Wild (27 page)

Ingrid swore, words Lizzie was surprised she even knew, and hung up. Lizzie stared at her phone, wondering if she’d imagined the whole conversation. Ingrid had to be desperate – beyond desperate – to call her in the first place. She could get herself into serious trouble if she carried on. Should Lizzie warn someone in the Kurtadam?

But, no. What was the worst that could happen to her, after all? Nick had told her it was physically impossible for werewolves to OD. Even if Ingrid got hold of a kilo of coke and snorted it all, she’d be fine, right? Right. And Lizzie wasn’t hanging around anyway, so it wasn’t her business.

Lizzie tossed her phone aside and went to find her suitcase.

****

Once again the day ended with Lizzie curled up on the settee while the TV droned on. The morning’s lethargy had morphed into prickly restlessness, and she flicked through the channels impatiently, hungry for something to take her mind off the real world. Her suitcase sat at the foot of the stairs, an eerie echo of just a few days ago, when she’d been preparing to leave Harris. She’d tried to go online earlier to check out trains to London, but someone at Sky had finally noticed she and Harris were behind with their bills, so the broadband was cut off. She took it as a sign she was doing the right thing, however painful it might be.

And it was painful. It was painful that Seth hadn’t called or texted, another little jab at her heart for every minute that passed when he didn’t contact her. If she was dumped, she’d prefer to hear it instead of just being left hanging, not sure how long to wait before she gave up. It was painful that she had to slink away like this at all, after all her promises to herself about starting over, being better.

She was falling asleep when the howling started. Jerked awake, she sat up, heart jackhammering. There was no doubting it was a wolf; no dog had that rich, sombre tone to its voice. The howl was slow and mournful, tugging at her soul and demanding an answer. The Other woke, pushing Lizzie to see what was happening. Afraid, intrigued, and fighting that wicked sliver of hope again, she crept to her window and peeked round the curtain.

A wolf sat on her doorstep, raindrops glistening like jewels in his coal-black fur. With his head tipped back to the cloud-covered sky, throat exposed, she couldn’t help but think he looked vulnerable, young.

It was Seth. Her heart skipped and she pressed her hands to her chest in case it actually burst free of her ribs. Was he here with good news or bad news? One only way to find out. She rushed to the front door and flung it open. A gust of cold wind tore at her hair and snatched Seth’s howl away. He lowered his head, meeting her eyes. His red eyes glowed, not malevolent, but expectant. He padded forwards, butting his muzzle against her hip gently.

Unsure what to do, she dropped to her knees to get on eye-level with him. It seemed wrong to loom over him. Down on the ground, she slid her hands into his fur, stroking his thick ruff. She didn’t mean to, didn’t know if it was good werewolf etiquette, but she couldn’t help herself. It was pure reflex. Seth panted, giving her a wolfish grin and a happy whine. He closed his eyes and leaned into her.

“So are we breaking up or what?” she whispered, hardly daring to raise her voice in case it scared him away. “I packed my suitcase and everything.”

He pulled away slightly, fixing her with a serious look she had no clue how to interpret. Maybe the Kurtadam taught lupine body language, but all she knew was that a wagging tail was a good sign and bared teeth were a bad sign. The Other wasn’t afraid, but it wasn’t entirely happy either; she could feel it eyeing up Seth, trying to decide whether to fight or flee.

He glanced back out to the street, then at her, then the street again. If it was a signal, she didn’t get it.

“Come on, Seth, just grow some human vocal chords and tell me what’s going on,” she pleaded. “This isn’t fair.”

He stood up, barked once and pawed at her knee, still looking back to the street. Frustrated, Lizzie threw up her hands. “What? D’you want me to throw you a stick? Scoop up some shit? What, Seth?”

He growled, his own frustrated evident, and pawed at her again. His claws hooked into her t-shirt and he tugged pointedly. “You want me to come for a walk?” she guessed. He barked and nodded. “Am I supposed to … do you want me to change shape?” She felt awkward suddenly, like he’d asked her to strip off. When he barked and nodded again, she sat back on her heels, shaking her head.

