Watcher: Book I of The Chosen

by Roh Morgon

  I listen to the thunder of the engine as it hits the highway and fades off into the distance.

  Crap. I miss him already. And I feel his longing, as well as his warmth, wane into the distance like the sound of the yellow car.

  But not all of it. There is still a little warm spot of him deep in my core, and it’s enough to hold me a while.

  Because I remember what it felt like when it wasn’t there at all.

  Hell. A black, empty, lonely hell.

  Draining the last of his blood, I drop the buck’s carcass, shaking my head in disgust. It just doesn’t seem to taste any better, no matter how much time has passed.

  I try not to think about the club, but the more I try, the more I do.

  As much as I hate to admit it, I’m really looking forward to going there tomorrow night.

  I was fine while living in the forest, because I just gave myself over to the wild and didn’t do a lot of thinking. It helped not being around people and those who feed on them.

  But unfortunately, the call of human blood is stronger than the call of the wild.

  Its coppery sweet smell was crisp and appealing in Nicolas when he returned from the Springs this morning. I was aware of it at some level all day today. It was on his breath and on his clothes and in his very pores. It was only because I made the decision earlier to wait that I was able to tell him I wouldn’t be going with him tonight. It was more difficult than I thought it would be.

  I just wanted to hunt one more time out here as a confirmation. A confirmation that, as much as I might like to pretend we can live in both worlds, we both know we can’t. I can live wholly in one, or wholly in the other.

  And I do not want that place in the center of my being to be empty anymore.

  I run the mountain one last time, crisscrossing its slopes before finally climbing to the top. I turn and stare at the Peak in the light of the moon, just a few nights from being full. It’s been two months since I first saw that incredible mountain from here, its snowy mantle vivid in the full moon of early spring. It still wears a bright blanket of snow, even though the surrounding mountains below it now stand naked, cloaked only in trees.

  So much has changed, and yet, to the timeless Peak, nothing has.

  I am still sitting at the top of my mountain, basking in the dwindling night, when Nicolas walks up. He sits down beside me, and together we watch the moon fall and the sun begin to rise, and the Peak watches with us.

  Nearly asleep, I feel him pick me up and cradle me as he carries me down the mountain. I snuggle against him, and my last thought is that his arms are my most favorite bed of all.

  május 27., vasámap

  I showed her the castle today. I was sure she would fall in love with it, and I was looking forward to surprising her with it as my bonding gift. It would have been perfect for her. But her compassion for the human who lived in it overruled her desires, and she asked me not to purchase it. I will not—for now.

  I can finally breathe easy. She has made her Choice—and she chose me.

  I nearly wept while she said her farewells to her mountain, as an element within me deeply regrets taking her away from a life she so clearly loves. But her rightful place is by my side, to be my Queen, and to share with me the leadership of all The Chosen.

  MONDAY

  CHAPTER 58

  I put the box of clothes into the back seat of the BMW and head into the house to make a final check. Everything that couldn’t fit into my car is boxed, taped, and waiting in the living room for the movers. The empty bookcase is waiting as well, its guardian bookends and their printed treasures safely packed and taken home by Nicolas earlier this morning.

  With one last look around me, I realize that I am finally done.

  I am done here.

  Closing my eyes, I say goodbye to my simple little house and to the simple life I so briefly had, and to the life I might have had if I hadn’t seen a black-haired stranger staring at me from across the street.

  I fight back the tears and pull the curtains closed, then head out the back door for the final time.

  My eyes trace the little trail I’d worn as I take one last look at the mountain above me. It is no longer mine—I said my goodbyes to it last night. Perhaps the next tenant of the little house will discover the wonder waiting for them in their backyard, and will love it as I did.

  I just hope they don’t run into any bears.

  The slender young man is eager as he follows me back to the lounge area. He waits, shifting from foot to foot as I punch in the code and open the door.

  “Relax,” I say to him, but it is just as much for myself. The beast is vibrating in excitement, and I feel Nicolas’s attempts to calm me, but I don’t think they’re doing much good.

  “Wait for me in that booth.” I point to one of the draped cubicles, then walk over behind the bar.

  I grab a bottle of bloodwine and debate whether I should waste time with a glass. I hear the keypad being pressed and the door opens.

  Nicolas walks in and joins me at the bar. Smiling, he opens a cabinet and takes out a large glass mug.

  “Here, this is a little more civilized than drinking from the bottle.” He reaches for the bloodwine and I hand it to him, watching as he opens it.

  “How did you know . . . ?” Damned mind reader.

  “Because that is what I would have done if I felt like you do and no one was here to watch.” His emerald eyes glint with his customary amusement as he pours.

  I snort and take the mug. I look up at him and start to drink, then close my eyes as the bloodwine begins to trace through my system.

  Draining it, I wipe my lips and hold the mug out for more. Nicolas finishes filling his wineglass, then empties the bottle into the mug. I drink it a little slower this time, and can feel the calming effects of the blood and spices as I start to unwind.

  “It’s been awhile. I’m a little worried.” But I don’t have to tell him. I know he can feel it.

