before me.

  “I haven’t done that in a long time,” I admitted.

  “What?” Isley asked. “Draw?”

  I nodded. It had taken only one of the older werewolves at the Lair to find my drawings before I was hauled in front of the Master and branded with the half circles that meant I had been acting against my instincts. When I argued against the Master’s command to say that if it wasn’t in my instincts, why did I feel so pressed to draw, I was branded with the straight line with two bars through it that meant failure. They were mere marks on my skin now, scars to add to the countless others. But I had stopped drawing.

  “You’re very good at it,” Isley said.

  She held the paper up. I saw it as though from a spectator’s point of view instead of the artist’s. The campfire silhouetted a girl holding a marshmallow on a stick toward the hungry flames. Around her sat a family in folding camping chairs, their silhouettes made of white relief against the background of dark trees. A tent, bushes, and the darker silhouette of a wolf watching over the family made up the rest of the picture. Above the trees, the moon and stars shone in the darkness of the night. An ache of longing ran over me at the sight of the moon’s soft surface.