Despicable by Rory Miles
CREED
She looks so small lying on the ground. I can’t believe she punched the guard, but damn did it make me grin like a fool to see crimson coating the dick’s face. The guy she hit was the same one who brought me to the island, so I know he deserved it. He was an asshole, taunting me about being a reject and telling me I wouldn’t make it more than a few days.
Once I make sure she’s breathing and not in immediate danger, I back away from the tree trunk I’m hiding behind, turning to head back to the house to tell the guys.
Wolfsbane’s population went down by one this morning, but now it’s back to ten. I guess the High Pack thought we needed a replacement for George. Other than flagging down the guard boat when one passed by, there has been no discussion on what happened. Like they don’t even care that he was murdered. The guard who showed up was supposed to report it to the proper authorities for an investigation, but he was less than sympathetic when we showed him what happened.
The murder part is my own theory, which I have yet to prove, but I highly doubt George impaled himself on a giant metal rod.
He was killed by someone on this island.
Seeing as the woman is the only one who isn’t a suspect, I feel a little bad for leaving her behind, but I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. You can’t trust strangers, especially not rejects. She may seem mostly sane now, but she could already be going feral. Those wolves are dangerous and typically end up being put down.
For now, she’ll have to fend for herself.
* * *
BELLATRIX
I wake up with a headache and a dry mouth. Note to self: never get tasered again. Tiny drops of rain pepper my skin, and I push off the ground, kneeling and glancing around. The boat is long gone. The dock is deserted, and there isn’t a person in sight. Surely this island isn’t deserted, right?
They’ve been sending rejects to the islands for a few years now, so I doubt this one is empty. Besides, I remember the sensation of being watched earlier. I know at least one other shifter lives on this island. Hopefully they’re not crazy. It would be just my luck to be stranded on an island with a feral wolf.
Blowing out a hard breath to move my hair out of my eyes, I peer into the trees. They’re not too thick, so I can see houses and narrow roads. This place looks fully developed, which is odd considering they’re putting rejects here.
Did they evacuate the islands or were they abandoned?
The rain picks up, pelting me with big drops, and I scowl at the gray and black sky. What do they say? When it rains it pours? Yeah, that about sums it up. Shoving off the rock infested grass, I carefully pick my way through the trees. Nothing has been mowed in this thicker part, and I end up having to dodge more than a few poison ivy plants.
The closer I get to the road, which I can now see loops around a circular drive before shooting off and curving in another direction, the more I notice imperfections. Weeds cropping up across all the lawns, broken shutters, even a few shattered windows and chipped siding. I glance down the road, standing on the edge of the curb and waiting for a car to come screeching around the bend.
No engines, no squealing tires, and no sounds.
Lightning cracks above me, a jagged flash of yellow slicing across the sky.
There is no way they left me here on my own, right?
I step onto the road, scanning the houses. These all appear empty, and I’m getting soaked, so I pivot in the direction of the house on the left, a simple light blue cottage with a covered porch, and race toward it. The houses are two stories and surrounded by trees. They block my view so I can’t tell what lies around the bend in the road, but now isn’t the time to explore. Thudding up the steps, I cross the porch in two seconds and fling the screen door back, praying the front door isn’t locked.
Luck is on my side for one thing it seems. The knob twists with ease and the door opens with a light squeak. I step inside the home, quickly shut the door, and rest my back against the stained glass. I bang my head against the window twice, releasing a hard breath before taking a second to glance around. For being abandoned, the house is clean. I glance at my shoes, wondering how muddy they are, then glance at the runner rug leading down the entryway and into an open concept living and kitchen area.
I ease away from the door, stepping on the tile instead of the rug as I make my way down the short hallway. There are still pictures on the wall from the previous owners, and in the frames are smiling faces with straight teeth, polo shirts, and khakis. A family of four used to live here, parents and two girls. I run my finger over the sisters, shoving the sharp ache in my chest down at the thought of Bella.
I can’t think about it, or I’ll get overwhelmed, so I move on from the pictures and head to the living room. The decor isn’t stuffy, but you can tell the couches cost at least three-thousand dollars apiece and the mahogany entertainment center stretches across half of one wall. A sixty-inch T.V. sits prominently in the middle, and trinkets or books line the shelves around it. The big bay window facing the street has the curtains open, but with the storm, it’s dark in here. I scan the wall for a light switch, snapping it up when I find it.
The light on the ceiling fan flickers to life, much to my surprise, and I take a better look around. This place isn’t clean, it’s spotless. About the time my brain catches the warning flag is the time I hear the whoosh of a pan aimed at my head. I scream and drop to the ground, rolling away from the woman with crazed eyes.
“Get the hell out of my house!” she yells, swinging her arms back for another hit. Her movements are so savage her brown hair flies out behind her. Her wolf energy flares around her. She’s a beta too, and winning a fight against her isn’t guaranteed.
