Watcher: Book I of The Chosen

by Roh Morgon

  “Come in,” responds Nicolas, a long moment after I knock at the library door.

  Taking a deep breath, I open the door and close it behind me. I lean against it, reluctant to even face him now. He’s sitting at the table by the window, paperwork scattered across the tabletop. He continues to write, his back to me. But I can see the side of his jaw, and it’s tight, along with the rest of his body.

  It’s worse than I thought.

  Pushing away from the door, I walk over and stand on the other side of the table. He sets down his pen, leans back in the chair, and looks up at me.

  My heart clenches at the pain I see in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Nicolas. I didn’t mean what I said. About hunting the bear.” I swallow at the shadow that crosses his face.

  “Ah, but Sunny . . . you did. You and I both know you have been thinking about it. I see it in your face every time you look at your back in the mirror. The bloodwine only allowed you to admit it out loud.” He tilts his head, but there is no amusement in his cool expression as he continues.

  “You need to realize that I understand. To destroy any who threaten us is our natural instinct. It is what ensures our survival.”

  He stands, walks around the table to me, and places his hands on my arms.

  “And that is why, when it is time, when you are completely healed and at your strongest, you will go hunt him down and protect your territory. And I will go with you.”

  “You will?” I hadn’t expected this.

  The tortured look crosses his face.

  “What makes you think I could ever let you face something like that alone? To wonder if you are going to come back to me in pieces, or at all? No, I cannot even endure the thought.”

  He draws me in close and rests his cheek on my head.

  “And now, I must apologize to you. For . . . locking you in your room. That was unforgivable.” The remorse in his voice saddens me. He really had no choice. I lost control last night.

  I slowly lean back to look into his deep sea eyes, and reach up to touch his brow, trying to ease the tension there.

  “You did what you needed to do. I was not myself. I very easily could’ve headed out the front door for who knows where. I’m not angry with you, but I am disgusted with me. I’m sorry for my behavior, and for causing you pain.” I stroke the side of his face and he turns his head to kiss my hand.

  “There is no need to apologize. Your reaction to the bloodwine could not have been anticipated.” He pulls me close again. “There is much about you that is different, and I should be more cautious. I tend to forget, as there is also much about you that is the same.”

  The same. I just wish we truly could be the same. But that would mean one of us has to give up our life as we have known it. And he has been living his so long that change would be impossible.

  There is a third option, one I don’t even want to think about.

  I hug him close, hoping I don’t have to give up . . . him.

  We are headed up the highway to my home. Nicolas suggested we pick up some of my clothes and anything else I might need, and I’m eager to see my mountain again.

  He pulls the red Ferrari up the driveway and we park at the back of the house. When he opens my door, I step out, my gaze locked on the mountainside. The hunger springs alive at the sight, even though I had another thermos just before we left. Nicolas notes the change, and his jaw tightens, concern written across his face.

  I take a deep breath of the fresh mountain air, inhaling the myriad of scents wafting through the forest. The cloud cover is thick and heavy with the promise of rain. I look at Nicolas, then turn to go into the house.

  As I approach the back door, my eyes widen at the bloodstains all along the doorframe and on the door itself. I pause, then grab the red-painted doorknob and turn it. What I see stops me in my tracks. I feel Nicolas behind me and realize this might not have been a good idea.

  So this is what he saw when he came to get me. I shudder to think how I would have felt had the roles been reversed.

  There is dried blood everywhere. It trails along the wall to the bedroom, and I follow it, appalled. As I walk into the bedroom, I note two things: the blood-soaked covers of my bed and the large dried puddle on the floor where Nicolas must have found me.

  I look over at him and he’s just standing there, rigid, his eyes filled with anguish. I walk back and wrap my arms around him, and a harsh sound escapes from his chest. My own chest aches in sympathy for him, and I resolve never to take the risk of doing this to him again.

  Grabbing a suitcase from the closet shelf, I quickly throw some clothes and shoes into it. I gather some items from the bathroom and glance at Nicolas watching me as I pack. His expression is closed, his eyes so dark they are nearly black.

  I shut the suitcase and nod at it. He steps over the bloodstain on the floor, picks it up, and takes it out to the car. As I go into the living room, his beautiful bookcase triggers another round of remorse. I’ve never even read any of the books he so lovingly picked out and brought up for me. I walk over and pull out several, and set them with my laptop, then get my other bag from the bedroom. After putting my stuff in the car, I go back to lock the door and grimace once again at the bloody reminder of how I almost died.

  Nicolas is standing at the foot of the trail, staring upward, and I join him.

  “What I do not understand is how you made it here.” His voice is hoarse with emotion.

  “Come on.” I take his hand. “Let’s go up there. I . . . I need to see where it happened.”

  He nods and we begin walking up the trail. Apparently it hasn’t rained much here. I note dried blood scattered along the trail, heavier in places where I’d fallen or clung to a tree.

  We keep hiking upward for some time and have no difficulty following the bloody trail. We’re both silent as we climb.

  Skirting around a cluster of trees, we enter a small clearing. Lying off to one side are the scattered bones and fur of a deer. A little distance away are the remains of a coyote, near a large bloodstained area. That must be where I collapsed after the bear took off.

