The Lost Wolf

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Marcus slammed the door shut and stalked into his house, the hair at the back of his head growing and withdrawing with his rising temper. Britney watched him through wide eyes from the couch, the smile she'd put on dropping the moment she laid eyes on him.

"Dad?" she asked slowly.

Marcus wanted to lash out at her, scream, maybe. But he looked down at the blood on his shirt and rained his anger in enough to first turn around and head to the bathroom.

She's just a kid, he begged into his mind.

A cold laugh came as an answer, hissing into his mind with enough venom to make him shudder.

He barged into the bathroom and pushed the door shut with his shoulder, a growl ripping out of his throat without him meaning to.

"Stop it!" he snarled, hands dropping to clutch at the sink. He looked into the mirror and tried to bring down the smile on his face; it didn't even budge.

"You're forgetting yourself," his reflection said, and he felt his own lips moving to the words. The red of his eyes, the one he'd so proudly wanted to show off before, now only worked as a reminder. Power was a curse, and there was nothing he could do to go back.

"I'm trying," Marcus panted. "My wolves are out there looking but the witches lost her. What am I supposed to do?" he yelled.

He punched his fist onto the sink; it cracked under the force. "YOU LOST HER!"

Marcus tried to pull his hands away and cover his ears but he couldn't move them. He cried out, knees wobbling from under him. He felt, before he saw, the crimson liquid flowing down his ears.

"They are hiding her," he choked. "They must be working with witches, it will take more time to—"

The marble of the sink broke but he still couldn't let go. He swallowed back a cry of pain when his fists clenched around the cracked ends and they sliced through his flesh. "It took you long enough to find her," the voice hissed into his mind, "and she'd been hiding right under your nose."

"She didn't smell li—"

"Shut up!" Marcus dropped to his knees, hands tightening. "Seems like I've given you too much leeway."

"Please—" he gasped. He forced his body to rise and released his hands, let them drop by his sides as the broken marble, too, fell, bloody, at his feet.

Coughs racked his body, and Marcus knew, even through the hold he had on him, that he was growing weaker.

"Make good on our deal, Marcus," he growled, "or I'll be taking back what's mine."

Marcus's eyes widened, and he looked toward the door, the girl behind it. "I'll find her. I swear it, Elijah."

~~~~~

It smelled like copper and rotting flesh.

That was the first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes.

Had the smell not been enough indication, the walls were splattered with blood, enough for her to know that no one could have survived whatever ravaged them.

She quickly got to her feet and looked around the small room.

It was mostly bare, with the bed and closet taking up the majority of the space. But it felt familiar, somehow.

It took her by surprise when she realized how tall the bed looked from that close of a distance, and she looked down at her small feet, her tiny hands.

She turned to the mirror by the door and her eyes widened. Brown curls framed chubby cheeks, still too young for the matured features she'd been used to; and her eyes, the lightest shade of blue she'd ever seen, were wide with terror.