Watcher: Book I of The Chosen

by Roh Morgon

  “Good morning, miss,” he says. I think it’s the first time he’s ever spoken directly to me. “Mr. Ambrus asked if you would mind me parking your car in the back. He’s expecting guests this evening, and he didn’t want your car to get blocked in.”

  “How thoughtful. Yes, that would be fine.” I reluctantly hand him my keys. I appreciate Nicolas ensuring I can make an easy escape, but I don’t like not having them.

  “You can just leave the keys in the ignition. I doubt anyone will steal it.” I smile, and he gives a quick nod as he climbs into the BMW.

  “Yes, miss.”

  Watching as he drives it around the corner, I hope that, if needed, I can find it quickly.

  My jaw tightens in frustration. I’ve got to stop thinking like a runner. I can handle this.

  After several deep breaths, I slowly walk up the steps. The door opens, and Marie greets me with her lovely French accent. “Good morning, mademoiselle.”

  “Good morning, Marie.” I smile warmly. She’s sweet. I really like her.

  “Mr. Ambrus is waiting in the library for you.” She walks over and knocks on the door.

  “Yes, Marie. Please, have her come in.” Excitement ripples through me at the sound of his voice. It’s amazing how much of an effect he has on me.

  Nicolas is standing next to the round table looking over a stack of papers as I walk in. He straightens, and his eyes light up when he sees me. He walks over and takes me by the shoulders, then brushes the hair back from my eyes and embraces me.

  “I missed you,” he says, holding me tight.

  “I missed you, too.”

  He relaxes his arms and leans back, looking at me.

  “You did not feed well again last night. How are you feeling?” Concern wrinkles his brow.

  “All right. It was enough to get me through the next few days.”

  I hope. Tonight may prove enough of a strain that I could quickly exhaust my reserves.

  “I see.” He’s clearly not too happy with the situation. He releases me and walks back to the table.

  “Really, I’m fine. I’ve mentioned that I usually go a week or so, and I have fed the last two nights.” I try to sound convincing. But things have changed lately and my hunger seems to have become unpredictable.

  “Yes, I recall. But what you seem to have forgotten is the impact that emotions have on our hunger. And I am not talking just about anger and anxiety, but any strong emotions . . .” He stares out the window.

  “Like love?” I quietly ask. I haven’t been able to say it, though he has.

  His back stiffens as he stops breathing.

  “Like love, and everything associated with it.”

  I walk up behind him and put my arms around his waist, and hold him tightly. He presses his arms against mine, gently stroking my fingers.

  We stand there a moment, then he takes a breath and says, “Éva is waiting to meet you, impatiently I would guess.”

  He pats my hand and I release him, then he turns and kisses me softly on the lips before walking out of the room.

  Thinking about what Nicolas said about our emotions, I realize that he’s right. It all makes sense now. No wonder I’ve been so hungry lately.

  The door opens. I turn and prepare to meet another of my kind.

  CHAPTER 27

  A tall, slender female comes in, followed by Nicolas. Wearing a cream blouse tucked into khaki slacks, her light brown hair gathered into an elegant updo, she is stunning—a tawny lioness to Nicolas’s black panther. Seeing them together is . . . unsettling.

  Her hazel eyes appraise me as she walks gracefully across the room, and she smiles and stops a few feet from me, Nicolas by her side.

  “Éva,” he says. “May I present Miss Martin.”

  “Hello.” She nods once. “I am Éva Basarab. I am pleased to meet you.” Her expression, though a bit guarded, seems friendly as she clasps her hands in front of her.

  Apparently it’s not the custom to shake hands. Good.

  “Hello. I’m Sunny. Sunny Martin.” I nod once.

  “I have been looking forward to this ever since Nicolas told me about you,” Éva says.

  Her accent is similar to his. Perhaps she is also Hungarian?

  “Yes, I have as well, although I just learned about you yesterday.” I smile and glance at Nicolas as he walks by on his way to the table.

