by Lewis, D. C.
Thus started Kiera's renunciation of her Lycoan attributes. For the next 6 years, she worked as hard as she could to suppress that part of herself and she tried to live as humanly as possible, much to her mother's disdain. But Katrina's concern about exposure would prove to be the exact opposite of what she would grow to fear, Kiera's lack of desire to "change" was now becoming a major issue, one with dangerous consequences. Little did she realize how close her daughter had come this very evening.
Seven
The creaking of the big oak front door of her mother's house rousted Kiera from her slumber. Rolling over and looking at the clock on her nightstand, the green letters reported that was 4:33 a.m. Kiera was surprised that she had been asleep for over four hours and felt as if she had not gotten even that much rest. Dragging herself wearily from her warm bed, she grabbed the first pair of pants and shirt she could lay her hands on, not even paying attention to what they were. Kiera had more than enough agility to put clothes on while walking, so she was completely dressed by the time she opened her bedroom door to head down the stairs.
The front door was closed and the hallway was empty. Kiera's sense of smell had already informed her that it was Katrina returning home from her "business" so there was no fear of an intruder. Besides, people seemed to have a healthy fear of Katrina, so a burglar would have been highly unlikely. Kiera also noticed the earthy smell of dirt mixed in with her mother's scent. This piqued her curiosity because, while Katrina could not be described as girly, and she was fully in touch with her Lycoan side, she still liked to remain clean. This trait was also passed down to her daughter.
Kiera made her way through the dark hallway, her nose guiding her as much as her eyes, her feet making no sound on the wooden floor as she continued her search. Kiera considered just going back upstairs and going back to sleep, but her curiosity had gotten the best of her and it had to be satiated. She moved towards the back of the house. A warm breeze from an opened back door blew across her face bringing with it the smell of pesticide from the mosquito truck that had recently made its weekly round. Kiera wasn't sure if this made any difference as the winged pests didn't seem to be diminished and terrorized the local populace nightly. Even Lycoans weren't immune to their bloodthirstiness, but the aggravation was lessened by thicker skin that only seemed to make the bugs try even harder.
Passing through the open door, Kiera could see her mother's form silhouetted by the moon. As her eyes quickly adjusted to the lighting, Kiera noticed that her mother's clothes were torn and that she was covered in mud.
"Looks as if discussions were spirited," Kiera remarked.
Not startled by her daughter's sudden appearance, Katrina didn't even turn around as she replied, "It's becoming more and more difficult to maintain control, a transfer of power needs to happen soon."
"Oh great, here we go again."
"Kiera, it is your BIRTHRIGHT!"
"I didn't ask for it, I didn't ask for any of this!"
Spinning around with a quickness that one wouldn't expect from someone of Katrina's size, she turned to face her daughter, and stood still under the watchful eye of the moon to stare into the eyes of Kiera. "Do you think any of us did? No, but we must play the cards we have been dealt and you WILL play our cards eventually."
"I refuse!"
"You will either make the choice on your own or I will make it for you. Either way you will take your appointed place."
Not wishing to further engage in this stupidity, Kiera turned around and headed back into the house. She could feel her mother's eyes on her, boring holes into her back but she didn't care. The story had gotten old. Why couldn't her mother understand that she had no desire to live the life of a Lycoan? And that the more she pressed the issue, the more Kiera dug in her heels and refused. Taking the stairs two at a time, Kiera ran into her room, slamming her door and falling down on her bed.
"I control my own destiny," she muttered angrily.
Eight
Katrina watched her daughter storm off and began to wonder what she was going to do. The longer she stayed the Alpha, the weaker she got, and the more likelihood that she would be usurped. A faction of her pack was already starting to press their limits, starting to disobey her instructions, more out of rebellion than anything else. She just wished she could make Kiera understand. If she were in fact replaced, everything she had worked so hard for over the past 200 years would be lost - her home, her finances, her influence, everything. Not to mention that the lives of herself and her daughter would be forfeit. The new Alpha would have the right to do as she saw fit when it came to the two, which typically meant death. A feeling wormed it's way into her heart that she had no recollection of ever feeling before. Fear. Katrina admitted to herself that she was scared for herself and for Kiera, and that this fear would only get worse the longer Kiera refused to accept who and what she truly was.
"If only the males hadn't disappeared, things wouldn't be like this," Katrina thought.
The Lycoan hierarchy worked best with a male and female as the Alphas. The guarantee of their producing a Lycoan child maintained a continuity that left little room for bickering and rebellion in Lycoan society. Before the disappearance, the only time a Lycoan family lost control of their pack was typically due to their death while fighting a rival pack. Families tended to stay in power and things tended to run smoothly. How that had changed. The past 10 years or so had been a struggle for Katrina. She found herself more often than not having to fight to have her orders carried out. The once obedient pack was starting to turn on her. They were counting on the fact that Kiera would refuse her rightful place. If Kiera didn't take over soon, she and Katrina would need to disappear entirely or they might not see another summer. Time was running out.
