Page 57 of Cursed Wolf

I followed the road into the glittering city center. The skyscrapers stretched above me so high, I had to crane my neck to follow the lines.

And that was when I bumped into someone for the first time.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry!”

“Watch it, human,” came the disdainful sneer of the person I’d bumped into.

I spun on the sidewalk, watching the tall, ethereal beauty walk off. It was a woman with a set of massive wings on her back. She wore a backless evening gown and those wings definitely looked like they were part of her anatomy, not a piece of some cheesy costume. They were covered in black feathers with a gold and purple iridescent sheen.

At a crosswalk, the woman lifted the hem of her elegant dress a few inches and bent her knees deeply. Then with a single, powerful beat of those wings, she was in the air.

She was flying. With wings. Her wings. She was a woman who had wings and used them to fly.

Holy fucking shit. Was she an angel?

A rude angel, to be fair. But a winged person nonetheless.

I watched her fly, her form growing smaller as she glided elegantly alongside one of the skyscrapers. When she was almost too far up to see anymore, I saw her land on a balcony where other people were gathered. Other people with wings of all sorts of colors.

My gaze moved away from the balcony party across the skyline, and only then did it hit me that this city was full of winged people.

Some were in mid-flight, while others walked the streets like normal pedestrians. At an outdoor patio across the street, two men sat at a table over what looked like coffee and pastries. They sat in backless chairs, basically wide stools with more support, their wings angled in a way so they wouldn’t run into each other. One man’s wings were a creamy white color with a silvery sheen catching the light. The other’s had black feathers with golden-purple highlights, much like the woman I’d bumped into.

A sleek, shiny motorcycle rumbled past me, and its rider had wings as well. Come to think of it, most of the vehicles on the smooth, dark roads were motorcycles. Cars probably weren’t too comfortable if you had to cram your wings inside.

These people have wings, holy shit! My mind couldn’t get over that fact, and I couldn’t stop gawking at all of them. It didn’t help that they all looked inhumanly beautiful as well.

There were non-winged people as well, but they were by far the minority. I counted maybe one normal-looking human walking down the street to every five angels.

If the humans saw any kinship in me, felt any desire to help one of their own who was clearly lost and awestruck, they didn’t show it. Everyone was coming and going in a hurry, their faces looking down at a cellphone screen or straight ahead with single-minded purpose.

At some point, I’d have to talk to someone, ask for directions to Stout & Spirit, but my mind was too overloaded with new information. Beautiful people with wings. People who could fly. A huge, bustling city apparently hidden in the middle of nowhere. Full of people with fucking wings!

Slowly, the lights of the city seemed to fade, and for the first time, I actively checked my surroundings and muttered a curse. I’d been so busy gawking at the city and its winged residents that I didn’t realize I had stumbled onto a much darker, more run-down street.

This part of the city was definitely older, with aged bricked buildings rather than the shiny glass and steel structures in the central area. Huge cracks and potholes filled the streets, unlike the pristine asphalt that I’d walked on moments ago. Faded graffiti covered the crumbling brick walls and dumpsters lined narrow alleyways. The lights here were dim and cast a sickly yellow glow, throwing long ominous shadows on the narrow streets.

Even cities full of angels had their slums, apparently.

A creaking sound put me on high alert and I froze in place, watching a door open in the alley just ahead. A man with no wings stepped out, allowing the door to close behind him.

He leaned against the building, the yellow exterior light carving around his silhouette. I could only make out general shapes but saw that he was tall with a mess of spiky hair. He propped one foot on the wall behind him and proceeded to light a cigarette. The small flame showed a sharp, angular face with prominent cheekbones. Dark hair fell over his forehead and a tattoo decorated his throat. He wasn’t unattractive, but there was a dark, mean look to him.

Was this guy a werewolf? Tryn could be intimidating, but this man was scary in a completely different way.

Something was off about the cigarette too. The end glowed red like normal, but the smoke he exhaled on a sigh was also red. An odd smell drifted over in the air, something earthy and metallic.

By the time my rational brain caught up with all my observations and figured out that I probably shouldn’t catch this man’s attention, his head had turned lazily in my direction.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a bored drawl.

“Um, no. No, I’m good, thank you.” I fully knew that I should turn around and walk away, but there was something enthralling about this man. I was equal parts fascinated and scared out of my mind.

“A likely story.” He flicked his cigarette, sending sparks and red ash to the filthy ground before taking another drag. “You lost, little human?”

“No! No, I’m good. Just…walking.”

He turned his whole body toward me then and took a few steps closer. All my instincts screamed with fear, but I could not seem to bring myself to move.

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