Wild (14 page)

Nick held his ground, growling at the bigger wolf, who ignored him completely, shoving past him to Lizzie. She whined and dropped to the pavement, trying to make herself as small as possible, as if she could hide from him that way. The big wolf sniffed her, his breath hot on her fur. She closed her eyes, waiting for the death blow, the punch of fangs through flesh and the hot gush of blood.

But it didn’t come. The big wolf whined and licked her muzzle. She opened her eyes, shock coursing through her. The wolf stepped away from her, ears cocked, head titled. Curious. Waiting.

His actions seemed to drive Nick into a frenzy. He barked and snapped, dancing from one foot to the other, clearly telling the Kurtadam wolf to piss off. Lizzie cringed, certain the bigger wolf would turn on Nick now.

But again, he surprised her. Just backed away from her with a sad little whine, and a huff of disgust in Nick’s direction. And then he trotted off in the direction the ghoul had taken, swallowed by shadows seconds later.

Sheer relief snapped Lizzie back into her human body, as if the Other had been scared off by the Kurtadam wolf. Sitting naked in the middle of the road, she hugged herself and stared after him, trying to see him through the darkness. Of course, she couldn’t. Her head throbbed, her high faded, like shape-changing had burned through the drugs. With a moan of pain, she turned to Nick, in time to see him slipping back into his human body too.

Naked and pale in the darkness, he looked too thin, and she wondered if he ever ate anything or just subsisted on drugs? A gift of the werewolf metabolism, maybe. She crossed the street to join him, feeling cold and shivery, as if she’d suddenly gone into shock.

“Are you okay?” he asked her, slinging his arm round her shoulder. He was cold too, clammy even, but the press of his flesh against hers was nice, sending a little fire through her that took away some of the cold. She pushed herself closer to him.

“Fine,” she said. “God, I thought he was going to rip my throat out or something.”

“Yeah, well,” Nick said darkly. “He’s probably gone to fetch his mates. We should get out of here before he comes back. Come on, you can crash at mine. I’ve got a load of weed at home if you fancy it.”

She did fancy it. She huddled close against him, letting him lead her. The gravel and broken glass on the pavement cut into her bare feet, but she hardly noticed. The world was still spinning, the pills still spiralling through her, creating a storm of mixed emotions inside her. Worry that the Kurtadam wolf would be back to do … whatever they did battled with an almost mouth-watering lust for Nick.

It was wrong, she knew that. So soon after Harris, it was wrong. But she couldn’t help it; he felt so good pressed up against her, smelt good too, and the drugs charged her body, turning her on and firing her up and filling her head with sex. She needed it, needed to lose herself in another person, burn away the memories of this godawful day. She deserved that, didn’t she?

Nick’s place was a flat near Lime Street, a boxy studio flat that smelt of weed and dust. Nick flipped the light switch on as the entered, flooding the tiny room with blue light. Lizzie glanced up at the light bulb, oddly delighted by the colour. “Nice,” she said.

“Yeah.” He pulled her into his arms, kissing her hungrily, and she responded instinctively, raking her nails down his back and drawing guttural moans from him. Entwined and oblivious, they fumbled their way to the bed in the corner, falling onto it in a tangle of limbs. Lizzie giggled, suddenly self-conscious of her nudity and his. She ran her fingers down his chest, surprised at how soft his skin was. Maybe it was a trace of wolf fur left behind?

Nick shifted her around until they lay side by side, fingers and lips moving quick and heated in the blue light. She whimpered and pleaded as he toyed with her, then cried out in protest when he suddenly hopped off the bed. “Where are you going?”

He fumbled around in a drawer across the room, then held up two packets triumphantly. One was a condom. The other was a bag of pills. Lizzie smiled, relaxing, and swallowed the two he gave her without a second thought. Nick took a couple too, and then he was back on her, and Lizzie was lost in a torrent of sensation.

She let it take her, desperate to shake off the misery and anguish of the past few days. It was all done now. Harris was taken care of, and Nick was taking care of her. She could stay with him, stay high, stay safe. The Kurtadam, with their mysterious rules and clubs, would leave her alone if she was with Nick, because he would protect her. Save her. He already had, hadn’t he?

