Wolf Cursed

Five blazing stars danced in the twilight sky, their movements were deliberate and almost sentient. Ivy had spent years deciphering celestial signs, but tonight the stars told a story she didn't want to hear. Her tarot cards, spread across the marble surface of her kitchen island, and they screamed danger in ways she couldn’t ignore. She hesitated, hovering her hand over the final card. The cold weight of dread filled the room, pressing against her chest. “Five of Pentacles,” Ivy whispered as the card came into view. The image—a figure cloaked in despair—reflected her worst fears. Material loss, abandonment, grief. A soft whine brought her back to the present. Pixie, her five-month-old Alaskan Husky, tilted her head, her bright eyes filled with concern. Ivy reached out and ruffled the puppy’s ears. “Don’t worry, Pixie. It’s just another reading,” she lied. “I’ve dealt with worse.” The puppy didn’t seem convinced, but she trotted to the kitchen door, tail wagging, as if sensing the day wasn’t done testing them. Ivy sighed, grabbing her leather jacket and the deck of cards. If she was to face what the stars warned her about, she’d rather do it prepared. The streets of Melbourne buzzed with their usual late-evening energy. Neon lights from boutique storefronts spilled onto the cobblestone streets, mixing with the earthy smell of rain from earlier. Ivy navigated the thrumming city with precision, her mind darting between possibilities. The warning in her cards wasn’t a mere coincidence. Five stars. Five of Pentacles. And now, five days of unshakable unease. Each day the readings were clearer, louder, insistent that she was walking into something she might not escape. Her destination was Little Bean, a boutique coffee shop tucked into the basement of a modest shopping mall. It wasn’t her usual haunt, but Leslie, the owner, had called, insisting Ivy visit. When she entered, the aroma of fresh roasted beans wrapped around her like a warm blanket. Leslie’s smile was equally welcoming. “Ivy,” he greeted, wiping his hands on his apron. “Glad you came. How’s Pixie?” “Trouble as always,” Ivy replied, forcing a smile. “What’s going on, Leslie? Your message sounded urgent.” Before he could answer, a commotion from the corner of the shop caught their attention. A young man—mid-twenties, disheveled, and fidgeting—argued with HH, Leslie’s husband. HH was still recovering from a supernatural attack from five months ago, he appeared fragile, but his voice still held authority. “Pay for the coffee,” HH demanded, blocking the man’s path. “I didn’t drink it,” the man retorted, his tone was very sharp and defensive. Ivy moved instinctively, stepping between HH and the stranger. “Hey,” she said, her voice low and steady. “No need to make this worse.” The man’s gaze snapped to her, and for a split second, Ivy saw something—not just anger but desperation, tinged with something darker. Was that magic? No, it was too raw for that. He pushed past her, shoving HH into a counter in the process. Without thinking, Ivy gave chase, her boots pounding against the pavement as the man fled into the parking structure. Adrenaline surged through her as she vaulted over a low barrier, cutting him off at the next level. “Stop!” she commanded. The man didn’t stop. He charged forward, but Ivy planted a kick to his abdomen, sending him sprawling to the ground. He scrambled to his feet, but she was faster, pinning him against the cold cement with her knee on his back. “Apologize to HH,” she demanded. “Now.” The man groaned but nodded. Ivy eased her hold, dragging him to his feet and walking him back toward the coffee shop. Her heart still racing, and her thoughts were on overdrive. Something about this man felt… off. By the time she returned to Little Bean, the shop had gained new customers, and Leslie was busy at the counter. HH was nowhere in sight. Ivy released the man and gestured for him to leave. He muttered an apology under his breath before disappearing into the crowd. Leslie approached her with a steaming cup of coffee. “Long black, on the house. You didn’t have to get involved.” “Of course I did. What happened?” Ivy asked, taking the cup. Leslie’s expression became darkened. “That guy… there was something wrong with him. The way he looked at HH, like he wasn’t even human. And then…” He hesitated. “There was a smell. A metallic kind, like blood. Did you—” “No,” Ivy cut him off, though she had felt it too—a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in the air. Something supernatural had brushed against her during the chase. She set the cup down. “I’ll check on HH later. You two should close early tonight.” Back in her apartment, Ivy spread the tarot cards on the small coffee table in her living room. The Five of Pentacles stared up at her again, unchanged. Her stomach churned as she reached for the deck, shuffling and pulling another card. “The Tower,” she whispered. Chaos. Upheaval. Destruction. A knock at the door startled her, and Pixie barked. Ivy grabbed a small blade from her drawer before opening the door cautiously. A man stood there, tall, impeccably dressed in a European-style suit. His jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes exuded power and mystery. “Ivy, isn’t it?” His voice was smooth, with a faint British lilt. “We need to talk.” She tightened her grip on the blade. “Who are you?” “Killian LeBlanc,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips. “I believe you can help me.” The protective spell her mother had cast on her years ago suddenly flared to life, warning her of imminent danger. But it wasn’t Killian’s presence that triggered it—it was something behind him. Something unseen. “What do you want?” she demanded, keeping her voice steady. Killian stepped closer, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her pulse race. “To save both our lives.” Before she could respond, a shadowy figure emerged from the hallway, its form shifting and unnatural. Ivy barely had time to react before the creature lunged at Killian, claws outstretched. Killian moved faster than her eyes could track, grabbing the creature by the throat and slamming it against the wall. The impact cracked the plaster, and the creature let out a guttural snarl before dissolving into a cloud of black smoke. Killian turned back to her, his expression grim. “We’re out of time.” Ivy’s hand tightened around the blade as the tarot cards on the table fluttered, their edges glowing faintly. The Five of Pentacles burned brighter than the rest, its message was unmistakable. Danger had arrived.