The Awakening Box Set

by Michael Timmins

  Windows rattle on either side of the street, like hundreds of individuals stomping their feet. Gazing back, she saw the bodies of Jackson and the Croc lying twenty feet apart from where they had been standing, as if something had exploded between them, tossing them in opposite directions.

  Blackened concrete now scored the spot where they had stood. As the after image of the lightning strike left her, Sylvia peeked up and saw a lone cloud racing off.

  She only gave it a moment’s thought before racing to Jackson’s side. When she reached him, she had to hold back the need to gag. Not only was Jackson’s body almost folded in upon itself, it was also badly burned and blackened, as if cooked too long.

  There was no need to check to see if he was dead. Nobody could survive what he had suffered. Glancing away from his broken and burned body, a silent sob shook her. She knew him a short time, but Jackson made a strong impression upon her. Her father left her at an early age, and Jackson’s demeanor reminded her so much of him, she sometimes thought of him as such. And, now, he was gone. She wasn’t sure what to do.

  It was someone screaming who snapped her attention back to her surroundings. A teenage girl was standing, about thirty feet from her. She was the one who had screamed. It took Sylvia a moment to realize the girl wasn’t staring at her, but past her. A warm, wet breath brushed the back of her neck, accompanied by a low growl. Sylvia closed her eyes and waited for death.

  Standing over the reporter’s shredded body, Gordon realized he had lost control of the situation quite a long time ago. Standing upon the boulevard. Outside his apartment. In his altered form. Murdering two people in broad daylight, in front of multiple witnesses, who were now disappearing from his view. Curiosity gone now he had finished with his victims- the people fled.

  Glaring over at the charred corpse of the man who had attacked him, he didn’t know how the man did what he did. His own flesh was slowly repairing the burns he had received when the lightning struck the two of them.

  Gordon knew there had been no clouds in the sky, nor were there any now. So, how to explain the lightning? The roots had wrapped around his body lie broken and burnt around the hole in the concrete.

  Something had happened here Gordon couldn’t seem to get his head around. The man had been chanting, hadn’t he? And gesturing, as if casting some sort of spell; like a magician? Yet, this was no parlor trick. This was real. What the man did was impossible. He seemed to have some control over the earth, air and weather, if Gordon understood what he had been hit with.

  Sirens screamed in the distance, their droning ‘wee woo, wee woo’ drew steadily closer. It was time to make himself scarce. Gordon turned and ran down the nearest side street away from the approaching sirens. He needed to change back to his human form. The problem was, he didn’t have any clothes as his current garments were shredded. He would have to make his way to one of his safe houses.

  Safe for now, anyhow. It wouldn’t take the cops long to figure out who had been the attacker, regardless of how crazy it was. They would realize the person who lived in the apartment there was the same one they had interviewed about Sheila’s death.

  They would put two and two together and figure out he was the murderer. They would pull his information and find out where he worked and the other properties he owned. It would still take time, though. He needed to get there in a few hours, but he needed to stay out of sight, too.

  As Gordon passed an alley, he noticed an old fire escape ladder had been left lowered. It was enough. Peeling off to the left, he raced down the alley at a swift run, his clawed feet, literally tearing up the ground as he ran.

  A few feet from the ladder, he leapt, his leg muscles bunching, stretching as he hurled through the air, over ten feet up. His claws grasped the ladder, it shook loose, and dropped sharply, almost jolting him free when it slammed to a halt at the end of its length. Deftly, Gordon spun around it and clambered up the rungs to the first platform. Within seconds, he reached the roof.

  Taking a moment to get his bearings, he saw his closest safe house to the south. It appeared like he could get most of the way traveling the roofs. Tracing the route in his mind, he took note of which roof to which roof he would need to cross. As soon as he could make out the last roof he would get to, he bolted for the edge of his current roof and lifted clear of it in a three-stride jump.

