“Yes sir, soon.”
It was always soon and soon had yet to come. Becoming impatiently hungry and all his assets extended fully he could smell it, taste if even. He just had to wait a little longer for the dinner bell to ring, and when it did, he would be waiting eagerly with fork and knife.
Knowing he was in deep conversation with himself she did not listen or interrupt. Only keeping her distance and holding on to the folder until being asked for it.
Finding the silver lining in Yaroslav deciding not to report back showed the young Chakan had matured in his skills as a fighter. Dying in spectacular fashion proved that. Merrick’s realistic account of how long the battle lasted and the injuries sustained all but confirmed that Nathan, at the very least, was very dangerous. But the gnawing bites of curiosity of how things might have been had the Ukrainian just reported back still nipped at his thoughts. “Fucking Ukrainian,” he said taking his long stare away from the map and turning his eyes back to her.
She could see he was not directing the comment at her but it still put her at unease all the same. She handed him the folder. “Your suspicions were right,” she said as Marcus took it. “He is most likely not in Asia being protected by the Order.”
“To obvious fucking conclusion,” he stated walking towards the oak table. Knowing if he wanted to be successful he would have to be patient but coming upon the better part of a century he wondered how much more patient could he be. Recognizing he should have known Yaroslav may not have done as instructed if tempted with glory there was no sense debating something that could not be changed. Besides, he waited this long. What were a few more drops of moments in a bucket of eternity, he thought, then wondered if someone more famous quoted that.
“He’s been over every lead over the entire continent, nothing,” she said.
Looking over the report he saw that it went into great detail. “Says here they seem to be very cooperative, how gracious of the cocksuckers.”
“It seems after Yarosl-”
Marcus cut her off immediately with anger. “Do not mention that fucking pig farmer’s name in my presence.” Staring at her for a few moments she just stood silent and submissive. Finally he began reading over her report again. “This accurate?” he asked while his eyes kept reading the page.
“Word for word,” she said confidently since she wrote it.
Reading a little more he felt he got the gist and closed it. “Do you know they use to call that fucking cunt, Yaroslav the wise?” Ignoring his own rule Carmon just nodded and let him continue by being silent. “I mean, could I of made it any more fucking clear, find the boy - report back,” he said not being able to let go of the events that unfolded in the town of Amalfi.
“It was pretty elementary sir.”
Dropping the folder on the table he replaced it with his tea and smiled. “Right, elementary. . . I like that.”
“It does make one wonder how he got the name, the Wise,” she said adding a log to the fire.
“Wise . . . as wise as those pigs he probably fucked.” Putting his tea back on the table in fear his anger would cause it to spill he continued. “Our kind will spend centuries and centuries trying to master one of the Five Rings, some are born with one – one, fucking naturally,” he said waving his hands and grabbing at the air. “Nathanial fucking Caesar was born with all five . . . I mean, did his Kievan mother fuck a monkey? How did this . . . fucking feeble-minded imbecile live for a thousand years?” he asked becoming silent. Taking a large breath he exhaled. “I did make that painfully fucking clear did I not?”
Carmon did not bother answering since he wouldn’t have heard or noticed her contribution anyways.
Putting his palms on the smooth ancient oak he leaned forward. Taking a long ingested breath he slowly rocked on his hands trying to calm himself. But allowing his frustration (that was painted all over his face) to soak in he felt it racing to his heart and sending him on a trajectory of rage. “I mean, before I give myself a goddamn heart attack . . .”
Now Carmon did not know if he was talking to her directly or to himself. Seemingly he was addressing a room full of apparitions but concern started to dawn upon her and she now debated on answering. Waiting for a response while his eyes searched the room she decided to leave her voice absent and waited to be questioned directly.
His face was still flush as he just rocked back and forth. Seeing many of his kind live for centuries on honor and creed and found in his long experience that they both eventually marched into the inevitable. Beginning to realize it was best to let such things so alien desert his thoughts he decided to let the question dissipate without an answer.
Walking back to his map he left his tea behind wanting to be unencumbered of distraction. Searching the countries in front of him he gazed on them all but being drawn to one area with one word swirling in his mind . . . Family. Thinking it many times before and being wrong he thought of how long it has been. “Time can be the loneliest companion when separated from friend and family,” he whispered and closed his eyes.
Making short work of the thousand year old Ukrainian Marcus began to wonder how he would fair. Always believing that revenge would be best served personally he was beginning to think maybe it was best served as the finale? Letting others prepare such an outcome did not seem to matter as long as it was his fangs sinking into Nathan’s heart and sending the young Chakan to the After. Insurance was needed if he was to proceed in confidence. There were others more powerful than the Ukrainian, more powerful than himself. Realizing there might be some more powerful than Nathan he knew there was one maybe a few hundred miles north of him.
Shifting his eyes to Scotland he knew this Chakan would be there or up in a snow covered mountain in the land of Vikings. The Chakan he was thinking of was a self-proclaimed God named Tyre (sounds like Tear, as in, a Tear from an eye). Staring at the Scandinavian countries to the north then back at Scotland his eyes contemplated the idea. Finding the self-proclaimed God was easy. It was the aftermath that worried him. Tyre was anything but predictable bringing nothing but death and destruction to anything he deemed contrary. A powerful weapon if wielded correctly and certain death if not, this made his kind never eager to go looking.
