by Jessica Roe
Eventually he came to a cemetery—one of the older ones in the city; abandoned, uncared for, far away from any other civilisation. From a distance, she watched him hide his bag and jacket inside a thick bush beside a small mausoleum right at the back of the cemetery, before stripping down and hiding his clothes too. His pale butt seemed to glow in the darkness, and it was totally the wrong time to be thinking about how perfectly round it was but even those tight jeans he wore were not enough to do it justice. He shut himself inside the mausoleum, and Gable reached it just in time to hear the creak of a padlock locking and the rattle of metal chains being dropped on to a stone floor. Her breathing was shallow and her body was prickling with unease. What in the hell was Sacha doing? What was he a part of? Did he have someone in there? She almost called out to him, but fear and morbid curiosity kept her silent.
She backed away ten feet until she hit a headstone and slid down to the ground, waiting. For what, she had no idea.
Turning her neck, she looked over at her headstone.
Fehin Veal. Born 1880, died 1929. There were no other carvings, like the people he'd known hadn't had anything to say about his life or death. It was kind of sad.
“Thanks for the support, buddy,” she said, patting the top of the stone.
Gable wrapped her arms around herself as the sun set. It was a cold, cloudless night, and her breath puffed out in white plumes as the sky darkened. The moon rose—the full moon, Gable noticed—and she couldn't help but stare at it's strange, haunting beauty.
And that was when screams began to tear through the night, ripping apart the eerie silence and washing over Gable's skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Her heart tore itself into pieces when she realized those screams belonged to Sacha, and he sounded so agonized, so tortured and in pain that all she wanted to do was break down the wall and save him from whatever was hurting him. His screams were so loud she was sure he was ripping his throat apart.
Mind made up, Gable hurled herself at the door, but it wouldn't open no matter how hard she pushed. She banged her fists against the stone until they were bruised and cried out his name so many times that her voice grew hoarse, but his screams only grew louder. And then they turned deeper, impossibly so, until they were frighteningly inhumane. They became vicious snarls, angry growls.
Something large banged against the stone door with a howl, and Gable threw herself backwards like she'd been scorched.
Tripping over a rock, she landed on her butt, but she didn't stop moving away until her back was pressed up against Fehin's headstone once more.
It couldn't be Sacha in there. She couldn't have just heard him turn into a Werewolf. Because it was crazy, and Werewolves didn't exist in the real world, and if they did then everything she'd ever thought about the world was just wrongwrongwrong, and it was suddenly a much more dangerous place to exist in, even though it had already been terrifyingly dangerous to begin with.
She spotted a tiny, shoe box sized window near the roof of the mausoleum, and despite every petrified cell in her body telling her not to, she ran for it. Leaping, she hooked her fingers over the ledge of the windowsill and wedged her foot onto a crumbled patch of wall so that she could see inside.
“Oh, God,” she whimpered.
The glass was covered in dust and grime, but when she scrubbed at it with her sleeve she could see inside quite easily. She almost wished she couldn't. Sacha was nowhere to be seen, but the giant, snarling wolf—larger than any wolf was supposed to be—was impossible to miss. It paced up and down the small space, howling and biting at the air furiously. The thick fur was the same shiny dark brown as Sacha's hair.
Sensing she was there, or maybe smelling her scent, the wolf bared it's teeth and let out a low rumble before hurling itself towards the wall with an untamed rage. It wasn't tall enough to reach the window, even stood on two legs, but it still tried to claw up the wall to get at her.
She dropped down and stumbled, turning away from the mausoleum and resting her hands on top of Fehin's headstone. Her breath was coming out quick and heavy, fear freezing her blood like ice. But it wasn't the wolf that was causing her heart to beat so fast she was almost dizzy—though it was pretty freakin' scary. What terrified her the most was that in the brief few seconds before she had dropped to the ground, she had looked right into the wolf's eyes. His clear, beautiful blue eyes, like the sky at noon.
Sacha's eyes.