She could be stronger than me. I don’t have enough energy to fight after the silver restraints and cuffs. I should have shifted earlier to heal myself, but I didn’t, a stupid mistake to make on my part.
I scramble away from her, putting the couch between us and holding up my hands. “I’m sorry! I thought it was empty.”
“Well it’s not!” She narrows her eyes and flits her gaze over my body. “I don’t recognize you. You must be new.”
How observant of her. Really, gold stars all around.
“I’m Bellatrix.” I glance around. “I’m sorry I came in without permission.”
“Harlow,” she says, tossing the pan on the couch. “Normally, I’d kick you out, but judging by the marks on your skin, you’ve already been treated like shit enough.”
A hollow laugh works out of me. “You could say that.” I lower my arms and shift on my feet, wincing when my shoes squelch.
Harlow sighs and shakes her head. “I just cleaned too. If you’re staying, take your shoes off.”
She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I take them off, peeling the wet socks off as well, and carry them to the front door, keenly aware of her gaze tracking my every movement. She may have put the weapon down, but she hasn’t relaxed. I set my shoes on the tile, and walk on the carpet to avoid the muddy footprints I left behind when I first came in. A quick glance at the photos confirms Harlow isn’t in them. This wasn’t her home to begin with. She must have claimed it.
When I return to the living room, we stare at each other for an awkward few seconds. Lightning flashes and a boom of thunder chases after it like they’re playing tag.
Clearing my throat, I jerk my thumb over my shoulder, pointing to the mess. “I can clean that up.”
Her eyes lower to the floor, and I swear I see the skin under her left one twitch. “It’s fine. I’ll do it.”
“I don’t mind. After all, I’m the one who made the mess.”
“It’s fine,” she snaps, so I shut my mouth and try not to pull a face that’ll end up with us at odds again.
I really don’t want to be stuck in the rain.
“Wait here. No funny business.” She glares at me before going to grab her supplies.
With nothing better to do, I watch the sheets of rain, wondering if the sky somehow absorbed the tears I’ve been holding back. Harlow returns, muttering under her breath about mud and the inconvenience I’ve caused her. I don’t point out she’s the one who decided she didn’t want help, because that won’t help anything.
She scrubs the floor so hard I’m surprised the mop doesn’t break, and when she finishes, she slams it into the mop bucket, casting her eyes in my direction.
“Come on. I have clothes that might fit you.”
Chewing on my cheek, I follow after her, politely waiting while she puts away the cleaning supplies. I have a million questions for her but for now, I’ll wait. She’s already annoyed with me, and I doubt talking her ear off will help me get into her good graces. She’s actually the first person aside from my family to be somewhat kind to me after being rejected. Everyone else has treated me like a disease.
She leads me down a hall next to the kitchen and into a bedroom. Beach decor lines the walls; a rope wrapped around a picture frame, a miniature helm, a shelf with a sailboat. Soft blue and gray paint, an azure comforter, and a white dresser.
“You’re about a size eight?”
“Or a ten if I eat pizza,” I quip.
This time when she looks at me, the edges of her mouth twist up. “The best we have around here is homemade.”
“No restaurants then? How disappointing. I heard this place had great reviews.”
She laughs, and I cheer myself on. Sarcasm works about seventy percent of the time, the other thirty percent, well, we won’t talk about that. Harlow is pretty when she’s not trying to murder me with a pan, and her soft green eyes light with mirth.
“You can never believe the reviews on Yelp.” Opening a drawer of the dresser, she digs around for a second before pulling out a simple red tank-top and shorts. “This should fit. There’s a brush and hair ties in the top drawer.” She gestures to the dresser.
“Thank you.”
Nodding, she tips her head to the side. “I was going to make tea. Do you want some?”
“Sure.”
Flicking her brown hair over her shoulder, she gives me another once-over before she leaves.
I take my shirt and pants off, setting my wet clothes on the floor and spreading them out to dry since there isn’t a bathroom. Her reaction to the mud I tracked in is enough to tell me she’s a clean freak, and I know she wouldn’t appreciate me dripping water everywhere by carrying the damp clothes with me to ask what I should do with them.
My bra is soaked, and while I hate to part with the only one I have with me, I toss it onto the pile before yanking on the top. The material immediately gets wet from my hair, but I’m drier than I was before. I keep my underwear on because they’re only a little wet, so at least there’s that.
I scoff, shaking my head as I slip into the shorts. One pair of underwear. I must be rich! My hair is a mess, so I use the brush to work out the knots. I make a ponytail and use an elastic around my hair. Grabbing a few bobby pins lying in a plastic dish and sticking them in the back, I pin up the errant strands. This is as good as it’s going to get, so I head off to the kitchen, hoping this time Harlow won’t try to hit me.