Watcher: Book I of The Chosen

by Roh Morgon

  I stay there a moment, trying to regain my senses, and finally release the elk. I start to stand, and Nicolas reaches down to help me to my feet. His eyes a crimson blaze, he pulls me to him and takes my shoulders. He stares down into my own red-veiled eyes and kisses me, long and deep.

  His lips keep their promise of soft yet firm, and my knees nearly buckle at the warm, tingling sensation his kiss sends throughout my body.

  My blood reignites, though I have just fed. But it is singing a new song, one I have never heard.

  Before I can respond, Nicolas slowly breaks away and, still holding my shoulders, says huskily, “Yes. A most unique taste.”

  I don’t know if he means the elk, or me.

  He releases me and steps back, his eyes wild and hungry.

  “You are an exquisite creature, standing here in the moonlight, wearing the blood of your prey. I do believe you are the most beautiful and deadly huntress I have ever seen.”

  I’m spellbound, by the blood and by him. I look at Nicolas, his perfect features, his lithe and agile body, his gentle but fierce manner. And I feel my soul falling into an abyss . . . one from which it may not be able—or want—to escape.

  The yip of a fox breaks the spell. I look around, sensing the other hunters and scavengers awaiting their turns.

  “We need to leave.” I look at Nicolas and indicate the dead elk. “This now belongs to the forest.”

  He scents the air, looking around as well, but says nothing. I walk down to the pond to clean up and he follows, waiting until I am done washing. He takes my hand and we walk across the little meadow. As we step into the trees on the other side, I look back and point.

  “See?”

  Nicolas turns and watches as a fox and her two kits tear into the carcass. A huge raccoon shambles along the edge of the trees toward the feast, hoping to get its share.

  “Ah,” he says, smiling for the first time in a while. “It seems you hunt for more than yourself.”

  “Well, it sorta works out that way. I feel as though it’s a payment for the life I take.”

  He looks at me oddly, gives a small laugh, and tousles my hair. “You are quite the enigma. How did you get to be this way?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. But I do know of a place where we can sit and have one of those conversations you promised.”

  He smiles and nods.

  “But first, um, well, would you like to hunt? I mean, if you weren’t hungry before, you must be now.” Even though his eyes at this moment have faded back to green, they are dark. I know how blood can ignite the hunger, no matter how well fed one might be.

  Soberly, he reaches out and gently brushes my lips with his fingertips. “No. I’ve had what I want tonight. I wish to savor it for a while.”

  I don’t think he means the elk.

  CHAPTER 15

  We walk through the trees in the direction of the large reservoir. Nicolas seems to be as deep in thought as I am. He has a quiet and steady presence, and it feels so right to have him here by my side.

  We finally come to the edge of the forest overlooking the lake. I point down to a rock outcrop that juts out high above the water and we make our way down the slope to its base. There is a flat boulder near the top, a perfect bench. We scale the natural tower of stones, Nicolas helping me climb the rocks.

  I chuckle quietly to myself. He is ever the gentleman. I could make it to the top in about two jumps, and I’m sure he knows that.

  We sit down on the boulder and gaze out across the partially thawed lake. The moon’s reflection, muted and soft on the ice, creates sparkles on the surface of the water like tiny stars. I look up and see the real stars scattered across the night sky. Pikes Peak towers to the south, standing majestic and proud, its slopes glistening with snow.

  I look at Nicolas, and can’t help but compare him to the Peak as his face reflects the moonlight.

  “Well, what do you think of my tour so far?” I ask quietly.

  He pauses a moment before answering.

  “Sunny, I do not believe I have ever heard an opera whose songs are as rich as the music of this forest.” He looks out over the lake. “And I must admit that the artworks I have shown you pale in comparison.”

  He gestures slowly at the scenery around us. “Nor have I seen a portrait or a landscape that can come close to this.”

  Nicolas turns his gaze on me and gently cups my cheek. “And I have never seen a sculpture that surpasses this.”

  I look down, not knowing what to say.

  “And so I must ask you . . . How did you come to be this way?” he gently demands, repeating his earlier question.

  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” I look up at him, searching his face.

  “Who was your Maker? Who brought you into this life?”

  “I . . . I don’t really know.”

  “You do not know? Did he not give you his name as he schooled you to our ways?” His surprise is colored with a hint of outrage.

  I pause a moment before I reply.

  “I wasn’t schooled in anything. The last thing I clearly remember of my old life was being dragged out of my broken car window and some monster tearing at my throat. He took me somewhere, and I have hazy memories of him biting and feeding from me again and again. I don’t know how many days it went on, but eventually I woke up in a dark room, alone.”

  He looks shocked, then grows thoughtful.

  “Please, continue,” he says gravely.

  “Well, I screamed and pounded on the door, but no one came. There were no windows, no furniture, no food or water. I remember being so hungry and thirsty, and half out of my mind. I finally got so desperate that I began tearing at the door, and to my surprise, it started to come apart. I ripped a hole in it large enough to climb through and made my escape.