“This isn’t fair,” she said again. “I’ve been sitting here all day waiting for you to show up and tell me what’s going on, and now you’re here, you’re not going to.”

He flattened his ears and whined, surely his own version of pleading. She scowled at him, contemplated slamming the door on him. In the end, curiosity – the Other’s curiosity - got the better of her.

She quickly shed her clothes, ignoring the cold wind wrapping around her. She’d be in wolf skin in a matter of seconds, thick and warm. Once again the change came effortlessly, with just a slight twist of reality to signal it. She joined Seth on the doorstep, surprised when he pushed his head against hers, nuzzling and licking her. She returned the gesture, delighting in the contact because it meant she was allowed to hope again.

He barked once more and bounced off onto the street, long legs stretching as he trotted away. Lizzie guessed she had no option but to follow. They sprinted away from her narrow little street, down Smithdown Road. She expected him to head for the park where she’d spent the morning moping, but he went the other way, towards the city centre. Disquiet ran through Lizzie as she kept pace with him. What was this about? It couldn’t be some kind of set-up, could it? He wouldn’t be that cruel, surely.

She couldn’t imagine what kind of set-up it might be though, unless he was leading her somewhere quiet and secluded so the Kurtadam could ritually sacrifice her or something. And that didn’t seem very likely.

So she kept pace with him, let him guide through the back alleys and side streets, out of the light, out of sight, until they were in the city centre and padding down Leece Street to the bombed-out church.

Fog curled around the church and the trees inside, hiding the tops from sight. Light from the pubs across the road pushed the fog back a bit, little beams of yellow and blue that glowed off the pale bricks and put Lizzie in mind of a fairytale castle. She followed Seth through the gates, and there he stopped, changing shape.

Des was right, she realised as she watched Seth. The Kurtadam were slow to shapeshift, with nothing like the fluid grace she’d seen in Nick. In those long minutes where Seth was halfway between man and wolf, he was dangerously exposed.

His skin was shining with sweat when he was back in human shape. “Wait here,” he told her, shoulders heaving with exertion. He raced into the church, emerging a few seconds later wrapped in a long coat. He was carrying a blanket too, which he draped over her shoulders. “Okay, your modesty is safe,” he declared. “Care to join me?”

She shifted back quickly, hugging the blanket round herself as the night instantly chilled her to the bone. She glared up at him. “We couldn’t have just talked in my living room?”

He had the decency to look sheepish. “I’ve sort of got a present for you,” he explained, offering her a hand up. “Sort of an apology for last night.”

She took his hand, suspicious, and let him tug her to her feet. But she didn’t hold his hand when he tried to guide her into the church. That sense of unease wasn’t gone yet, although she wasn’t sure why. An apology? That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

She couldn’t forget the heat in his voice last night though.
This could be a real shit storm.
His apology might be, “sorry but we’ve decided you’re too vulgar and wild to be allowed to mix with the Kurtadam.” It could be “sorry but you’ve got twelve hours to get out of Liverpool before we call the police.” That was a “sort of” apology, wasn’t it?

Nerves singing, anxiety gnawing at her, she followed Seth into the church. He lead her to a sheltered corner under a towering chestnut tree, its yellow-orange leaves scattered across the scuffed stone floor. There was a blanket spread out under the tree, a bottle and a little paper bag that smelt of flowers arranged there. “What is this?” she asked as Seth pulled her down to sit on the blanket.

“The ‘sort of apology’,” he said, settling himself next to her and reaching for the bottle. “Non-alcoholic wine and some freesias.” He scratched the back of his neck and shrugged, grinning at her. “I asked Nuala and she said freesias were a good choice.”

She took the bag and pulled out a pink ceramic pot. They were pale orange and white, and smelt glorious, like springtime and sunrise. “I … thank you,” she said softly, flushing. “But I don’t –”

“I don’t know what it’s like, being new to this life,” he cut in. “I’ve never known anything else. My parents had me running around in wolf shape before I could walk properly. Last night, after we saw Nick, all I could think was that the Kurtadam would never behave like that. We don’t make ghouls, we don’t take risks like that.” He stared at the flowers, stroking a petal carefully. “But you’re not Kurtadam. I shouldn’t forget, just because you’re smart and you seem to be coping with everything, that you’re new to our world.”

