by W. J. May
Adelaide sighed. She watched as the window of opportunity was pierced with gleams of supremacy. She was not witnessing a scene that was alien to her deep green eyes; she had, after all, foreseen the fall of the lustful Vamps.
Shadows circled her. The mouthful of conjurations made the grass flicker in obedience. Her eyes gleamed hungry for the moments yet to come. Marcus’ blood was carried by the winds that bowed to her enchanting words, circling around the shadows.
“It is time and only time that will whisper this unveiling.” She laid the words down in melodies.
The purple skies thundered on and a dark grey cloud descended on the hilltop, right above the winds that carried the vampire’s blood. Adelaide pierced her arm with her claw-like nails, and her green blood came rushing out rhythmically to the turning of the winds. Her blood danced around and flew to the darkened clouds. She laid her runes in symphonies that hypnotized the cloud bearing the blood. Inside it, the vampire’s blood orbited the witch’s until, in moments, the rings of droplets were like two perfect circles entwined, a darker shade of green, and a greener shade of red.
The silhouettes paraded and danced. They laughed in excitement and in reckoning of their becoming. They were more spirits than just shadows; under the magic of Adelaide, the mere unmoved became an emblem of that which laughed and giggled.
The bloody rain drizzled on the shadows and their naked skin was unveiled by the green mist that orbited them. Their form tangible, the silhouettes had become an itching and the itching a thought. The thought became a multitude of itself and the myriad became desires. The desires all intertwined, magnified, and their forced direction was Adelaide’s pounding heart. And hence the malice was instilled in their fresh minds before the sun could have a chance to shine.
“To each one their name, my lovely children,” she whispered to them between breaking breaths as her laughter roared on. “Wandering in the forests isn’t your fate like mine had been. You will live in the flames of this city behind you. It’s yours!”
She felt like a demigod as her words sprang out along with the foreseeing of Calen as a ring on her green, glowing fingers.
“Your orders, Mother,” the newly birthed echoed in one thundering voice, mixed with the croaks of the ravens and the laughter of the trees.
Adelaide laughed, almost shaking the core of the city with the malevolence that gushed through her voice. “Bring me Calen,” she sang in between her laughs as silence broke on the hilltop. “Set the gargoyles free, and unleash all the beasts in statues and carvings. Let all the trapped spirits free.”
The wind picked up and swirled viciously.
“Bring me Calen!” she screamed as the darkened green mist flew from her crescent lips.
There was more than a dozen of them. Their fangs stretched out from their jaws, their figures lined with slightly visible green silhouettes, their movements in rhythm with Adelaide’s beating heart. They were more powerful than anything the city had ever seen, a hybrid, a vampire’s speed and strength oozing out from their breaths, and magic carved into their every bone.
And the flames in Calen singed on.
Chapter 9
Present Time
The moonlight was a symphony that laid its white rays in tune with the greenery of the forest behind the Dome. Ravens descended ‘round the marble stone, echoing their croaks in cryptic wonder. A deep howling trembled all that was still around the Dome, and the sound of the heavy pounding of Atlanta’s heart rode the whispers of the wind and paraded through the atmosphere of Calen.
She swallowed. Her mouth had gone dry and she absently tried to wet it again. She couldn’t take her eyes off Ryan.
His jaw protruded, the sharpness of his teeth flashing again the moonlight shining into the Dome. His growl repeatedly quivered the crevices of the structure and reverberated against the walls. The grey and white fur extending from his arms, back, and head bent as if the earth were pulling his upper body towards the floor. His eyes were surrounded by his glittering fur and were glowing a dull red.
Atlanta stood frozen. She’d seen Ryan turn before, but whenever he had his eyes were glaring at an enemy, a threat. This time they were fixated on her, and he was approaching with the swiftness of a predator. It wasn’t a secret; with all her strength, she felt like nothing but prey. Or maybe it was her heart climbing out of her chest, taking peeks to reassure her that it was all a dream and she should remain still, unmoved.