It was really true. As unbelievable and impossible as it seemed, Sacha was a Werewolf. A mother fucking Werewolf.
For about eighteen and a half endless minutes, she stood as still as rock, seriously considering running as fast and as far away as she possibly could. She could leave the city, leave Sacha and his terrifying wolf ass far behind. He couldn't hurt her if he couldn't find her; she'd never see him again.
But then something clicked, and she realized that there was a giant flaw in her plan—she'd never see Sacha again. And that was kind of unbearable.
So he turned all big and hairy and teethy once a month, and so maybe he'd rip her apart if he had the chance, but she had bad qualities too! She was selfish and angry and kind of bitchy and Sacha knew all of that. Hell, he liked all of that. And he obviously didn't enjoy being a Werewolf, otherwise he wouldn't lock himself up like a caged animal. He was a mythological creature, but he was still the best guy she'd ever met. She couldn't leave him. She needed him, and she was pretty sure he needed her too.
And so ignoring the sounds of the Werewolf—of Sacha—throwing himself against the wall, and ignoring the knowledge that it might just have been the stupidest thing she'd ever done, Gable pulled Sacha's leather jacket out from its hiding place and wrapped it around herself, and then she slid down and rested her head back on Fehin's stone. She pulled her knees up to her chest and tried to get comfortable on the hard, dirty ground.
Sacha was hers, and she was his. She was staying.
It was a long, heart breaking night.
When Sacha finally stumbled out of the mausoleum at sunrise the next morning, completely naked, he looked tired and sore and his body was covered in bruises and deep scratches—wounds his wolf must have inflicted on himself while in a rage. When he saw Gable sitting there waiting for him he seemed surprised and horrified and devastated, all at once. He hurried to the bush where he'd stashed his belongings and pulled on his clothes, hastily grabbing up his bag and moving away from her.
Hells to the no. He did not get to run away from her without saying a word. She leapt up and ran after him, tugging on his arm until he turned to face her.
“So...you weren't lying, huh?” She tried to sound teasing, but it came off as awkward.
“Were you here all night?” he asked, ignoring her attempt at humour.
“Yeah.”
He closed his eyes and groaned. “God, Gable, you shouldn't have...I mean, I told you to...I never wanted you to see me like that. I'm a monster. Why'd you come here? Why'd you stay?”
She slid her hands up his arms—arms with scratches that were already healing, right before her eyes—and onto his broad shoulders, shaking him until he opened his eyes and looked at her. “I couldn't leave you.”
Desperation, hope and sadness all lit up his face. “But...I'm a Werewolf.” She managed to refrain from saying 'duh'. “I could hurt you, or kill you. If I got loose, I could kill a lot of people. I'm bad, Gable. Bad inside. Doesn't that scare you?”
The thing that was scaring her the most was that he truly believed that he was bad. “Who the hell told you that? You just spent the night locked up in that creepy old tomb so you wouldn't get out and hurt anyone. You tried to push me away and I know you didn't want to. Those aren't the actions of a bad guy, so just...don't. Don't push me away again.”
He pressed his forehead against hers and nodded, letting out a relieved sigh, like he couldn't believe she was there with him. “Okay. Never again.”
“Maybe...maybe I could take care of you?”
Sacha grinned and pulled
her into his chest, resting his chin on her head and swaying them both from side to side. “Maybe we could take care of each other?”
“Deal.” She pressed her face into his t-shirt and he hummed happily. “Sacha?”
“Yuh huh?”
“You smell like dog.”
He guffawed into her hair, and soon they were both laughing uncontrollably, leaning on each other so as not to fall on the ground.
Gable wasn't so stupid or naïve that she thought everything was going to be okay. In fact, she knew it was going to be harder than ever. But it didn't matter, not so long as they had each other. She could survive nights sitting by Fehin's headstone if it meant being there for Sacha.
And so it was that she learned all about the supernatural world. About Outcasts, and Strays, and Dark Ones. Sacha told her everything he knew, which as he'd grown up in that world, was a hell of a lot. After they'd been best friends for six months, he took her to visit Yarmac & Bogely's for the first time.
