Wolf Sirens Fever: Many are Born, Few are Reborn (Wolf Sirens #2)

by Tina Smith

  She was tired of his visits, whispering at the window and his eyes only visible in the dark at night. She remembered how his head comically popped up, only showing above the windowsill, to discuss business and pinch her, playfully. Cresida realized all too soon and all of sudden that he liked her and it made her head spin and he made her angry. There was important work to be done to save Lila from the pack - from Sky. She was deep in a tangled web and Reid couldn’t separate his teenage boy urges from a working relationship.

  She ran along the bank of the inlet. The wolf body and brain was supposed to simplify not only her getaway, but also her thoughts. Only, in the back of her mind she was frightened that if he did truly love her, then she wouldn’t be a hunter at all anymore. She would be completely on their side or she would have to kill him when he had out-dated his usefulness. Cres worried he might save her from ending it for herself the way she had hoped - before the other hunters came for her. She wasn’t his kind or her kind any more - she wasn’t human, hunter or wolf, she was all three and nothing. She was a problem for every society, torn into pieces. A piece for her brother in the human world, and a torn chunk for the wolves; her head and mind with the hunters and her heart ever so strongly beating every day for Reid - a thought that made her uncomfortable. She was a spy in too deep, an agent undercover too long. Her blood was poisoned with the werewolf creature, the disease. She carried all three venoms and had a wound for each life and a conflicting purpose. Worst of all, wherever she tried to fit herself, it would be a lie, in part.

  The rain had slowed and the crickets chirped as a sign the evening was coming. The air began to warm again. She dashed through the wet undergrowth and mud, heading for home - to play Cresida B.C (before chaos) - Cresida before the bite.

  Her aunt was shocked to see through the kitchen window, her soaking wet and naked niece appear in the back yard, and she turned away. Cres stood near the washing line and felt Tabetha’s gaze, before she looked away, through the glass. Cres unpegged a dripping wet T-shirt from the line. She took her time barefoot at the back entrance, wiping mud and dry grass off her feet outside the kitchen in her aunt’s wet t-shirt, which she wrung out before entering through the fly screen door. Aunt Tabetha had by now accepted Cres’s behaviour and didn’t question her strange comings and goings, as long as she was polite and spent time with her little brother, who seemed normal still, despite his unusual sister. She prayed for her niece, though, and was sure one day the police would come for Cresida, but she would not intervene anymore. She put her faith in God.

  Cres walked past her aunt without a word, dripping water over the floorboards as she strode up the stairs. As she entered her upstairs bedroom she noted the sneakers she had lost, sitting on the windowsill, with the mud wiped off. She almost smiled, but feeling a pang of sadness she was then drained of the feeling. She dried her skin and said a prayer herself - that her aunt wouldn’t lose it over what she had just witnessed. Otherwise she would have to leave, permanently. The thought would have thrilled her, were it not for her brother and Reid. Reid would have followed her, which would have meant his parents would say she’d kidnapped him and the police would then be out in force. They had to avoid exposure like that; though traumatizing her god-fearing aunt wasn’t exactly helping, it wasn’t as though she would blab about it to the parish. This was dirty laundry and her aunt had seemed to develop a blind eye, thankfully. Or a good dose of fear. Either way, she didn’t tell what she saw.

  Over their usual quiet dinner her aunt poured a jug of water and questioned her niece. “They still haven’t found your friend?”

  Cresida thought it sounded more like a statement. “Yes, it’s terrible.”

  “Her mother must be going out of her mind.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d ask you to go and see her, but in your current state I’m embarrassed. It’s as though you’ve been left to the wolves.” Her aunt referred to her niece’s state of clothes, which made Cresida tense her jaw because, had Tabetha allowed her, she would have been dressed decently. She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

  This answer only seemed to anger her aunt. “Where are your sneakers Cresida?” she asked.

  “In my room,” Cresida said softly.

  “Oh-and your clothes?” Tabetha spat indignantly.

