Lycan Alpha Claim 3

by Tamara Rose Blodgett

The pull of one to the other.

  They were meant to be together.

  Forever.

  He slept, the moon keeping her own counsel.

  *

  the pavilion

  William screamed inside his head as the Were held him, their talons biting into his dead flesh. He saw the Singers tear Julia out of his grasp and that of the Were.

  Hope slid away like rain on a tin roof.

  William Changed were he stood, his raven form protecting him, assuring his survival.

  The Were let go in surprise, not ready for the smallness of his form. As they rushed to grab him at the same time he rose with a sharp caw, circling above their position. His eyesight, many times sharpened from his vampire form, tracked the Singers. And the pursuit of them by the Were.

  He followed, his blackness the perfect camouflage against the night sky. He saw all:

  When Julia fainted in the arms of the Singer as he ran.

  When the fetid breath of the Were caressed the back of the one who held her.

  When the ten of his kind suddenly appeared then vanished like they had never been.

  Defeated, William flew to a safe distance, then Changed back into the form that would return him to the kiss with the least effort.

  Even as he ran, his mind turned over his next move.

  If he had been one to play chess, his sight would be set on one piece. And one alone.

  The queen.

  *

  Julia

  Julia opened her eyes and was instantly met with melted chocolate.

  His eyes, her thoughts still muddled and fuzzy.

  Oh, wow. She'd fainted again. Could she like... find a rock and crawl underneath it?

  “Hey you,” Brendan said, pushing a stray hair away from her temple.

  “I feel beyond stupid,” Julia said.

  “Well, we're even then,” he said, his lips curling up at the corners.

  She smiled at him and he grinned back.

  Suddenly, Jen's face showed beside his. “You're okay. Big shock is all.”

  Yeah, that. Biiiigggg shock. Two hunky dudes, also Singers, kidnap her and squire her away to... where the hell was she anyway?

  Michael said from the foot of her bed. “You're somewhere in the Olympic Peninsula.”

  Julia frowned. “Kinda cagey.”

  “Kinda cautious,” Michael quipped.

  Brendan patted her head like she was a small dog and stood. “Gotta keep things secure. Nobody knows anything. That's how we like it...”

  “Uh-huh, uh-huh. That's the way we like it, uh-huh, uh-huh...” Michael said, swiveling his hips in a distracting way.

  “God... ewww... I hope that's not actual singing you're attempting?” Jen asked, beyond embarrassed by her retarded brothers.

  “Oh yeah, I can do Karaoke with the best of them,” he said with a hip thrust and hop. Julia giggled and Brendan frowned. “Are ya okay? Ya asshat, 'cuz...”

  Brendan looked expectantly at her.

  “Julia,” she supplied her name by way of introduction.

  “Julia,” he smiled and gave her a wink, “is not impressed by your...” he swung his palm around, “gyrations and attempts at singing.”

  “I don't know,” Julia began in a drawl.

  All eyes went to her.

  “For pure entertainment value, it's about a seven.”

  “Out of what?” Michael asked hopefully.

  “Fifty, retard!” Jen yelled, punching him in the arm again.

  “Ow!” Michael raged, then turned to Julia. “Did ya see that abuse?”

  Julia nodded cooperatively. She had. She grinned.

  Jen grabbed the boys and dragged them out of the room. “Get ye out!” she yelled, shoving them outside and turning the lock.

  “Sheesh!” Jen fumed. “They're so... so...”

  “Funny?” Julia asked.

  Jen sighed, then gave her a sidelong glance. “Maybe.” Then looked at her. “But if you tell them I'll poke your eyes out. Their heads are so fat as it is they couldn't get through doorways if you stroked their egos even the tiniest bit.” Jen looked at her.

  Julia smiled. “I promise, no fat head air pumps allowed.”

  “Right!” Jen said, stabbing the air with a finger held high.

  “Now,” she looked at Julia critically. “Can we deposit the dress in file thirteen?”

  “Huh?” Julia asked, bewildered.

