Go slow, brother, I say. And keep the claws and fangs to yourself. Brawn only.
With a frustrated toss of his head, he creeps toward the scent, crouched low to the ground. It leads us to an almost entirely deserted parking lot. Moonlight blanches the cracked concrete, glints off the lone jeep parked right in the middle. We pause in the dark space created by its accompanying office building, eyes narrowed, senses on full alert.
Movement catches our attention, and finally we spot the source. On the other side of the parking lot, a man in a business suit backs away from a creature that doesn’t look too different from me in wolf form. Apart from its high, sloping shoulders, black fur, and hyena-like build, the untrained eye might mistake us for each other.
Though I don’t recognize it, the wolf supplies the species immediately: shunka warakin. Again, it’s not words exactly, but I understand the information immediately. I also know it’s incredibly dangerous and it doesn’t belong anywhere near Louisiana. This I get from the territorial fury burning through the wolf.
Fangs gleaming in the moonlight, the shunka warakin stalks toward the whimpering man, snarling when he tries to slide around it. Inch by inch it forces him backward until he’s fully trapped in a corner between two buildings. Whatever it wants, it’s not good.
Can we take it? I ask the wolf.
An affirmative rises up to meet me.
Then let’s do it, brother. But leave the human alone.
We rage out of the shadows and across the parking lot toward the other creature, ramming into its side seconds before it pounces on the man. It yelps at the impact but recovers quickly. Wriggling around, the beast snaps for vulnerable bits, claws dragging across the wolf’s thick hide.
The cuts seal up immediately as our own fangs clamp down on the scruff of its neck. With a violent whip of the head, the shunka warakin flies across three parking spaces, tumbling end over end. We bound after it, going for the jugular before it can get back to its feet. Blood coats the wolf’s tongue as sharp teeth penetrate hide.
Inwardly I grimace, both from the taste and the thought of injuring it. Dangerous or not, it’s still a living, breathing creature and I don’t much care for causing damage unless strictly necessary. Especially when I’m just about as dangerous to humans as it is. If not more so considering I can transfer my curse if I’m not careful.
The shunka warakin thrashes, trying to get free of the wolf’s jaws. It succeeds only in tearing a deeper gash in its neck. Claws scrape against concrete. It twists, writhes, then whimpers. Its movements slow, its cries quiet, and finally it sags, hauntingly still in its death.
I let the wolf tear into its corpse, remove the evidence of the paranormal by consuming its flesh. As he eats, I draw my consciousness back, try not to think too much about what this animal part of me is doing. I don’t risk going too far. One slip and the wolf will take over fully, going after any living thing close by.
An explosion shatters the quiet and pain slams into the wolf’s shoulder. Terror seizes me as, with a guttural snarl, it wheels around to face the man we just saved. Smoke drifts from the barrel of his gun, its metallic smell staining the air. His eyes widen when the wolf turns on him, lips pulled back from blood fangs.
Calm down, brother. He can’t hurt you. He’s just scared. Don’t—
It growls over the rest of my command. Horrified, I fight to regain control, to calm the wolf’s anger. Out of pure desperation, I attempt to shift back into human form, but the wolf shoves me aside, restraining me with its wild, rage-driven magic. With a horrible snarl, it sprints toward the man. His gun goes off twice more before the wolf pounces. Blood splatters the concrete as fangs tear into the man’s throat. I can barely hear his screams over my own.
At least not until they die out.
Fury subsides as the man stops moving. The moment a measure of calm slips over the wolf, I rip control back, forcing him away from the parking lot in a full sprint back toward Hank’s apartment, only taking human form when I finally reach the landing at the top of the stairs. Shaking and sweating and covered in blood, I lock myself inside.
Sinking into a crouch, I duck my head between my knees as if this will somehow protect me from the guilt and shame. This has been my greatest fear. Using the wolf’s strength to help people always came with the risk that one day my grip might slip, that in trying to save someone he would ultimately hurt them. And now it’s happened. My arrogance has gotten someone killed.
I shove myself to my feet and run to the bathroom, retching into the toilet. A man is dead. Arthur was right. I’m a monster. A danger to humans and natural paranormals alike. I never should’ve tried to control the wolf, to use his magic. My best option now is to turn myself in to the Tribunal.
Dread at the thought of telling Hank what happened chokes me as I peel off my blood-soaked clothes with shaking limbs and climb into the shower. As I wash away the proof of my failure, I swear to never let that happen again and to find a way to lock up this wolf living inside of me for good.
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A Note from E.C.
THANKS SO MUCH FOR reading!
I so hope you enjoyed Max and Fee’s story. This concept came to me in the middle of writing the first Cursed book. The question of what