Wound together, they rolled and clawed, kissed and panted, and Lizzie felt crazy, like she was flying. It was selfish sex, all take, no give, but that was what sex on drugs was like, and it was what she wanted. Pure physicality, nothing deeper, nothing complicated. And that was what Nick gave her.

And afterwards they lay together, staring at the ceiling as the drugs swirled through them, laughing breathlessly. “Stick with me,” Nick told her again, brushing her sweat-soaked hair from her face. “And everything will be fine.”

She believed him.

fifteen

L
IZZIE WAS SORE
and achy the next morning, but she didn’t care. Some of it was the exertions of last night – both as a werewolf and as a human – some of it was her usual reaction to taking lots of drugs. Neither bothered her. She rolled over, stretching her tired limbs and trying to put her thoughts in order. Everything felt a bit hazy, a bit fuzzy. Nick lay next to her, one arm flung across his eyes. She propped herself up on her elbow, studying him thoughtfully. Where would she be now without him? Dead in a gutter somewhere, probably. How was she supposed to thank him?

As if sensing her scrutiny, he stirred, lifting his arm to peer at her with groggy eyes. “Alright?” He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Must be time for more drugs.”

That sounded good to Lizzie. Hair of the dog. Hair of the wolf. “What do you have apart from pills?” she asked.

He shrugged, rolling his shoulders. “Some coke somewhere, a bit of weed, obviously, probably some ketamine too, if you want that.”

“I want that,” she said immediately. Ketamine sounded perfect.

Nick grinned and leapt out of bed, going to the drawer the pills had been in last night. “So, plan for the day,” he said conversationally as he pulled out a bag of white powder. “Get high, keep fucking, then maybe head out tonight and have some fun.” He tossed the bag to her.

She caught it eagerly, already hungry for the falling-flying feeling that ketamine gave her. She clambered out of bed, looking around for something to throw on. Her clothes from last night were history; some tramp had probably snatched them up to use as a pillow. Luckily Nick had plenty of old t-shirts and jeans scattered around his tiny flat, and she pulled on a worn pair of jeans that hung loosely off her hips, and a t-shirt so faded you couldn’t read the band logo on it anymore.

“What about a gig or something?” she asked. If he had coke going, a gig sounded perfect. It had been so long, and she loved being high like that on a night out. It just gave an extra edge to everything that she couldn’t resist.

“Yeah, maybe,” he replied. “Or we could go check on your mate Harris, see what he’s up to.” He winked at her, leaving her in no doubt as to what he meant, and Lizzie’s stomach flipped a little.

Chasing random ghouls around the city for a laugh was one thing, but Harris? Was Nick that cruel? “I sort of just wanted to forget about him,” she muttered.

“Oh sure,” he said quickly. “Sorry. Yeah, okay. Bring that over here,” he gestured to the bag of ket she held, “and I’ll cut us some lines.”

A few minutes later, she was full of ket and Harris was a distant concern.

****

“Tell me about the Kurtadam,” she asked Nick. “Why are you so scared of them?”

She was lying on her stomach on his carpet, running her fingers back and forth over the pale green threads. Her legs had stopped working – too bendy, too floppy – and falling over had seemed the only sensible option. Nick was sprawled on his bed, smoking a joint, eyes closed. They snapped open when she mentioned the Kurtadam, and he rolled onto his front to stare intently at her.

“I’m not scared of them,” he corrected her. “Just smart enough to stay away from them – and you should be too.”

“Why?” she persisted. “If we’re all werewolves together, what’s the problem?”

“I’ve heard rumours,” he said darkly. “When I was still living in Ireland, I met a couple of Vargulfs who told me some weird shit. Kurtadam experimenting on them, trying to figure out how the werewolf virus is passed along. Because none of them are “made” like us, you see?” He sat up and crossed his legs, warming to his theme. “They’re all born werewolves, so it’s not the same for them. They’re trying to work out how we get turned.”

“Why?”

