Darkness Unveiled

by Emerson Knight

  Not everyone agreed to letting him live. His skill set made him dangerous to us, but it also made him an asset in case we ever encountered another poison or a disease particular to our kind. He would have to be watched—carefully.

  Riding in the passenger seat of my SUV, he remained withdrawn until he realized we were close to his home. I stopped in a grocery store parking lot a block away from his gated community.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” I said, glaring down at him.

  “I’ll leave town,” he blurted. “You’ll never see me again, I promise. I—”

  “No. You’re going to stay here and live your life exactly as you were before this mess started.” I handed him a cell phone from my pocket. “If you leave the city limits, you text me where you’re going, and for how long. You move to another house, you text me your new Chicago address. If I call you, you answer. Understand?”

  He nodded emphatically.

  “Dr. Baker took your blood sample,” I stated. “Do you understand why?”

  “No,” he whispered.

  “If you run, we can always find you.”

  “I understand.”

  “No more contract work.”

  He flinched as I reached over him to open the passenger door, but he didn’t hesitate to scramble out of my SUV.

  That evening I was on my way to the club to check on Josh when I received a text from Sebastian.

  “She’s in.”

  I nodded to myself. Admittedly, I felt relieved. Since our war with Ethos, the world had become a much more dangerous place for Skylar Brooks. I could no longer give her the life she wanted, but it was going to be much easier to protect her now that she was a member of the Midwest Pack. It would also be much easier to control her curiosity.

  DARKNESS UNCHAINED (SKY BROOKS SERIES BOOK 2)

  Darkness Unchained (Sky Brooks Series Book 2) is Sky’s POV and the original storyline.

  The robust smell of French Roast coffee met me at the door as I stepped out of my bedroom to find Steven, the Midwest Pack's fifth, in my kitchen, shoving a bagel into his mouth. His full lips curled into that infectious, dimpled smile, enhanced by his wide, olive-green eyes and cherub looks, eliminating any chance of him being described as anything other than adorable. His copper hair was cut short enough to wave instead of curl, an obvious attempt to shed his boyish façade for something that made him actually look his nineteen years. At best, he could now pull off handsome-pretty.

  “Do you live here?” I asked, taking a seat at the nook and sipping on coffee he made that was stronger than anything I would brew.

  “Of course not. You’ve been to my place,” he responded with a grin. It was that same look that made you forget he was the Midwest Pack's very own angel of death. As harmless looking as a lamb, he was the disguised wolf—or rather, coyote. You'd never suspect it, could never be prepared for it, and would have a hard time believing it—but he was the personification of death. When you finally realized that, it would be too late for you to do anything about it.

  He was right. I had seen his cramped studio apartment, minimally decorated by his mother, of course, since a nineteen-year-old guy would never consider contrasting decorative pillows on his gray microfiber sofa that complemented his herringbone duvet. His apartment was cluttered with books tossed around the room on the sofa, ottoman, and floor. Clothes hung over the back of the desk chair and occasionally made it on top of the dresser. His apartment was probably less chaotic now, since most of his clothes and books now cluttered my guest bedroom. Every time I opened my kitchen cabinets and refrigerator, they were even more occupied by his favorite foods.

  “You can’t live here,” I said. He was the closest thing I had ever had to a best friend, but I still didn’t want him as a housemate. I didn’t want a housemate, period.

  “I don’t.”

  “Keys,” I said, extending my hand. I had given them to him several months ago to let the furniture deliveryman in while I was at work.

  Fishing into his jeans, he pulled them out without hesitation and placed them in my hand. I had a gnawing feeling that these weren’t the only set he had, but I didn’t call him on it.

  He took another sip from his coffee mug before he leaned against the kitchen counter, his brow furrowed as his intense, demanding emerald eyes fixed on me. “Tell me what happened Tuesday.”