  “The room I’d been in was inside an abandoned warehouse. I was so afraid he was going to hear me and come to kill me or lock me up again. I made my way to a door, and it opened, so I left as quickly and quietly as I could.” I stop and he squeezes my hand. I begin again.

  “He had taken me to a rundown area near a harbor, but I had no idea which harbor. I started walking, and as I looked around I realized that I felt different somehow. It was night, and there was no moon and no streetlights, yet I could see everything as though it were daytime. I could hear sounds from a long distance, and the scurry of something small, maybe rodents, nearby.

  “Smells started to overwhelm me, and then . . . then this hunger grabbed hold. I felt like my stomach was going to eat itself, and I was so thirsty, and then it got worse. It was torture, like being on fire all through my insides, and my stomach and throat felt as though flames were raging within them.”

  I break off, feeling a sense of horror as I vividly remember the hellish burning.

  Nicolas reaches over and, stroking my cheek, says, “Go on.”

  “I stumbled down the street, holding my stomach, and could think of nothing else but the hunger and the pain. And then I became aware of a smell. It was rich and wonderful, and I forgot all about my stomach and followed the scent. I traced it to a fenced area behind an abandoned building. The gate was open and I went inside.

  “The smell seemed to lead directly to a pair of stray dogs that were digging around near a trash bin. They didn’t seem to hear me as I came through the gate. I stopped, and the hunger started raging again, and all I could see were these dogs. Then they saw me and tried to run past, but without even thinking, I tackled one of them. He started yelping and biting, and I grabbed his muzzle to shut him up, and then . . .”

  I glance up at Nicolas as he waits patiently, a mixture of sympathy and disbelief in his expression. I lower my face in shame and softly continue.

  “Then I, uh, I bit into his throat and his blood started pouring out and I started drinking it and I couldn’t stop.”

  I can’t go on. My gut twists at the surging memories of agony and confusion and horror. This is something I have deliberate
ly blocked out, too painful to acknowledge even to myself.

  Nicolas puts his arm around me and draws me against his side. He strokes my hair and my face and says nothing.

  We sit there a while, looking out over the lake as the ice sparkles and the water shimmers. The wind picks up a bit, and the pines sing a song of comfort, their smell rich and reassuring.

  I have to finish this. I’ve never talked about it, and now I have someone to tell, someone who might understand.

  “When he didn’t move anymore, when I couldn’t get any more blood, I stopped. The hunger was gone, the pain was gone, and my body felt warm and peaceful from the inside out. And then I looked down at the body in my arms and realized what I’d done. I started crying, even though no tears would come, which made me cry more.

  “I cried over what I’d done to the poor dog. I cried over what had been done to me. And I cried when I realized what I must have become. Something out of a horror movie, something that kills, something that drinks . . . blood.”

  My last words are barely above a whisper. The reawakening emotions from that night, raw and oozing, are ripping me apart. With a shuddering breath, I force myself to continue.

  “But the worst part wasn’t when I realized I’d lost my humanity. The worst part was when I realized I’d lost my family. That I could never . . . go home.”

  I close my eyes, the pain flooding through my veins as though this all happened just yesterday.

  Nicolas takes a deep breath and presses me tighter against his side. He holds me for a while, but I can sense his tension building, and with another breath, he eases me away.

  “Come.” He stands, his face dark with anger. “We should walk.”

  He grasps my hand and helps me to my feet, and we step down the face of the rocks. We work our way slowly to the lakeshore where he stops, looking out over the water. I am still in the grip of the past and cannot speak.

  “This . . . what happened to you . . . this is not our way. Whoever did this to you should be destroyed. You are right, he was a monster, and we cannot allow such as him to exist. It threatens our very survival as a species.” The fury in his voice and on his face startles me.

  “We call ourselves The Chosen. Those who are brought into our way of life are carefully selected and are fully aware of what we are offering.

  “When we bring a Chosen one over, there is a specific sequence of processes. The new ones are attended and reassured at each step, and come into this life with the knowledge that they will have guidance throughout every stage.”

  I think about this, about the world it hints at, and as he speaks, the pain and sadness start to ease a bit, drifting away with the forest breezes.

  “If you do not mind me asking, how long ago was your change?” He looks at me intently.

  “Almost five years ago,” I whisper.

  “Five years? Only five years?” He appears shocked. “That you survived at all is remarkable. That you have thrived as well as you have, without any support and in such a short amount of time, is unheard of.”

  He gazes at me speculatively, then continues.

  “There is so much more I wish to know about you, but I think we have talked enough for one night.” He reaches out and takes my hand, and we start walking back in the direction of the cars.

  When we get to the road, Nicolas looks at me and, raising my hand to his lips, kisses it softly. We continue on to the cars and he leads me to the Jag. He opens the door, leans in, and reaches into the center console. As he straightens, he gently places a cell phone into my palm.

  “This is for you. You are to call me any time of day or night that you feel the need, no matter how trivial you may think it is.”

  I nod, saying nothing.

  “I do not want you to feel alone ever again. I will be here for you, whenever you need.”