  Cresida glanced at her younger brother who was forking a mushy carrot. “They’re ruined,” she mumbled and scratched her ear.

  “Well, I won’t be buying you anymore until you learn that money doesn’t grow on trees,” her aunt told her, stiff lipped.

  “It’s fine,” Cresida muttered, thinking defiantly of how to rob someone of the money for more clothing. Tabetha’s threats of no clothes unfortunately meant nothing to the wolf.

  There was a deafening silence until her aunt couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “No, it’s not fine,” she fizzed.

  Cresida dropped her fork with a clank and stood to leave the table. She slid her chair back across the linoleum, and the familiar screech sounded her disapproval.

  “Ingrid wouldn’t be proud of you.”

  Cres dashed toward the stairs, stifling the urge to swipe her aunt from the earth that second, if she had not known in her heart that it wasn’t true. Cres believed wherever her mother was, she understood. Perhaps if she had not had the dream of her mother with angel wings, Tabetha would have been dead that instant.

  “Do you believe in God, Cresida?” her aunt called after her.

  Cres stopped on the first step of the staircase. She met her aunt’s fuming gaze. “No,” she said quietly and ascended the staircase half expecting her aunt to accost her further.

  Later, when she heard the clash of dishes, Cres thought she should help out more. But the idea of facing her aunt would only result in adding fuel to the fire. Unable to stand the noise of Tabetha downstairs anymore, she slid on her faded pink sneakers, which were still soaked and cold. They squished as she descended the side of the house from her window - and it was she, this time, who tapped on Reid’s window in the evening.

  “Hi,” he said looking pleased. She climbed in.

  “Want to get out of here?” she whispered, though the sand in her shoes had almost rubbed through her skin.

  “Has there been news?” He looked about ready for action.

  Cres looked fearful and lost, Reid could see as soon as he said it. “We’ll find her.” He assured, assuming it was about Lila.

  “No.” She sniffed and his expression changed.

  “Hey.” He grabbed her arms firmly and hugged her tight, rocking her a little as he did. “Come on,” he cooed, “hunters are supposed to be tough, right?”

  “Well, yeah, but that bitch of an aunt is a new force to be reckoned with.”

  “There’s that fieriness I know and love,” he laughed.

  “Shut up,” she retorted resenting even his casual use of the word ‘love’.

  “Nice jumper.”

  “You know I’ve been in the Op Shop bins again.”

  “It’s cute, I like it.”

  Cresida gave him a look, tempered somewhat by her teary eyes.

  “Hey, don’t be like that. I’ve heard of these new creatures that hunt - called religious bitch killers.” He squeezed her.

  Cres giggled and her body quivered from the emotion. Feeling nothing for so long and then happiness and sadness at once, was tiring.

  He huffed. “If she only knew you could take her out in one,” he said with a hint of disdain. Cres appreciated the sentiment, but then didn’t wish to show it.

  “Stop, Reid.”

  He held her tighter and rested his head on hers and after a moment he whispered, “Come on.” He led her by the hand - which she felt hadn’t been held in years. “I know a great hide out.” He pushed his window wider and gestured. “After you.”

  They ran and she wasn’t surprised to see he had led her to Sam’s cabin. He climbed the overflowing gutter like a bat and grabbed the key hidden too high for any mortal, as leaves cascaded down.
He disappeared around the back to open the front door for her. The inside was dark and as the pack had left it. Reid flicked on the lights as his wet sneakers squeaked on the tiles.

  “You hungry?” he enquired placing the key on the counter top.

  She nodded. “There’s food?” she looked about as though wary, like an animal being enticed into a cage.

  “Yes - frozen - Sam always used to keep tons here, there’s more in the basement.”

  “Just in case?” she almost smiled. “What’s on offer?” She could see out the large glass window and noted the repair done to the panel Sky had thrown himself through. Cresida’s eyes were drawn to the faint shadows on the cleaned carpet where the bloodstains had been removed.

