by Nicole Grane
Chapter 9: Vampires and Werewolves
“I can’t possibly tell you everything now, but I will try to tell you everything I can.” He spoke slowly so that I could take it all in.
“The feud between the vampires and werewolves has gone on for nearly one-thousand years. Before the war, werewolves were our protectors during the daylight hours, but over the centuries we’ve evolved and found that we could also go out into the sunlight. With this new freedom, vampires became aware that our daytime protectors had been forming a secret army to annihilate our species.” He paused briefly then continued. “They resented the vampires for keeping them as slave-like creatures. They wanted their own freedom to roam as they pleased, without restrictions.”
“I guess you couldn’t fault them for that; everyone wants to be free,” I said.
“No!” Marcus insisted. “Werewolves cannot be allowed to roam as they please. They wreak havoc everywhere they go. They have no control. They kill all in their path or infect entire populations and create more werewolves.”
“Oh, I didn’t know . . .” I looked downward as I thought of me being partially werewolf now. Was I going to infect others? Would I kill as well?
Marcus somehow read my mind. “You are not like these werewolves Phoebe; you are not truly a werewolf. You can’t turn others.” His face looked worried now. “I don’t understand how, but somehow Damen managed to bite you without infecting you, completely.”
“Why does that bother you, aren’t you glad I’m not a . . . whole werewolf?”
“Of course, it’s just . . . how did Damen maintain that control? I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s changing again. I don’t know what his limits are. That makes me very worried.”
I tried to understand the magnitude of what Marcus was saying, but couldn’t.
“Now, during the initial uprising,” he continued. “Damen, who was a relatively young werewolf at the time, joined Aidric—the leader, and the oldest of the werewolves. Aidric gave Damen his own army of werewolves to lead against the vampires. There were nearly fifteen hundred by the time we became aware of the population growth. They outnumbered us greatly, nearly five to one.”
I stared at him. I was completely engrossed in his words.
“Vampires have always tried to keep a secret identity. It has secured our existence for many thousands of years,” Marcus explained. “If the werewolves’ numbers were to grow too large, the knowledge of their existence, as well as our own, would be at stake.” I could hear the desperation in his voice.
“Are there that many of you still?”
He nodded his head. “There are central covens on each of the main continents, to maintain the population growth and to ensure our secret way of life. We are free to come and go as we like, so long as we honor the rules of the ancient one.”
I was on the edge of my seat. “I had no idea . . .” I was truly amazed. It was like an old civilization had been discovered, and I was the only one in the world who knew about them. They had their own rules, government, and lifestyle. It was amazing, and frightening, how long they’ve lived among us—undetected.
“I was born in England in the year 1260,” he continued thoughtfully. “The war had been going on for nearly three-hundred years when it passed through my family’s lands. I was twenty-six at the time. I had arrived home to the brutally murdered bodies of my father, mother, and two younger sisters.” His face looked devastated, as if speaking of the carnage brought fresh sorrow to his heart. “The werewolves killed everyone. The servants, the livestock; I had nothing but stone walls left.”
I reached out and gently squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry, I can’t imagine.” My heart ached for him.
He smiled flatly. “It was at that time that an elder named Luther came through the ruins of my family’s estate, with a small army at his side.”
I opened my mouth to speak but said nothing.
Marcus's eyes locked with mine. “I knew what they were the moment I saw them,” he said. “There’d been whispers of such men . . . legends . . . I remember how scared I was of them.”
My thoughts were spinning wildly in my mind. Never had I imagined that I’d be sitting in my living room, talking to a vampire, about an ancient war with werewolves.
“The werewolves had taken everything from me,” Marcus spoke desperately. As if that was to justify what he was about to say next. His expression hardened. “Luther took pity on me. He gave me the choice of immortality to avenge my family. To rid our land of the vile beasts that plagued them.” He spat the words with such hatred . . . I found myself cringing at them.
“So that’s how you became a vampire?” He had finally answered the question I had been nervous to ask.
Marcus shook his head. “That’s how I decided to become a vampire. Not how I was turned. But that is another story,” he added quickly as he saw the question pop into my head.
“After I was turned, Luther organized an elite group of vampires known as Moon Hunters to track down and destroy all werewolves—with the exception of a few. There are only twenty-six of us.”
“Twenty-six?” I couldn’t help but notice the similarity. Marcus had been twenty-six when he’d been turned, he’d said.
“I thought it was a good number—symbolic.” he smiled slightly.
“We’d managed to wipe out most of the pack, or so we thought. Damen had always kept his strongest wolves with him. He retreated for a time and came back with greater numbers—much stronger werewolves than we could have imagined.”
