Watcher: Book I of The Chosen

by Roh Morgon

  “Please, do not worry so. I have several matters that need to be taken care of, and then we will leave immediately thereafter, if that is what you wish. All right?” He brushes the hair back from my face and looks at me expectantly.

  “All right.” But I don’t feel reassured, and he frowns as he reaches out to unlock the door.

  I wait in the short hallway as Nicolas keys in the codes for both boxes and my uneasiness grows. He opens the door to the office and holds it while I walk through and into the room.

  The room where I fed from a human.

  I freeze as the panic takes hold, but Nicolas comes up from behind, wraps his arms around me, and whispers in my ear.

  “Sshh, calm down, my love. Everything is going to be fine.”

  But why do I feel like it won’t, like I won’t?

  Nicolas gently turns me around and looks at me with dark emerald eyes. “There is nothing to be worried about. Wait here while I meet with my club manager. I will return as soon as I can.” He touches my cheek and I reluctantly nod.

  With a kiss on the top of my head, he walks out the door at the other end of the room.

  I sit down on the couch, but almost immediately get back up and start pacing. The anxiety twisting in my gut has awakened the hunger, which alarms me even further.

  Déjà vu. I swear if Nicolas comes back in here with another donor, I will run all the way back to my mountain.

  My throat tight with fear, I continue to pace and, after about a half hour, finally hear him touch the doorknob. I stop, tense and poised for flight, but when he opens the door, he’s alone.

  The tension drains out of my body and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Nicolas, on the other hand, hurries into the room, his face strained. But when he sees me, he slows his approach and stops, and takes a deep breath. I marvel again over how much he seems to react to my emotions.

  His pale green eyes search mine, and they contain a sadness that I vaguely remember from last night.

  “You were ready to run. I could feel it, and I feared I would not get back here soon enough.” He grabs me in his arms and holds me tight, as though he would physically keep me from running.

  A wave of emotion washes over me, a jumble of love, concern, and guilt. Especially guilt, as I remember that the last time I ran from him, it ended up costing both of us in ways I could never have anticipated. And ultimately was responsible for me being in this room, terrified of a choice I don’t want to make, ready to run again.

  What a screwed up mess.

  I take a breath and gently push back out of his arms.

  “I’m here, I’m okay. And I’m sorry that I caused you to worry.” I look up at him and touch his jaw, and he kisses my palm.

  “No, it is I who has caused you to worry. I would like to remedy that if you would allow me.

  “I would like to take you on a tour of the club so you can see that it is not this . . . den of murder and horror that you seem to imagine. Does this sound acceptable to you?” His eyes search mine and I finally nod my agreement.

  “Good.” He steps back and holds out his hand, and I place mine in his. I can’t help but compare my hand to my trust—and I can only hope it’s not misplaced.

  Nicolas opens the door that he came through moments earlier and holds it for me. I hesitate, then sigh as I step through, because I realize I will do anything to be on the same side of the door as he is.

  The hallway stretches in both directions. A faint thudding is coming from the left, and it’s in that direction we head. As we get closer, I recognize the beat of dance music.

  I’m surprised I couldn’t hear it from the office, but I suspect everything in this building is well insulated, because Nicolas doesn’t do anything halfway. This proves to be true as he opens the heavy door at the end of the hall, and sound hits me like the blast wave from an explosion.

  He grimaces and follows me as I walk through the door. We veer left and go down a narrow aisle, past stacks of boxes and cases of beer. Turning right, we go through a heavy black curtain. Standing on the other side is a very large man dressed in a well-tailored black suit. He steps aside as we pass, nodding to Nicolas, then resumes his position in front of the curtain.

  The music is nearly deafening as we make our way past the door of a walk-in cooler and then stop at the end of the bar. Looking out over the dance floor, the scene is a typical techno club, its darkness broken by the lights pulsing to the rhythm of the music

  Even though it’s a Thursday night, the dance floor is packed with bodies convulsing in every direction in response to the onslaught of electronic sound. I start to feel edgy, and the hunter in me goes on alert, making me tense even more. This is unsettling. I don’t like this new reaction my body keeps having to people.