“Ryan!” she cried out in an effort to reach him, to knock some sense into him.
He paused momentarily in his advance, his only response a deeper growl echoing from inside his chest, his red eyes narrowing in on her. He took a stealthy step forward, his shoulders dropping as he took another advancing step.
“Ryan!” she tried again. “What’s gotten into you?” She watched his every move, anticipating the attack at any moment. He was coming for her. She squatted, trying to prepare for his launch and hoping she could stop him without killing him. She had nothing to fight with and this was her friend. She didn’t want to kill him. Except, his advance warned her he thought completely differently.
Out the darkness behind her, James bolted out the secret door. His frantic movement turned Ryan’s focus to him.
James’ head jerked into the direction of the red glow shining his way. He shoved Atlanta out of the way and stood to face Ryan. Before the adrenaline had the chance to rush through his body, the wolf surged at him. In the next instant, James was flying through the air. His body hovered a second, silhouetted by the Dome’s night sky colors shining through the glass. Then his back hammered against one of the grey stone walls.
He didn’t move from his crumpled heap.
Atlanta broke from her shock and slid her knife from the back of her suit. A sudden wind outside sounded like it was being pierced by a force so large, it cried out in warning. The door of the Dome slammed open and the classical air of power followed in, orbiting a dark, caped figure’s frame.
Marcus. Where had he come from?
“The werewolves aren’t stopping at Louis, I see,” he growled as he broke in. Every stone in the Dome magnified his presence.
Ryan turned away from Atlanta. His eyes fired towards Marcus, and before the vampire could blink the wolf leapt towards him. Ryan slammed into Marcus, crushing his body into the stone floor.
Marcus roared in anger, pinned down by the beast’s unparalleled force. His eyes met the blazing redness in Ryan’s.
Atlanta watched, unsure of what to do. Step in and help? But who was she supposed to help?
A gasp from Marcus caught her attention.
“Druid,” he said in an odd tone. “The pack isn’t the enemy. The wolves didn’t kill Louis.”
“What?” whispered Atlanta.
“These red eyes did.” Marcus brought his arms up and held the wolf at bay. “A long time ago, someone attacked me. A witch.” He struggled as Ryan’s teeth bit at the air between them, trying to tear skin. Marcus held him back, talking to Atlanta, or himself, she wasn’t quite sure. “Adelaide. The green eyes, the green blood, the…” His head jerked to the side as he avoided Ryan’s gnashing jaw. “She froze my body in the forest and stole… ripped my blood from me. My very essence stolen. She left me powerless—for a while.” Marcus curled his hands into fists, grabbing fur in chunks. He roared as he threw Ryan off him.
Atlanta watched, paralyzed, glimpsing her uncle’s fallen body. Had he heard Marcus right? Was her uncle even alive? Another crash had her jumping out of the way. This wasn’t the kind of fight that would end well. One of them was going to die. Any death would cause an endless surge of blood, and the current throbbing of her heart would only be a metaphor of the chaos she would yet have to face.
Their howls echoed in the night, the fight an endless bombarding of two opposites. There was nothing Atlanta could do but try to protect her uncle from swinging fists, stomping legs, and sharp teeth.
The wolf let out a growl before launching again at Marcus. The vam
pire shifted his body away as Ryan missed him by an inch. His fur was pulled from his back as Marcus’ claws dug into him. Marcus lifted Ryan up with one arm and slammed him onto the floor beneath his feet, another carving on the floor—this time a wolf entwined with the vampire’s body.
Marcus thrust his arm through the air, thundering into the wolf’s jaw. Bones cracked as dark blue blood coursed out of Ryan’s body.
Marcus was clearly enraged, his power unparalleled. No defiance could shake his determination to break the wolf and kill it. Probably scattering the ashes across every darkened corner of the Dome. He marched toward the fallen body of the wolf and wrapped his hands around the back of his head, his claws digging into Ryan’s neck.
He clearly wasn’t afraid of being bitten by the wolf. He wasn’t going to hesitate putting his hand into its mouth and pulling out Ryan’s heart.