She learned that Sacha had been abandoned on the side of a road when he was just a small toddler. Whether it was because his parents had seen him change into a wolf and were frightened of him, or whether it was just because they were terrible people, he didn't know—and he claimed he didn't want to. Luckily for him, he'd been found by Abasi, a fallen Angel who sensed what Sacha really was as soon as he laid eyes on him. Abasi took him home—to Yarmac and Bogely's—where, as the most powerful being there, he reigned over the other Outcasts. The Outcasts, normally welcoming to newcomers, protested, afraid of Sacha though he was just a child. Werewolves were extraordinarily uncommon, and most were unable to decide whether to label them as Outcasts or Strays. The fact that he was an uncontrollable beast once a month terrified them, and they voted in favour of making him leave. Abasi overruled them and allowed Sacha to stay, promising to lock him away when he turned once a month. Gradually, the Outcasts grew used to Sacha, if never entirely comfortable with his presence.
When he told her about his sad childhood, Gable finally understood why he was so withdrawn around people. He thought they were all going to reject him, just like his parents and just like the Outcasts. Their stupid fear had been the reason he'd believed he was such a bad person.
Once an Angel had chosen to fall, they were granted fifty years on earth. When their time was up, they would die just like a human died from old age. Abasi, whom had become a father to Sacha, had already lived for thirty seven years before finding Sacha, and so died when he was just fifteen years old.
When Terelle, most powerful after Abasi, was elected new leader, she promised the Outcasts democracy instead of the dictatorship that Abasi had favoured. The Outcasts voted again, and only a few wanted Sacha to stay. Not enough to keep him there. Terelle agreed to let him return when he was at his most desperate—though nowhere near the full moon—but declared that he had to leave.
At fifteen years old, he was all alone.
Alone for three years, until he met Gable.
The weeks Gable and Sacha spent together morphed into months, and Sacha stopped being someone Gable liked having around—he became someone she needed around. She was empty when he wasn't there. The months progressed into years, and he became something else entirely. He became essential to her.
CADBY LET GABLE'S hands slide from his. She watched him hopefully, waiting.
His shoulders drooped. “I got nothing.”
Gable was so disappointed by their failure that she truly couldn't speak. An invisible fist had clenched it's way around her throat, preventing her from breathing, from forming words.
But she didn't cry. It had been a long time since she'd allowed herself the luxury of tears.
“I'm sorry,” Cadby said, his voice thick with sadness. “I miss Sacha too. I wish I could...I wish...I just wish.”
She nodded and swallowed hard, finally finding her voice. “I know, and...thank you. For trying again, I mean. It was a long shot, but I appreciate it anyway.” She stood and walked over to the entrance of the tent. “If you ever need anything, let me know.”
“Pablo...” he called out before she could leave. “is a bad guy. You know that, right?” She turned hesitantly to face him. He was standing in the centre of the room, hands in pockets, watching her. His face was open, not judging like she'd been expecting. Not judging her, anyway. “I very rarely leave the gates of Yarmac and Bogely's—there's too much going on out there in the real world and it gets difficult to control my gift—but when I do...I feel his corruption everywhere. It spreads through the city like mist, like a disease. It's,” He shuddered. “chilling.”
There was no use denying it. Pablo didn't try to hide the fact that he wasn't a good man—from the Outcast world, at least. “I know exactly what he is,” she said quietly. “because he's just like me. I'm just as bad as he is. I belong with him.” Cadby frowned and opened his mouth to say something but she held up her hand to stop him. “Don't look at me like that, don't feel sorry for me, okay? I chose to be this way. I chose this life, and I don't want your pity.”
He shook his head, his expression open and honest and always so genuine. “I was only going to say how devastating it is that you truly believe that. That you really think you're a bad person.”
She didn't know what to say to that, except, “You don't know what I've done.”