  Jen laughed, “Sorry, I have some strange expressions.”

  She sure did.

  “Trash... let's throw it away.” She looked at Julia. “Unless you want to keep it for some reason?”

  Julia looked down at the soft folds of pure white. “No.” No reason at all. But as she said it she was reminded of Adi and felt a stab of guilt and sadness. She sure would have liked to say goodbye to her.

  She was relieved not to have to be in some whacked-out forced union with the Were but... she missed having Cyn. She missed Adi.

  Shit, Julia realized she'd put out an engraved invitation for a pity party and she'd just RSVP'd for herself.

  Dammit.

  Jen seemed to pick up on her mood. “Hey!”

  Julia turned to look at her, the melancholy riding her like an unwanted friend. “Get out of the get-up and get a shower. We'll suck up some grub and walk around the complex some. I betcha got a ton of questions.” Jen looked at her expectantly.

  Yeah, that sounded good. “Sure.” Julia walked to the bathroom and Jen handed her some clothes. “You'll have to wear my stuff until we figure some clothes out for ya.” She looked up at Julia. “I guess my pants will be Capris on you,” she said, winking.

  Then she was gone.

  Julia stood under the spray, taking the longest shower of her life, the colors from the window casting puzzle pieces of color across her body as she washed.

  Julia cried in the shower, the rain from the shower head washing away her tears. She cried for everything.

  William.

  Cyn.

  Adi.

  But the heaviest tears were for Jason.

  Always him.

  *

  “Did ya get a good cry?” Jen asked Julia.

  She thought about lying. For about three seconds. “Yeah.”

  “Good,” Jen said, clapping her on the back. “Let's have a look-see, k?”

  After a breakfast consisting of fruit and scrambled eggs they walked outside. There were so many places to look Julia didn't even know where to begin. The first thing that caught her eye was when they exited the house. Julia turned around and immediately located where her bedroom was.

  The house was breathtaking.

  It looked like a house of gingerbread but on a big scale. It was Victorian, maybe turn of the last century. Julia knew because she'd lived in an old house.

  Before.

  When her parents were alive. She waited a moment to let the grief dissipate, then returned to studying the structure.

  It rose like a brightly colored wooden jewel, the forest an emerald backdrop behind it. On the extreme left was a turret that flowed from ground to roof. Three windows formed a “bay” of sorts that were eight foot tall, each one. It looked as if water coated the surface of the glass, wavy from age. At the turret's peak spun a weather vane, the arrow pointing in whatever direction the breeze blew.

  “Wow,” Julia breathed reverently.

  “Ah! That old thing...” Jen said, unimpressed.

  Julia swung her head in Jen's direction. “What!? That's like the most gorgeous house ever! And I have the best room in the house,” Julia noted. She couldn't believe she was actually here. When just yesterday she'd been with the Were. Julia shook her head, freeing the remaining cobwebs of her memories, her life.

  “Maybe that's true. But the house? Ugh! Nothing works, it moans, it moves, it creaks!” She threw up her hands. “I think it needs to be razed and we get something in here so when my brother flushes a commode my shower doesn't scorch my butt off!”

  “Noooo!
I love it!” Julia said as she felt Jen pull her arm, leading her away from the stately home. “Forget it. Look on your own time at the rust bucket. For now, let's go to the paranormal school.”

  Julia stopped, tugging her arm back. “What?”

  Jen looked at her. “Ya know. It's where us Singers train. Learn... etc.” She put her hands on her hips, staring at Julia, waiting for the light bulb to go on.

  Wait a second, Julia thought. “Train, for what?”

  “To nail the vamps and shifters. They can't tame our rears. We're independent.”

  Julia was getting that part.

  “To 'nail the vamps and the shifters'...?”

  Jen nodded like Julia was slow to catch on.

  “And beyond that?” Julia asked, feeling a point of clarity may have slid by her unnoticed.

  “To rule the world, of course,” Jen said, winking.

  Of course, Julia thought, following Jen to a large building that had once been a barn.

