Page 5 of Feral

Sunlight streamed in through the large windows, illuminating the spotless floors and tables polished to a shine. The belief that all pubs were grimy establishments may have been true for Mundane pubs, but the supernatural ones didn’t smell or look like a stables. We took pride in our places of refuge, especially since throughout history, our kind has been hunted so brutally. Werewolves perhaps especially.

The booths at the Ace and Gryphon were nice and roomy to accommodate the usually large stature of the magical creatures that frequented the pub. Like most of our pubs in Scotland, this one was the site of a former bank. Unlike most of them, this one had a protective glamour and boundary spell around it to both disguise the clientele and keep Mundanes the hell away.

I shifted in the booth, the old leather groaning under my massive, furry body, and took a long pull from my pint. I wasn’t the only Werewolf. There were four at the table near mine, and one incredibly large Werebear that just barely fit in the chair he was perched atop. A couple of Harpies were giving a Mothman a hard time but he seemed to like it, the eejit.

Two Gargoyles were shooting darts, the pints clenched in their fists looked like a child’s sippy cup. I was a little surprised to see a few Mundane lasses sitting with the Ephemerals in the corner so I tried to see into the gloom the creatures projected. If the Mundanes were being hypnotized into sitting with those creepy bastards, I’d have to step in. But after some not at all subtle staring, I was able to determine that they were fine.

Mundanes were what we called the unmagical crowd. The ones in the corner didn’t know they were in a pub that catered to beings that they might see as monsters. They saw exactly what the glamour made them see: regular men and women in for a pint or two in the middle of the day.

The only Mundanes that could darken the door of the Ace and Gryphon had to be with one of our kind, and even then, most of them weren’t given permission to see beyond the glamour that protected us and the bar. If they weren’t with one of us, the Mundanes gave this place a wide berth, good whiskey or not.

The glamours had evolved over the years, from spelled charms that wore off in a few hours to specialized magical tattoos that were created specifically for each supernatural. We all received our permanent glamours when we reached whatever age was maturity to our species. For most supernaturals, it was eighteen. And if there was any growing left to be done, our glamours would change with us. Not only that, but whenever our glamours were in place, it felt real to anyone touching us. The clothes we wore in the disguise, our hair, muscles, skin, all of it. No one, not even another supernatural, would be able to tell the difference. We could alter any part of our bodies, making aspects of our true form disappear if we wanted to. Or, if someone wanted to be very strange, we could manipulate our bodies into any kind of hybrid combinations. If I wanted, I could have yellow eyes all the time, or longer fingers. But I wasn’t stupid. Mundanes feared what they didn’t understand. And throughout our long history living alongside them, the one thing we all could agree on was that Mundanes never would, or could, rightly understand us.

Oh sure, there were a few exceptions. But they were just that. Exceptions. The rule was to be hunted and killed, and in my kind’s case, to be destroyed damn near from existence. We still didn’t have many numbers, not compared to the days of the Druids. And even less compared to the days of the ancient Scottish clans.

But the glamours, originally created by the Druids, had helped keep us through the dark times. And when witches had discovered how to do it for all the supernaturals, it had enabled us to come out of hiding, to create relationships with others outside our species. It didn’t mean we always got along. There had been wars to be sure. But given how precarious our existence was in some ways, getting along was a matter of survival.

I checked my watch and growled, causing the Harpies to stare at me. Werewolves weren’t exactly known for their patience, and right now mine was stretched thin. I’d asked the damn Gargoyle to be here half an hour ago and yet here I was, sitting alone and nursing my pint like a lass, stood up on a date.

I was the liaison between the MacDonald Werewolf clan and the Secret Archive, a job that had been forced upon me by the previous director to protect my clan. I had no idea how she’d met her demise, but I didn’t shed a tear for that cow. She’d cost my clan good men and women with her scheming and threats, including my grand-dad. He’d sacrificed himself so we’d have safety, thrusting my brother, Angus, into the Alpha role. Angus wasn’t the trusting sort before all that blew up, and after, he’d become less so. The fact that I had agreed to take on a role as go between with the organization that had killed the man that had raised us had caused a rift between Angus and me, one that still made my heart ache. I loved my brother, respected him. We’d been close as bairns, but time, and the burden of responsibility, had made Angus hard, withdrawn. There were many days that I wondered if I knew my brother at all.

James says this new director isn’t like the other, she’s firm but fair. We’ll see, won’t we? If the arse ever shows up.

My claws scraped against the glass of the pint and I decided to just drain the damn thing. The amber liquid ran down my throat and I closed my eyes on a huff of breath. The Earth Fae that ran the brewery for most of the magical pubs in Scotland knew their shit. I didn’t care much for beer anywhere else, but this brew reminded me somehow of running out under a moonlit, cloudless sky; the wind in my fur, the scent of wood smoke in the air.

That’s some powerful magic they’ve infused in there. No wonder it was so pricey.

I hadn’t been out to the country for more than the three full-moon nights every month in ages. It would be nice to just walk the hills at my leisure without the frenzy that over took us during the full moon. But in the past few years, I’d been too busy making sure my clan was protected to enjoy a break out in the countryside. And I wasn’t just protecting them from the Secret Archive, but from the other clans.

Campbell in particular.

I huffed out a frustrated breath through my nose, startling the Harpy walking by.

“What’s the matter wolf?” she asked, her serrated teeth gleaming in the light from the window. “You lonely?”

The Harpy wasn’t bad looking, as her species went. Her breasts were high and firm under the shirt she wore for decency among us all, and her feathers shone red and blue with golden accents that matched her eyes. And the claws on her feet were clean, something that couldn’t be said for some of her ilk. I knew by the flush on her face that she wanted me to take her into the bathroom and fuck her quick and dirty.

Well, maybe I didn’t know it that specifically, but I was pretty sure she wouldn’t say no if I suggested it.

She ran her long talon through the black fur along my shoulder, grazing the bare skin on my chest. I didn’t wear a shirt, just a kilt and a sporran, for personals.

“You waiting on someone?” she whispered. “Me maybe?”

It had been an embarrassingly long time since I’d rutted with anyone. And while my cock might stir at the thought of rough, anonymous fucking, it also left a hollow ache in my chest. Unbidden,herface came to mind. The way she’d stared at me, cowered and spat out her disgust at the blood on my hands, matted in my fur. Silvia had been the only Mundane I’d ever fallen in love with. I was going to reveal myself to her, ask her to be my mate, when someone from a rival clan had attacked us. I’d gone into a rage, let the glamour that made me look human slip, and ripped the assailant apart with my bare claws.

Understandably, Silvia had been shocked, frightened.

I had expected that.

But not the sheer and utter disgust, horror even in those lovely eyes. She’d run from me, called the police when I showed up at her door, and moved back to London within the week. That was over a year ago, and I hadn’t been able to stomach being with a female since.

I winced unwillingly and took the Harpy’s hand off my body.

“Not today, lass,” I whispered, letting a growl into the syllables.

Her bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

“Well, if you change your mind—”

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