  Nicolas walks around looking at the carcasses, then steps over to an area where the dried grasses and ground are torn up. He runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head, then turns and looks at me.

  “How did you do this? How did you fight off this bear and lose all the blood you lost, and then travel so far down the mountain?” The despair in his voice is palpable.

  “I vaguely remember feeding off the deer afterward, then I must’ve passed out. I woke up to something touching me, and I grabbed it and drained it before I even knew what it was.” I motion to the coyote. “His blood gave me enough energy to start down the mountain, and then I just kept going. All I could think about was getting to shelter, hoping the sun wasn’t going to come out.”

  Nicolas is silent as he looks around at the scene, apparently trying to visualize the sequence of events. He finally speaks.

  “You are the most complicated being I have ever encountered. You sustained enough damage and blood loss here in this clearing to render most young Chosen incapable of movement and mindless from the hunger, completely unable to function on any level.” He shakes his head, his tone bleak.

  “The outcome should have been eventual death, as you would have been unable to adequately defend yourself from predator attack.

  “Yet you did. And you were able to figure out where you were, drawing on some unknown source of energy and power to get you down the mountain and into the house.” He stops and looks intently at me.

  “There is only one explanation for the mystery that you are, and I have been considering it for some time now. Your survival abilities confirm it.” Nicolas pauses, looking thoughtful.

  “I think I may know who, or at least what, your Maker is. I felt that unusual presence when it first came into my city—that is what led me to you. It seemed impossible at the time, but I have seen enough indications since then that i
t can be nothing else. The ramifications, if this is true, will send huge ripples through Chosen society.”

  “Who?” I ask in a whisper, half afraid to hear the answer to the question I’ve been asking for a long time now.

  “One of the Old Ones, though I’m not sure yet which one. But none of them have been seen in over 360 years.” He takes a breath.

  “It would explain the uniqueness of your scent, the feel of your power, and your lack of normal newly Changed limitations. And it would explain why you were able to do what you did to survive. They are literally the most powerful beings on earth.”

  “And doesn’t that include you?” I ask.

  He looks at me and gives a slight nod.

  “Yes, perhaps, but the others are much older, and much stronger. So you see, you and I are more alike than you realize. You need to stop focusing on our differences and start embracing our commonalities. Our dietary preferences are really of little consequence.” He reaches out and strokes the scars on my face.

  Well, they are of consequence to me.

  But rather than argue, I focus on questions that have been haunting me since the attack.

  “Then if I have this powerful blood in me, why was the bear able to do what he did to me? Why was I unable to kill him quickly? And why is it taking so long for me to heal?!”

  “Because, dear Sunny, you are also part human. You never completed the Change. And it has left you in limbo. The blood of the Old One who made you is why you did not die then. Apparently it only needed a spark of life, any spark, for you to survive. Fortunately for you, the dog happened by right when you needed it.”

  “Then if I got that ‘spark’ as you put it, doesn’t it mean the Change was complete?”

  “No, as I’m trying to explain, it was only enough to sustain your existence, to keep you alive. The Changing spark must come from our former species, which is human, to fully become what we are.”

  What we are. Drinkers of blood.

  Except . . . the blood he prefers is human.

  And that abhors even a monster like me.

  We walk back down the mountain in silence. No longer concerned with reliving the events of a few days ago, I’ve become aware of the wildlife in the forest going about their business. The hunter in me starts casting for scent, and the hunger flares in anticipation. A rabbit darts from the trail ahead, and I long to give chase. But not in front of Nicolas. Deer and elk are one thing, but I have no wish for him to see me feed on small game.

  Catching a taste of deer on the air, my vision flares red as I instinctively tense for the hunt. I move in that direction, but Nicolas steps in front of me, breaking my hunter’s focus. I frown and start to argue in a whisper.

  “Nicolas, this won’t be a problem—”

  “You are right. This will not be a problem because it is not going to happen. You are not yet well enough to take down a deer. You risk damaging the freshly healed tissue, which will only make the regeneration process take that much longer. Besides, hunting up here will not be safe until we have eliminated the bear, and as we discussed, you are not quite ready to do that either.” His look is determined, his voice stern, but I try again anyway.

  “Well, knowing that he is up here will keep me that much more alert. He won’t sneak up on me a second time.” I ignore his comment about not being well enough, because deep inside, I can feel that he is right.

  “He does not have to sneak up on you. He will walk right in and try to take your kill, like before. Are you telling me that you will just let him?”

  I hesitate, because he is right on this as well.

  “If you want to hunt that badly, I will go out and take care of this bear, and any others in the area. Is that what you want?” He raises those eyebrows and tips his head. He has me and he knows it.

  “No.” I shake my head and start walking down the mountain.

  That’s my bear. The beast in me growls in frustration, and I feel the burn of hunger beginning. Again.

  CHAPTER 38

  I shift position yet again, unable to get comfortable. Reading here in front of the fireplace sounded relaxing, but it’s not helping. My gaze escapes the pages in my lap and drifts once more to the clock on the mantle—8:10. I wonder what’s taking Nicolas so long.