  Julia didn't think she wanted to be queen of that.

  Or queen of anything.

  CHAPTER 27

  Cynthia

  Cyn stepped off the plane into the well of people flowing from one destination to another and felt instantly lost. A bottle in the ocean, the current traveling in whatever direction it pleased, she its captive.

  Get a grip, Cynthia, she told herself. Her eyes were clenched, her breathing finally getting under control. She looked around, someone jostling by her. Cynthia's backpack swung and she moved alongside one of the great, cylindrical concrete columns, pressing her backpack and herself against it.

  There, she was out of everyone's way. For the moment.

  She'd left everything behind. The backpack weighed about a thousand pounds with the things she couldn't part with.

  The wedding photo. Cynthia gulped back the lump in her throat. Tears running down her face. She wasn't aware of it. The people staring at her didn't register either.

  She missed Jules so much it hurt to breathe. She couldn't even think about Kev and Jason. She felt like a limb had been amputated without them.

  Cyn swiped her face, surprised at the wetness she found there. She tore off in the direction the sign pointed.

  Bus Depot.

  She arrived at the fork in the great corridor, people flowing past her on either side and chose the town that sounded the simplest.

  Actually, she remembered vaguely that it was a city.

  Kent.

  *

  Truman

  Karl Truman went through the studio apartment in the seediest part of Homer, kicking the thrown drawers and papers as he went through. The whole fucking place had been tossed by someone. Or many someones. He turned to the beat cop on his ass. “Daugherty!”

  He jumped like he'd been goosed. “Yeah, Detective!” His eyes were bulging fish bowls in his face.

  Truman frowned. Good kid, not too bright. “Is our team here yet?” He frowned at Daugherty.

  Shit, his boss was kind of a dickhead. He scratched his head. Truman got results though. He'd give him that. “Yeah, I called it in.”

  Truman was getting a head of steam and opened his mouth to let Daugherty have it when the forensic team came through, the first lifting the yellow tape, as he scooted under it. Turning, he lifted it for the others to pass underneath.

  “Whatcha got, chief?”

  Hell, Truman hated being called chief! He wasn't a damn Indian for cripe's sake! He neutralized his expression with an effort.

  He gave the first specialist a look that clearly said, follow me.

  He did, squatting down at the windowsill height. His eyes flowed over the deep gouges that ran the length of the sill. “Holy shit...” he breathed, his name badge, crooked. Alexander.

  “Yeah,” Truman leaned into him expectantly.

  “I don't know what did this!” Alexander extolled.

  “Bear, right?” Truman led.

  Alexander snapped his plastic gloves on, the powder coating wafting up to Truman's nostrils. The familiar smell resonating from a thousand crime scenes, the memory trigger the same.

  It was time to work.

  Alexander put a fingertip across the groove. His eyes met Truman's and he shook his head no. “No way... this is something,” his eyes went to the groove again and then lit with excitement. “Wait! He rummaged in his toolbox and took out a tool that looked like a dental instrument for cleaning teeth.

  It wasn't.

  He began carefully scooping the groove. Finally, Truman thought, watching the process as if it was an archeological dig. Alexander brought out the smallest sliver of something.

  “What is it?” Truman asked as the two other members of the forensic team huddled around them like they were getting ready for a football play.

  “Claw,” Alexander said, his eyes meeting his team.

  “From what?” Truman asked, eying the twice-the-size of a pinhead shard.

  “Don't know,” he paused. “But I've never seen anything like it.” He met Truman's eyes. “Not a problem! We'll type this puppy and get the results back to ya,” Alexander smiled.

  One of the other forensics specialists said, “Nah, let's not type it. There's no blood or other fun here.” He looked around at the trashed apartment, not a shred of evidence to support violence of the human variety. “Besides, what can it be anyway? Bigfoot?”

  They all laughed at that.

  Yeah, effing hilarious, Truman thought then said out loud, “That's horse shit. Any idiot knows there's no such thing as Sasquatch and that other happy crap!” Truman said.

