Dark Side of the Moon

by Kristy Centeno

  I’d been happy with the arrangements from the start. My stepmother was great, a loving wife and excellent mother not only to her girls but to me as well. I had an instant like for her the moment we met, and we had gotten along from the beginning. The girls, well, they were like an added bonus. I grew up an only child for fourteen years so having a pair of tiny ones running after me gave me something else to look forward to.

  The knowledge that I might have to break ties with them really wreaked havoc on me. Knowing I couldn’t be there for my stepmother when her sister was going through such a rough time was bad enough, but the possibility of having to leave without a valid explanation as to why was completely overwhelming.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I said with a frown.

  Kyran took his time leading me from his bedroom on the second floor to the first floor library. Even before he opened the door and led me inside, I could make out several voices, some of which I didn’t recognize.

  My hold on Kyran’s midsection intensified as one particular voice captured my attention. It was familiar, yet I couldn’t tell from where. The closer we got to our destination, the more a sense of uneasiness gripped me in its vice.

  Kyran must have sensed my apprehension, because he stopped inches from the door and forced my chin up with his fingers.

  “Don’t be scared. No one here is going to hurt you,” he assured me.

  I wasn’t concerned about being hurt, but of what awaited me on the other side of the wooden door.

  “I know,” I whispered in attempt to calm us both. “I’m okay. Really.”

  Looking a bit unconvinced, Kyran opened the door to the library and helped my limping form inside. The moment we entered, everyone in the room went completely still, quieting upon our arrival.

  This only made me even more nervous. What had they been talking about? Me?

  I spotted several new faces as I scanned the room, but once my gaze settled on the dark skinned, tall man standing near the window to the right of Marquis’s elaborate office desk, my entire body went numb.

  I froze on the spot, refusing to move farther. I was dumbfounded at the sight of this man...the same man from my dream, in the flesh, as if he’d been conjured by my mind and brought to life.

  “This isn’t possible,” I murmured, unable to give my eyes credit for what they were seeing. Was he real?

  He looked exactly the same as he did in my dream except his hair was longer, and he wore a suit, button down shirt, and tie as opposed to the outdated Welsh trousers, tunic, and semicircular cloak he wore back then.

  Back then? Back when?

  “Miss Marjorie Emery, I presume.” Even his voice sounded the same. His accent was less noticeable though. That led me to believe many years had passed since that scene in my dream took place.

  Seeing him...it served to confirm that he wasn’t just a figment of my imagination. I wanted to argue that he wasn’t real, but I wasn’t dreaming. The pain in my knee reminded me that I was wide-awake.

  “Bayard,” I said, eliciting a series of gasps from those present. Even Kyran, who normally kept his cool, stiffened next to me.

  “You know who he is?” Kyran asked to my right.

  “I have dreamt of him many times,” I admitted. Turning my attention back to the man a few feet away, I said, “You...you betrayed the king. You helped hide Dorian’s baby, taking him to faraway lands.”

  Bayard stepped forward and bowed respectfully, as if he felt inclined to or was following the usual protocol.

  “Indeed I did.” His brown eyes settled on me as he straightened up. “I see you remember that well.”

  “But...,” I swallowed. “...how can I?”

  “That is something you will come to understand soon enough.” He pauses but a moment before adding, “We have spent many years looking for you.”

  “We?” I asked in awed stupor.

  Bayard stepped aside and I noticed for the first time the face of a stranger who looked oddly familiar even though it was the first time I’d ever laid eyes on him. His sandy hair was cut short, but in his hazel eyes, I could see remembrance. And I found myself aware of him as my next of kin even when I didn’t even know his name.

  Some strange sense of recognition took hold of me. I knew without actually knowing that this man and I were more than passing acquaintances. It was weird how I came to that conclusion without us exchanging a single word, but it was as if blood called out to me.

  “You’re a ValKhazar.” It wasn’t a question, but he nodded as if I’d asked anyway.

  “So are you,” he said, forcing my grip on Kyran’s to tighten. “Or at least I am here to prove you are. I am certain as to our parentage. I can feel it as well as you can, but I am under the impression you require more confirmation.”

  Uncertainty took hold of me. How did he know what I could feel? He’d said he could sense our parentage. I didn’t know him. I had no reason to trust him, but even as I tried debating whether I should take him seriously or not, I couldn’t argue with how I felt.

  The connection was very real.

  It wasn’t like when I met Kyran. The intensity behind our initial meeting had held an appeal unlike any I’d ever experienced before. This was different. It was as enigmatic, didn’t make me feel as if I wasn’t in control of my body, but intrigued me just the same.

  Looking around the room, I paid close attention to the other strange faces of those present, intrigued. Who were they? Why were they here?

  As if reading my thoughts, Kyran pointed to an individual sitting on a chair opposite my newfound family member and said, “This is Dario Babineaux and Esteban Morera, two of the best cleanup specialists out in the field. Their work consists of erasing all and any evidence that will expose us to the human world.”

  The green-eyed stranger winked at me.