  Giving up, I set the book aside, shove myself out of the chair, and start pacing, unable to contain my impatience any longer. The simmer of my hunger is now boiling through my veins, and I hug myself in pain and frustration.

  Nicolas left shortly after we got back to the estate to check on my blood supply for the evening. But he’s been gone several hours now. I haven’t had anything since around noon, and my skin is crawling with anxiety.

  Part of the problem is that I only get a couple quarts at a time, so I’m never completely satisfied. I literally get gallons from deer and elk. And thinking about quarts and gallons stokes the hunger even more.

  Damn it, Nicolas. You should’ve let me take a deer this morning.

  The Jag pulls up out front, and I sigh as Nicolas gets out. He comes up the steps and in through the front door. But he doesn’t stop at the library. I listen uneasily as he heads into the back of the house.

  I continue pacing, and the flames continue to flicker throughout my body, slowly building into a bonfire in my stomach and my throat. Still Nicolas does not come. I debate going to find him, but that might not be a good idea, as there are definite sections of the house he has not invited me into. I speculate as to why and have a feeling his secrecy is his attempt to shelter me from the facets of Chosen life that I find troubling.

  The fire spreads into my skin, and finally I curl up in the chair in flaming torment. I begin to descend into the pit of agony I’d spent time in only a few days ago and hug my knees tighter. I feel like I’m burning alive.

  Nicolas, where are you?

  Then I hear him come down the hallway and into the library. I sob in relief and look up as he walks over to my chair. My eyes shift, fixing on the cooler he sets on the floor.

  “Ah Sunny, I am so sorry. We have encountered difficulties which I have been attempting to resolve.”

  He crouches down, opens the cooler, and takes out a thermos, then hands it to me. He helps guide my trembling hands to my mouth, and as the warm, red liquid begins to pour down my tortured throat, he starts speaking.

  “I regret this is all that I have for you right now.” His remorseful tone matches his words, and I look up into his emerald eyes brimming with sympathy.

  It’s straight horse blood and it tastes vile. I choke, and gagging, almost spit it out. But I need it too badly, and so I keep drinking, even though every cell in my body wants to reject it.

  I barely force down the last mouthful. Swallowing over and over again to keep it from coming back up, I shakily hand the thermos back to him. He takes out another and I put up my hands in protest.

  “No. No. I can’t drink anymore of that. It’s making me sick.” And it’s not helping either. The hunger rages on and I look up at him in fear.

  “Why isn’t it helping? Why can’t I drink it? It was working before.”

  Nicolas winces and says in a low tone, “I am afraid this is my fault. As it seemed we had a plentiful supply of human blood, and I wanted to expedite your healing, I have been using less and less of the horse blood. The last several batches have not contained any. It appears your system has . . . adapted.”

  Adapted? No . . . My mind shies away from the implications.

  “But what happened to the human donors?” I ask, thoughts whirling. Part of me hopes it was nothing bad, like dying, but the rest of me no longer cares.

  “They have reached their limits and must rest longer before they can donate any more. I have been out trying to procure new volunteers, but have had no luck,” he says worriedly, then with a deep breath, continues.

  “I can, however, offer an alternative, but it will require you to be very open minded.” He pauses, watching my reaction.

  I’m pretty sure I
don’t want to hear it, and I’m pretty sure I’m ready to hear anything. If it will relieve my misery, I don’t care. As long as I don’t have to kill anyone. And right now, even that doesn’t sound as objectionable as it has in the past.

  As though he can read my thoughts, Nicolas nods and says, “I do have willing donors elsewhere in the city. I do not want to bring them here, but we can go there.”

  My body is already moving before my mind agrees. I stand up, Nicolas rising with me, and start for the door. I look back at Nicolas and see him watching me with a strange sadness in his eyes. My suffering seems like it’s as painful for him as it is for me.

  He joins me at the door, and we walk outside and get in the car. The Jag purrs down the driveway and I watch his garden creatures flash by, looking macabre in the thin moonlight. We drive through the gates and head down the hill.

  Somewhere southeast of the downtown area, we pull into a parking lot next to a warehouse that’s been converted into a nightclub. Nicolas gets out, opens my door, and extends his hand to help me out. Faint music thuds through the brick walls as we walk to a side entrance of the club, about halfway back along the building. Nicolas opens the door with a key, and as we step inside, he turns and enters a series of numbers into a keypad.

  We follow a dark hallway to the door at the end, where he flips up the cover of another keypad. He enters another series of numbers, then presses his thumb onto a little window, and the red light of a scanner flashes by. He opens the door and we go in.

  Through the haze of hunger, something in me says I should be a little impressed by the security, but right now I don’t really care.

  We walk into a room and it automatically lights up. It’s an office, complete with desk, chair, and computer in one corner of the room. In the opposite corner is a forest-green sofa, matching stuffed chairs, and a couple of end tables with lamps.

  Nicolas stops and caresses the side of my face, and I again note his look of sadness and regret. “Would you like to have a seat on the sofa? I will return shortly.”