Watcher: Book I of The Chosen

by Roh Morgon

  “I, uh, blinded him in one eye and he ran off,” I admit in a low voice. I was damn lucky. I knew it then, and I realize it even more now.

  Nicolas takes a breath.

  “Chosen may be immune to the ravages of time, but we can die from grievous injury. Usually it is not the injury itself that causes death. That comes from the accompanying weakness due to blood loss and compromised circumstances.” His tone is lecturing, harsh. “As you have likely determined, it is very difficult to defend yourself if you have lost your blood and cannot immediately replace it.

  “Of course, if you lose your head, well . . . that is one thing that cannot heal.” His voice fades to a whisper.

  “And the head can live for some time, fully aware, until the tissues finally dry out,” he says grimly. “It is a most unpleasant way to die.”

  Swallowing in horror, I look at Nicolas and see the horror reflected on his face as well. He crosses the room and roughly pulls me into his arms, my injuries forgotten.

  He whispers, “I nearly lost you . . . forever. I do not know what I would have done.”

  The despair in his voice cuts through me like a knife.

  “Nicolas, I am . . . so . . . sorry.”

  He leans back, holding my shoulders, and looks intently into my eyes.

  “No, it is my fault. If I had not driven you away with my arrogance, this would not have happened.” His voice is torn with emotion. “What I did to you was unforgivable. To use our relationship—to use you—in the Game in such a way was despicable, and I promise never to hurt you like that again. If . . . if you will still have me.”

  I swallow, trying to regain my voice.

  “Yes, I will still have you. If you will still have me, part human and part . . . whatever.” A not us. An other.

  Nicolas, his eyes red, moves his hands to the sides of my head, cupping it gently. He kisses me, first on the mouth, then up the side of my face and across my brow. When he reaches the grooves in my jaw, he softly brushes his lips along the edges, giving tiny kisses as he works his way down.

  He continues to my neck, and I feel fire light up in my veins, but it has nothing to do with pain. His mouth lingers there and opens, and I feel the graze of his teeth. I groan, and pull him closer. His lips move up alongside my ear, gently kissing my temple. He slides his hands down and, wrapping his arms around me, rests his chin on the top of my head.

  “We will have to wait until you are fully healed. You are certainly in no condition to sustain any further blood loss, no matter how temporary. And there are things we need to discuss, as this is not a decision to be made lightly nor in the heat of passion.”

  I nod. He plants a last kiss on the top of my head and eases back.

  “Now, drink another mug or two, and go enjoy your shower. I will return momentarily with clothes for you to wear.”

  The water runs over my skin, enveloping me in its soft warmth. It takes the stiffness out of my healing flesh, and I can finally take a deep breath without pain pulling at the tissues in my back. I almost have full range of motion in my arm, and reach up to feel the now shallow tracks in my jaw.

  I rinse the last bit of shampoo from my hair, shut off the water and, grabbing a towel, step out and dry off. A quick wipe of the mirror allows me to examine my face and arm, and I feel pleased with how well they are healing. I wrap the towel around me, crack open the door, and stick my head out.

  “Nicolas?”

  He’s not here, but a stack of folded clothing is on the bed. I walk out and pick it up, noticing it carries an exquisite fragrance. Hmm. I’ll have to ask Marie what perfume she uses. It smells yummy enough to eat, even though I no longer do so.

  The slacks fit well enough, though a little short. But before I put on the blouse, I need to see my back. I grab the hand mirror, then step over to the long mirror and turn around.

  The deep canyons now look more like plowed fields, and I watch for several minutes as the pale flesh continues to magically form and fill in the gaps.

  This is so amazing, but so creepy to watch.

  I shudder, set the mirror down, and slip on Marie’s blouse, buttoning it as I walk back across the room. The last thermos sits on the nightstand, calling me. Although I drank a mugful just before my shower, it seems to have already been used up by my rapidly healing body. My hand shakes as the thick red liquid pours into the mug.