  “I am afraid I have some work to do,” he says as he gathers his papers. “So I will leave the two of you to get acquainted. In a little while, I will have Marie come in with hot tea, and if you need anything else, please feel free to ask her.”

  He stops and kisses me on the cheek as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

  Abandoning me.

  “Shall we sit?” Éva waves toward the chairs that face the window. I settle into one, then move it back a little from the beam of sunlight that’s coming through the glass. I notice her raise an eyebrow as she sits in the other chair.

  She tilts her head, curiosity apparent in her golden eyes, and takes in my scent, then frowns, obviously puzzled.

  But the examination is twofold. Her scent is very similar to that of Nicolas’s, and woven thickly with human blood, but still a little different. She seems to give off a similar sense of power, though nowhere near as strong. Perhaps she’s one of the Elders that Nicolas mentioned.

  Alarm and fascination blend into a sense of unease that I hope I’m able to hide.

  Éva, watching me, leans forward and holds her bare arm in the sunbeam. Nothing happens. Like Nicolas, she is not sensitive to the sun. So she is an Elder. I debate a moment, then take a gamble. I push up my sleeve and put my arm in the beam as well. My skin starts to turn pink and the fiery pain begins, but I hold it there. The skin gets pinker, then red. I resist giving in to the agony for a moment longer, then slowly pull it back. My arm feels like flames are racing up and down it, but I refuse to even wince.

  Éva takes a slow breath and says, “That was stupid. Do not ever reveal your weaknesses to one of us.”

  She glances down at my arm as it slowly loses the redness. “You are fortunate that Nicolas asked me to be your tutor. You need to pay attention to what I say if you are to survive.

  “The Chosen thrive on the manipulation of others, constantly seeking to improve their status within our society. You must be very careful in whom you confide, as anything you say or do will be noted for its value in the Game.”

  I stay silent, but not with the fear I’d expected. Rather, I feel my blood tingle at the prospect of the challenge that is opening up before me. The hunter rouses, fully alert now.

  “Good. Nicolas was concerned about your reactions, but it seems he may have underestimated you.”

  “What is the ‘game’?” I ask.

  “The Game is one of domination and power. We have an instinctive need to control our surroundings and everyone in them. It stems from self-preservation. Those who are best at it are the most likely to survive. And control requires power—the more powerful a Chosen, the more they can control.

  “Chosen are drawn to the Game from the moment they gain awareness of what they truly are. Those at the lower levels of our society, the younger ones, compete to gain the favor of the Elders who can assist them in their maturation and development. The Elders compete among themselves for status and power, and increasingly larger regions to control.

  “I don’t know if you realize the position that you are in,” Éva continues. “Because of Nicolas, you have joined the Game at the top, and there is nowhere to go but down.”

  This gets my attention, but not because of what she said about this game, but because of her reference to Nicolas.

  “Can I ask a question?” I watch Éva with the hunter’s focus.

  “Yes, certainly. I imagine you have quite a few,” Éva replies, her expression sharp.

  “Who is Nicolas?” The question has been burning in my mind since I first saw him.

  She laughs. “Why, he is the greates
t Game player of all!”

  But then her face becomes serious, and she says, “But you don’t really know, do you? He hasn’t told you? No, he wouldn’t, I suppose.”

  She takes a breath, and her eyes flash.

  “Nicolas is the Maker. Not just a Maker, but the Maker, the head of our lineage. He is one of the oldest surviving Chosen in the world, and one of the few of his age and power to still be in the Game. Most others like him have left our society and gone into seclusion. We call them the Old Ones. They are never seen.”

  I’m dumbfounded. I knew he was powerful. I can feel it emanate from him, ebbing and flowing in rhythm with his moods. But I had no idea he was their leader. And suddenly, everything about him falls into place—his bearing, his knowledge, his age. It all makes sense now.

  Except the part about me.