  “You will do fine. I will be right outside if you have a problem,” he says, his voice and his presence steady and reassuring.

  “Does it ever get any easier? Maintaining control, I mean?” It was never an issue when I hunted in the forest.

  “Yes, with time and practice. Eventually you will be able to go longer between feedings without risk of losing that control. But for now . . .”

  Yeah, I get it. Welcome back to the world of the addict.

  The dry rasp of a cough escapes the booth. That addict is waiting impatiently as well.

  “Here.” Nicolas hands me a small bottle of liqueur and a burgundy glass. “Always remember—they must drink this first. It enhances their pleasure and ensures they feel little pain.”

  Vague memories of burgundy glasses in human hands surface, but my questions fade as the beast starts pacing anxiously.

  I drain the mug, grab the small bottle and glass, and walk across the room to the booth. As I close the drapes, I glance back at Nicolas. His face is unreadable.

  The coppery nectar is even sweeter than I remember. All thoughts of life in the wild fade as I lose myself to the bliss of feeding. I can feel Nicolas outside the curtain savoring it with me as our pleasure echoes back and forth between us.

  And any regrets I might’ve had are swept away in the crimson current of human blood.

  május 28., hétfö

  She showed me tonight that she is truly ready to assume her position with me in Chosen society. She handled the human as though she has done it all her Chosen life, and I was bursting with pride for her. She will be truly remarkable as my bonded. I am eager to start planning our ceremony.

  This weekend we go to Denver where she will start learning a little about our selection process. I have a special couple in mind, and cannot wait to share in the feeding with her.

  SATURDAY

  CHAPTER 59

  We slip through the traffic as we head north to Denver. It’s Saturday night, an invitation-only evening with specially selected g
uests. I remember the last time we were here, the energized atmosphere, both Chosen and donors barely able to contain themselves. And I remember how they treated Nicolas, like the king that he is, and I understand that he periodically needs this.

  I reflect over the last four or five days and how easily I’ve adapted to Nicolas’s life and feeding at the club. It feels natural now, and I’m no longer so afraid of killing the donors. How odd to think that a little over a week ago I was running wild in the mountains gorging myself on gallons, yet still unsatisfied. Now I’m content with just a few pints.

  And nothing dies.

  Nicolas pulls the yellow Lamborghini up to the curb and a pair of valets open our doors. He gets out, and the people in line whisper excitedly as he walks around to my side. He reaches for my hand and helps me up from the low-slung sports car.

  We walk past the waiting patrons, their muffled voices quieting as they stare. I can feel their hunger for us and what we represent, and my own hunger answers in anticipation.

  The doormen nod to us and open the doors. The flashing lights and pulsing music are electrifying and my excitement rises. Nicolas shifts my hand to the inside of his elbow, and we walk into the maelstrom of bodies writhing to the beat.

  Guess he’s not going to leave me standing at the door this time.

  The mob of people splits as we stride through. But there’s confusion as they register that he is not alone. I see looks of surprise and jealousy, especially from the women, and one dancer arrogantly decides to ignore my presence. She sways her body closer and puts herself in Nicolas’s path, seduction painting her expression.

  I step in front of him and unleash both the hunter and the beast, just a little bit. She looks at my face and the color drains from hers, and she stumbles as she tries to back up. I lift a corner of my lip for emphasis and everyone before us moves back.

  “Easy now. Frightening them serves no real purpose here,” Nicolas whispers in my ear, but I feel his pride rush through me. I smile and compose my expression, then press back against his side. He surveys the crowd and nods. I watch as they relax and begin dancing again.

  We continue to the rear of the club and I notice the young Chosen I met the first time here. Will was his name. He nods to me and grins, and I smile in response. We reach the black curtain and Nicolas looks back over the crowd. I spot several other Chosen as he gives one an intense stare, then he turns once again to the curtain, now held open for us by a pair of burly bouncers.

  We walk down a dim hallway and stop outside one of several locked doors scattered along the hall. Mounted on it is a sign bearing the words, Club Orgia in an ornate script. When Nicolas opens the door and ushers me inside, I’m expecting a lounge similar to the one in Colorado Springs. I’m totally unprepared for what’s inside this lounge.

  The candlelit room is host to an orgy of blood and sex, and no one is bothering to hide behind curtains. The beast slams into high gear at the smells and moans of the entangled bodies. I swallow and glance up at Nicolas as we walk around the perimeter to a door in the far wall, and as he punches in the code, his face is carefully neutral. But he can’t hide the excitement in his blood and mine cranks up even further in response.

  As we enter another hallway, I mutter, “Thanks for the warning.”

  “And what would you have liked me to say? The buffet is open?” He smirks, eyes bright.

  “That’s not funny.” But, in retrospect, it kind of is. I’ve always thought of the clubs as Chosen restaurants.

  I shake my head and bite back a smile. Nicolas glances at me and smiles as we stop outside another door, which opens into a private room. Again, as everything else here at the Denver club, this is a luxury suite, with several elegant rooms and a wet bar.

  I’ve had less than a minute to absorb the surroundings when there’s a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” says Nicolas.