First things first, he thought walking back to the table. Picking the folder up he lightly tapped it on his opposite palm. “Who to task,” he wondered aloud to the beat of paper hitting his flesh.
Knowing he was engaged in something else she decided not to interrupt but interject. “As per Merrick’s instructions we have been compiling lists of Book Stores opening.”
“Little prick does like his books,” he said already knowing of the lists. “Tell me Carmon my dear, has one opened up under the name of Nathan Caesar?” he asked sarcastically.
“No, but . . .” she teased.
Getting his attention he turned and smiled. “But.”
“If we follow the time line and the lead from Nova Scotia it does not lead to a book store being open. But it does contain a large Fed-Ex order of books being insured and delivered to an address in Chicago . . . a mere two hours from his family.”
Marcus stopped tapping the folder. “You don’t say,” he said holding up the report that didn’t seem to contain that information.
“Information I just found out,” she said holding up her phone.
“God bless fucking technology. Here’s to hoping it’s not another bull shit lead,” he said sipping at his tea and frowning since it had gone cold. Reading his eyes like a book she quickly walked to the little antique table by the window and grabbed the tea pot. Throwing the remaining tea to the floor he held out his cup as she poured. Returning the pot to the table she rejoined him, mentally adding ‘clean the floor’ to her to do list as she passed the puddle.
“I thought he might have gone to Ireland,” Marcus said rubbing his finger on the map.
“The Wolfhounds?” she asked looking at the country then turning to him. “Would he dare come so close?”
&
nbsp; “To shit in my back yard . . . and inhale whilst he gives me his middle finger from across the water,” he said smiling with contempt. “I wouldn’t put it past the little fucker,” he said returning to the map. Taking a sip he let his eyes float towards the land of the rising sun. “I also thought he would have gone to Japan.”
“Most of our analysts agreed. He would have been protected by the Order,” she reminded him then pointed to the map. “A clear path across the Pacific and he could of entered anywhere, from northern Canada to southern Mexico without being detected,” she said referring to Nathan being able to come and go as he pleases throughout the countries of Asia.
Grunting as his eyes followed the coast of Japan knowing it would have been the hardest place to flush Nathan out of. But knowing the extent of Nathan’s arrogance, a trait Marcus has grown to utterly despise, he knew that meant Nathan wasn’t afraid of him. That’s why he didn’t run for cover under the bosom of the Order and for that he was grateful. “Wouldn’t that of been my luck, protected by the Order and that slant eyed bastard.”
“Miyamoto Musashi personally?” she asked impressed.
{Miyamoto Musashi was the leader of the Order, an organization to teach Monster’s how to control their powers and urges while also policing others. He is also the author of the Hyōhō Niten Ichi-ryū, loosely based on his other book, Libri Quinque Annulos or the Book of Five Rings. Two sacred books that have two translations, one for humans and a second that is regarded as a Chakan Rūru (book of history and rules). He has gone by many names throughout history but since 1605 he has stuck with Miyamoto Musashi. To historians Miyamoto was one of the most famous and honored Samurai and philosophers to ever live. The details of Miyamoto Musashi's early life are difficult to verify since he lived for more than eight hundred years before Miyamoto’s apparent birth in 1584. Details before that date and the name he went by have been the subject of debate and speculation to this day.}
Thinking about the name and the man representing it made him frown. “Oh yeah . . . Jap son of a bitch took him under his guidance as a favor to the boy’s Mother, preaching his inner peace and mercy bull shit.”
“You make him out to be the hypocrite.”
Taking another sip he nodded while peering into the continent on the large map. Transporting his gaze past the colorful countries and three dimensional terrains he traveled back to battles of times long gone. The clanging of a hundred thousand swords echoed to the heavens as cries of rage and sorrow followed. Seeing it all clearly he smiled. “Stood across the battlefield from that cunt-eyed slope many times, saw him rip men limb from limb without once reciting love and understanding of his fellow Man, or Monster for that matter.”
“War does change one,” she said, her voice sounding far away.
Because Marcus was somewhere else. “And where was he when his kind gave subservient bow and spread their fucking ass cheeks for the Nazi’s?” Returning to the present he smiled maliciously. “Hitler preached a lot of things. Inner peace and mercy was not one of them . . . less my fucking German was off and I misunderstood the war altogether,” he smirked. His memories turned to air raids and tanks scouring over scorched ground. Seeing oceans littered with steel and hearing the thunderous chorus of cannons firing he turned to her again. He looked at her as if she was there with him. “If I was a betting man, not only would I wager that Miyamoto gave the order,” he paused. Then he pretended he was mounting something. “But he sat upon the first bomb to hit Pearl Harbor, riding it from the heavens like a fucked up Dr. Jap Love,” he said laughing. Carmon could not help but join him. Now almost wishing he had run to the Order so it, Nathaniel and Miyamoto could all been taken care of in one fell swoop. Even with a recent truce, Marcus’s own corporation has been at war with The Order for almost a century now.