  He landed hard on the roof of the next building. Slamming down, the roof cratered around his impact, his tail lashed out to the right and slammed into a vent pipe, sending it flying away, sheared off at the base. Giving it only a moment’s thought, he took long strides to the south west and cleared the space between the two buildings, a grand distance of twenty feet or so. His ankles slammed into the edge of the building, breaking off bricks and masonry which were sent flying down below.

  Gordon skidded and rolled across the roof, before coming to rest against the ledge of the far end, his momentum so great it took him the length of the roof. Shouts rang out from below where the rocks either hit someone or nearly hit them.

  Gordon wasted no time. On his feet again, the pain receding from his ankles where he impacted, Gordon ran back the way he had slid till he was but halfway across the roof. Spinning, roof shingles flying, he once again ran to the edge and planted his clawed foot and launched himself to the next roof.

  He was making decent time. Never had he tested himself so openly before. This form had immense strength, but he didn’t realize how much until he put it in use. Pausing momentarily to get his bearings, he made sure he was still charting the path which would put him on top of the building housing his safe house.

  Movement out of the corner of his eyes made him whip around. Some sort of hawk had landed a short distance from him and was staring at him. It was a pretty hawk, red-capped, it had rust colored wings, a tawny breast with black flecks, and a black vertical slash on its cheek. He imagined the bird had never seen anything like him in his domain before which accounted for its curiosity. Giving it scant thought, he launched himself to the next roof.

  Two roofs away from his safe house, he again caught sight of the bird flying parallel to him. Not being an expert on birds by any stretch of the imagination, he was still sure this was unusual behavior. Given what he had gone through with the roots and the lightning, the bird was more than a little suspicious to him.

  It was time to change tactics. Gordon neared the roof’s edge, he didn’t leap, but instead stepped off the edge. His bulk descended to land with an echoed boom and crack as the concrete sidewalk shattered on impact. Straightening himself, he peered up to the sky. The silhouette of the hawk against the blue sky passed over the alley.

  His lips curled a sneer and he turned to continue his way. A man at the entrance to the alley watching him brought him up short. A tall, wiry appearing man, with dark hair and a faintly dark complexion. Perhaps Middle Eastern? The man watched him but did not approach.

  Gordon was about to rush and kill him, so he could be on his way, but something about the man gave him pause. It was his eyes, Gordon decided. They held no fear. Gordon was over tree meters of scaly death. The man should be scared shitless. But he wasn’t. The lack of fear worried Gordon. A lot.

  Gordon was about to turn and run when the hawk which had been following him landed in front of the man in the alley. The image of the hawk blurred and wavered like a mirage in the desert. When the wavering image stopped, a beautiful woman stood where the hawk had been.

  She was like him, he decided, except different. Her alteration was something altogether different from what he went through. There was no reconstruction of the body, not an alteration of the physical form, yet altered it was.

  Tall as well, though she wasn’t as tall as the man. Fair skinned where he was light. Long flowing dark tresses framed her oval face. She was shapely, and naked. Admiring her form, he stood still. The man behind her approached and rested a robe around her shoulders. She pulled it closed.

  “Who are you people?” Gordon growled.

>   The woman smiled, her full lips curling up at the sides.

  “We are your friends, Gordon.” Her English was weird sounding and it was clear she was uneasy using it.

  “We are your friends, and right now it would seem you could use some friends, yes?”

  Gordon grunted. This day started out normal and it had gone to shit fast. His whole life was about to be turned upside down, and he didn’t know what to do about it. It seemed these two knew what to do. And, she was right; he could use some friends right now.

  “Okay. So, what now?” he asked her.

  “Now we go to the States. Yes?”

  Sure. The states. Why the hell not? Gordon thought.

  Samuel sat in a lounge chair aboard his private jet. His long legs stretched out in front of him as he relaxed in opulent comfort. Kestrel was sitting in a seat on the other side of the plane, once again reading some book on history, or perhaps it was on geo-political policies to have shaped the world they currently lived in. Samuel wasn’t sure. She bounced back and forth between more subjects than a first-year college student, unsure of their major.

