Nightly Howls

by Madeline Blake

  The world swirls around me as I open the doors to the garden, breathing in deeply as I am enveloped in beautiful sights and aromas. The flowers are even prettier than yesterday, growing more in maturity and loveliness. The colors are bright, as if they are sucked out of the rainbow itself. Trees, full of fresh, decadent fruit, sit pleasantly around the area. I walk over to a peach, and daintily pick it from the leaves. A clear fountain is in the middle of it all, perfectly clean and filtered, and I run the water over the delicacy. With finality, I chomp a bite out of the side, almost sighing as the sweetness almost rolls off my chin. This is pure luxury, one of the finest things I have tasted.

  Why is everything so perfect here? Everything is always so clean in the mansion, but I never see them pick up a broom. The food grown here are so delicious, yet I never see anyone tending to them. My clothes always return in my closet immaculately laundered and groomed, but I'm not sure even Nico knows where the laundry room is.

  There must be more going on around here. I am sure of it.

  I go to sit by the fountain, balancing edgily on the side, at peace with the world around me. When I finish my peach, I hold it up with my good arm and throw it almost a hundred yards away into the vast forest. Let it decompose over there.

  Life has been so easy... without the domestic chores Ms. Penn used to stack upon me, all I have left to do is homework and socializing with the werewolves around me. However, living in a haven with hot guys has its bad points. I always feel like I have to look pretty and attractive around them, like I can't wear sweatpants or oversized t-shirts. Whenever I wear something revealing, though, I am immediately scavenged by their eyes. It can be rather uncomfortable.

  I can't even remember the time when I didn't care about clothes and looks, even though that time was only a while ago. I have no idea if that is bad or not, but it is certainly a sign of my definite change.

  "Asher, you can come out now," I say nonchalantly, staring pointedly at a slightly ruffling bush about five yards away. There is silence, and I look at it dubiously. "Seriously, Asher, come out," I demand. "I know you are there."

  "Have I gotten worse?" Asher moaned as he trooped from behind the bush, "Now even a measly crossbreed can detect my presence."

  "Shut up," I snap, "I'm not a crossbreed. I'm a Spier."

  "Oh yeah?" His eyebrow cocked, he surveys me jestingly. "Prove it."

  I glare at him, saying nothing. It is not my fault that I can't conjure a spirit spear. It's just taking some... time. And he certainly does not have to make fun of me about it.

  "I thought so," he chuckles, "for now, you are a crossbreed. Do you want to see if you can shift into a dog or wolf?"

  I scrunch up my eyes in anger, staring at him with murder in my eyes. Asher knows that I have already tried to do that, and ended up failing miserably.

  "I'm just kidding!" Asher smiles quickly, plopping down beside me on the fountain's edge. "You can't take me so seriously."

  "Actually, I can," I snort, "especially when I know for sure that you are serious."

  He laughs, and for that one moment, he looks exactly like Nico; his brown, glossy hair flipping in the wind and his eyes twinkling. "You're right," he smiles briefly, "I was serious." There is a brief pause, and then he speaks again, "I honestly don't think you are a full-fledged Spier. Maybe you will never manage to grasp the ability to form a spirit spear."

  His absolutely true words hit me like a hammer, making me consider things I have never thought of before. Will I ever be able to do what a regular Spier can do easily? What might I accomplish instead?

  I laughingly consider the irony of my situation. The one thing I wanted the most when deciding to become a Spier, even disobeying Nico for the chance to get it, was the ability to avenge my parents by killing the creatures I detest. And now, even after I have gone through everything, the special Talent seems even further away than before.

  "Asher, do you really and truly believe that?" I sigh, leaning up against him, marveling at the way my skin sizzles as we make contact. It is close to the way I feel with Nico... sparks racing through my veins, exploding like fireworks. But no matter how alike they are, it still feels different, a little more dangerous and forbidding with Asher.