Marcus got up and started pacing the room. His hand began rubbing the back of his head.
I knew that reaction. “What is it?”
“The wolves have an unusual ability . . . they can turn whenever they want.” His eyes met mine.
“WHAT?” I jumped to my feet. “You said he could only turn when there was a full moon!” I protested.
“I didn’t say that!” His voice raised in defense. “I said he wouldn’t necessarily be a werewolf; he could be in a human form.”
I couldn’t believe what he was saying. Damen could turn from a human to a werewolf at will . . . he could bite me, or kill me, anytime he wished?
“The full moon means nothing?” I asked, trying to remember all the stories I’d ever heard.
“The werewolves have also evolved. But they are still slaves to the moonlight.”
“He could have killed me earlier . . .” My eyes wandered the room, not focusing on any one object.
I hadn’t even seen Marcus move toward me. He was holding me close now. I leaned into his chest, using his body for support—I felt as though my legs could give out at any moment.
I listened for his heart—still no beat. How can someone so real, so physically alive, have no heartbeat? I gripped him tighter.
“He kissed me,” my words came out softer than a whisper. I could feel Marcus's arms tensing up as they held me. “Why?”
“I can only guess. I’m not certain . . .” his voice trailed off, his thoughts, sounding far away. I didn’t press him. It really didn’t matter.
“He knows you’re with me, doesn’t he?” Somehow I knew the answer.
Marcus nodded.
“I think he could smell you on me at the restaurant,” I admitted. “His nose was all wrinkled up like I stunk.” I huffed.
“He thinks I stink?” Marcus said in disbelief.
“He knows things about me . . . the old me . . . doesn’t he? I could tell by the way he looked at me.”
Marcus's eyes were darkening again. “He will remember, yes.”
I stepped back a little, giving him space. I was trying my best not to be frightened by his expression.
I jumped when the phone rang. With all that was happening, I had forgotten about the outside world. I reached for the phone, took a breath, and said rather weakly, “Hello. Oh, hey Kim, what’s going on?” I looked at Marcus. His condition hadn’t improved. In fact, it had gotten worse. I could see the muscles i
n his jaw tightening.
“No, I can’t make it over right now . . . I’m getting ready to pack. I have to head up to Oregon in the morning, remember?”
Marcus looked at me sharply. He was hanging on every word I said. His face showing he was more anxious by the second.
“I’ll be gone a few days. I may have to head up to Seattle though,” I continued with my conversation—my eyes never leaving Marcus's.
“If I have to go all the way up to Seattle, I won’t be back for another week,” I explained. “They still need me to okay their set up. I’m just waiting on their call.”
“I will. I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.”
I hadn’t even hung up the receiver when Marcus began grilling me. “You didn’t tell me you were planning on leaving tomorrow.”
“I have to,” I began. “I have customers who are expecting me. I was supposed to leave today, remember, but I didn’t think I’d be able to after the fall I took?” I smiled sheepishly, still embarrassed that the reason I’d fallen off the side of a cliff was because I was pouting.
You’re not going anywhere without me. It’s not safe.”
I thought for a moment. “Why don’t you come with me,” I suggested, shrugging my shoulders a little.
“I should get you out of here . . . Damen will have a harder time finding you,” he thought aloud to himself.
“Do you have family here in town?” Marcus asked suddenly.
“Um, no. My mom used to live here. She died a few years ago,” I explained. “I don’t have any siblings.”
“Your father?” he prompted.
“He passed away some time ago . . . I was very young.” I got up and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water, and drank slowly. I didn’t like to talk about my dad to anyone. It was too painful.
“I’m sorry,” Marcus said from behind me as he rubbed my arms gently.
I turned to face him with a forced smile.
“So, you’ll come with me?” I asked again, desperate to change the subject.
“I’ll come with you,” he said as he lowered his lips to mine. His kiss was soft and sweet.
He pulled his head back a little. I could feel his eyes watching me—my eyes hadn’t opened yet. I was imagining myself in this moment forever.
Reluctantly, I opened my eyes to find his face curiously watching mine. “What are you thinking?”
“I was thinking about the first time I saw you, ” he smiled affectionately. His eyes were far off as he recalled what seemed to be a fond memory—he smiled to himself. “You were in the garden practicing with Raymose,” He grinned.
“Raymose?” Why did I feel like I knew that name?
“Your mentor, and friend,” Marcus explained. “You were so swift with a sword—graceful; it was like watching a beautiful dance,” he continued, his eyes, still having that far-off look about them. “Raymose was enamored of you, like many others.” He winked. “You could have run him through and he wouldn’t have complained.”