  “Um, pop tarts, bread, meat – oh, hey, what about cheese triangles in delicious puff pastry?” he said pulling out a package.

  “Is this a commercial?” she joked in a rare moment. Cres noticed the old cleaning roster stuck to the side of the fridge.

  “It’s everything, baby,” he said preheating the oven.

  After downing far too much of the small freezer in the kitchen they sat in the lounge room in the dim light of a lamp, where the faint shadowy tell-tale signs of bloodshed remained.

  Reid asked her softly, “Is it – weird, for you being here?”

  She knew what he meant. “I won’t have a hard time getting over it.”

  “Not like your aunt. She seems to hold onto a lot.”

  “Ha, she’s just, like, holding my brother ransom or something she’s so…hateful,” she whispered exasperated by it.

  “She doesn’t understand – us,” he offered, thinking he knew the feeling.

  Cres huffed, exhausted. “I know it’s just on top of everything else…”

  “You don’t know if you can take it?”

  She shook her head and Cres was so glad he knew what she meant. “I’m scared.”

  He held her gently. She knew he didn’t get it, not truly, but in that moment Cres didn’t care. He was a warm body and someone who understood, more than anybody else. He was around. Being with him was easy right then. He pulled off her shoes. “These are kind of ruined,” he commented. They were wet still and crusted in sand with black mud caked in the tread; she had red patches over her feet where the sand had rubbed.

  “Hey, thanks for bringing them back.” She meant it.

  “It was the least I could do,” he shrugged.

  “How do you mean?”

  “For making you transform.” The corner of his mouth shrugged.

  “Well, thanks anyway,” she said feeling tired.

  “Don’t you have other pairs?” he asked, concerned.

  “Aunt controls all the cash, she won’t buy me another pair ’til I stop losing my clothes.” She sighed, staring at the ceiling.

  “Oh, I definitely feel that. You know I can buy you some? Or steal some from my mum…something, anything you need, I’m here okay.”

  A tear rolled down her usually dry cheek. He would have kissed it, if she hadn’t despised the affection.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized. He was sorry he hadn’t realized what she had to deal with. She had been hard as nails - tough Cres to him. He liked this side of her, he didn’t care if she was weak. He wanted her so much, and he didn’t care that if she had anyone else to go to, she wouldn’t have turned to him.

  He wanted to scream at her that he loved her, that he always had - through it all. He loved to look at her picture in his copy of the yearbook. Reid knew it wasn’t because they were thrown together; it was because she stopped his breath with her sultriness, made his heart beat, made him a goddamn idiot around her. And he knew for some reason she didn’t feel the same, but he would do anything to be with her.

  She croaked, “What’s wrong, pup. Did someone just step on your tail?” Her attitude was tempered, as she swiped away a tear.

  He gave up restraint and grabbed her hard and he looked almost violent. He loved her flushed cheeks and she noted the deep pores of his skin and didn’t resist him. He slowly kissed her and looked at her - all the way into her face. She closed her eyes and kissed him back and he tasted the salty tears on her mouth. They stayed on the carpet and as an unsaid rule, never entered the abandoned rooms haunted by memories of the disassembled pack. It was like those rooms didn’t exist, just the two of them in the living room and nothing else.

  Cres went back to her aunt’s house the next day – begrudgingly - and was promptly grounded until further notice, as prior to this she had missed the most part of three days of school searching for Lila, who had been missing since Saturday night. The school had arranged another meeting to discuss Cresida’s future and her principal gave her the third degree and an extra stack of homework to get through, as catch-up. Perhaps John Crealy was lenient because he’d been to her party and it put him in an innately better mood to have seen her making a go of life again. The three days she’d been truant were gratefully ignored when she returned. As long as Cresida passed her urine test, it wouldn’t become an issue. Threats to put her back a year, for the time being, were shelved.