Atlanta sank to her knees at the sight of Ryan. She couldn’t believe it. Louis, and now Ryan. Her perception only felt her heart slowing down to less than a beat per second, trying to escape the moment. Myriad feelings surged through her veins; flashes of Ryan walking down the corridors of Calen High played in her mind. She was losing someone who made her heart skip a beat in his presence.
Suddenly she was grabbed from behind and carried towards the frightening scene as Marcus was about to end Ryan’s life. She flew through the air, crashing toward the two creatures, unable to stop and clueless as to what was happening.
There was an abrupt flash of green light, followed by a horrific growl, and then dead silence.
Chapter 10
The blur was sharpening, the vagueness filtering between her eyelashes unfolding as the fluorescent lights flickered. Her suit sparkled under the beams of light that encompassed the basement of her house. As her brain slowly processed the colors of the room the picture became clearer, and James’ figure appeared across from her.
The basement’s white brick walls encompassed the vast space. Two bookshelves met in the corner. On the other side of the stairway was an area of the basement that Atlanta barely even noticed. It was at most times dark, and all that could be seen was a long wooden table with casters on its legs and sheets on top of it.
Atlanta was on the couch by the bookshelves.
My head, she thought. What happened?
She glanced at the other side of the basement where James was standing by the table. The last thing she remembered was her uncle lying on the floor of the Dome, unconscious and badly hurt. Slowly, the scene rushed back to her in waves: the howl of the wolf, Ryan’s enflamed red eyes, and the brawl with Marcus. The memory that seemed rushed, packed into a moment like a scene badly written, was the green glow that surrounded her as she was carried towards Marcus and Ryan in what seemed to be the fatal moment of their conflict. It seemed almost like a subconscious memory, a broken fragment of a dream.
How did we get back here?
Atlanta stood up. Her feet staggered as her suit stiffened her muscles and acted like a pillar to her legs. She squinted into the darkness. James’ fingers were glowing green, and on the table in front of him lay Ryan Toller, unconscious and bruised.
She felt something drop into the pit of her stomach. Ryan!
“Uncle James?” Her voice came in a whisper that stuttered as worry glazed the tip of her tongue. “How is he?”
“I took care of the broken bones,” James sighed. “It was pretty bad. Marcus took centuries of rage out on him.”
Atlanta frowned as she moved closer to the table. Her uncle touched her arm briefly, an attempt to comfort her, but she hardly noticed. All she could think about was Ryan.
“I remember he was going to attack me,” she said, gazing at Ryan’s closed lids. “Something wasn’t right, and the eyes, they were glowing red, like the ones I saw earlier.” She was rambling, almost in despair, her mind grasping for an answer to what she had just witnessed.
Ryan lay completely still, his chest rising and falling slowly, weakly. James had brought him close to revitalization. His thick black hair fell back like a pillow to his head. His body was covered in the green sheets that were almost always in the basement. Atlanta gazed at his face, her emotions rushing back and forth, from fear to confusion to a restless need to know the depth of what had happened. She needed to be assured, and she needed to understand.
“The door was closed,” James said, his voice soft, “and Ryan will heal fully in a couple of days. The rest of his wounds need to be taken care of.”
“And the red eyes?” she asked in frustration, her voice seeping through the tiny gaps between her gritted teeth, her eyes glowing with the surge of tears rushing to take over her now-fading composure. Why won’t he give me a straight answer?
“He was compelled,” her uncle replied dismissively, obviously not planning to say more. He was walking to the other side of the basement. The bookshelf screeched on its hinges and the secret passage opened as he hurried inside.
“Take care of Ryan till I get back.” He turned and gave her a weary smile. “And don’t worry. He won’t bite.” The bookshelf closed behind him.
“Compelled?” she muttered to herself. How can a Werewolf be compelled? She thought her uncle had finally given her an answer to what was happening, but it only confused her more. Vampires were the ones capable of compelling, but they couldn’t compel a Werewolf. That defied the balance of nature. And she couldn’t remember ever seeing a compelled person—or thing—having red eyes.