  I look at Éva, who is watching me closely. Her comments about the Game take on a new meaning, and I feel a chill wash over me.

  “So why me? What does he see in me?” I whisper. My second most burning question.

  “Because, my dear, you are the rarest of creatures. You possess all of the unsuspecting innocence of a human, but with the skills and needs of a mature Chosen. Your level of power and abilities are quite unusual in one so young, and yet you are completely unaware of it. Or of the Game.” Éva studies me a moment as I consider this, then continues.

  “So, as Nicolas sees it, your interest in him is pure and not tainted with the desires of one who seeks to manipulate and improve their position.”

  “Then why would he expose me to this Game? Isn’t he afraid I might become . . . corrupted?”

  Éva sighs. “I would imagine it is because he loves you and can’t bear to be apart from you. And he cannot leave the Game. He has suffered much recently because his attention has been elsewhere.” She looks pointedly at me.

  He had said as much.

  “So he really has no choice but to introduce you to our society. Though to be fair, Nicolas also relishes the Game. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be the master of it that he is.” She starts to say more, but seems to change her mind.

  I become aware of steps outside the door, and Marie softly knocks. “Mesdemoiselles, I have brought you some tea.”

  “Come in,” Éva says.

  Marie enters the room carrying a tray.

  “Bring it over here.” Éva points to the small table between the chairs.

  The French girl seems particularly subdued and tense as she quickly sets the pot and cups on the table. She curtsies and steps back.

  “Will there be anything else?” There is a slight nervousness to her speech.

  “No, that will be all,” Éva replies imperiously. Marie practically runs from the room.

  That’s interesting. The poor girl was quite afraid of Éva. She’s never shown any such fear of me.

  I pick up the teapot and look at Éva, offering to pour her tea. Her mouth quirks and she nods. I fill her cup, then my own as I think over some of the things Éva has said. I wonder what my role in all this will be.

  “We should probably discuss what will be expected of you tonight.” She takes a sip.

  Expected of me? What does see me as—a child?

  I bristle, then relax. I probably am when compared to centuries-old Chosen.

  “Tonight is a gathering of the Council. There are nine members, including Nicolas, who is the Council head. Each Council member is responsible for their own region and The Chosen that live within it. They meet every third new moon to give their reports and renew their ties.

  “Once their business is concluded, they will spend time socializing. Nicolas will occasionally bring in a small orchestra or dance troupe to provide entertainment, or take the Council out to the theater or the opera.

  “I don’t know if Nicolas plans to have you attend the meeting or if he will have you come in once business is concluded. The latter, I would expect.” Éva takes another sip of her tea, looking at me over the rim, then continues with her lecture.

  “I would suggest you keep conversation to a minimum. If you are asked where you are from, be vague. If someone is rude enough to inquire about your lineage, tell them they will need to discuss that with Nicolas.

  “Be strong. Nicolas needs you to be. You will be evaluated for weakness from the moment you enter the room, so don’t show any.” Her eyes narrow in emphasis.

  I nod as she continues.

  “Nicolas has told me little of your background, other than you were taken against your will by an unknown Maker and then abandoned. That is unforgivable in our world, but it’s best if you don’t reveal your beginnings. Rather than garner sympathy, it will raise a flag of opportunity to those who would seek to dislodge you from your position with Nicolas.”

  Éva doesn’t say anything more, obviously allowing me time to digest what she has told me so far.

  I quietly drink my tea and think about how all this fits so well with the Nicolas that has been hidden from me.

  “Do you have any questions?” she asks, her eyebrows raised.

  Does she know I don’t hunt humans?

  “What else has Nicolas told you about me?” I watch her face, but it reveals nothing.

  “Very little, but he doesn’t need to. I can feel what happens to him when he talks about you. This is a Nicolas that I have not seen in a very long time. You are good for him. In fact, you are more important than you realize. Because of who he is, his well-being is highly critical for the well-being of us all.