“So they can stop it! Look, they hate us, don’t they? We’re like the peasants and they’re the kings, and they hate us. They hate how we live, that they can’t control us. When I first moved to Liverpool, I got into a fight with a few Kurtadam lads. I only got away alive because I could change shape so much faster than them. And they hated that. A couple of weeks later they were after me again, demanding to know what my secret was.”

“What did you tell them?” she asked.

“It was drugs,” he replied simply, tapping his skull and flicking ash all over the bedclothes. “Drug use breaks down some barrier in your head, that’s my theory. The part that keeps the wolf locked away, it gets destroyed and that makes it easier to shape shift. The Kurtadam are so bloody self-righteous and hung up on self-control and that shit, they just can’t shift as fast as me.”

“What about other Vargulfs?” she asked. “Can they change faster too?”

He shrugged. “No idea. But you can – I saw last night. You didn’t struggle at all, did you?”

She shook her head, remembering how easy, how natural it had been to slip into the wolf shape, let the Other take her over. “No, I guess not.”

“Right, well the Kurtadam hate that. And the ghouls too. Most ghouls are made by Vargulfs when they change for the first time, like I explained to you before. I’m sure a few of them are Kurtadam accidents, but they’d never admit to it. So they take it out on us, not getting at all that it wouldn’t happen if they came down from their fucking ivory towers and helped us out instead of picking on us.” He curled his lips in disgust.

Lizzie digested that thoughtfully. “So how do we avoid them?”

“Stick with me,” he told her once more. “We’ll be fine together, Lizzie.” He slid off the bed and down to the carpet to sit beside her, stroking her hair. “I’ve taken good care of you this far, right?”

“Right,” she agreed, slowly sitting up so she could kiss him. It was hard work – her spine felt rubbery and liquid. But she managed it, and Nick helped keep her upright. “I’m starving,” she announced when they parted. The Other was demanding meat, fresh and bloody, but Lizzie would settle for a pizza. With sausage and pepperoni and spicy beef and extra cheese. And maybe a portion of potato wedges.

Nick stood and grabbed his wallet from the beside table. He rifled through quickly. “I think I can treat us to something,” he said. “As long as you don’t expect anything too fancy.”

“I’m happy with cheap and cheerful,” she assured him.

“My kind of girl.” He pulled her to her feet and offered her his arm. “Let’s go, then.”

“Oh, wait.” She hung back, suddenly feeling silly in her borrowed clothing. Wherever they were going, she didn’t want to be seen in Nick’s unwashed jeans and ratty t-shirt. “I need to go home and change first.”

He grumbled, and for a second his moody pout reminded her of Harris, but she pushed that thought away and smiled winningly at him. “I can take a taxi to mine and meet you somewhere in town?” she suggested.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and sighed heavily. “Women. You’re all so fucking vain. Alright, whatever. Meet you in an hour at the Pilgrim, yeah?”

“Right.” She snorted one more line of ket for the road and followed Nick down to the street. She’d need the ket to get her through the trip home. The thought of going back to that house, with Harris’s blood still staining the carpet… She swallowed hard, afraid she might be sick. Then she stepped out into the fresh air and the feeling passed. Nick was looking after her now. As long as the drugs kept flowing, she’d be fine.

****

Her street was quiet, as always. She lived in the dodgier part of Wavertree, where people were suspicious of their neighbours and kept their curtains tightly closed against the outside world. Something she’d never been more grateful for as she fumbled under the doormat for the spare front door key.

As she slipped the mat back into place, she noticed the smell. She stiffened as the Other’s sharp senses kicked in. Musky, earthy. Wolf. Werewolf. Lizzie’s heart pounded. It was her, of course. Her wolf scent. It was on everything, mixed with the sour smell of blood. Her stomach churned, and if she’d had anything in it, she would have puked.

She dashed into the house, too fraught to pause and consider the blood-stained carpets. She grabbed the first clean clothes she found, barely noticing what they were, and left the house again, locking the door firmly behind her, as if that would help somehow.

Nick was already in the Pilgrim when she arrived. He’d staked out the same table they’d had last time and was nursing a pint of beer. There was a double vodka and orange waiting for Lizzie, and she resisted the urge to down it in one as she sat down. Gripping the edge of the table for support, she whispered to Nick, “I can’t go back there.”