Watcher: Book I of The Chosen

by Roh Morgon

  “Yes, you must, or you will end up right back where you were when I found you, in agony, helpless and mindless with the burning. Please, do not argue.” He holds out the cup.

  I take a breath and reach for it, part of me resisting, and part of me wanting to snatch it out of his hand. I start drinking, trying to go slowly this time, and feel the warm red nectar ease a little of the pain and the fire. I close my eyes in gratitude and reluctantly give the empty cup back to Nicolas.

  He hands me another. I don’t hesitate at all this time. Each swallow brings further relief, and the taste, well, the taste continues to blossom.

  “How much more is there?” I ask, licking my lips clean.

  “I have sent out to a blood bank. We should have a fresh supply within the hour. It will not be quite the same, as it has been processed, and your healing will be slower, but it seems to be our only option for now.” He shakes his head and glances at Éva.

  “Is there nothing else? I mean, my . . . needs are different than yours. Can’t we find something . . . comparable to my normal diet?” I plead.

  “Like what? I do not have any deer or elk here on the estate.” He grows silent for a moment. “But perhaps—”

  He takes a deep breath.

  “Éva, stay here with her. I need to check on something.” Nicolas frowns and leaves the room.

  Éva walks over and sits on the bed beside me. She tentatively reaches out and strokes my matted hair.

  “Sunny, my dear, can you please explain something to me?”

  “I’ll try,” I reply, knowing what’s coming next.

  “What is this . . . reluctance of yours to feed on humans? They are our natural prey. I don’t quite understand.”

  “I’ve never had human blood before. Until tonight,” I whisper.

  “Never? Not even when you were Changed?”

  “No.”

  “But how? I mean, that is part of the Change. It is not complete until the human lifespark has been consumed. Are you saying you did not take a human when you Changed?”

  “No, I’ve never killed anyone.”

  “But then, that would mean the Change was not complete—” She freezes, and a look of alarm crosses her face.

  “That would make you still . . . ,” she whispers, fingers pressed against her lips. “Oh Nicolas . . .”

  CHAPTER 33

  “That is enough, Éva.”

  Nicolas walks in as she finishes speaking and glances sharply at her. She gives him an unreadable look, gets up, and walks across the room.

  He’s carrying a long-sleeved dress shirt, probably one of his. He averts his eyes as I tear open the sweater neck and shrug out of what remains of the knitted mess. I hug it in front of me as Nicolas unbuttons the shirt.

  He then tears off one sleeve, and with the shirt facing backward, leans over me to offer the other sleeve for my good arm. I slip it in and put the injured arm through the open armhole, leaving it exposed. He reaches around me and buttons the top button at the nape of my neck, leaving my back exposed as well.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. He kisses the top of my head and touches the undamaged side of my face, his face reflecting the pain that I feel. I hand him the rag that was my sweater, stiff with my dried blood and that of the bear. Horror flickers in his eyes as he appears to imagine how it got that way.

  He looks over at Éva and quietly says, “There is very little human remaining in her. If there was much more, she would be dead.”

  Very little human? As in I’m still part human? Not a hundred percent monster?

  “You knew?” I look at Nicolas in disbelief. “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “It took me some time to puzzle it out. Once I did, there did not seem to be any point in enlightening you. In fact, I feared it might shake your confidence.”

  “Damn it, Nicolas,” Éva spits out. “This is so typical. When are you going to get past this obsession of yours with human females? No wonder you fell for her—she is the best of both worlds for you!”

  “Éva!” Nicolas says harshly. “I will hear no more on this!”

  Éva snaps her jaw shut, her eyes defiant.

  “How did you know?” I demand, rising to my feet. “What—”

  “Even though your skin blisters in the sun, your ability to move around during the day is not normally possible for one as young as you.” Nicolas reaches out and gently touches my hair. “And you show an amazing tolerance to humans. You are able to spend long periods of time in close proximity to them, even interacting with them, without losing control. Again, this . . . behavior is not possible for a young Chosen. It takes decades of training to learn to maintain that much control.

