11. Michael
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MICHAEL
“Dad, are you awake?” I asked, knocking softly on my father’s bedroom door.
No response, just his loud, familiar snores.
I peeked inside and saw him sprawled out, sleeping soundly. Deciding to let him sleep a while longer, I headed downstairs.
In the kitchen, I made breakfast, setting aside a portion and covering it with cling wrap.
I left a note on the counter: “Dad, went to work early. Breakfast is in the kitchen. Love, Michael.”
I glanced out the windows, scanning the street for any sign of the brown car that had been stalking me.
Satisfied that it wasn’t there, I grabbed my jacket and headed out. It had been three days since I found Liliana’s letter in my letterbox.
Since then, my dad had been in overprotective mode, driving me to work and picking me up when our shift was over.
Last night, I finally convinced him to go out drinking with Stan and his other buddies.
We both needed a break from each other, and nothing happened to me last night, right?
So, it should be safe to walk to work alone this morning, open up the shop early, and maybe catch up on some paperwork.
As I walked, my phone beeped. Seeing Doyle’s name on the screen made my heart skip a beat. A text from him.
I wanted to respond immediately but stopped myself. After our last painful conversation, maybe he was right—we needed distance.
A part of me was still unfairly mad at Doyle for suggesting it, and maybe I was avoiding him to punish him a little.
It was childish, but it was what it was.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and quickened my pace. The early morning air was cold, and the streets were quiet.
The calm was deceptive, though. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.
Every rustle of leaves, every distant car engine, set my nerves on edge.
I turned a corner, keeping my eyes on the sidewalk ahead. The shop was just a few blocks away. I could make it. I had to make it.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed again. Another message from Doyle. My resolve wavered. What if it was important?
What if he had news about Liliana? I stopped in my tracks, debating whether to read the message.
In that moment of hesitation, I heard footsteps behind me. Quick, purposeful.
My heart raced, and I spun around, but the street was empty.
My paranoia was getting the better of me. I forced myself to keep walking, picking up the pace.
The shop’s sign came into view, a small comfort in the growing unease.
I reached the door and fumbled with the keys, glancing over my shoulder one last time.
The street was still empty. No sign of anyone.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside, locking it behind me. The familiar smell of oil and metal filled my nostrils, grounding me.
I took a deep breath and pulled out my phone. I couldn't avoid Doyle forever. His message was short, asking if I was okay.
I typed a quick response: “I'm fine. Just needed some space. Hope you're well.”
Hitting send, I slipped the phone back into my pocket and got to work.
The sound of tools and the hum of machinery were a welcome distraction.
But even as I tried to focus, the thought of Liliana’s letter lingered in the back of my mind.
Nothing had happened since the letter was delivered, but I couldn’t let my guard down.
The morning had been going smoothly until the door chimed, signaling the entrance of a customer.
I looked up from the paperwork to see a tall, unhappy muscular man. His yellow eyes were narrowed in anger—a shifter alpha, my fox warned me.
Stan had just stepped out for a smoke, leaving me to handle the shop alone.
“Can I help you?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“I need my car fixed. Now,” he barked.
“We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment. If you could leave your keys and contact info, we’ll get to it as soon as we can,” I replied, maintaining a polite tone.
He shook his head. “That’s not good enough. I need it done now,” he said.
The tension in his voice made my heart race. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm.
“I understand your urgency, but we’re doing the best we can,” I said.
“Your best isn’t good enough!” he shouted, slamming his fist on the counter.
The noise echoed through the empty shop, making me flinch. Panic started to creep in, and my chest tightened.
Memories of Liliana’s people shouting and hurling obscenities at me when a spell didn’t work rushed back, unbidden and overwhelming.
I tried to push them away, focusing on the here and now, but the alpha’s aggressive posture and loud voice made it impossible.
He stepped closer, invading my personal space. “I said I need it done now!”
That was the breaking point. My vision blurred, and my breathing became erratic.
I felt trapped, just like before. My inner fox curled inside me.
Without thinking, I turned and ran, bolting into the back office and hiding under my desk, curling into a ball.
The sound of the shop door opening and Stan’s heavy footsteps reached me faintly.
“What’s going on here?” Stan’s voice was firm.
“Your boy ran off. I need my car fixed,” the shifter growled.
Stan’s tone hardened. “You need to calm down and step outside. Now,” Stan said.
I rocked back and forth, trying to steady my breathing. Stan’s voice grew muffled, distant, as if coming from underwater.
My mind was a whirlwind of fear and confusion. Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours. I had no sense of time.
Then, I heard footsteps approaching the office. Stan’s voice broke through my haze, gentler this time.
“Michael, what are you doing down there?” Stan asked.
I couldn’t respond. My body trembled, and I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping it would all go away.
Stan knelt beside me, his hand on my shoulder.
“I’m going to call your dad, okay? Just hang in there,” Stan said.
He moved away, and I heard him talking on the phone, but the words were indistinct.
Eventually, I heard the front door open and close again. More footsteps, heavier this time, and then my dad’s worried voice.
“Michael?”
The sound of my dad’s voice snapped me back to reality. I looked up to see his concerned face and felt a rush of shame and relief.
“Dad, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again,” I blurted.
He helped me up and pulled me into a tight hug.
“Let’s take a break, okay? You need to rest,” he said.
“I can’t. I need to work. I need to—” I began, but he cut me off gently.
“Stan can handle it. Let’s just go home for now.”