  It seems like I’ve been hungry for days, weeks, though it’s only been a little over twenty-four hours since the attack. The need ebbs and flows wildly, according to my physical and emotional state from moment to moment. But the hunger has yet to abate completely, and it seems like it’ll never be satisfied again.

  That’s pretty disconcerting.

  Picking up the mug, I drink the red elixir slowly, savoring every drop as its healing warmth courses throughout my body.

  Hope there’s more soon.

  The sun will be up in a little while, and though I’m not sleepy yet, my poor body’s exhausted. Snuggling in bed with a book sounds really good right now, and there’s an entire library downstairs waiting to be explored. Hell, I’ll likely fall asleep just picking something out.

  The faint sound of voices drifts through the foyer as I open the door and head down the stairs. When I near the library door, I realize Nicolas and Éva are in there. They’re quietly arguing, and it’s about me.

  “But, Nicolas, I do not understand! If you really must have her, why do you not just take her, like you have all the others? Why not finish the Change? Then there will be no more nonsense over killing humans, and no more worries about her out there chasing wild animals!” Her voice, filled with frustration and anger, gets louder.

  “Éva, please keep it down,” he says, his tone low and irate. “I will not discuss this with you any longer. I have had enough. Your continuing protests and arguments indicate your time for renewal is quite overdue. Come here.”

  “Nicolas, no, not yet. Please, I beg you.”

  “Now.”

  Her soft footfalls pad across the floor.

  Frowning, I knock on the door and hear Nicolas swear. He opens it, his eyes red and furious.

  “Uh, I heard voices and decided to come down to see if I could borrow a book.” I look at him innocently. His eyes narrow and I can see he’s wondering how much I heard.

  “Ah, you are done with your shower. Do you feel better?” His face and his voice both become neutral.

  “Yes, I do. Thank you, and thank you for the clothes.” I smile and purposely avoid looking at Éva, afraid I’ll give away my eavesdropping.

  “I will pass your gratitude along to Marie.” The tension in him is fading, and I note out of the corner of my eye that Éva visibly relaxes.

  “Éva. Please plan on staying a few more days.” He turns to look at her. “We do have other business to finish up. But we are done for tonight.”

  Éva lowers her eyes in resignation and walks through the doorway. She nods as she passes me.

  Nicolas looks at me, his expression unreadable. I look back at him with a hint of defiance.

  I didn’t fool anyone. They both knew I’d been there, listening at the door.

  április 16., hétfö

  I nearly killed her. She almost died, and it would have been my fault.

  All because of my selfishness, my arrogance, my own stupid lust to win at the Game. I will never forget being overpowered by the scent of her sweet red essence as I opened the door, and seeing it painted, seeing her lifeblood smeared, all over the walls and the floor.

  And her, lying in the middle of the red stain, torn to pieces, not moving. The agony I feel at this inerasable image is worse than any pain I have felt in my long life.

  And now, I have done the one thing I promised her, that I swore, I would not do.

  I have taken away her Choice.

  TUESDAY

  CHAPTER 35

  Hunger is the first thing I feel as I wake up. Deep-seated, belly- and throat-burning hunger. Irritation sweeps through
me at this endless need, and I hope the craving subsides once my body’s fully healed. I throw off the covers, sit up, and look at my arm and shoulder. The gouges have closed completely, and now there’s just a pair of silvery lines running down my arm.

  Getting up, I go to the mirror and shrug off the nightgown borrowed from Marie. The twin lines on my face match that of my arm. My back is striped in silvery shallow furrows that run its entire length, from nape to hip. I count the lines—there are eight at the top, four for each swipe of his claws. In the middle of my back many of them merge, becoming wide, jagged ribbons of silver, deeper than the rest.

  Damn. I can’t get over what a mess he made of me, and how quickly. I just don’t understand what happened. I should have been fast enough, strong enough. I should’ve been able to crush his skull when I went for his eye and tear a gaping hole in that shaggy throat.