“Was I very good?” I asked. The thought excited me.
“You were good in controlled settings,” Marcus admitted. “But, Raymose would never have taken the upper hand.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “He let me win?”
“Well, you were only practicing. Your father wouldn’t have allowed you to fight, at least not any formal battles. You were . . . protected.” Marcus smiled and bowed his head.
“That’s funny, Damen did that earlier.” I foiled my eyebrows, recalling the memory.
Marcus's smile was gone. “Did what?” Marcus hissed.
I jumped a little. I still wasn’t used to Marcus's hissing.
“He bowed when he met me. I thought it was . . . unusually polite,” I shrugged my shoulders as I took a banana from the counter and began peeling it.
Marcus's eyes were black again. His lips were pressed in a fine line. I could see his face hardening. “He bowed to you?” he nearly spit the word.
“Yes,” I squeaked, taking an unusually large bite.
“He has the nerve to bow to you, to kiss you?”
“Marcus, I don’t understand.” I mumbled, trying to swallow the obstruction in my mouth. “Why would him bowing offend you?”
“Damen was your personal protector!” He said angrily.
“My what?”
“Your father wanted you protected at all times. Damen was the strongest werewolf he’d seen . . . aside from Aidric. He knew that if Damen were in charge of your safety, you’d never be in danger. He didn’t count on the beast falling in love with you, and insulting your honor. He has no right to bow to you.” The thought clearly repulsed him.
“He was in love with me?” I gasped. It was like a light clicked on in my head.
Marcus looked at me with alarm.
My eyes darted around as my brain worked fast to recall the memories of my dreams. They flashed from the beautiful room where Marcus and I were holding each other—to the room where I was looking out a window, watching Marcus ride off to battle the werewolves, to the street where I was running toward the battle. Then to me, standing before Damen, before he attacked. I looked . . . frightened.
I gasped in realization. “The images . . . they not mine!” I nearly shouted. “They’re Damen’s!”
“What do you mean?” his voice was shaky.
“Not all of them, anyway . . . I thought they were my visions last night . . . but they’re not.
Marcus was trying to understand what I was saying.
“In my dreams,” I explained. “He’s watching us. He saw us in our room!” I felt strangely embarrassed. “He saw me naked!” I cringed as I covered my chest with my arms. My face felt instantly flushed. I felt violated at the very idea.
Marcus looked murderous. “How could he have been so close without my knowing it?” he snapped.
“You were . . . otherwise . . . distracted?” I suggested, blushing a rare shade of crimson.
Marcus couldn’t help the corner of his mouth curling up. “Perhaps,” he conceded.
“He watched me as I watched you ride away,” I continued slowly. “He watched me run down the street calling for you . . .” I stopped talking as I considered what I was about to say. My mind worked silently as I debated.
“You’re not telling me something.” Marcus's tone was accusing, sharp.
I backed away from him, allowing a good three feet between us. “I’d rather not say.” I put my hands out, motioning him to stay where he was.
Marcus closed the gap between us before I could blink. “Phoebe!” he demanded.
“I’m sorry. I can’t. I don’t trust these memories. I don’t understand them.” I insisted.
He reached out and touched my face softly. “Let me help you,” his eyes were softer now, but still dangerously insistent. He was trying to work his magic of persuasion.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” I hid my face in my hands, breaking his stare.
“Is it that bad?” his voice was growing rougher.
“I think it is,” I ducked away from him and walked out into the living room. If what I believed was true, the knowledge would crush him.
“Phoebe. You don’t have to hide anything from me.” His voice was assuring, but not enough.
“Please Marcus, let this go . . . it was so long ago.” My hands were clasped together. I was begging him.
His eyes narrowed as he deliberated. I could see that I wasn’t going to win.
I sighed. “I promise, as soon as I figure this out, I’ll tell you . . . good or bad.”
My eyes followed his as he looked to the window—it was already dusk. He sighed as his resolve broke. “How do you feel about flying?” he asked with a smirk, still gazing out the window.
“Flying?” I was surprised by the question. “I don’t mind it . . . why?”
“Maybe you should change your clothes; you may want a coat,” he suggested.
“Alright?” I gave him a quizzical look as I wal
ked toward my bedroom. I could hear him chuckling lightly from the living room.
I quickly changed into jeans and a long shirt. I grabbed a jacket from the closet, put my shoes on, and returned to Marcus feeling anxious. “So, you have an airplane or something?”
“Or something,” he grinned as he extended his hand to me. I took it cautiously.