  Will walks in, followed by an attractive and well-dressed couple in their late thirties. He nods to Nicolas, then smiles at me and leaves, closing the door.

  The man steps forward with his hand outstretched.

  “Hello. I’m Peter Butler, and this is my wife, Anne. We’re pleased to meet you.”

  “Good.” Nicolas ignores the man’s hand and remains standing where he is, arms folded as he appraises the couple. I glance at him, then my eyes drift to examine them as well.

  The man’s confident bearing, along with his well-tailored suit, speaks of money. The woman’s black evening gown is couture, but it’s her glittering ruby necklace that sends the beast into a frenzy. I wrench my gaze from the crimson-colored stones draped around her throat and look at Nicolas. The arousal in his eyes is new to me, and I feel it in his emotions as well, but it’s not just anticipation of blood. There is something else going on here, and I use that puzzle to distract and hold down the beast.

  “I, we, have been looking forward to this for some time now. I trust you’ve found our assets to be acceptable?” The man slides his hand into his pocket as his wife latches onto his arm.

  Assets. Invitation only. Oh.

  These are not just donors. These are prospective Chosen.

  “Upon initial examination, yes. But there are several more steps involved in the screening process. You do understand you can be rejected at any time,” Nicolas says, his tone stern and his dark green eyes hard.

  “Yes, we . . . we understand.” The man strains to keep his voice steady. His wife, wide-eyed, nods in agreement. Red light sparkles off the rubies as she moves.

  “And you understand the consequences of rejection should that occur.”

  The air thickens as the man shifts beneath Nicolas’s lethal stare. Fear permeates the room.

  “Y-yes, we do. But we’re confident you will find us to be of benefit to your . . . organization.” His words seem a vain attempt to keep the discussion focused on business.

  But we all know the discussion is really about life. Theirs.

  So much for sheltering me from Chosen realities. Guess Nicolas has decided I don’t need to be babied anymore and that it’s time to grow up.

  “The bar is there if you would like anything to drink.” Nicolas indicates it with a nod of his head, and the woman’s eyes flicker greedily in that direction.

  Hmm. Drinker. I examine her scent and can smell the alcohol that seems to be embedded in every cell in her body.

  I glance at Nicolas, but his face remains expressionless as the man walks over to the bar. He finds a glass and, with a little searching, a bottle of bourbon. Filling the glass nearly to the brim, he walks back over and hands it to his wife. She eagerly takes a swallow, then another.

  “You may make yourselves comfortable in there.” Nicolas motions toward one of the bedrooms. “On the table is a bottle of specially prepared liqueur. I strongly suggest you both drink it as it will make your experience much more pleasant.” He smiles, but it does not quite reach his eyes. “We will join you shortly.”

  Nodding, the man wraps his arm around his wife’s waist as she takes another drink from the now half-empty glass. They walk into the bedroom and close the door.

  “What if only one of them passes?” I ask quietly. This is my first concern, among others.

  “They have both made it this far. Not many pass the screening process my Chosen conduct. Most are thanked and sent on their way if there is anything found amiss, none the wiser as to what they were really being screened for.” His tone is low and he is very still.

  “But what if only one?” I insist.

  “Then only that one is allowed to take the next step.”

  “You would break up a couple?” That shocks me even more than the risk of their deaths.

  “This couple is not as attached to each other as you would assume. Furthermore, I have yet to see a couple survive the Change as a couple. Human relationships cannot withstand the demands the Change and Chosen life places on them. They never even look back as they begin their new lives.”

  “Never?” I lo
ok at Nicolas in alarm. I’m not thinking about the couple in the other room. I’m thinking the couple in this room. Us.

  “Ah . . . Come here.” He walks over to me and gathers me in his arms, holding me tight as he speaks.

  “You should not be worrying about this. You and I are different. We are already Changed, and have adapted well to both this life and our differences. This will not be a problem for us.”

  “But I’m not. I’m not . . . done,” I whisper, fighting to hold back the damned red tears.

  “You are more Chosen than most Chosen. Any further Changing you do will only make you more you, a stronger you. And I will stay by your side no matter what. I am not some flighty human discovering power and immortality for the first time.” His voice, his arms, and his blood reassure me in every way they can. I begin to relax.

  As my mind works through his words, I feel him breathe in the scent of my hair, and his embrace changes from one of comfort to one of demand. I gladly give in as our blood heats up. He nuzzles my neck and my thoughts start to melt away.

  Thank you, Nicolas. I get tired of my worries and fears, and for most of this life, only hunting and the forest could subdue them. This is much better.

  He kisses my throat, then brushes it with his fangs. I grab his hair and hold him tight, but he gently pushes himself away.

  “My sweet, save that passion. I have a treat for you in the other room. I want you to enjoy it.”

  I frown.

  “No killing?”

  He quietly laughs. “No killing. But enjoyable nonetheless.” He leans in and nips my mouth, and I reach for him.

  But he is no longer there. He’s now standing at the door waiting for me. His eyes are blazing red, and his body vibrates with the same excitement I feel in his blood. I waste no time joining him.

  We open the door and walk in side by side.