  He had to appreciate her mental prowess. Not only was she ruthless when it came to her goals, but she was relentless when it came to learning as much as she could, so she could accomplish her goals.

  A worthy mistress to serve. While her goals were mostly in line with his, he was not as fanatical as she was. Sure, he believed the Earth was in danger from civilization, and something needed to be done about it. But war? This one? The last one? Would it really accomplish what she wanted?

  She had not been around all these centuries as he had. Not witnessed the progression civilization had taken. For him, he had been alive to witness all of it. Well most of it. There were times he had to ‘sleep’ to continue. Missing entire leaps, civilization took. Still, he had witnessed much, and in his way of thinking, all of this was inevitable.

  There were two others aboard the plane. The first was a striking looking fellow; a touch above average height with an athletic build. Strong, wide shoulders, and brown hair combed back, but full enough to give it some rise as it swept back, adding a centimeter or two of height.

  Though the man was in his early fifties, there was nary a single grey hair. Sun-kissed skin made his face a beautiful bronze, which stood out starkly next to his white button-down cotton shirt. Its top three buttons stylishly unbuttoned to show a hairless chest sporting the same bronzed skin.

  If Samuel didn’t know the man better, he would have thought it a fake tan given how even the tone was, but it wasn’t the man’s style. He had a strong chin, covered mostly by a finely trimmed goatee. The whitest, straightest teeth known to man, which he seldom hid behind full, soft pink lips. Eyes were bright blue, well at least his contacts were.

  He made women swoon, even before they realized his net worth. Most men would be jealous of him, but his easy, self-depreciating nature made jealousy seem petty... well, pettier than normal.

  Lounging as the man was, Samuel couldn’t help but admire the man’s taste. The slacks he wore were Gorsuch, the shoes, Mezlan. Expensive taste, for sure, which was precisely the image Samuel wanted the man to have, and he was talented at it. Mr. Ian Kaft. The fourth richest man in the world, according to Wall Street Business magazine. Though in reality, he was the richest man in the world. Yet, he effectively didn’t own any of it.

  Samuel figured out a long time ago, if you were rich, well then, you were famous. And, famous wouldn’t do for Samuel. You couldn’t be famous and do what he needed to do, but he also couldn’t abide being poor, either. He worked from the sidelines, never the spotlight. Spotlights get you killed. So, he needed someone to be the face of his wealth. Ian was one of many in a long list of people who had been the face of his money.

  Samuel would keep them around for as long as was prudent. Sometimes for a few years; sometimes until their death. He had all manner of people play the role. They fit perfectly into it, or they didn’t. It should be an easy role to take, one would think. But there had been those who had tried to expose Samuel for a bigger piece of the pot. Those he had to bury.

  Others had not known how a wealthy person should act, and so wasn’t at all convincing to the public as a wealthy playboy or heiress. Those he made sure they had enough money to live a happy and stress-free life, and they parted ways. Sure, he would keep an eye on them, and if they started saying the wrong things to the wrong people, well, he would have to pay them a visit.

  Fortunately, he hadn’t had to bother…yet. Unlike his Lycan brothers, he didn’t have this desire to kill, trying to avoid it as much as possible. Most times it was unnecessary, and it often was problematic.

  Most of his money “decoys” throughout the years had handled the job well enough. But, Ian… Ian was in a class by himself. He knew how to spend enough money to stay on people’s radar, so they wouldn’t start wondering about what he was up to, but not too much as to make a spectacle of himself.

  He dressed the part, and he managed to spend money on the things wealthy people spent it on. He didn’t go on wild spending sprees once he got a few million or so. Joined all the right clubs, schmoozed all the right people, and said all the right things. He was the epitome of how someone who had acquired their wealth through hard work would act. Neither pretentious, nor ostentatious.