  I watch his silent, composed face as he looks at the crystal blue water in the fountain. His green eyes are absolutely hypnotizing, an incredibly deep and slightly dark color. The scar that stretches across his cheek also attracts my attention, rough and jagged. Butterflies flitter in my stomach, awareness in my features. Is this strange reaction occurring because his face is Nico's?

  I shake my head, dismissing my thoughts. I cannot think of Nico right now, much less his identical counterpart.

  The silence spans longer, until the tension is stretched tight between us. I almost forget my own question, while fingering the fabric of my shirt, distracted by the scenery around me. Asher is almost frozen, his expression unmoving. "I hope you don't," he finally whispers softly, "for it will be even worse for you then."

  "What?" I cock my head, "why worse?"

  He stares at me, a dead-set expression on his face, and I suddenly know that he isn't going to say another word on this subject.

  I try to prevent the terrible silence from occurring once more. "Asher, can I put my head on your thigh and try to conjure a spirit spear again?" I ask curiously, subconsciously hoping to prove him wrong. Hoping that I can do the near impossible.

  He nods, then motions to the fountain. "Sure! Maybe this will help out too." With a dastardly handsome grin, he takes both of his hands and pushes me towards the water. There is a splash, and then I am submerged in the clear substance, my jeans and shirt completely soaked. He steps in also, peeling off his shirt as if it is a second skin. His tanned skin is so close, it sends sparks through my spine. "Nico!" I squeal at him, subconsciously shivering. The fountain isn't exactly a hot tub.

  His smile quickly morphs into annoyance, regarding me coldly. "I am not Nico," he states, "and I will not be your replacement for him."

  "What?" My dripping wet hand alarmingly flies to my mouth. Did I say that?

  "That is what my entire life has been, from the very beginning," Asher bitterly rants, "I have always been considered to be the slightly Frankenstien-ed version of Nico. At the bachelor auctions, I was always second to Nico. Even Talent-wise I am lacking, just shy of him. Our looks are identical except for my ugly scar and messy hair."

  "Are you twins?" I ask softly, looking into the angry eyes I know so well. They remind me of just a few hours ago, when Nico stared at me for the first time ever with a mixture of fury, pain, and hopelessness.

  "Yes," he smiles briefly, "Nico was the oldest by 3 minutes."

  "It's okay, Asher." I shoot him a bright smile, splashing him with water. "You are special in your own way. I'm not going to lie; you and Nico DO look alike. However, people don't look at you and say 'Look, there's Nico.' They say 'Look, there's Asher.'"

  "I wish I had your confidence," Asher stares into sky, leaning back in the water, "but right now, I am nothing."

  I start to lean on the center of the fountain, Asher looking at me amusedly. "I thought you said you were going to lean on my thigh," he says with a smirk.

  I can't do that. Not with his tempting expression and shirtless upper torso. I'm not invincible.

  "Nah, I think I will pass," I smile, edging a little bit further away from him, trying to escape from the hot guy that is almost making me drool. Asher follows me, a blur of motion until I am suddenly in his arms, unable to move. He is so close...

  "Focus," he instructs me carefully, "breathe."

  "How can I breathe when you are squeezing me so tightly?" I whisper harshly.

  "Lean on me," Asher whispers into my ear, "pretend I am Nico. Immerse yourself in your mind. You can succeed this time, Ella. You can do it."

  I feel myself drowning in him, even though my head is far above the water. Suddenly the arms surrounding me are slightly different, feeling overflowing. It is
now the arms and body of the one I love the most.

  Did I just think the word love?

  Alarm flashes through me, but then vanquishes as quickly as it comes. My eyes are closed, the darkness peaceful. I can feel it coming, forming in my head. It is there, if only I can grasp it.

  Suddenly the shackles break, and it slips from between my fingertips. My head snaps back, and then I feel myself sinking so quickly...

  In a beautiful room, lined with thick, blood red curtains and marble statues, there is a long table. A person reclines in each seat, each looking very uncomfortable, fidgeting in their position. A chubby, stumpy man is standing off to the side, pouring drinks into teacups, and then delivering them to the impatient men.