  Reid went missing over the next full moon. Cres was back at her aunt’s, bored, trying to channel Lila, but perhaps not as much as she should have been. She had to concentrate on homework. Now she was allowed back at school she was required to put in an effort. She spent the day at the library finishing an assignment; one of the special catch-up projects assigned to her because she’d missed so much school. In the evening, she ate cold leftovers from the fridge and climbed the stairs to bed. She switched on the light in her room only to be shocked by the sight of a dead parrot on her bed missing only a few of its feathers. It lay face down in the middle of her sheets. There was no one about and she sniffed the air. This could have been many things, but in her heart she knew this was Reid. He was like a dog that loved his owner so much he brought home dead rats in an attempt to please his master. Men on dates took flowers; werewolves obviously killed birds and left them on their mate’s bed. Cres thanked God her aunt hadn’t found it. She tossed it in an empty shoebox, which had once contained her new but now disintegrating pink sneakers. The bird was in rigor mortis and Reid’s scent was all over it. Perhaps he thought in his canine mind that she could add it to her collection on the mobile. She changed her sheets and showered. When she got out Reid was there, dirty and smelly. She kissed him when he sat up on the edge of her bed and she tasted the bird stench on his lips still and caught the scent on his neck.

  “I found your present,” she cooed.

  He looked guiltily at the floor. “Sorry about that.” He cringed with embarrassment.

  After morphing back it had dawned on him exactly what he had done, too late. He had meant to come back to find it and throw it out, but she had discovered it half an hour before he got there.

  “It was sweet, really disgusting – but sweet,” she teased.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “What - sweet?”

  He hung his head. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

  “Don’t ever be sorry Reid, that’s the sweetest thing any boy has ever done for me,” she said honestly.

  “I came back to get it.”

  She saw he had pulled the shoebox from under her bed. “Oh, honey,” she laughed.

  They both turned as they heard footsteps in the hall, her aunt’s unmistakable slipper shuffle and as the door ‘whooshed’ open, Reid was gone out the window, the curtains blowing in the breeze. Cres sat innocently on her bed and shrugged at her aunt who pinched her lips at her niece and left after deliberately fixing it so that the door would remain open. Despite the fact that Cres was dressed only in a towel.

  Cres contemplated the signs she should have wanted, been excited about even. He was smitten, vulnerable, willing to do anything for her. But all she felt when she thought that way was the dragging guilt and awfulness. She started to hate the way it made her so happy that he was so willing to please her. As a wolf he was vulnerable to his emotions -
blatantly embarrassing himself in the name of love. She touched the bed where the bird had lain. She remembered there was no blood, and he hadn’t eaten it or even broken the skin, just laid it there for her. And it left a bad taste in her mouth.

  28. Hidden Agenda

  “Tell me how you found me?” I breathed.

  “I did a spell, I asked the universe and the deity to help me free my sister. I said I was open to all and any avenues to break the Cult. The next day I had a vision of you, lost. I thought you might have been sent to me for a reason. I thought maybe you were from the Cult or a ghost? Were you in the Compound?” she urged unable to hide the desperation in her voice.

  It seemed to me that Tisane had been so helpful all this time because she hoped I, in some way, might lead to freeing her sister. It was quite amazing. I developed goose bumps that spread over my skin. I swallowed. “Tisane?”

  “Yes?” she answered expectantly.

  “It’s not a Cult. It’s a pack,” I uttered solemnly.

  “What?”

  I had never spoken the word to anyone outside the circle about them. Tisane’s expression was hard to read, but eventually evolved into deep hollow sadness for me. And my heart sank a little.

  “Were you inside the Cult? Do you remember?” She frowned deeply above her clear watery eyes, hardly able to believe. As though she hadn’t heard me. This was why the wolves had been protected so long. People didn’t want to see what was under their noses.

  In that moment I knew what she was thinking all this time and why she hadn’t turned me in. Tisane thought that I was an escaped victim – and perhaps I was, but it was in a very different way than she could comprehend.

  I saw the pity creep over her saintly face and into her despairing eyes. So I aimed my attention at finding all I could, before the woman became useless.