  The specialist laughed again, carefully collecting samples to type.

  For DNA.

  Truman sighed. He figured it was a long shot. Probably had some spoiling meat in here somewhere and it was as simple as a pack of wolves trying to get an easy meal. He gazed outside through glass so filthy it was gray. The forest mocked him, stretching into eternity. Hell, it could have been anything.

  Truman knew animals tried to get in the apartment. But who had gone through every nook and cranny of this dump? What had they been searching for...

  And, more importantly, where the hell had Cynthia Adams fled to?

  Because she had fled. He was sure of it. Like she was escaping something. There was too much stuff just left behind. Abandoned.

  Running.

  But why?

  Truman stared out the window, gnawing on the tip of his ballpoint.

  Answers, he needed answers.

  Like yesterday.

  ****

  William

  Claire repeated herself, “Hold your temper! I didn't say that I could locate her, only that it was possible.”

  William paced, he had returned empty-handed and Gabriel had not been surprised. Because Claire was a Precognitive, she had simply known that his quest was impossible. William had thought it was strange that Gabriel was not pressing other runners into service to assist him.

  Gabriel laughed from his gut. “It is not as if you were prone to listen. I told you not to go. We knew the location of the dogs' stronghold. Yet, still, you would not listen. Your own cousin, a known precog...”

  William strode to Gabriel and he straightened, knowing the tenor of the vampire he faced: volatile, fresh, angry. “No, she could give nothing of substance. It was all vague,” he threw his arm out. “I would never be content with that as Julia's end. Ambiguity? No!”

  “But William... I knew she would be safe,” Claire reasoned.

  William nodded. “Oh yes! She is quite safe... with the other Singers. How long do you think it will be before one of them recognizes Julia for who she is? What she is to them?”

  There was no response from them. William faced Claire. “We have not one scrap of evidence as to where the Singers may be? It has always been our policy to not interfere in the balance. But now that scale has been tipped. And not in our favor, I may add.” He lifted his brows in question and Gabriel sighed. “Alright,” he lifted his palm up, “you've made you
r point. We will call in a Locator.”

  William was surprised. He did not think there was one in their kiss.

  “We will have to...” he looked at Claire, “I have not been amongst their kind... my kind. What is the contemporary vernacular for asking to borrow...?”

  Claire nodded her understanding. “Call in a favor.”

  He nodded. “Yes!” he snapped his fingers. “That's it. We will call in a favor to our sister kiss and borrow one of their Singers who locates. That will help us find the Rare One.”

  “And what will they ask in return?” William quizzed reasonably.

  Gabriel sharpened his gaze on William. “I do not know. But rest assured, it will be something.”

  William nodded, knowing that the vampire did not solicit favors. They took what they wanted, needing no one. An autonomous group unlike any other.

  Except the Were.

  There was always them.

  “Yes. It will be that,” William agreed.

  Claire nodded. “There is always recompense.”

  It was what and how much they would expect in payment.

  Not a pound of flesh, no, not that.

  But payment by blood would suffice very well.

  *

  Julia

  Julia had spent a lot of time that morning with her mouth hanging open while the boys (as she thought of the brothers), Brendan and Michael, and their spunky sister, Jen, gave her a tour of her newest home.

  The barn looked like a red stop sign in a field of green. Fresh and iconic, it stood like a stoic anchor about ninety yards from the Victorian. It seemed so innocuous standing there, but when they went through the small doorway she entered another world. It was as if they remained hidden in plain sight. The floor was white, the walls, the desks... it was weird.

  Then Jen spoke, “Weird huh?”

  Julia nodded without speaking. Then she couldn't help herself and asked, “What's with the monochromatic thing...?”

  “Helps us batten down the mental hatches, girlie!”

  Girlie? Julia laughed despite herself. “Really?”

  Brendan joined in, “Yeah. Keep everything one color, no distractions, helps with training.” Michael nodded in agreement.

  There were partitions that separated the “rooms.” But one room wasn't quiet and the mats weren't white. They were blue and red. Blue in color.