Letting his hatred and excitement subside he calmly took a breath knowing Nathan went home to his even more dangerous family.
Leaving the Great Room with his tea he walked down a long hallway with only one exit at the very end. Old paintings flanked them as Marcus eventually stopped at one in particular. It was a picture of himself with Nathan’s father, Julius. Ridding side by side atop a pair of beautiful steeds it seemed even the trees stood attention on either side and a long brick road behind them housed an endless line of soldiers marching to their command. Their armor almost shined as their long red capes insinuated a breeze was with them. Their faces hard and determined knowing whatever they were marching towards, victory was guaranteed. Giving a small pause Marcus smiled at a simpler time then continued down the hall.
“Send the German to Scotland and Mr. Tuttle to the Alps. Tyre will be at one or the other, he won’t be hard to find.”
“With what message?” she asked.
“With request of an audience,” he said simply.
“Will he come?”
“No. But when teased with our interest and the Orders, coupled with the possibility of an all-out confrontation with the Caesars. . .” He paused. Turning back towards the door obviously forgetting something he began to head back. “I hope curiosity gets the better of him.”
“I’ll get started . . . and your answer for the Caesar’s invitation?”
“Remind me of that again,” he said stopping again.
“Julius has sent his own request for an audience here or there. I’m guessing another attempt to sway you from trying to kill his son, I tacked a post-it, emailed and text you,” she said waiting. “How did he put it? Right, he wants to know if he should prepare to receive company.”
“Taking me for a fucking Optimist is he?” he asked amused. “As if I am to appear, skipping down his drive way with open fucking arms, ready to share stories of catch up. While that psychotic wife of his lay in wait to sick her mongrel children on me,” he said with a laugh heading back down the hall. “Contact the Raven and that Lunatic fiancé of his. They should be in that general area and set up a meeting place. . . I believe their partial to St. Louis,” he said then turned back. “And only fucking them,” Marcus said making his instructions clear.
“I’ll contact them directly,” she decided and pressed on the other subject. “And what are you going to do about the Caesar’s invitation slash request?”
“Announcing your plans out loud is a sure way to hear the gods laugh my dear,” he said heading back the way he came. “Send Merrick State side,” he said throwing the rest of his tea out of an open window as he passed it. “Get him the fuck out of Asia and away from the Order. Send him State side where he will be useful.”
Taking her phone and entering the numbers she headed in the opposite direction then called out. “Any message for the Order or Miyamoto?”
Walking through the door way just before it shut behind him he yelled back. “Yeah . . . get fucked.”
CHAPTER 8
ONE: Even a Monster’s Heart Can Flutter
Walking down the street towards the coffee shop Nathan had no bounce or beat to his walk. He felt awkward.
Playing the scenario over and over in his head like a director before opening night, was actually defeating him. Even with the advantage of his imagination it was coming out all wrong. Each time he asked her in his mind she would say “No”, so he would try a different approach, another order of words and even changing up the scenario. But every time he just could not see her saying “Yes”. Even his imagination struck him down with reality instead of at least teasing a bit of fantasy.
He was doomed and he could feel it, unless she said yes, but it had to be perfect. “It’s got to be perfect,” he demanded as a couple holding hands walked past.
“Ok buddy,” the male replied stepping in front of his girlfriend as if to protect her.
Offering an embarrassing smile as they passed he even let the man’s comment under his breath of kicking his ass go. And then letting the chuckles they had about his shirt go. But now he was second guessing his wardrobe as well as his approach. Feeling a bit hurt he wanted to assure them that he had inde
ed bought the clothing from a reputable clothing store and was not given the garb when released from the institution.
“What are you looking at freak?” the man yelled from up the street.
Not realizing he had been staring at them the whole time he offered them a wave. “Sorry,” he returned a little embarrassed and started walking towards Sips again.
“That’s what I thought you fucking pussy.”
Turning around he noticed people were starting to pay attention to the situation transpiring, especially the ones with children. He did not mind the tough guy act or the joke about his shirt being issued by the state, but finding that the man would not let it go told him that he was in fact a jerk who did not know when to shut up. Thoughts of nervousness concurred with sweaty palms as the tips of his claws peeked out from under his finger nails. Giving way to new thoughts of ripping the man’s arms from his torso and waving them in front of his girlfriend were starting to ease his mind, but feed his rage. Wanting to control his emotions before he got too worked up he started to control his breathing. Thinking it was the fact he was on his way to ask Lily out on a date that got his emotions running high and not this jerk, actually started to calm him down.
“Go back to the asylum asshole,” the man said being pulled away by his lady friend in the distance.
Acting tough for the sake of showing off was one thing but now he was pushing too far. Nathan felt his fangs squeezing through his gummy flesh. His eyes started to glow a bright blue while his brows pointed inward. Stepping forward he could feel his feet start to cram from the constriction of his shoes. Parting his shoulders the bones under his flesh start to unfold making him look slightly distorted.
Not noticing the Monster approaching they continued to giggle and hug, unaware of the horror honing in.
My Boyfriend is a Monster Page 14