  Silence is reigning over them, not even one breath heard. Each man looks like a statue, still and unmoving. It is almost like a painting, calmness in the air yet violence hanging just beyond. Annoyance and anger flits on the corner of one slender man's mouth.

  "When is he going to get here?" he finally emits, his voice echoing around the large chamber. Murmurs begin, each one of agreement. They grow braver and braver, until they are speaking harshly and openly.

  Then suddenly there is a hush, and the anger quells. All eyes shift to one place. The rough fidgeting begins again, surprise morphing into fear.

  The veiled man casually glides to the head of the table, a smile brimming on the edge of his lips. He does not sit, towering over the other men.

  "Would you like some?" The chubby man waddles over to him, holding out a cup. The veiled man takes it from his grasp, nodding slightly.

  "This emergency meeting is in session," he says, his words as smooth as syrup. It seems to relax the group, each one hanging on his words. "Anyone want to state their concern?"

  "Why are you doing almost nothing to capture or kill it?" the slender man says, glaring at the veiled man, "it should be dead by now." The veiled man slowly walks over to the other man's side, a smirk still on his lips. With great satisfaction, he pours the steaming hot liquid from his cup onto the slender man's head. A yelp escapes him as he urgently presses a napkin to his head.

  "You know nothing." The veiled man continued to smile, but this time it is twisted, fake. "How dare you question my efficiency in this task? That is a question I should be asking all of you. Why are all of our subjects running around, causing havoc in our world and the world below? You all should have better control over them."

  There is a brief pause, and then he quietly speaks, "I hope you all had a better reason than this for arranging this meeting." All the other men ashamedly look to the ground. The veiled man surveys them quietly, the smirk finally disappearing from his features. "I hate it when idiots waste my time," he hisses, causing many of them to jump.

  "Can you tell us what your plan is?" a slightly chubbier man with raven black hair in the corner of the table asks politely. He seems to be the most complacent of them all, yet has a strange, dark aura.

  "Alas, that is not possible at this time," the veiled man shrugs, "I can't tell everyone in here my secrets. My plan is confidential. However, there is one thing I can inform you about."

  The men all lean in, their ears perked towards the words that are going to come. They all seem to sense that this is something big.

  "We are planning an ambush," he smiles, speaking boldly, "they will all be there, with limited protection. If we gather enough of our own, we can take them."

  "Where is there?" the black-haired man asks, curiously looking at the veiled man.

  Gasps reverberate around the room as the he releases his answer.

  ~Nico~

  I never should have blown my top.

  Her attitude infuriates me, yet interests me. Her every move makes my blood sizzle, yet attracts me as well. Why does she have to keep me guessing at every turn? Why can't she just say I love you too?

  A guy can only take so much, even if the girl is your mate.

  I walk down the hallway, guilt nipping at my skin. Ella was in a bad mood when she said that... I know she doesn't mean half of what she says. But it still hurts, even the thought inducing a sharp pain in my chest. She probably really hates me now.

  I try to please her. My looks are probably the most she could ask for. I have a mansion, and she never has to do any domestic chores. The only thing she seems to be bothered with is the fact that I am different. The fact that my whole world is… was different from hers.

  But she seems to grow more and more unsatisfied with each passing day, a frown ever growing on her lips. She spends more and more time with my buddies, not with me. And even this morning her smile seemed to sparkle at Wes.

  I should apologize to her; make it better. I want to hold her hand, and talk to her like normal. This separation is almost more than I can bear. I can barely sense her now, our anger ripping us apart. It should not be this way.

  Yes. This must end.

  I troop to the door leading to the garden, following her scent. It is so sweet, so rich, like the finest of desserts. I nearly lick my lips as I push the door open, hoping to see her in the grass, playing with a bird, and then smiling at the sight of me. "I'm sorry for hurting you," she would say, "I really love you." Then I would smile, and everything would be forgiven.

  But she is nowhere to be found.

  My eyes search the garden, puzzlement abounding. I smell her rich fragrance; it being so strong that it nearly knocks me over. She has to be here. Where is she hiding?