  Tightening my fists, I resolve to never let myself get that weak again, that helpless again. I catch a breath at the stabbing pain in my hands and open them to see blood welling where my own nails have pierced the flesh. Anger and frustration suddenly boil to the surface. My vision turns red, and the hunger explodes, flaming into every square inch of my body.

  No . . .

  A knock at the door penetrates the fiery need. It better be Nicolas with more blood.

  “Come in,” I say through gritted teeth, my jaw clenched tight.

  He walks in, and his eyebrows lift as his gaze fastens on me.

  “It . . . seems I may be a little late. This should help.” He raises a steel thermos, and my body tenses as I walk over, resisting the urge to rip it out of his hand.

  With an odd expression on his face, he opens it, and instead of pouring it into the mug, hands it to me. I grab it and slam down the whole thing without taking a breath.

  I’m lowering the empty thermos when I realize that I am standing before Nicolas absolutely stark naked.

  “Oh shit.” I look down, and then look up into his blazing red eyes. His jaw is clenched as tight as mine was a few moments before, his body as rigid as mine had been.

  “Ah . . . ,” he says, and I see his fangs as he tries to speak.

  I can’t speak either.

  Grabbing the robe from the bed, I walk into the bathroom. As I shut the door, I see him standing there, his eyes closed, body tense, and still as stone.

  It takes several breaths for me to collect myself. When I finally feel like I can talk coherently, I slip the robe on, belting it tightly, and open the door.

  He is gone.

  It’s been several hours and I can’t stop pacing, back and forth, back and forth. I’m dressed now, and all I can think about is hunting. The pain from my injuries is gone, but not the hunger. Not the hunger. If anything, it’s worse.

  His step outside the door tells me he’s here. He knocks.

  “Come in.” But I hear no movement to enter. “I’m dressed now.”

  Nicolas opens the door and walks in. His expression is tight as he strides over to the table and sets down a bag containing several thermos bottles. He steps back as I cross the room, take one out, and open it.

  My eyes close in relief as the precious liquid runs down my throat and begins quenching the fire in my veins.

  But this batch tastes a little different, more bitter, more oatey. I frown and look up at Nicolas in question.

  He shakes his head. “I am sorry, but this is all we have for now. There is no more banked blood. You are drinking what little was left, mixed with that from the stable.”

  Is that why my hunger seems insatiable? Is it yearning for what I can’t, won’t, give it?

  “You are still healing, even though it seems nearly complete. As long as you have visible traces of the injuries, there is still repair occurring at the microscopic level. The body’s first job is to get back to an intact and functional status as a defense against further assault. All the real healing takes place once the major structural integrity is back in place.” He pauses, studying me.

  “I do not know if the horse blood will help much with this phase of the healing process. This is outside my realm of experience.” His eyes soften, containing traces of sympathy.

  “Well, since ‘horse’ isn’t in my normal diet, maybe it isn’t what I really need. Maybe what I need is what I normally feed on. Deer. Elk. Small game. My body is used to that and has been thriving on it since shortly after I changed.” Irritated, I don’t understand why Nicolas doesn’t see the logic in this.

  “Perhaps that is the case. However, you are nowhere near strong enough to hunt, so you will have to make the best of what we can find as a substitute. Do you agree?” His expression is grave, and I don’t want to know what he’s offering.

  “The horse blood has gotten me this far, so as long as you have donors, I should continue to heal until I can hunt. Do you agree?” I frown, my mouth tight, and he nods.

  “I have purchased a few more horses for that purpose. I have also sent out requests to other blood banks in the area, but unfortunately there seems to be a statewide shortage.”

  Great. I might not be killing the donors, but I’m taking something that someone else needs to live, and so I am indirectly responsible for their deaths.

  And unfortunately, all this talk about blood isn’t helping the hunger. I look at the bag.

  Nicolas follows my gaze, reaches into the bag, and hands me a thermos. Conscious of making it last, I open it and pour it into the mug, then drink it slowly. But that only exaggerates its bitterness. I grimace and gulp it down.