  I stand and watch the dancing while Nicolas speaks with the bartender, and then realize not all of the dancers are human. I detect auras of Chosen energy scattered throughout the crowd, and I quickly pick them out. Their beauty, graceful movement, and air of superiority are alluring, and the people gravitate around them, planets to their brightly burning suns.

  There are three that I can spot, two males and a female, and none of them have a shortage of admirers of either gender. Young men and women dance in small groups around each one, yet maintain a respectful distance so that The Chosen dance as though in a bubble on a sea of bobbing humanity.

  I glance at Nicolas to find him watching me, perhaps to gauge my reaction to The Chosen in the midst of the human crowd. I raise my eyebrows, and he tips his head, then indicates that we should leave back through the way we came.

  The mountain-sized human guard pulls aside the curtain to allow us through. We wind our way back to the heavy door, and I wait while Nicolas enters the access code. The noise fades as he closes the door behind us, and I breathe a sigh of relief as we start back down the hallway.

  Nicolas continues past the office, stops at a door just beyond it, and quickly presses the buttons on yet another one of the multiple keypads that seem to guard every doorway.

  In spite of his aversion to locked doors, they are everywhere in this place. They appear situated to keep the uninvited out, but I wonder if they also keep them in.

  The room we enter is a quiet lounge with subdued lighting and soft classical music playing in the background. There is a small, unattended bar, though it appears well stocked, along the same wall as the door we came in. I notice another door at the far end of the room. Along the walls are black-curtained booths, and in the middle are several small round tables with chairs to seat four.

  A couple of the booths on the far wall are occupied, their drawn curtains muffling the low voices within. I sense the presence of several Chosen, as well as human men and women.

  “Shall we sit?” Nicolas asks, stopping at a booth next to us. I slide in and around to the back while he heads over to the bar. He returns a moment later with two glasses of what appears to be wine.

  He puts them on the table, sits down, and slides around to sit next to me. He picks up one of the glasses and sets it in front of me, and smiles at my wide-eyed expression.

  “Do not worry, yours is not bloodwine.” His eyes glint with amusement. “Although, if it was, I suspect we could have a very interesting evening.”

  “Maybe.” But I’m too distracted by my returning anxiety to joke around.

  Nicolas purses his lips, his expression becoming serious. I wonder if he can feel my hunger.

  I take a sip of the wine, but it tastes odd, too thin, the wrong kind of sweetness. My tension raises a notch as I realize there is only one thing that will taste right at this point.

  Taking a deep breath, I brace myself for an argument. But I can’t look at him as I begin to speak and instead stare down at the table, my fingers curled tightly around the wineglass.

  “Nicolas, can you . . . can you please take me home? To my home? I need—I would like to—go hunting. And I don’t really want to be here. I don’t belong here.” My voice fades
to a whisper and I finally look up at him.

  He’s frowning at me and something dark passes behind his pale eyes.

  And then the door opens, and a scent that I am intimately familiar with tumbles in. I look at Nicolas in alarm as I realize who it is. Nicolas’s expression shifts to neutral, and the thought hits me like a hammer that I have been set up . . . again.

  Skeeter walks into the middle of the room with a young woman, also human. As the hunger fully ignites, I remember what Nicolas said about blood one has had before.

  I clench my jaw, and as the beast rages, I say in anguish, “Nicolas, how could you—”

  But before I can finish, a male Chosen follows through the door that hadn’t quite closed behind the humans. He’s tall, well built, and with his blond hair waving to the tops of his broad shoulders, devastatingly handsome. He walks up between the couple and places an arm around each waist, then moves them toward one of the curtained cubicles at the back of the room. Skeeter glances at Nicolas, and guilt paints the boy’s face before he looks away.

  The Chosen stops and opens the curtains, revealing a private sitting area with a large semi-circular sofa and a low table. As the couple sits down, he looks at Nicolas and nods. His intense blue eyes spark as he fastens them on me, then with a smile he closes the heavy draperies.