  "Ella?" I ask loudly, only to notice a sudden shift in movement. Asher twists his body in the fountain to look at me. He is shirtless and soaking wet, his brown hair plastered to his forehead.

  "What the crap are you doing?" I ask. It is probably around fifty degrees in that fountain.

  "I'm keeping Ella warm," he shrugs, "she needs some body heat." He shifts a little more, and then I can see her, suspended in sleep. She is leaning against his bare skin, as wet as he is.

  "What is this?!" I roar, temper completely lost, "how did you guys get in there?"

  "She just came up to me and said she needed somebody," he says.

  My face begins to grow red, fury in my eyes. Asher stands in the water, carrying Ella with him. He steps out of the fountain and lays her in the grass gently. "Looks like Ella doesn't need you," he says softly, "You need to treat her better, or she just might find someone else." He takes his dry shirt from a nearby tree, and drapes it over her. "I got to go," he walks to the door, "I'll give you some time alone with her. Maybe it’s time for you two to kiss and make up."

  The door swings shut after him and with it swings my insanity.

  I glare at her furiously, and then I take Asher's shirt from her body. With barely suppressed anger, I clench it in my fists. Subconsciously I shift into a wolf, tearing the shirt with my teeth.

  I lift my nose to the sky, and let loose a howl.

  Admirers Can Be More Frightening Than Your Worst Nightmare

  ~ Ella ~

  The grass tickles my toes as I shift slightly, sleep releasing its strong hold on me. The sun's warm light washes over my bare skin, my hair as it is sprawled over the grass. I stagger to my feet, wondering why I am here in the garden.

  My gaze shifts towards the fountain, and then everything comes back to me in a flash. I blush as I think of my time with Asher earlier, with the fountain and statue. Asher's hot embrace felt very comforting, for sure, but at the same time, it was terrifying. What if Nico had seen us? What would he have thought?

  I hate to admit it, but I miss him. I want him to laugh and joke with me like he used to. He has really grown on me, so much that I am almost longing for a touch, a brush of his fingers. However, he is really impatient. It hasn't even been a month yet, and I have shed my old skin, healed people of their sickness, and had guys actually flirting with me. Even now, my brain is about to go into overload. Why can't he understand?

  Many times, though, it feels as if I am lying to myself. As if that feeling is already present inside of me, but shoved into the
corner. As if I am denying the truth. My heart beats like a drum whenever he comes close, my senses awakened and aroused in his presence. The attraction is so strong between us... even I have a hard time. I can barely imagine what he has been feeling ever since he met me.

  Possibly he is angry because I repress my emotions; especially the one he desires the most.

  I walk to the garden door, resolute. This can't go on anymore. I have to fix this.

  The door swings shut behind me as I pound through the halls, racing towards his door. The world spins as my vision almost becomes blurry, I quickly realizing that I can't really last long under his anger. For some strange reason... his feelings actually matter to me.

  His room is so close, a step away. I can sense the anger, the pain boiling just beyond the wooden door. Sadness surges in my heart.

  I raise my knuckles and tap the door, my heart's beats escalating as I sense him suddenly freeze in his movement. There is a moment of complete and utter silence, then footsteps as he shuffles towards the door.

  A hand slowly turns the knob, and swings the door open to reveal himself. His tanned face and body is bedraggled with worry and fury, his hair limp and not shining like it normally does. He stares into my eyes, and I study him also. However, I soon find that there is nothing to examine. His emerald eyes are blank like the surface of a crystal pool.

  "What do you want?" His words sound more like a statement than a question, short and abrupt. Chills enter me, racing through my entire being.

  "I wanted to say..." I have a hard time choking out the word, for I have never truly said it before. But now that it means so much, I feel that I have to say it just right. That the word has to slip perfectly through my slightly chapped lips.

  He surveys me coldly, and hardness enters his features. "Please go away," he groans, as if I am only an annoyance, "I don't feel like talking to you right now." He vanishes behind the door, closing it as quickly as he can.