  “It was when you told me how your change occurred that I realized just how unusual you are. I had detected something odd when we first met. Your scent is quite different from other Chosen, and at first I thought this was due to your choice of diet.

  “But there is something else. What makes you so unusual is that if the process of the Change is not followed precisely, the prospective Chosen dies. Every time. Every single time. You did not.” He pauses.

  “There needs to be a certain number of blood exchanges between prospect and Maker, and they need to occur at specific intervals. The final step requires that the candidate drain the blood of a human, all the way to the lifespark. It is taking in that spark that completes the Change.”

  I think about the dog, and I can see that Nicolas is thinking the same thing.

  Great. I’m part dog. How disgusting. No wonder I thrill so much to the hunt of wild game.

  “But you see, it has to be a human spark, because that is what we once were. So there must be another explanation, and I am still researching that.”

  Éva laughs, and it has a cruel sound.

  “She feeds on . . . animals, right? So that makes her part human and part animal? Nicolas, that is revolting!” she says, disgust dripping from her voice.

  “Éva!” Nicolas roars as he strides across the room to her. “That is quite enough! Remember about whom you are speaking, as well as to whom!”

  She backs up, her face transformed in alarm. Nicolas grabs her by the shoulders and growls, “You need to leave this room. Now. I will talk with you later.”

  Éva nods, eyes wide, and Nicolas releases her. She turns and walks stiff-backed out the door, shutting it behind her.

  “Nicolas, she’s right. Don’t hurt her,” I plead. “She . . . she still loves you.”

  “I have no intention of harming her. She does, however, need a reminder that I am her Maker and that challenging me is not to be tolerated.”

  Part of me is suddenly concerned about what he just said. But that is quickly overwhelmed by a fresh round of agony, triggered by the emotional upset of the last several minutes. I close my eyes and prepare for the fire that seems to always be on the heels of the pain, and it follows within seconds. I inhale and grit my teeth.

  “Damn! Where is that blood?” Nicolas swears as he empties the last of it into the cup.

  I am lying on the bed, keeping as still as possible. But my mind races over the earlier discussion. Part human? The hunger flares, stinging my throat, and I realize my mind needs to keep still as well as my body.

  Nicolas left a few minutes earlier to go check on the blood delivery. I wait for him anxiously, both in anticipation and in dread.

  The taste of the human blood is something I don’t think I’ll ever forget, and a part of me knows this is what I’m supposed to be consuming, that the wild game has just been a substitute. But the other part of me, the part that remembers my daughter and my granddaughter, is not willing to destroy human lives, and I resign myself to the conflict.

  Nicolas comes back into the room carrying a cooler and sets it on the table.

  “The blood bank?” I ask with mixed emotions as I sit up.

  “No, another possible . . . solution. I do not know if you will like it, or if it will even work, but it is worth a try.” He tightens his ja
w, his frustration apparent.

  He pulls a large IV bag from the cooler and opens the valve on the tube. Bright red liquid streams into the cup, and he shuts off the flow when the cup is full.

  I watch greedily, the hunger surging at the sight of the blood.

  “Unfortunately, we were not able to keep it warm, and I must apologize for that.” He steps over and hands me the cup.

  Nodding, I take it. I sniff the blood—this is nothing I’ve had before. I gingerly dip my tongue into it. He’s right, it’s cool, and I shudder at the thought. But the flavor seems somewhat tolerable, and I take a swallow.

  I look at Nicolas and nod, and begin drinking. It has a grain-like flavor and, the more I drink of it, the odder the taste becomes. It would be much better warm. Or ideally, hot, as in straight from the heart.

  Finishing it, I hold out the cup for more. He brings the bag over and refills it, and I feel a thrill at the red stream pouring in.

  Yeah, not much in me is human.

  Downing the second cup, I realize the pain and the fire have both subsided slightly. This might work.