  “Would you like to get out of this room, perhaps go for a walk in the garden? It is cloudy today. In fact, it may rain on us, but we can take an umbrella.” His green eyes look hopeful, and I nod.

  Yeah, I need to get out of this room. I really need to get back to my mountain, but that will have to wait.

  “How long do you think before I’m strong enough to hunt again?” I ask, hoping it won’t be too much longer.

  “I do not know. It depends on how well your tissues are able to utilize whatever blood we can supply. It could be several days, or several weeks.” His expression is contemplative.

  “How long would it take for a . . . normal Chosen?” I ask.

  Nicolas takes a breath, and hesitates before answering.

  He rolls up his shirtsleeve and slashes his arm open with his dagger-sharp nails. The skin and muscle part, then as the blood starts to well, the wounds close up without spilling a drop.

  Oh.

  “If a Chosen who had recently fed received injuries such as yours, the healing would have begun immediately. With a readily available source of fresh blood, their body would have finished the major structural repair within an hour or possibly two, with the rest of the healing completed a few hours or so after that.”

  Hours, not days. We are so much more different than I had realized.

  “How many people would’ve died to heal them?” I ask quietly.

  “It could take several donors. And they would not necessarily need to die. But the more blood available, the faster the healing.” He seems reluctant to tell me this. He is aware of our differences, too.

  I turn away, and part of me cringes inside, fearing we’ll never be able to live in the other’s world.

  He comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around me, and rests his cheek against mine.

  “We will make this work somehow. Please do not give up on me, on us. I love you more than you can imagine.”

  I turn around and look into those emerald eyes. “I . . . I love you too,” I whisper, and he crushes me to him. But the crushing pain inside my chest has nothing to do with his embrace.

  Nicolas holds my hand as we stroll through the garden. It’s raining, and he’s carrying a large umbrella to keep our clothes dry. However, the rain is gentle, and I let go of his hand to walk out into it. I look up and feel the drops falling softly on my face, and they become the tears I cannot shed.

  As I look at Nicolas, a sadness comes into his ey
es. He reaches out to brush away the drops from my cheeks and I kiss his hand. I kiss it a second time, then impulsively take a playful nip at it. His eyes widen, and I gently take hold of his hand with my teeth, and look mischievously up at him.

  Oops.

  His eyes are blazing red and his breath is fast, and he has crushed the umbrella handle.

  I slowly let go.

  “Um, maybe I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry,” I say, chagrined.

  He takes a breath and holds it. The umbrella in his hand is vibrating.

  “Ah, well, you seem to be doing your best to drive me insane today,” he says hoarsely.

  I look down in embarrassment. I’d forgotten about my display this morning.

  He reaches out and tousles my wet hair, then laughs. He grabs my hand and pulls me back under the umbrella with him and we continue walking. He has brought a pair of pruning clippers, and as we pass the living art of his topiary, he periodically snips off pieces and ties back new branches.

  “Could we see your horses? I used to love them when I was a kid. That’s why I could never . . . feed from one.” I finish this last slowly, noting the sudden look of concern in his eyes.

  “Not today. Perhaps another time.” His face is neutral now.

  “What, do you think I’ll attack them? That I’ll lose control? I may live off of animals, but I’m not one myself.” Hurt and indignation quickly give way to anger. I pull away from him and step into the rain.

  “I have no idea how you will react. I know how Chosen who are still healing from injury react to their food source, and they have little to no control. While in the healing process, the need for blood is too constant, too strong, and the ability to reason easily succumbs to the hunger.” Not for the first time do I hear the experience in his voice in relation to injuries.

  “Is that why I haven’t seen Marie around? You’ve been afraid I would attack her?” I stare at him in disbelief.

  “I felt you did not need the temptation, especially since you have been consuming human blood. And not just human blood, but her blood. Believe me, that does make a difference. We easily become sensitized to an individual’s blood.” His voice now holds a note of sadness that matches his earlier expression.