  Oh. I thought the boy was here for me, to tempt me. I turn back to Nicolas to find him staring at me through a mask of pain and disbelief.

  “Do you really think so little of me? Do you really feel I would deliberately—?” He doesn’t finish, clamping his jaw shut with an audible snap.

  “No, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I just thought when he walked in . . .” I can’t finish either, ashamed that I would be so suspicious of the one I love.

  “I checked the club before I came back to the office to ensure he was not here, as I knew the strain it would cause you.” His eyes, dark and angry, bore into mine as he continues.

  “He should not even be here tonight. We have rules as to the frequency of their visits for their own safety. If they donate too often, they cannot recover properly and will grow weak and susceptible to illness. And we do not accept them here if they are ill. Again, for their benefit.

  “You seem to think I am some kind of—” He stops. “Ah. Never mind. We will discuss this later, in private,” he says coldly.

  I feel like a paranoid idiot.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, staring down at the table. I can’t bear the look on his face.

  He is silent a moment, then says, “Wait here.” He gets up and goes out the door.

  Sitting with my eyes closed, I try to contain my whirling emotions. I then become aware that the voices coming from the blond Chosen’s booth have stopped. What I hear now are moans of pleasure, and my embarrassment is quickly overshadowed by my own hunger and need.

  Great. As irritation flashes through me, I shift in my seat and notice Nicolas’s untouched glass of bloodwine on the table.

  Picking it up, I smell it. The soft aroma of the blood, enhanced by Nicolas’s special spices, floats up and caresses my nose.

  Oh, what the hell.

  I take a drink, savoring the flavor as it blooms in my mouth. I can feel the liquid trace its way into my system, exactly the way fresh blood does when taken directly from a vein.

  Now I understand why this would be a preferred drink among The Chosen. Somehow I missed this benefit the first time I tried it.

  I take a second drink and hold it before swallowing. It soothes every surface it touches as it makes its way through my veins and slowly begins to calm the hunger.

  It doesn’t seem to be affecting me the way it did last time, so I continue to take small swallows. The glass is nearly empty when the door opens. I look up as Nicolas walks in accompanied by a pretty young brunette. A human.

  He walks to the table and, with a raised eyebrow, notes the glass in my hand. I take a breath and look up at him, and realize about the same time he does that I am no longer upset.

  He visibly relaxes, then turns and gestures to the young woman behind him.

  “Sunny, I would like you to meet Charlene. Charlene, this is Sunny.” His voice is now warm and, to my relief, carries no trace of his earlier anger.

  “Hello,” she and I say at nearly the same time. Charlene nervously giggles, and I force a smile as I slap down the beast that has taken sharp notice of the girl.

  “Charlene, please sit down,” Nicolas says. As she settles into the booth on one side of me, he takes the seat on the other. “Charlene has volunteered to speak with you, hopefully to ease your concerns about the role the humans have in our society. I trust you will give careful consideration to what she says.”

  Scooting a little closer to Nicolas, I try to put some distance between me and this human. Her dark brown eyes shine as she explains how much she loves to come here and spend time with The Chosen. My attention fixes on her arms as she enthusiastically waves them about. They bear some fang scars, but not as many as Skeeter’s.

  “So, anyhow, Nicolas just wanted me to tell you that, you know, our experiences here are something we look forward to. In fact, I hate the nights when I am not allowed to come in because I’m supposed to be ‘resting.’” She gazes adoringly at Nicolas. “I know, I know, the rules are for our own good.”

  I feel a sharp flash of jealousy at the way she looks at him, and glance up to see him notice it. Amusement crosses his face and my breath catches, as his expression is my favorite, and he smiles at me knowingly.

  “So, you know, it’s been, let’s see, about nine or ten nights since I was here. So I’m okay now. Do you want a taste?”

  Her words jar me back to the conversation, and as I look back at her, I see the arm she’s holding out to me.