I wanted to argue, to insist I was fine, but the truth was, I was exhausted. Reluctantly, I nodded.
“Okay,” I eventually said.
We left the shop, and as we walked home, I realized that no matter how much I wanted to believe I could be normal again, I would never be.
My dad surprised me by picking up a box of my favorite donuts before heading home.
I used to love eating these, but now I found them too sweet. Still, I didn't want to tell my dad that and ruin his gesture.
As we pulled into the driveway, my heart sank. The same brown car from before was parked a few houses away.
My dad noticed it too. "Is that the stalker?" he asked, his voice tight.
I nodded, my hand instinctively reaching for my cellphone to speed dial Doyle.
Before I could, my dad killed the engine and opened the car door.
"Dad, wait," I blurted out, a wave of terror washing over me.
I had seen my dad hold his own in fights before, but confronting a black witch or warlock wasn't like a regular bar fight.
"Michael, stay in here while I find out what these bastards want," my dad said firmly, slamming the door shut before I could protest.
Every muscle in my body was paralyzed. I couldn't move, couldn't think. Time seemed to slow as I watched my father stride towards the car.
My mind flashed to the other dead shifters in the cages, and I found the courage to bolt out of the door and run after him.
"Dad!" I yelled, desperation in my voice.
"Michael, get back in the car," my father shouted back.
A car skidded to a stop behind me. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see a door fly open and a pair of strong hands grab me, yanking me inside.
Panic surged through me. The first car was a decoy, I thought in shock.
"No," I whispered, struggling to get away, but it was too late.
I was already inside the vehicle, the door slamming shut behind me.
The world outside blurred as the car sped away, my heart pounding with fear and adrenaline.
Calm down, I yelled at myself, trying to soothe my panicking inner fox.
"Relax, Michael, I'm just here to deliver a personal message to you," said a smug voice.
I recognized the pale-skinned, dark-haired warlock sitting next to me, but I couldn't remember his name.
My mind was in panic mode. This wasn't real, I kept thinking. I finally got out... I didn't deserve to go through this again.
I clenched my fists by my side, trying my best to summon my fox, but it wouldn't come out. Coward, I thought bitterly.
"What do you—what does Liliana want, Morgan?" I demanded, finally recalling the warlock's name.
Morgan was Helena's student, I remembered. My mind raced in a billion places.
I thought of how I broke down in the store, the look of pity in Stan's eyes, and my father's.
I couldn't stand the way they saw me, like I was a fragile piece of glass that had to be handled carefully.
"The letter I slipped into your letterbox was just us reminding you we haven't forgotten you," Morgan said cheerfully.
At my silence, he continued, “After what you and your dragon shifter friends did to Helena, I could kill you right now, but lucky you, you're still Liliana's favorite. She wants you to know she can't wait to see you again."
My mind blanked at those words.
Eventually, I asked, feeling numb, "Are you taking me to her right now?"
"Not at all, I just took you for a drive," Morgan said. "Liliana still has a purpose for you, you know? Gordon, stop the car."
The car door opened, revealing the front of my house. Dazed, I stumbled out of the car, confused by what had happened.
I was still staring at the departing vehicle when my dad came running out the front door and pulled me into a tight hug.
"Michael, are you okay? What happened?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.
"I... I'm fine," I lied, my voice shaky. "He just... he just wanted to talk."
"Just talk? Who was it?" my dad demanded, his grip tightening.
I couldn’t speak just yet, I was still trying to process what just happened.
A brassy roar came from above, and somehow, hearing that familiar sound calmed my racing heart.
My dad looked awestruck—few things impressed my old man.
A large shadow covered the next house over as an angry black dragon landed and perched on our roof, majestic wings spread wide.
"You called Doyle?" I asked my dad, who was still staring at the dragon in wonder.
My dad snapped out of it and looked at me.
"I didn't know what to do," my dad admitted, his voice trembling slightly.
Before I could respond, Doyle shifted back into his human form and leaped gracefully off the roof, landing effortlessly in our front yard.
He strode towards us, his expression a mix of concern and fury.
My dad stepped aside as Doyle reached me, his eyes searching mine for any sign of injury.
"Michael, are you alright?" he asked, his voice a low growl.
I nodded, still trying to process everything.
“Did they hurt you?” Doyle asked.
"I'm okay, just shaken up," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Morgan…he’s a member of Liliana’s coven. He showed up and took me for a drive. He said Liliana hasn't forgotten about me."
Doyle's eyes darkened, and his fists clenched at his sides.
"She won't get her hands on you again," he said fiercely. "I'll make sure of it."
"Doyle, I—,” I couldn’t get the next words out.
My eyes started filling with tears.
"Michael, you don’t have to say anything,” Doyle said, his voice softening.
He reached out and took my hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring.
“I’d been trying to distance myself from you, like you said, but it’s been so hard,” I whispered.
“It hasn’t been easy for me either,” Doyle admitted and somehow, that cheered me up a little.
My dad, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat.
"Doyle, if you have a plan, I'm all ears,” my dad said.
Doyle nodded. "We can’t let our guard down. I'll stay here tonight to keep an eye on things. Tomorrow, we can figure out our next steps,” Doyle said.
My dad nodded, looking relieved.
"Thank you, Doyle. I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I’m glad Michael has you,” my dad said.
I squeezed Doyle's hand, feeling a surge of gratitude and affection for him.
"Thank you," I whispered, my voice breaking.
Doyle pulled me into a tight embrace, his presence grounding me.