The WereGames II_Salvation

by Jade White

  He hadn’t seen Alexandra since she was around five years old and had come across her face once or twice when Wallace showed him breakthroughs on certain projects. Her difference had become her burden. He had never seen anything amiss in his children until he saw Jared develop eccentricities of his own and how Alexandra had been unfazed to approach him and turn him into a human once more.

  He had thought it was a fluke, but he knew that Alexandra would be useful as well in the near future, whatever her skillset was. Magnus had purposefully brought a stressor down on his third son by killing Jared’s favorite pet cat in front of him. A bloody spectacle made useful with his son’s shifting.

  So, it had been that long. He could still hear his wife’s pleas for his mercy, even if she had long died.

  “You’re not taking away my son,” Juliet insisted. “You’re not taking him!”

  Her face was tear-streaked, and so was her son’s. Jared was shaking out of fear and confusion; his mother held onto him tighter than ever as she knelt on the floor, while his six-year-old son stood, shaking violently.

  “Juliet, we must. He is an aberration-" he had begun.

  “He is our son!” she reasoned; her embrace was tighter this time. “Why are you doing this?”

  He did it for the country, of course. It was what mattered most. Children and wives could be replaced, although he had to admit to himself that Juliet’s loss was quite painful to him in secret. Juliet had hung herself before the supposed air raids took place on the White House. He was there in that room mere minutes after she had expired.

  He remembered an aide calling him quickly, and he looked irked, as he had plans for the night, one which included the strategic bombing of his official residence, all to instigate public sympathy and to further the reasons for werebeing tests and poaching.

  “Sir,” he began breathlessly, “if you please. You must come to Madam’s quarters.”

  Juliet had been sedated earlier. He frowned and shook his head. Perhaps she needed more sedating before the air raids. Juliet was melodramatic about their children, and he had not doubt that she would be crying, wailing even, at the loss of two children in one day.

  He walked down the hall; Juliet’s room was ten rooms away from his. They hadn’t slept together since she’d found out he had personally approved of testing on children. The aide nervously opened the door, as if to make sure no one else could see them. Impatiently, he swung the door open.

  “Juliet,” he began but stopped dead in his tracks.

  Juliet’s maid began to sob as she saw her mistress hanging lifelessly above the curtain railings strung nine feet above. “Oh no, oh no…” she murmured.

  It was a surreal thing to see his wife dead before him when she had been alive a mere couple of hours ago.

  “You left her like this?” Magnus asked the maid.

  “I swear, sir, I didn’t know. She woke up an hour ago, requesting tea, which I promptly gave-" the maid stopped, unable to continue.

  Magnus eyed a table and saw the tea that had been untouched and had gone cold. Juliet had always enjoyed lotus tea. She enjoyed how the dried flower uncurled in her tea cup…

  Immediately, he took out a snub-nosed gun with a silencer that he kept in his uniform and shot the maid square on the forehead. The maid slumped to the ground, blood splattering against the closed door.

  He nodded at his aide, who quickly scooted up, using the chair Juliet had kicked away to hang herself. She had used her silk blanket, and she still wore her silk pajamas as the aide gently took her down. Magnus received Juliet’s limp body as soon as the aide released her from her noose.

  She had been beautiful, even if color had begun to leave her face. The crystal chandelier above her bedroom shone brightly, defying her ashen face and bluish extremities. He laid her down on the bed, knowing he would never see her stunning grey eyes again. He nodded to his aide, who promptly closed all the windows, drawing in the curtains as well. He would deal with making this man forget about what happened later.

  For now, there was the matter of his wife’s death. Calmly, he turned to face his aide, asking for some privacy with his wife. The air strike would go on as scheduled, of course.

  He had lost three of his family members in a span of hours. Jared had died early on in the program, much to his disappointment. He had thought the Caledon genes would be resilient. Apparently, he had gotten Juliet’s. Alexandra somehow thrived, a thriving that was a necessity. He and Wallace had had people killed, while other useful ones they injected with memory altering drugs that Dr. Barrett had developed. Subjecting his sons to that drug was not cruelty, but it was a mercy to spare them from what tore their family apart. The focus was on the werebeings. Total control on them had to be wielded.

  The process had been a slow and long one, since his own grandfather had started rule. Following a coup, Alfred Antony Auberon had been summarily executed along with the rest of his family after a farce trial that took a few years. It was the beginning of a revolution for the country. Whereas Auberon approached the werebeing pandemic with restraint and consideration, his grandfather knew they would be useful once more was known about them.

  Indeed, they were. After a massive government overhaul, along with changes in certain military programs, werebeings were incorporated. The country had been slipping out of its reins as a world-power, second only to the Soviet States; it was something Auberon would have allowed, as long as his citizens were happy. Well, they were no longer that family’s citizens, and they were never losing that foothold again, with sophisticated soldiers, far more sophisticated than those from other countries.

  He knew there was discontent with his policies, but better an iron fist than no fist at all. He had quelled every uprising possible, from the lowest to the largest. His prisons didn’t overflow with convicts. The majority were executed after a short trial. The death penalty experienced a resurgence as soon as his father assumed presidency. Each president had become more strong-willed, and he hoped Magnus II would continue this trend.