  Shifting impatiently, his eyes narrowed as he waited for an answer. “Well?” He stepped closer. An intense calm engulfed the area, an innate response, as the predator lurked behind the dimples and kind face. He studied me, listening for small changes in my vitals, body language, and even modulations in my voice to detect lies and changes in moods. For a group who toed the line quite closely between unscrupulous and, possibly, unethical behavior, the pack really had issues with lying. The only reason they cared about changes in moods was so that they could exploit them. It was a behavior so heavily ingrained in them that Steven couldn’t turn it off even when dealing with me.

  I shrugged. It was now just a hazy memory of breaking glass, screams—mostly coming from me―then the concerned inquiries from the neighbors and, eventually, police sirens. It all seemed like a bad dream seventy-two hours later. The small cuts that had covered my face, arms, and neck from the spraying glass quickly healed. I rolled my fingers over the small scars left on my palm.

  “It was magic… poorly performed magic. It always seems so easy when Josh does it. But the moment he gives it over to me—Ka-boom. It’s like we aren’t using the same magic,” I admitted.

  Josh was a witch and a blood ally of the Midwest Pack. Last year, while they were protecting me from the vampires, he had discovered that I was a werewolf and also part vampire. I wished that were the most peculiar thing about me. Too bad it wasn’t. I also hosted a spirit shade, a powerful being that possessed great powers. With Josh’s help, I was discovering what that meant for me. Although I didn’t possess magic ability, I was able to borrow it from others and use it. I also had the unique gift of being able to convert dark magic to natural magic. As a magic junkie, or rather a magic enthusiast—Josh’s preferred description―it was a skill that piqued his interest.

  He wanted to learn how I was able to do it and hopefully learn to do it himself. He had agreed to loan me his magic and show me how to use it with the condition that I allow him to explore how I was able to convert it from dark to natural. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. It was magic, and when it was performed by Josh, it was beguiling and wondrous. But with me, it was chaotic, clumsy, and destructive.

  Steven bit down on his lips as he always did when he held back pack-sensitive information. I had been asked to join the year before, and although I had never formally refused, failure to respond was as good as me declining. Now, Steven had to walk that fine line of offering advice without violating any of the pack’s rules or secrets, both of which they had a great deal of.

  “Maybe that’s the way it should be. You’re a werewolf—not a witch. Perhaps it’s magic's way of telling you that you’re messing with things you shouldn’t be,” he said, frowning. “Next time, it might not be just glass cuts. Windows just don’t blow out of a house without a reason. And I guarantee it will always draw attention. Josh is talented, but you can only come up with so many creative stories. I can also assure you that questions are being raised by more than those in his condo association.”

  There was more than concern to his voice. There seemed to be a hint of a warning. Who was raising the questions?

  “How’s Josh?” I asked, meeting his intense gaze as I made an effort to redirect the conversation.

  “Josh is Josh,” he shrugged. “He seems to be quite skilled at getting himself out of situations that most people can’t. The association decided to allow him to stay and is going to help him with the costs.” He grinned and shook his head in disbelief.

  Josh was a very charming and talented warlock at times, which was good, because he always managed to get himself into situations tha
t required more charm than magic.

  “I haven’t spoken to him since then. He’s been avoiding me,” I admitted, unable to hide my battered feelings.

  “It’s not you. Ethan’s been giving him crap about everything.”

  Ethan was the pack’s Beta and Josh’s older brother. Although Josh possessed the ability to manipulate people in the same manner he did his magic, with total control, captivation, and skill, his brother was immune to it.

  Despite Steven’s objections, I doubted I would ever stop working with Josh. Becoming competent in the use of magic was my Everest. At times, I felt like I was totally inept and would never make any progress, but conceding my incompetence wasn’t an option with Josh. He pushed and pushed, and sometimes I made progress. I was able to move small objects, but only with a large amount of borrowed magic. Often, it was too much for him to give freely. My protective fields were strong, so at least if I held magic, I could protect myself. This was a huge accomplishment because when we had first started, it was still nothing more than a lucent glamour that looked stronger and more impressive than it actually was. Even with everything that occurred, having the ability to do any of it was empowering.