  He bought things of value and of quality, not things for show. Ian understood the value of money, and while he hadn’t acquired it himself, he understood he must show the world the appearance of someone who had.

  All the while, Samuel sat quietly in the background. Typically, they both did their separate things, but using the private jet required Ian to be present. As part of their agreement, he needed to be available when Samuel needed him, as of yet, Ian hadn’t failed him.

  As per their agreement, or perhaps because the light did bother him, he wore opaque sunglasses, so he didn’t watch anything going on around him while in Samuel’s presence. It was probably an unnecessary precaution on Samuel’s part, but he hadn’t lived this long by not being cautious.

  Ian had never shown the slightest interest in Samuel’s affairs. He was all too happy to play the role Samuel offered him, and he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it.

  Wireless earbuds rested in Ian’s ears and his right foot swayed to a beat only he could hear. This was another stipulation for Ian being allowed to be up here, and not in the cargo hold during flights. Hear nothing and see nothing.

  When Samuel found Ian, he was full time manager of a retail chain, and a part time day trader. He had done well enough for himself, and with some help, a sudden windfall would not seem out of the ordinary.

  The conditions were right for him to fall into the role of someone who had suddenly made a lot of money but had been working his way up slowly the old fashion way, as well.

  It was an important quality for Samuel in his candidates, and the understanding they were here for show — to be the face of his money, and not to draw attention to Samuel.

  It was impossible for Samuel to avoid all notice, but he was considered a minor player. Some thought him to be a hanger on to someone who had a lot of money, and possibly there to use Ian to further his own prosperity. Their interaction indicated as much. They were not seen in social circles together; parties and the like. No, they were ordinarily only seen together when traveling or involved in a significant business deal. Samuel was there, in the background.

  To all who inquired of Samuel to Ian were met with a nonchalant dismissal of the man. Plainly, Samuel was not someone of import to Ian. Just someone he allowed to accompany him on occasion.

  Yes, Ian played the part well. So well, in fact, Samuel seriously considered making him a Were. Even before the return of Kestrel, it would have been the first time he had created a Were since his Sundering all those millennia ago.

  Samuel thought back to that time. It had been a hard choice to do that, he remembered. To sunder yourself from your Weres was neither easy nor painless. There were
few who understood how it worked.

  He wondered even if Kestrel and Sylvanis, the ones who created the Lycans to start with, understood it. Regardless, it had been necessary. With the defeat of Kestrel and the death of Sylvanis, the war was effectively over. The only Lycans on Kestrel’s side still around were the followers of Renwick and himself. Then only his were left after they forced Renwick to sunder his Lycans.

  Calin and the rest of the Trues hunted him and his Weres and he was forced into hiding. His followers were hunted and killed, and he knew it was only a matter of time before one of them revealed where he was hiding. How could they not? They could find him easily enough with the link. Luckily, the ones they had found so far had all either fought to the death or refused to give him up. Samuel had little hope his luck would hold out indefinitely. So, given these circumstances, his only hope would be to sunder himself and eliminate the threat all together.

  The Sundering didn’t require any great ceremony. It was a matter of questing within yourself. Of destroying the parts you found creating the link between you and your Weres.

  If you had one or two followers, it wasn’t as bad, but Samuel, at the time, had hundreds of followers. The questing was exhaustive, and the destruction was painful, and the pain was not something the body found easy to repair.

  After he had sundered, the hunting stopped. His assumption they would figure him dead held true. After all, who would freely go through the Sundering?

  With Sylvanis’ Trues believing him dead, he returned to Crete for a short time. He didn’t forget his vow to protect Kestrel. He had learned before he had fled, her body was protected from desecration, and as such, they had sealed and buried the room in which she lay. Because of that, he knew she was not in any immediate danger, certainly not more immediate than the danger he was in. So, he left.

  Samuel had always been a forward thinker. He understood because of his ability he would live a preternaturally long life, assuming he could avoid being found by Sylvanis’ allies. If he could avoid detection, there was no telling how long he could live.