  Stephen showed signs of this, but he was still a boy, and Stephen was rather sensitive and quick to judge, something that was damaging to his future career as a leader. The recent retrieval of Alexandra and Ryker Locklear was further proof of this. Stephen had failed miserably, as did the officers under him. He had no qualms about pulling Stephen out if he failed this last one, this last chance he had been desperate to have.

  His son had personally come here to discuss his plans; as if asking for some sort of fatherly approval. Those days were long gone. They had died when Juliet had died… Malcolm sighed, and his mouth then drew into a straight line like someone had slit the lower portion of his face with a knife. His thin lips made him look more Machiavellian, and he played it to his advantage.

  He pressed a button on the intercom. “Get me General Caledon.”

  *

  Two days later…

  Ryker knew they were getting close. The forests had become sparser and sparser, and the atmosphere had become too frigid. He realized even their best winter clothing wouldn’t keep Alexia warm for too long. The war had changed the topography of the Alaskan borders, and while their best bet was on a boat, Ryker ultimately decided against it. Alexia would be no match for freezing waters and the people who could recognize them. They would do this on foot and by car for as long as their car could take them.

  Their gasoline had run out days before, and Ryker resorted to stealing gasoline once again. Their rations were fine, and they used snow as a water source. They hadn’t bathed in days, and Ryker was feeling filthy. Alexia paid no mind to their state of hygiene. It seemed she had gone quieter the closer they got to Alaska.

  “Someone’s there,” Ryker told her. “Someone’s waiting for us.”

  “Dr. Barrett said-"

  “Dr. Barrett was just trying to be nice,” Ryker told her, unsure of whether or not there were people left in Alaska aside from the military that patrolled its borders once in a while. He had been
careful enough to know which borders they patrolled most often-all thanks to Dr. Delaney.

  He looked at Alexia once more, and he felt her restlessness.

  “Hey,” he told her, “we’re getting that house we wanted. And those books. And a hot drink in our hands.”

  Alexia smiled at him, resisting the urge to hold his hand as he held the gear. She looked out and saw nothing but darkness around her, except for the multitude of stars in the night sky. It seemed like it had been delicately painted on black silk.

  Ryker had checked the fifty-year-old map earlier, hoping the landscape hadn’t changed too much. Canada’s borders had been pushed back, and it seemed they didn’t mind losing a few thousand acres of land as long as they were well set back from the war the United States had put itself in. The supposed Canadian coastline was now devoid of settlements, save for the military.

  That was what Ryker wanted to avoid. He drove well into the night, stopping as soon as he saw the faintest rays of the sun, hiding where he thought was best: inside some old garage with its rundown roof. With no one for miles around, they finally made an open pit inside the garage, and Alexia laid down their sleeping bags on the cold ground, hoping for the fires to warm her up quickly.

  She felt the tingle of heat enter her body, and she snuggled closer to it, not minding the ashes that flew on her hair.

  “Don’t get too close,” Ryker murmured, checking to see how far the smoke went up.

  “Ryker,” she began, looking at him as he sat on a wicker chair missing handles.

  “Hmm?” Ryker looked at her. He saw the look on her face, and before she could say anything, he said, “Would you like me to sleep beside you?”

  She nodded, almost shyly. He would never get tired of hearing that request, he realized. He had never been more wanted, more needed. He scooted onto her side and settled down, her head close to his chest.

  Ryker could hear her heartbeat again, and it was a content sound, as if she was calming down now that he was beside her. Her fingers curled against his inner sweater, as if playing with the loose threads. He resisted the urge to draw her in tighter to him.

  Then, she looked up into his eyes as he looked down into hers. Without a word, she reached up to his lips and gave him a kiss as warm as the fire he had built. Ryker could feel a fire burning inside him, and it felt different, far different than the kiss he had given her before.

  His heart began to pound, and for a moment there, he was afraid he would shift from the sudden change in emotion and the rising heat in his body. What was going on? He hadn’t gone this far with anyone, but he didn’t want to stop. He felt the softness of her skin as his hand roamed for her neck, and he had to resist clenching her buttocks as she moved her body, her hips pressing against his...and then his eyes flew open, and he cleared his throat. He pulled away from her as best as he could while still inside the sleeping bag.

  Alexia looked confused, wondering if she had done something wrong. Well, she didn’t really know what she was doing anyway. She took a deep breath, and her emotions ranged from confused to embarrassed to feeling rejected. “I’m sorry, I-"

  “Don’t be,” Ryker quickly said, realizing they shouldn’t have done that. “I’ll just be here, uhm, in my own bag. I’ll still be beside you,” he stammered, hating the feeling of being vulnerable all of a sudden.

  He knew a bit about the birds and the bees, but he had never thought he would be so close to a situation like that. It was thrilling yet reckless; a part of him wished he hadn’t pulled away…he took another deep breath, and, without another thought, he reached for her hand, clutching it in his.

  Ryker forced himself to calm down, knowing that Alexia was doing the same. She was forcing emotions down like he was. “I didn’t mean to push you away,” he told her in a soft voice. “It’s just-we’re-we don’t know what we’re doing…except for this whole surviving thing.”