  Our attention went to the door at the same time. Steven stepped towards it to answer it before the doorbell rang.

  It was David, my somewhat-neighbor. He lived five houses down, which was a quarter of a mile away. When I had purchased the house, I had compromised living space with my quaint two-bedroom house for the ability to throw a rock out the back door without it hitting one of my neighbors’ siding. Although he wasn’t technically my neighbor, David had somehow finagled his way into my life after approaching me during one of my jogs.

  He was too persistent to ignore, and eventually, I agreed to have dinner with him and his partner. That dinner progressed to brunches several times a month and an occasional appearance or two at the many events he invited me to. David was definitely an acquired taste, but he was so delectably human I found myself drawn to him. Since I’d met the Midwest Pack, I had changed to my wolf form several times without the call of the moon, and the disconnect between me and my animal half didn’t seem so large anymore. I was slipping, living on the cusp, toeing the line between my animal and woman. I didn’t like it. David somehow made me feel like I was grounded in my humanity.

  His smile broadened at the sight of Steven. “Well, hello,” he purred.

  “Hello,” Steven forced out with a smile. No matter how uncomfortable he was, there was always a sense of warmth that surrounded him.

  The better to trick you with, I thought.

  “Oh, Kitten, I see why you want to keep him to yourself,” David said, backing into the wall as he ogled Steven.

  Kitten, ugh. David changed his nicknames for me constantly. Correcting him, glaring at him with contempt, and subjecting him to fiery rants and tantrums only encouraged him. In the past few months, I had been referred to by a number of cutesy names: Pumpkin, Angel, Precious, Cuddle Bear (the worst by far, only to be surpassed recently by Kitten) and Cookie. I attempted to do the mature thing and ignore the nicknames with the assumption he would give up. Maturity wasn’t working in my favor, and it seemed like the names were getting more absurd.

  He was poised as he stood in the middle of my kitchen dressed in his idea of weekend casual: a V-neck forest-green cashmere sweater and chocolate slacks. More assiduously stylish and groomed than handsome, there were still the remnants of a strong jaw and defined features starting to round off and soften with age. Gray streaks peppered his mahogany coif, but instead of aging him, it lent to his sophisticated style. At the tail end of his forties, he was still tall, lean, and fit.

  “I haven’t received your RSVP for my party on the eleventh,” he said, managing to pull his attention from Steven long enough to give me a disapproving look. “If you are going to decline, then you’ll have to do it to my face,” he continued playfully.

  He immediately went back to ogling Steven as though someone had just put dessert in front of him after being on sugar restriction. Steven didn’t like attention, although he drew a great deal of it from the soccer moms down the street from him to the teenage girls next door. They all seemed to look a little too long when he was around.

  David was known for his parties and small get-togethers. If it could be celebrated, he celebrated it. It didn’t matter the occasion: President’s Day, Columbus Day, Martin Luther King Day, Arbor Day, Black Friday.

  After giving Steven his undivided attention, he managed to remember I was still in the room and smiled in my direction before focusing on his reason for the visit. “You have to come,” he entreated.

  “I’m sorry, I won’t be able to,” I declined, shooting Steven a look. The party was the night of a full moon. While they were enjoying drinks and fine food with friends, I would be in a cage, waiting for my body to betray me as it wrenched, contorted, and stretched, breaking bones in order to reassemble into an animal, which, if left to her own devices, would rip him to shreds. Instead of telling him that, I marshalled a decorous smile and continued to decline.

  “Reschedule your other plans. It won’t be a party without you,” he insisted with a wide grin.

  But I only held his attention for a moment as he directed it back towards Steven.

  “She said no,” Steven said, his tone harsh enough to make David stand a little straighter.

