168- Whispers Before the Threshold
POV Elowen Grimwald:
I used to be the unhinged sister, but life turned me into a fake, dissembling woman.
Every time I looked at my boss’s surly face, I felt like punching the mouth of that fifty-something bastard with my twenty-year-old little hand—one he had no idea hid a strength that could rival his entire fragile masculinity.
The wretch named Ralph had been married for twenty years and was screwing the cook at the same time.
Did you know that, because of that, her salary was higher than the other woman’s, who did the same job?
Long live vaginal capitalism!
The old traitor even had the audacity to come up behind me, touching my waist, imagining that with that buttered beer belly and the black wart jutting from the edge of his nose, he could make me his second mistress.
I might be poor and live in an old shack in the forest, but I had dignity. Just imagine if I, bearer of extraordinary beauty, would ever give myself to a disgusting thing like that.
The diagnosis for Ralph’s bad character? Just one: he was born a man.
I doubted there were still any men of value left in the world. Even those who seemed harmless were merely pretending to get what they wanted. How was I supposed to find my predestined one in a shithole like that?
Ansel, my first little crush, promised we would run away together from my old pack and be happy forever, but the only things he was good for were taking my virginity and not ratting out my escape with Lunara.
At least that, right? Just imagine if, besides having crushed my little bud for almost a year, he had also been capable of turning me in.
Ouch!
I groaned in pain when I slammed my hip against the doorframe while balancing my tray in one hand, leaving the industrial kitchen for the bar’s common area.
My last escape had left me covered in scrapes all over my body, and they were taking longer to dry and heal because my transformation was approaching. All my strength seemed to be getting sucked away like fuel for my caged wolf to emerge.
Energy my creature would use to tear me from the inside out, sooner or later.
I twisted my face at the sting of the wounds, and Ralph walked past me with a furrowed brow, carving grooves of interrogation into his forehead, as if asking: what’s the problem, girl?
Of course I smiled to hide it. Of course I pretended to adore him and laughed at his unfunny jokes whenever I was forced to hear them. Of course I kept everything I felt about myself and others to myself, instead of trying to make new friends.
If my opinions and desires had been silenced and treated as useless in my cradle of birth, what weight would they carry in the ears of strangers who knew little about me, after all?
And I couldn’t even complain.
People had their own problems. I stopped to reflect one afternoon off, during my calendula bath, and reached an important conclusion:
Every being is sad; the difference is that some of them disguise it better.
I tested it. I walked into my new job a master of pretending, and guess what? As much as I hated eighty percent of my coworkers, they adored me.
All advantages in being the adored one, the cute one.
I got clothes the cooks’ daughters didn’t want anymore. Portions of recipes they made at home and brought to me.
I didn’t flatter myself too much because, deep down, I knew they pleased me because of the undeniable merit of my skill at serving and organizing. I never mixed up tables or orders. I didn’t waste time chatting with customers. I didn’t leave messes for them to clean up at the end of the shift.
An exchange, always an exchange. They just didn’t want me to quit and be replaced by an incompetent.
My only little flaw was being slightly clumsy.
A few hours, catcalls received, and frogs swallowed later, I thought the bar would start to empty as usual, but no. The festival taking place in the city brought people from all over Romania.
The rustic wooden tables gleamed with buttered beer spilled during toasts. All the colored lights on the ceiling were on, and the speakers reverberated with the most traditional Romanian music.
“A-ram-sam-sam A-ram-sam-sam
Guli-guli-guli-guli”
Some women wore ie, a light linen blouse adorned with florals and geometric figures, thick wool skirts, colorful ribbons in their hair, and leather shoes. And some of the men wore a similar shirt, but with a leather belt and wide trousers; a few even wore a vest over the shirt.
And then something caught my attention—but not only mine, because every head turned to look, and my necklace, which I still hadn’t had time to sell, burned against my collarbone.
Three figures cut through the bar’s lights as they entered. Men whose height defied gravity and whose shoulders seemed capable of bearing the weight of the sky itself. Muscular, they moved with confidence, as if blessed by the ancient gods.
The one on the right had blond strands that caught the light as if made of liquid gold; the one in the middle had the darkness of short hair contrasting with skin that spoke of nights spent outdoors; and the one on the left was similar to the middle one, but with narrower, slanted eyes. Their auras carried an energy of abundance and prosperity that only the important possessed.
My suspicions were confirmed when my boss left the register and walked toward them with open arms, as if they were guests of honor.
Isaac stopped beside me, at the right corner of the register, holding his own tray close to his body.
“They say they’re wolves,” he let slip.
A crackling shiver ran through my body when I heard it. If the rumor was true, things would get tense for me.
There was a chance those men were my pursuers from the forest…
“Where did you get that?” I played dumb, even with my heart nearly leaping out of my chest.
“That’s what the gossips say. They live in an area far from the forest. Even the authorities respect them and…” He tilted his head to speak closer to my ear. “I heard that people who tried to go in there disappeared; not even their bodies were found. It seems there are even evil witches in that place.” He used a dark tone, like someone telling a horror story.
The reality of the threat grew before me, tangible and sharp as the blade hidden beneath a traitor’s tongue.
In my search for Lunara, I had walked every corner of that forest, and every time I had to run. My luck was that,
always, upon reaching a certain point, the pursuers gave up.
Even without having gone through the transformation, my strength and agility for running had always been above average in my old pack. Whoever tried to trap me would have to hope I couldn’t escape, because capturing me again would be unlikely.
“Dear, I know it’s my turn, but can you take their table?” I asked sweetly, smiling and batting my thick lashes at Isaac, whom I knew had a platonic crush on me.
“Of course I can, beautiful.” He winked one eye and puffed out his chest, proud to do me a favor.
Poor Isaac, condemned to the limbo of one-sided passion. Although his features were sculpted with a certain beauty—a smooth, pale skin like the light of dawn, full eyebrows and lips—he lacked the substance I longed for. He was too skinny.
I broke off my reverie and my eyes slid across the room. Each customer was immersed in their own world of laughter and conversation; everyone seemed fine. Isaac approached the table of the supposed wolves, and Ralph shook his head in refusal.
Shit.
What was the problem?