  “And I pity the fool who makes the mistake of thinking he can get to Nicolas through you, because Nicolas will destroy anyone, and everyone around them, who even looks at you with ill intent.” Éva tips her head as she looks at me.

  I swallow and feel a glimmer of fear. Not for me, but for him.

  “He loves you more than you perhaps realize. Do you love him?” Éva looks at me critically, and I sense that she would tear me apart if I did anything to harm Nicolas.

  “Yes, I do. Very much.”

  “That’s no real surprise. He’s easy to love. And it’s obvious to anyone in the same room with the two of you that you are practically bonded. But you have not done so, have you? Bonded?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  She laughs.

  “No one has spoken with you about this?”

  I shake my head no.

  “I see. Would it be safe to assume you know little of Chosen relationships then?” Éva raises her eyebrows.

  “I know nothing.” Embarrassed, I look away from her piercing gaze as it shifts from disbelief to pity.

  “Nicolas, Nicolas,” she says, shaking her head. She gets up and starts slowly pacing the room.

  “For The Chosen, our world revolves around the blood. The blood of our prey, the blood of our Makers, the blood of our lovers. Everything is always about the blood.

  “When two Chosen decide to pair, to bond, they will exchange blood. The blood of one flowing through the veins of the other, and vice versa, creates a connection between them. This connection is so strong that they can feel what the other is feeling, no matter how far apart. Our emotions are directly tied to the blood, so the sharing of blood is also a sharing of emotions.” She stops and looks at me.

  “This . . . blood exchange, how much do they . . . ?” I’m not sure how to finish the question.

  “Why all of it, of course, so that the blood is the same in both of them. It really is quite satisfying, if you must know.”

  “Do they . . . uh, do anything else? Like humans?”

  Eva laughs again, but it’s not a kind laugh.

  “Nicolas did not warn me I would have to explain the facts of life as though to a new-Chosen. I will have to thank him for that.”

  The condescension in her voice catches me off-guard. My embarrassment quickly shifts to pink-hazed anger.

  Éva frowns. “I am sorry—I suppose that was unkind. No, we do not mate like animals and humans. Remember, for us everything is about the bloo
d, the giving of it as well as the taking of it. Trust me, once you have done that, you will forget all about the clumsy rutting of your past human life.”

  Her continuing disdain pushes the hunter too far. A low snarl slips unbidden from my throat, and I stand and step away from the chair, glaring at her through a red veil.

  My past human life? She knows nothing of it. There was no “clumsy rutting.” It was the sharing of love, and I have my precious daughter because of it. We created life; we did not destroy it.

  “Perhaps your experiences as a human were unpleasant. Mine were for the most part wonderful, and I hate—” I stop as Éva strides across the room toward me, her eyes dark.

  “You hate what? What you are? Don’t say it. And never say it where Nicolas can hear. We are The Chosen. We were chosen and offered this life because we were superior and above the rest. We are proud of what we are, and have no love for human life, except as sustenance.” Her eyes flicker red, then back to dark gold.

  “You may have been chosen, but I was not,” I growl.

  Éva hisses.

  “Make no mistake. You were chosen. The real question is why, and why you were abandoned.” She tilts her head. “And by whom.”

  Her words strike even deeper than before, dissolving my indignation. I take several breaths to calm myself. I really can’t afford to alienate her.

  “I . . . apologize for overreacting.” I nod once, slowly.

  Éva stands in silence for a moment, her golden eyes narrowed as she studies me.

  “Nicolas said you were young, and that he needed me to teach you, so I will try to be more patient. I forget you were human not so long ago.” She gives me a small smile and the visible tension in her body eases. “I do have one more thing to say about bonding. You need to listen carefully, and please, do not take this the wrong way.”

  Éva looks at me as she walks over to her chair and sits down. I follow her lead and take my seat again.

  “Nicolas has not asked you to share blood yet—am I correct?” Her eyes have softened and show a hint of concern.