  He looked at Steven and forced a pleasant look while Steven’s gaze narrowed. The full moon was a source of contention between us. I continued to sedate and cage myself during it. Steven hated that. He accepted it because he knew he couldn’t stop me. If accidentally over-sedating myself hadn’t deterred me, his anger wouldn’t either. In the past, my mother had always done it for me. I’d never paid attention to how she did it. All I knew was that I was awake and, after a quick shot, I wasn’t. After the over-sedation incident, Steven had convinced Dr. Jeremy Baker, the pack physician, to help me during full moons. It was an agreement that both he and Dr. Baker had accepted begrudgingly.

  Steven’s unresolved anger was turning the small room into an inferno, and the primordial nature that most were-animals had a difficult time suppressing was starting to peek through. I could feel David’s discomfort escalating. He quickly excused himself. I promised to call him later, but I doubt he heard me as he breezed out of the house.

  It was nearly one in the afternoon, and I had left Steven at my house with strict orders that when I returned, his things needed to be at his apartment. I waved hello to the owner of the gym. His large, muscular arm shot up in a quick wave as I scanned my membership card. I didn’t bother smiling at him; he never returned it. He was of medium height with defined, bulky muscles that covered every inch of his body. An ex-Marine who hadn’t truly assimilated to civilian life, he wore his stern face and coarse personality like a uniform. If it weren’t for its prime location, the gym wouldn’t have been nearly as successful, given that his personality wasn’t bringing in much business.

  I walked briskly past him and was moving at a swift trot as I rushed past the typical weekend gym patrons: the Barbie, the “I’m going to lose the weight this year” New Year’s resolutioners, the runners too high on endorphins to pay me any attention, the weekend warriors who only saw the gym on Saturdays and were too sore the rest of the week to come back, and the typical muscle-head gym rats. Sprinkled throughout the gym personas were the tried-and-true gym attendants. I cruised past the expensive high-end cardio machines with the small flat screens on them toward the stairway to the basement.

  It didn’t have a sign to direct you—just a black door. If you were supposed to be there, you knew where it was. I called it the dungeon. I never learned the official name. But it was nothing short of one. Unlike upstairs, it didn’t have the bright lights, wall-length mirrors, and sleek state-of-the-art equipment. The dungeon was dark and dank. The white walls were dingy and covered by blotches of unpainted drywall mud where the owner had given up patching and painting them after a few too
many fists or bodies had punctured them. The only equipment was jump ropes, plyometric gear, and a sled on the left side of the boxing ring. I had only been in that area once when I stumbled into it by accident.

  My destination was to the right, a large closed-off room with a small window on the door. Matted walls and floors made the tumbles and body slams a little less painful—but not by much. It was the room where some of the men with UFC dreams came to practice and that others used as an opportunity to pay homage to their favorite cult film, Fight Club.

  Yanking open the door, the smell of blood and sweat wafted off the mats, burning my nose. “You’re late,” said the dark-haired woman in the corner, who kept her back to me. Her movements were lithe, graceful, and fluid, a direct contrast to her crisp voice. She pulled her long midnight hair into a tight bun.

  Cursing under my breath, I looked at my watch. I was two minutes late, and she was going to make me pay for every second. Winter turned, smiling, pleased at my tardiness. It was times like this she had the opportunity to be a super bitch without remorse because my tardiness was a slap in her face, a blatant lack of appreciation for her time and talent.

  Winter was a were-snake and the Midwest Pack’s third. What she lacked in physical strength compared to the canidae and felidae she made up for in exceptional fighting skills. Last year, after several nearly successful attempts by the vampires to abduct me, I had asked her to show me how to fight. A brave proposition on my part because, if she had her way, she would have killed me and relieved the pack of their obligation to protect me.

  She didn’t like me then because she considered me weak. Over the past months, I wasn’t sure if she liked me or not, but she no longer considered me weak. I could protect myself, and that was important to me and even more important to her. She didn’t want her pack to get involved with protecting me again. “Your protection should be your responsibility alone,” she had stated more times than I cared to admit.