“Does this mean we’re friends again?” she asked, sliding her hand over his.

He wet his lips, not exactly answering. “I haven’t told Nuala about your ex. I haven’t told anyone.”

She gaped at him. “Seth… why? You said… Last night, I thought…”

“I thought about it all night,” he admitted. “And I started to tell Nuala, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I like you, Lizzie. Up until Nick Doyle opened his mouth, I was having a great time last night.”

“Me too,” she admitted.

“So I’m not saying anything to Nuala, or any of the Kurtadam. I know we don’t know each other very well yet, but I also know you’re not a murderer, you’re not some crazed, rabid wolf out feeding on children or anything. You’re funny and clever, and you make me feel alive. Excited about life.” He looked at her now, chewing his lip. “I know that’s about the cheesiest thing I could possibly say, but it’s true.”

She leaned across to kiss him, joy shooting through her. It was cheesy, but it was more than she could have asked for. “You make me feel hopeful,” she told him, gliding her lips over his, along his jaw and down his throat, hungry to touch as much of him as she could reach. “You make me feel like everything will get better.”

“It will,” he said fiercely, pulling her into his arms. “I promise it will.”

twenty three

I
T TOOK HER
a few seconds to orientate herself in the morning. She opened her eyes expecting for a second to see her tiny room, clothes strewn everywhere, everything smelling faintly of weed, because that smell just never washed out. But this room was big and sunny, polished wooden floorboards and boyish accoutrements – fancy CD player, lots of black and chrome, posters of tanned girls in string bikinis on the walls. She smelt bacon cooking somewhere, the greasy, salty smell making the Other prick its ears in sleepy interest.

She rolled over, tugging the pristine white bedsheets with her and cocooning herself in them. Seth’s scent filled her nostrils and she smiled blissfully as she snuggled deeper into the covers. Oh, it was all coming back now. Drinking the wine, kissing to taste the strawberry and cherry flavour on each other’s lips. Seth chasing her round that big chestnut tree, threatening to steal her blanket away while she laughed breathlessly, letting him catch her, wrestle her to the ground and then …

She smiled into Seth’s pillow, body tingling as she revelled in the memories, the sensation of Seth’s fingers gliding down her spine, her hands knotted in his hair, the darkness lending a simmering intimacy to their embraces as she sighed and gasped and moaned and then …

The bedroom door creaked open and Seth popped his head round. “How do you like your bacon?” he asked.

“Crispy.” She sat up, tugging the sheets up with her. “Do you need a hand?”

“You can come and watch,” he invited. “That’s all there is to do really.”

She glanced around the bedroom for clothes before remembering she hadn’t had any to begin with, and suddenly she was acutely aware of her nudity in a way that hadn’t been important last night. Seth solved her dilemma by plucking a t-shirt from the back of his desk chair and tossing it at her. “There’s hot water if you want a shower,” he said as he left the bedroom.

Lizzie shrugged into the t-shirt, a University of Liverpool jersey that came down to her knees, and followed him. Seth’s place was a flat in One Park West, in the city centre. The address alone was enough to suggest the cost of the place, Lizzie noted as she wandered out in the living room/kitchen area. By daylight, and with the edge taken off her … appetite, she could appreciate the beauty of the place. Snow white walls, all the furniture done in red, black, and white. The kitchen was small, but gleaming clean.

Seth stood at the oven, flipping bacon with one hand and stirring a pan of mushrooms with the other. He was wearing a pair of torn jeans and nothing else, his hair ruffled bed-head, and Lizzie hesitated in the bedroom doorway just to drink up the sight of him, greedily running her eyes over his broad shoulders and toned chest. There were still faint red scratches on his back where she’d raked her nails last night, and she looked at them with a silly, possessive pride.