  Her arm.

  My eyes lock onto the bluish veins beneath her skin. The beast in me suddenly crouches, preparing to spring, and I jerk my gaze away as Nicolas wraps his arm around my shoulders.

  “I’m sorry?” I say to the table while I scramble to regain control.

  “I said would you like to try me? It’s been long enough, and I really, well, I really need . . .” Her voice tapers off, and I glance up to see tears begin to pool in her eyes.

  Lucky her. She can cry for real.

  “Doesn’t this hurt? Aren’t you afraid?” I ask in a panic, trying to buy time. But the beast and the hunger are both raging, and I realize that it’s me who is afraid.

  “No. Not at all. Just the opposite. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. We like it, I mean, really like it. It’s kinda like doing drugs, only I’m not putting harmful stuff into my body.” She stares at me hopefully.

  No, you are just having the life drained out of it, drop by drop.

  Shocked, I turn to look at Nicolas and his carefully composed expression, and she says, “Please? Nicolas said he won’t, and, well, a couple of the others here do scare me. They’re not gentle like he is.”

  I look back at her, my fear shifting to anger. The beast in me roars, my vision reddens, and I can barely speak without growling.

  “And what makes you think I will be gentle?”

  Her eyes grow wide and she swallows before answering.

  “Because . . . you’re with him, you know? Like a couple. I’ve never seen Nicolas with anyone else except people like me, but that’s not the same. I know he wouldn’t be with someone who was mean or anything.” Her voice is sincere and hopeful, and my resolve begins to crumple.

  She holds out her arm again, and I yank my gaze from it to look at Nicolas. His expression is soft, with that hint of sadness, and I realize that I am going to do this. And that this time it is entirely my choice.

  “Nicolas, my . . . teeth.” I have no wish to mangle this girl’s arm, but the beast is impatient and my control is continuing to slip.

  Nicolas stands, his eyes growing dark and unreadable. He walks over to the bar, grabs a small bottle of liqueur and a burgundy glass from the back shelf, and returns to the table
.

  “Come.” We both get up and follow him to the door at the rear of the room. My body is vibrating as I try to restrain it, while Charlene is grinning in anticipation. He opens the door and waits as we pass through into a hallway that has several more doors lining it.

  Nicolas punches in a code at one of the doors, and we enter a room that looks like a hotel suite but with no windows. He motions for the girl to sit on the bed and sets the liqueur and glass on the nightstand.

  “Drink up,” he tells her, and she nods and reaches for the bottle.

  Nicolas turns to me, takes my arm, and leads me back out into the hallway, closing the door behind us.

  “Are you sure you want to do this? It is not too late to change your mind.” He looks at me with concern, as I’m sure he is aware of what this may cost me.

  But it is too late. And I’m tired of fighting it, of fighting his way of life, of fighting him.

  I nod, and the beast roars in elation, while the human part of me sobs and crawls into the black box.

  “As long as no one dies,” I whisper. “Please promise me that you won’t let me kill her.”

  He takes me in his arms and holds me. But I’m sure he can feel my impatience and overwhelming need, and with a kiss to my forehead, he releases me and opens the door. He looks back at me, giving me one more chance, and I reach out to take his hand, and we walk through the door together.

  április 19., csütörtök

  I felt alive today for the first time in many days. She is finally laughing again, and my blood races at each small sound she makes, each smile she graces me with.

  Her blood, deep within me, makes my soul sing, and I embrace every flash of anger, every rush of desire that she feels. But more importantly, now I know. Now I know that she loves me beyond my expectations, beyond any hope I could have had.

  I only wish that I deserved it.

  The Choice she made tonight—was not really hers.

  FRIDAY

  CHAPTER 42

  I wake a bit earlier than usual and take a long stretch, feeling every muscle spring alive, and get out of bed. Just as I’ve done for the last four mornings, I go over to the mirror to inspect my scars. But they are unchanged from yesterday, and so it looks like I will wear them for the rest of my . . . life, or whatever it is.