  “What is it?” I ask. “And how do you keep it from . . . clotting?”

  “I make a special preparation containing Chosen blood that has anti-clotting properties, among others. There is a very small amount mixed in with this blood.”

  “Which is . . .?”

  Nicolas closes his eyes, takes a breath, then looks pointedly at me. “I have a stable.”

  Stable. Horses. I am drinking horse blood.

  The blood would come back up if it wasn’t already being absorbed into my system.

  “Oh Nicolas. I . . . I can’t.” Somehow killing horses for their blood seems almost as bad as killing people.

  “I have a small number of them that we can use for donors. It is not necessary to kill them. In fact, I would not allow it. They are very special to me.” His tone holds a note of warning, which is reinforced by the look in his eyes.

  Recalling he was being trained as a horsemaster before he was changed, I suppose he’s concerned I’ll become a raving beast and go out and lay waste to the whole herd.

  Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.

  “Nicolas, domestic animals . . . I just can’t. Especially horses. It’s just all wrong. And their taste . . . I’m a hunter. I need the chase, the fight, and the kill as much as I need the blood. Wild blood.”

  I had learned this early on, in the first few weeks after my change.

  “Ah, well, you are not so very different from us. For us, it is the seduction and the willing surrender.”

  That’s chilling. I shudder at the thought and catch a flash of amusement across Nicolas’s face.

  And then I realize he said us, and I am not part of the us. I am the other, the not us. The pain I feel at that has nothing to do with my injuries.

  I hear a step outside the door, and Nicolas walks over to it as someone knocks.

  “Mr. Ambrus? The delivery you were expecting is here.” It’s Alfonso, and I feel relieved to hear the normalcy in his voice. But I also feel something else, and it scares the hell out of me.

  Even through the door, I can feel the call of his blood.

  CHAPTER 34

  “Sunny. Sunny, wake up.” I feel his hand caress my hair, and I open my eyes and look up to see Nicolas looking down at me like a parent with a sick child.

  “You need to sit up and drink this.” Nicolas, beautiful Nicolas, is holding a large mug, and I can smell the blood.

  Now that’s a wake-up call.

  I sit up, rousing further as the movement triggers the spasms. I grit my teeth and reach for the mug just as the fire starts. I gulp as fast as I can, wondering how soon the blood will work its magic to quench the twins of pain and flame.

  “It’s warm,” I say as my mind begins to wake as well.

  “Yes, I thought that reheated, as unpalatable as that can be, would be preferable to cold.” He smiles, takes the mug, and sets it on the table that’s been moved next to the bed.

  I notice a group of large thermos bottles on the table, and look up at Nicolas in question as he selects one and refills the mug.

  “It is a mixture. The blood from the bank is somewhat lacking due to being processed, but it is human and should expedite the healing. I added horse blood to help replace some of the vital life properties missing from the processed blood. I do not know if this will work as we need it to.”

  Nicolas hands me the mug, and I think about this as I practically inhale it. I don’t slow down until the third mug to really analyze the taste. It’s a strange combination, but the honey-sweet human blood helps to mask the oat-bitter horse blood.

  He gives me mug after mug, yet after each one I still crave the next as much as I did the first.

  By the end of the fourth or fifth mug, the pain of my injuries has reduced to a dull ache and my hunger to the heat of banked coals.

  “How much more do you think I’ll need?” I ask. It feels like the damaged tissue throughout my body is actually crawling as it starts repairing at a faster rate.

  “I do not know. But you need to keep steadily taking it in as long as you feel any pain or a trace of hunger,” he says as he hands me yet another full mug.

  Drinking this one more slowly, I roll it around in my mouth, playing with the flavors. It’s an odd bouquet, and I decide that I rather like it. Well, at least I can enjoy it while I’m still healing.

  I laugh wryly, and Nicolas raises his eyebrows, wanting in on the joke.

  “Well, I suppose it’s all right to drink human blood, as long as it’s for medicinal purposes. Oh yeah, and no one dies.”