  “It is nice to finally meet you.” The man called, Dario, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “We really have heard magnificent things about you. Kyran, she is bella donna.”

  I leaned into Kyran. “Hi,” I whispered.

  “Mucho gusto.” The black-haired, brown-eyed Esteban dipped his head slightly.

  I was barely able to acknowledge him when Kyran moved on, pointing to a tall, long-haired Asian man.

  “These are upper level Trackers from the royal family. Bayard you know. Imai, James, Ismael, Cian, Liam, and Edgar.”

  Royal family? Is that who this man was? A member of the royal family? What parentage did he have with the people of my dream?

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Bray ValKhazar,” he replied. “Although in this day and age I go by the name Bray Colton. You may call me cousin if you wish.”

  I wasn’t ready to call him family let alone cousin.

  Unconsciously, my fingers dug deeper into Kyran’s arm. This was promising to be a once-in-a lifetime experience.

  “You need to sit.”

  I hadn’t noticed my fingers were digging into his arm until he pried them apart and took my hand in his.

  “Okay,” I said, not tearing my gaze from the man alleging to be my next of kin.

  Kyran led me to the couch at the other side of Marquis’s office and helped me sit.

  “Family blood ties have been established,” Bray broke the silence in the room. “I think we should cross that off the list.”

  I spared a glance at Simone and found that not only was she staring at me, but so were Marquis, Alexis, Josephine, Gage, and the other strangers. I still didn’t know what their role was or why were they present.

  Bayard picked up a small duffel bag lying on an empty chair in front of Marquis’s desk and brought it over to Bray. He then took a seat to Bray’s right.

  “You may or may not know that our family, the ValKhazar’s, was among the oldest and most powerful of their time.” Bray reached for the duffel bag and zipped it open. “They are credited for starting the Order. Do you know what the Order is?” he asked, pausing for long enough to look at me.

>   “Those in charge of keeping order within the packs?” I asked.

  “Among other things,” he said. “You see, my grandfather was an obsessive dictator. The Order was his way of keeping potential competitors in constant fear by way of intimidation. Not only was Lykos powerful but his tyranny was notorious for forgiving not a single thing. As king, he had many ways of doing things. Among his choices was to protect our family history by any means necessary. He had secrets he wanted to hide, especially from many enemies who could use any of them as a potential weapon against him.”

  Bray reached inside the duffel bag and removed a large, leather bound book that appeared to be older than time itself, and rested it gently on his lap.

  “I do not know if you have ever heard this before, but we, werewolves, are creatures of habit. It is also very important for us to keep records of our family histories. In these records, we instruct the next generation, teach them, and prepare them for the years ahead by keeping them informed. The Historians are in charge of this long and arduous process. They are chosen due to their ability of remembering faces, exact dates, from hours to the last minute in which an event happened and who and how many were involved.”

  Bray caressed the book’s cover with his right hand. On his middle finger, I could make out a copper ring with a capital V engraved in the center.

  “Our family history was logged in this book from Lyko’s parents, the original king and queen, down to my time. Now, we had history beyond that point, of course, but somewhere along the years, the books containing this information disappeared. You,”—He pointed at me—“are not logged in our family history. Before our Historian,”—He spared a glance in Bayard’s direction, their gazes meeting briefly before he turned back to me—“can add you, there is one test you have to pass.”

  My gaze fell on the book.

  It was large for a book. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how many pages were crammed in between the front and back covers. It was held shut by an elaborate, bronzed, rectangular metal-looking lock to the right of the front cover, the center of which had a capital V engraved as part of the design.

  As far as I could tell, the lock seemed to open up horizontally. The book was similar to the one the Rousseaus had, but the lock gave it such an out-of-place feel to it that even I found odd. It looked more like something you’d find in a steampunk shop or something.

  Without a doubt the book was old, but so bizarre too.

  “What do I have to do?” Even in my apprehension, I was highly intrigued. Deep down, I wanted to know what the book hid and if I was, in fact, related to Bray and the ValKhazars.

  “Open this book,” he replied.

  “That’s it?” I puckered my brow, my eyes narrowed as I stared at the huge book on his lap. “That’s not so complicated.” I had the feeling maybe I’d spoken too soon. When it came to werewolves, nothing was easy. “Where’s the key?”

  Bray straightened his back a bit and said, “You are the key.”

  “I’m sorry?” I stiffened, unable to fight off the reaction. “I don’t understand.”

  “Only true blood members can open the ValKhazar history book. The lock was especially designed by Lykos himself so that it would give way only by a few drops of blood of direct family members.” He offered me the book. “Take it.”

  I stared at the hardback, dreading coming in contact with it. This was a crucial moment for all of us, but I was instantly edgy and nearly squirming in my seat.

  Curious I was. Fearful too. Would this crucial moment in time change my life?

  “Take it,” Bray tried again. “We have to prove your identity.”

  I took the book, turned it around so that the end of the V pointed toward my stomach and released some air. The tips of my fingers tingled as I touched the leather and I wasn’t sure why. It might have been just nerves. Or my imagination running wild on me.