  He pulls me close and wraps his arms tightly around me. My soul melts as I hold on to him. No one has embraced me in over five years. I had given up ever having this again.

  He gently releases me and, softly brushing my lips with his, steps back. We stand a moment, looking at each other in the fading moonlight. Dawn is near, and glancing at the eastern sky, Nicolas takes my hand and walks me over to my car.

  “My number is programmed into the phone,” he explains. “All you have to do is push ONE and hit SEND.”

  “Okay.” I nod again.

  “Your keys?” He raises his eyebrows, amusement flitting across his face as he reaches out to stroke my cheek.

  “Oh. Yeah.” I fish them out of my pocket and push the unlock button. He opens my door and waits as I get in.

  Leaning over me, he touches the side of my face with his fingertips and breathes, “Good night.”

  He closes my door and walks back to his car. I start mine and slowly turn around, and he follows me back to the highway. Once on the paved road, he quickly passes me and is gone.

  Damn, he even does it in his car.

  április 9., hétfö

  I am undone. This shy, unassuming creature, so sweet, so innocent, is one of the most ruthless and efficient killers I have ever encountered. As I watched her take down a bull elk and completely give herself to the blood, I was overwhelmed with a rush of emotion such as I have never experienced before.

  I felt my whole existence suddenly anchor itself to her in a way that surpasses even bonding. I now cannot contemplate my future without her in it.

  Her story of her Change, of her rape into our way of life, enraged me to the point that I could scarcely maintain my composure. That she was treated so viciously, with no offer of the Choice, is unforgiveable.

  And I know how she suffered, for her story parallels my own.

  I will find who did this to her, and he will pay—for eternity.

  TUESDAY

  CHAPTER 16

  I wake up a little later than usual, feeling a bit lethargic from the glut of blood I’ve been overindulging in all week. To add to it, the last several days have been a hurricane of emotions, and I still feel a little wind-whipped by last night’s confession.

  Dragging myself out of bed, I peek through the curtains. Clouds have moved in and are hunkering down low, hiding even the bottom slopes of the mountains. I open the back door, feeling the heavy promise of snow, and take in a lungful of the cold mountain air. The energy of the forest is quiet and mute, as it and all its creatures prepare for the coming storm.

  I head back inside and quickly dress, anxious to get on the mountain. My first snowstorm. I’ve been hoping we would have one before summer. The storm has perfect timing, as if called by my own internal tempest.

  As I’m leaving, I glance at Nicolas’s cell phone on the table and wonder if he’ll call while I’m gone. It rings.

  Weird. I pick it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Sunny.” His rich, deep voice floods through me. “I called to see how you are this morning. I have been concerned, as I believe last night may have been a little . . . difficult for you.”

  “I’m doing better. In fact, right now, I’m getting ready to head up the mountain. It’s starting to snow, and I want to be there as it falls and changes everything.”

  “Ah, you wish to witness nature create a new canvas. I wish I could be there to watch it with you.”

  “You’re welcome to join me,” I say hopefully.

  “Unfortunately, I have business to which I must attend. I will have to take a rain check, or should I say a snow check.” I can hear the silent laughter in his voice.

  “Okay, I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Indeed. But for now, I do not wish to keep you from your mountain. I just called to ensure that you are well. I will phone you later when we both have more time.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “Goodbye until then. Enjoy the snow.”

  “Thank you.”

  The phone goes silent. I set it down, my mood considerably brighter. He actually called me to see how I was. Elated, I step outside and take
a breath of the cold, crisp air, and head up the mountain.

  The snowflakes are huge, drifting down like miniature parachutes. Everything is silent and very still, except for the falling snow. It’s already starting to accumulate, and any bare patches are rapidly donning their white carpet. The trees look like they are reaching out, trying to catch their share.

  I reach out and catch my own little white puffs. When I examine them closer, I can see the individual crystals forming snow lace—they’re amazing. I look up to the sky and open my mouth and can feel each one as it lands on my tongue. To my surprise, they don’t melt. I collect them and form a tiny snowball in my mouth. Laughing, I spit it out and throw it into the air to join its brethren.

  Hiking past the trees to the rocky top of the mountain, I turn around to look at Pikes Peak. But the falling snow forms a curtain, wrapping me in gossamer white, and I can see nothing beyond it. The mountain is silent, yet I can still hear the soft patter of the flakes as they land.

  I walk back down into the forest, which is thickly covered now, and wander among the pines and firs. They are starting to look like Christmas trees, proudly wearing their flocking in anticipation of that special day. The logs and rocks are disappearing under their snow blankets as the forest floor transforms into a big, fluffy white bed.

  The scene is surreal, and I agree with Nicolas. It’s like watching the creation of a painting, only it is being unpainted, with the forest colors slowly becoming the white of the canvas.

  I wander for the rest of the afternoon, eventually making my way to a small meadow. It looks like a giant down pillow. I can’t resist, and I throw myself backward, sinking into its cold, soft embrace. I try to make a snow angel, but the snow is too deep and keeps caving in on me. I jump up, laughing wildly, and run across the white powder, sinking to my knees with each step.