  He doesn’t seem to find this as amusing as I do.

  Apparently he’s not acquainted with the long human history of addiction that masquerades under the pretense of “medicinal purposes.” Ironically though, plenty of people have died from that.

  “Let me look at your back and see how you are doing.” He takes the empty mug from me and sets it on the table.

  Standing seems to halt my progress, and I catch my breath as the pain resurfaces, though it’s not as vicious as it was before. Nicolas takes a long look at my back, and shaking his head, refills the mug.

  I take it and gratefully swallow it down. I have no idea how much I’ve had so far, but the mug looks as though it holds about a quart. That would mean that I’ve had the equivalent of two humans so far, and it looks like it’s going to take a bit more. I shudder to think how many people would’ve had to give up their lives for mine.

  Leaving the mug on the table, I step over to the long mirror. I move in closer, using the hand mirror to look at the side of my face, and am grateful that the bear somehow missed both my eye and my ear. I don’t know how long it would take to grow new ones, or if they would even be the same. Ugh. The twin gouges on my jaw are mostly closed now, but still have a way to go.

  My shoulder and arm appear to be healing nicely as well. I move my arm around and wince at the soreness. It’s stiff, too, which tells me I need to work on loosening it up.

  Turning, I use the small mirror to look at my back. Thankfully, much of the inner damage has filled in, and all of the exposed bones have been covered. But my back still looks like a series of pale fleshy canyons, and I shake my head at the amount of damage the bear delivered so quickly.

  I feel Nicolas watching me and look over at him, and a stab of regret pierces me deep in the chest. He’s wearing that haunted expression of fear again, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.

  Setting the mirror back on the table, I turn and cross the room to him. He touches my hair, and gently gathers me into his arms, being careful to avoid my injuries. His entire body is vibrating.

  “I . . . ,” he says hoarsely, but seems unable to finish.

  I press into him and hold him, and he hugs me tighter.

  Please, Nicolas, don’t ever let me go.

  We stand there a long while, our chests rising and falling in unison, until he slowly
softens and relaxes his grip.

  He leans back, combing my hair with his fingers, and pulls a pine needle out of the matted mess. He sets it on the table and says, “I think you are healed enough to take a shower if you feel up to it.”

  “Yeah, that would be great. But I don’t have any clean clothes.”

  “I will ask Marie if she has something you can borrow. I doubt it will be a problem.”

  “Well, since she loaned me her blood, I would imagine she wouldn’t mind too much. I’ll be sure to return the clothes. The blood, however . . .” I smile, trying to lighten his mood.

  Nicolas shakes his head, obviously not amused. He walks to the door, then stops.

  His back stiff, his voice thick with strain, he says, “But first, can you please tell me how this happened? What did you do after you . . . after I forced you to . . . ?”

  He turns, his eyes full of regret and sorrow.

  “I was upset, and hungry, and just needed some time.” I pause, unwilling to reveal that my disappointment and rage at his manipulations had made me nearly insane with hunger.

  “I had just taken down a buck, and was not as alert as usual. I didn’t hear anything except a roar. I looked up as the bear was coming at me, and all I could think was ‘No, you don’t, this is my kill,’ and I . . . I attacked him.” My vision reddens at the memory.

  Stupid, stupid. All I needed to do was leap out of his way and attack him from behind. Then I could’ve enjoyed two meals. Instead I dove right into his teeth and claws, and nearly became his.

  “You attacked him, instead of running.” Nicolas shakes his head, frowning. “Part of me admires your fearlessness, and part of me is furious at your foolishness.”

  He looks up, and it’s obvious the furious part is winning.

  “Do you realize you nearly died? That he could have ripped . . .” He closes his eyes. When he finally opens them, their green depths are filled with pain. “That he could have ripped your head from your body?

  “How soon after he tore your back did the weakness begin to set in from blood loss? Minutes, seconds? It is a wonder he did not finish you,” he says through gritted teeth.