  I’d heard before nervousness has a way of affecting one’s mind. I was on the edge of my seat already so it could be possible.

  “Now what?” I glanced up to look at Bray.

  “Lay your right hand on the letter, with your palm facing down, and wait.”

  Wait? That sounded surprisingly unnerving for some reason.

  I did as he told me to, wondering how long I had to wait or how the lock would be activated, but even as my mind began to wander, something beneath the palm of my hand moved slightly and then, within a blink of an eye, a sharp, needle-thin object was inserted into the middle of my palm.

  The suddenness of the intrusion caught me completely off guard and I jumped, snapping my hand back. Pain shot through my wrist all the way up my arm to my shoulder, forcing me to wince. I inspected the area affected and found a barely visible hole there. One tiny speck of blood served as testimony to what had just occurred.

  “That hurt,” I complained.

  I glanced down, startled by the pain. By the unexpectedness and the speed with which it all happened. It was so quick, over within a second but did the process have to be that painful?

  I studied the book’s lock more closely and found that in between the legs that formed the upside down arrow shape of the letter V was a pin and on it, I could see drops of my blood. Before I could think to ask what the purpose of the needle was, the drops of blood were absorbed into it seconds before it folded back into its place between the letter’s spread-eagled legs.

  A moment later, the sound of clicking wheels, like those on a grandfather clock but miniscule in comparison, filled the room. I watched in awe as the rectangular lock split apart, opening like a cabinet, down the middle and horizontally.

  “Oh, wow.” I gaped at the now open book, finding it incredibly hard to come up with something coherent to say. I was literally stunned into silence.

  “Welcome to the family,” Bray said, confirming what I was having trouble absorbing in spite of the evidence right in front of me.

  “Marjorie.” Kyran’s fingers caressed the side of my face, but I could neither feel nor hear him. I was too shocked by what had happened to notice his attempt at getting my attention.

  Instinctively, I covered the area in my palm where the needle had entered with my thumb, willing it to stop bleeding. My mind, however, was completely numb. I had no idea what this all meant exactly. So Bray and I were related?

  “I can see you are having a difficult time processing the news,” Bray commented. “I wish we had the time to allow you the proper adjustments, but under the circumstances, we are under pressure to reveal not only who you are and where you come from, but the history of our lineage. It will benefit you greatly to know.”

  He was talking. I was aware of that, but I wasn’t paying attention. Right then there was only one thing on my mind. Who passed down the genes that made me into this...this...person? Creature? Thing? I didn’t know which.

  I looked up at Bray. “Who is it? My father? Or was it my mother?”

  “Marjorie.” Kyran laid a hand on my arm. “This is something better left for another time. You have already taken in so much today.”

  It was the apprehension I detected in his voice that got to me. Kyran knew which of my parents was the immortal one—a direct descendant of the ValKhazar’s.

  I shook my head in both anger and frustration. “No more hiding truths. No more dragging along these secrets. I want to know—I need to know. Everything.”

  “This might be a little difficult to bear.” Bray’s gaze met mine. “But I agree that it will better for you to know the truth.”

  “Who is it?” I asked more forcefully.

  “Your mother, Elsa.”

  An indescribable feeling spread through my chest like agony, only this was full of unsuppressed emotions. This wasn’t physical pain. This was the kind of discomfort that usually accompanied one after the death of a loved one, or something to that extent. Only now, I realized my pain was due to many determining factors.

  My mother disappeared over ten years ago. She up and vanished without so much as a go
odbye kiss or note. The fact that she could just abandon her only child always bothered me. It filled me with hate and resentment. It made me feel unimportant. As if I’d done something to deserve to be left behind.

  Though my feelings hadn’t changed, now I wondered why she’d left in the first place.

  “Elsa? Are we even talking about the same person?” I couldn’t bring myself to look at Bray—or anyone else for that matter so I opted for staring at the unlatched lock.

  “I’m afraid so. Elsa and you have an uncanny resemblance. That I cannot deny. If it will put your mind at ease, however, you may want to look at the painted portrait of her toward the back of the book.”

  Bray gestured to the book on my lap and for a very, very brief second I thought about going in search of the portrait he mentioned, but when it came down to it, I couldn’t bring myself to move. My fingers clutched the book’s cover for about a minute before I relented, shoving it aside as I scrambled to my feet.

  “I...need...to...” I took off, limping out of the room and into the foyer. My heart thumped inside my chest so quickly that for a moment there, I thought everyone else could hear it. Well, they probably could hear it. They had super sensitive hearing after all.

  “Marjorie.” Kyran stepped in quickly behind me, drawing me near him by snaking one arm around my waist. “You’re upset.”

  I tried pushing away. Being that I was still hurt by the Rousseaus’ lies, I urgently needed some space, not only from them, but also from the entire world. But Kyran’s hands drew me nearer as he embraced me and all of a sudden, that much-needed space was no longer a priority.

  “This...is... too... much,” I stammered. My mother? The immortal descendant of a family of powerful werewolves? “How much of this did you know?”

  He led me away into the kitchen without saying a word.