  “You’re right,” Alexia said, looking at the stubble of hair on his chin. She couldn’t see herself looking at his eyes. Embarrassment was still there, and she could feel it on her face. The atmosphere had suddenly become stifling. Why did she do that, anyway? This wasn’t the time for a display of affection…

  Was I right, Ryker thought? I shouldn’t have pushed her away…and then what? She gets pregnant? He closed his eyes, unable to respond to Alexia.

  “Just so you know, I’m sterile,” she suddenly said.

  “Did you read my mind?”

  She shrugged, looking at the ceiling. “Just wanted to tell you that.”

  “Can you read minds?” he asked her, trying to chance the topic.

  “Like I said, I don’t know when it happens. It just does. I can’t really read minds, but I got to talk to you, right?”

  “You should work on that,” Ryker told her, “it just might come in handy.”

  “I don’t know how to.”

  “When we get to Alaska, we’ll figure it out.”

  “Who do you think is there?”

  “Hopefully, other werebeings who don’t want to be under the employ of Caledon’s regime.”

  “You hate Caledon that much, and you’ve never even met him,” Alexia said.

  “There’s this part of me that hates him; I don’t know if it was ingrained in me as a baby. Who knows, I could have grown up in a lab just like you, and then I escaped somehow, and then Philip and Raven found me.”

  “I wish I had parents who loved me as much as they loved you.”

  “They were great,” Ryker said, remembering Raven’s cooking and their father and son bonding moments. “I think you’d have loved them…” Ryker looked at Alexia. “Alaska’s mentioned as something that’s devoid of life. It’s all snow. I figured maybe we can make our own bit of paradise there.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Which part?”

  “Making our bit of paradise. Together.”

  “Of course I mean it. Like I said before, I’m not leaving you.”

  “Things could happen…” her voice trailed off.

  “Have I ever let anything harm you since we left that wretched hell-hole?” Ryker asked her.

  “No.”

  “There you have it.”

  “Maybe you’re too attached to me,” she found herself saying.

  “Of course, I’d be attached to you. I wake up seeing your face every day.”

  “Maybe things will be different if we get to be with other people, other werebeings.”

  “It will be different, but my attachment won’t change. And I don’t think this is part of your magic touch, he paused, remembering how they’d touched each other earlier. He took a breath and blinked and squeezed his eyes shut to concentrate on the matter. “As long as I’m alive, I’m here for you.”

  “It’s like you love me enough,” she said, looking at the dark ceiling.

  “You’re tired,” he said, dismissing what she said. “We have an early move later on. Sleep.”

  Alexia settled into her sleeping bag, as if burying herself deeper was even possible.

  It’s like you love me enough? What? What in the hell was she thinking? And what in the hell was he feeling now? He had felt this before, and it suddenly felt so long ago. That uncomfortable thought was creeping up to him now that she mentioned it, and it was an uncomfortable thought that made his chest feel weird.

  Stop it, he told himself, looking at her. How easy was it to love someone? It was difficult, but Alexia made it seem easy. A month? A mere month and how many weeks, and he was feeling things for her?

  Come on, you’re not that juvenile.

  He felt restless as he tried to sleep. She was right beside him, and it used to not bother him before. He wanted to be closer to her, like a needy child of eight. He wanted her in his arms, just to feel that kind of warmth he had been deprived of for so long. She wasn’t selfish with her kindness. Why was he selfish with what he felt?

  She didn’t deserve to be hurt; after all, he was a werebear, and she was a full human with
strange werebeing properties. It would only lead to heartache, and he knew he had had enough losses in all his years of living. Alexia would never be his completely. Life wouldn’t allow it. Maybe that was why he swore to protect her until he died, because it was all he could give as a promise-her safety.

  He looked at her again and shook his head, feeling the weight of what he felt crashing into him.

  I love her.

  THE FINAL CHAPTER

  Caliban shook himself out of his stupor. It had been more frequent now; the higher the dose, the more he was unable to concentrate. Sometimes, he wondered if he was going mad. He didn’t tell this to anyone else, though, but it seemed he wasn’t the only one. It had been a painful few days, and he was glad to be back on active service.

  Lt. Stephen Caledon had made sure of it, and for that, he was grateful. His kind would have normally been executed for numerous failures, or worse, he would have been sent away to a new Sector and fade away into obscurity.

  The mission was old, but it felt new to him. Even his body parts felt new, but the old feeling would come back, as Dr. Bartholomew explained. He was sure it would, the moment he got Ryker’s head in his hand. If Ryker resisted, orders were to kill him but bring his body back for further research. Alexia was the only one who needed to completely stay alive with minimal injuries, if that. It would be like transporting porcelain back to the base.

  Would she welcome him with open arms like she had when they were still children? Whatever her reaction would be, she would have no choice but to comply with their orders. He saw the regiment looking serious, as if apprehensive of Alexia’s presence. He couldn’t remember much but was glad he didn’t. Embarrassment still burned through him, the mere fact that her touch could do that much damage. And here he thought he had full control over his shifting.

  I’m coming for you, Alexia.