Cadby stepped forwards, looking right into her eyes. “Yes, I do. I see everything you've done.” And he still believed in her, that's what he was trying to say without actually saying it. He thought she could change. How could she possibly tell him that she didn't want to change; she hadn't for a long time.
Obviously disappointed by the way her thoughts were turning, he shrugged his shoulders and took a step back. “The Guardians have a new recruit.” It was a abrupt conversation change, but another subject that Gable felt uncomfortable talking about.
“I know. Nicky Pierce. We went to high school together before...you know.”
“Yes.” Of course he already knew. “Seeing you surprised the heck outta Nicky. You're practically all he's thought about during his past few lessons.”
“Lessons?”
“He's a Shadow Guide. I've been teaching him how to use his gift.”
Well that brought her out of her funk. “No shit! A Shadow Guide? For real? They're super rare. I've only met one and that was just 'cause he had a meeting with Pablo.” She bit her lip as she remembered the sexy Greek Shadow Guide. That had been one fine looking Outcast. It was a shame she'd never gotten to see him again before he left. “No wonder Nicky was such a deranged little shit when he was a teenager.” She chuckled as she remembered how bad ass he'd thought he was.
“You won't tell Pablo about this, will you? I probably shouldn't even have mentioned it. It just seemed like the kind of thing you should know. I know how...close the two of you were when you were kids.”
“Stop blushing.” She grinned. “Like you didn't hook up when you were a teenager—I've heard the stories about you and Ianira. And no, I won't tell Pablo.” Because Pablo wouldn't like it, and she was pretty sure she couldn't sell Nicky out, even though it had been years since they'd been...close. Not that she'd ever say that out loud. “He's already having issues with how I once had a connection with one of the Guardians. This would just piss him off more.”
The corners of Cadby's lips turned up. “It's interesting,” he mentioned. “that you claim to be bad. And yet you still haven't told Pablo how to get to us here, even though we both know how happy it would make him to take control of Yarmac and Bogely's.”
She could see in his eyes that he knew he'd won. Check mate. And he was right, because she had no reply for him.
He didn't want to believe that she was bad.
She took his face in her hands and kissed him softly on the cheek. Without another word, she left the tent.
Terelle was waiting for Gable outside her door, and she could clearly tell by the look on Gable's face that things hadn't gone successfully. “I'm sorry,” was all s
he said, before leading them inside. They both sank down on to her luxurious sofa and Terelle chewed her lip in thought. “I know how much you want Sacha back. And I...regret his absence.” Terelle and Sacha had never been all that friendly towards one another. They were both too stand offish, both too filled with their own pain to have ever really given the other a chance. They'd always been tolerant, at best. But Gable knew that Terelle regretted asking Sacha to leave Yarmac and Bogely's, that she thought maybe she could have stopped him from going missing if she'd have let him stay. Gable didn't think that was true. She was sure that whatever had taken Sacha would have gotten to him regardless. Terelle was not to blame. Besides, if Terelle had let Sacha stay, Gable might never have met him. It was a selfish thought, but it was true. “And I'm aware that this is hard to hear, but perhaps you should give up now, stop your endless search for him and start living your life again. It's been a year.”
“Almost a year,” Gable corrected. Terelle was right—it was hard to hear. “And Sacha is my life.”
Gable knew what most did not—that Terelle had never wanted the responsibility of leadership. When Terelle had arrived at Yarmac and Bogely's following her banishment from the Faerie realm, she had only been looking for a home, somewhere quiet where she could live in peace with others who were different, like her. Once Abasi had passed away, she'd agreed to rule not because she wanted the role, but because her fellow Outcasts had requested it, and she loved them too much to say no.
“I know you were in love with him–” Terelle continued.
“Not in love,” Gable found herself protesting again. Why did people always get their relationship so confused? “We just loved each other.”
“So you've always said.” It was obvious that she didn't believe her, and Gable didn't have the heart to protest more, especially when she sometimes thought that the person who was most confused about her feelings for Sacha was herself.
Terelle sighed. “Let me put this another way. What would Pablo say if he knew you were still intent on searching for Sacha?”