Her body suddenly convulsed at the thought of Marcus being at the root of all this. It explained why he’d come rushing to the Dome.
But he wouldn’t kill a Vamp.
He’d never kill Louis.
A painful groan brought her attention back to the present and she focused, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness of the room.
Ryan’s dark green eyes fluttered and another groan escaped his lips. The movement of his head broke his breathing as he came to. His arms and legs were tied to the table with silver binders. James had made sure the boy’s movements were restricted until he came back.
“At-lanta?” Ryan’s voice broke. He tried to get up, but the tension in the binders smacked him back onto the table. He let out a half-growl/half-groan as his spine echoed the strain of the cracked bones.
“Easy there,” she whispered, coming closer to him, hesitating before she slid her fingers through his. “Don’t try to move, Ryan. Let me take care of those wounds first.”
Ryan started at her with slightly unfocused, wide eyes. It was clear he had no idea where he was or why he was in so much pain. “What happened?” he asked, grimacing, his eyes closing for a moment. “Last I remember I told Colin about what happened in the field, and I went up to my room…” His voice flattened at the last words. Atlanta could see the confusion in his eyes, his attempt to make sense of where he was and what was happening.
“James said you were compelled,” Atlanta explained. “That’s probably why you can’t remember.”
“Compelled?” he hissed, and then scoffed. Or at least tried to. It came out more like a painful cough. “That’s ridiculous!” He tried to get up again and slammed back down. He groaned as the muscles in his wrist tightened and his hand gripped Atlanta’s more firmly.
“Easy, Ryan; you’re hurt.”
“What the…What happened?” he repeated, his voice sinking in the twitching of his body and the pain in his shoulders.
“I told Uncle James about what happened in the field.” She kept her voice low, trying to soothe his discomfort. “The red eyes. It makes sense now that they were compelled. But when I told Uncle James about it, he didn’t react the way I thought he would. It was as if his thoughts froze or something. He didn’t explain anything. I can bet, though, that he knows what they meant.” Her expression was burdened. “We set out for the Dome; he said something about a door and checking to make sure it was closed.” She paused, not sure how to explain what happened next.
“And?” he pressed her.
“Wh
en we got there…you were there.”
“I don’t remember going to the Dome.” He shook his head. “The last thing I remember, I was in my room.” His deep green eyes were suddenly shadowed by his dilating pupils, and he looked as if he was having an epiphany, a deep reckoning of some sort. “I remember something,” he said suddenly. “Birds! Huge, black ones. At my window!
“Birds?”
“Their eyes were glowing red. Crows, I think.”
Atlanta crossed her arms and glared at her friend. This was serious and he wanted to joke around? “Not funny. At all.”
“I’m serious. I remember seeing them. Ravens, not crows.,” he said, although a little hesitantly, as if his mind was playing tricks on him. “I swear I saw them.” He chewed his lower lip. “It wasn’t a dream, right? No. I’m pretty sure they were there. Pecking on my window…or something.” The last part sounded as if he was talking to himself.
Atlanta sighed. He’d hit his head pretty hard. Possibly had a concussion. “Don’t worry. It’s all right. Look, I’m going to get the bandages from upstairs—”
“Wait,” he whispered, tightening his grip on her hand as she turned to go. His hold sent shivers through her body. He looked down at her hand from the corner of his eye, and with a sigh said, “Thank you.”
She smiled briefly and their eyes fixed onto each another. “It’s okay.” She turned around and made her way upstairs. She felt her cheeks heat and the burn creep down her neck.
Was she blushing? Really? “Ravens,” she chuckled, trying to change where her mind was going. She walked into the hallway, her heart easing and lightening with every step. She was smiling, and it annoyed her that she was. She wasn’t much drawn towards the feeling, but apparently the feeling was drawing her near. She felt a weird warmth take over her body, the back of her neck tingling as the beating of her heart steadily found a certain comforting consistency.