Time was running out and so was Katrina's hopes.
Nine
The Watcher had no problem keeping pace with the big BMW as it left Brandon's house after dropping him off the night of the Josh Riley incident. As Kiera's car came to the more populated parts of town, The Watcher veered off to go through the woods. It knew what her destination was. It easily glided through the dark forest - day or night made no difference to its sight, it saw equally well in both. Since it knew that it would arrive at its destination long before Kiera, it ran only on two legs, yards being covered with every stride, a mile-eating pace that would ensure it would be there on time. The large creature made absolutely no sound as it ran, instinct taking over and guiding it to bare spots of ground for it to make contact, before springing into the air once more with its powerful thrust. Each foot naturally spreading to distribute weight and further mask the sound of impact. The Watcher was death incarnate, a behemoth of deadly cunning and ability, a creature that never failed to take the prey that it was hunting, and tonight it hunted.
It came to its waiting spot long before Kiera would arrive. The run didn't even quicken its pulse or breathing, as it was a conditioned hunter. Standing in the brush on the fringes of the Hemming house, The Watcher had an unobscured view of the back end of the property and Kiera's bedroom. Doing a quick scan of the area to make sure nothing else lurked in the dark, The Watcher sat down to wait as its mind turned to the matters at hand. Things were hurtling to their inevitable conclusion and like it or not, The Watcher would have to see it through. One thing was for certain - The Watcher was a rare being. Nothing alive, including any others of its own kind, could match its ferocity, cunning, and power. When provoked, it was a force to be reckoned with, and now its attention was solely on Kiera Hemming.
Sitting there, The Watcher listened to the life of the night surrounding it. With its superb vision, it could clearly see the bats circling overhead, gorging themselves on the buffet of insects that prowled the evening, themselves looking for a victim on which to feast off its blood. Its keen hearing picked up the hoof-steps of a deer picking its way through the underbrush fifty feet away. Fortunately for the deer, The Watcher wasn't interested. It was focused on bigger and deadlier game.
/> After a quarter of an hour, The Watcher could make out the sound of Kiera's car coming down the road. A distinct sound, a calling card that she probably didn't even know she had. A minute or so later, The Watcher saw the headlights of the car pull up to the gate as Kiera punched in the code that allotted her access to the mini-castle. As the car pulled up and stopped in the driveway, The Watcher could see Kiera's red-rimmed eyes, the result of her emotional evening, even from a distance. Looking exhausted and dejected, Kiera emerged from the car, slowly shuffling her feet towards the door of her mother's house. The wind blowing from the Northeast, ruffling her hair was largely ignored by Kiera. And still The Watcher watched. The Watcher noticed an array of emotions battling on her face, the foremost being fear. The Watcher wondered what could have caused such emotion. Little did it know how close Kiera had come to unleashing her other side.
The door lock clicked as Kiera slid the key in and turned clockwise, the tumblers falling into their designated spots, the little gatekeepers satisfied, allowing her entry. Kiera disappeared into the house. And still The Watcher watched.
Sitting there in the brush in the darkness, The Watcher's mind wandered back to the previous thoughts of the evening and the tumultuous events that were spinning out of control. Things would never be the same or as simple.
A sound of a twig snapping jerked The Watcher's attention back to its surroundings as the night life went quiet. Turning its head to the left to allow its ears a full frontal position to the sound waves, The Watcher peered intently into the blackness, not moving, barely breathing. Dew from leaves overhead began to pool and becoming too heavy for the flexible green leaves to bear, the water started its descent, hit The Watcher on the crown of its head and soaked into its fur, the excess running between its eyes. The Watcher paid little heed, its attention fixed on whatever made the noise.
"This is what happens when you get careless," The Watcher thought, silently admonishing itself for losing track of why it was there. Its reason was not to daydream - it had an important job to do and the consequences of failure would be monumental. Even with all its abilities, The Watcher could still fail. It never allowed itself to get overly confident and take success for granted.
The sounds of the night resumed. Deciding to err on the side of caution, The Watcher made a quick sprint around the perimeter of the property, once again running tirelessly through the forest, senses fully aware and ready for anything. The Watcher found itself disappointed that it encountered nothing after it completed its loop back to the underbrush with the good view. Looking at the spot where it was just previously sitting, it saw the clear sign of a snake having slithered through the dirt, the half-formed "S" showing the progress north, towards the interior of the forest.
"It hunts too," The Watcher mused.
Settling back in its observation, The Watcher continued its vigil, and then she appeared. Completely nude, with her hair in two pigtails, Kiera stood in the window letting the moon bathe her in its pale light. The Watcher was surprised at the bold display, and slightly amused. If only she knew what was watching her. Sweat formed a thin coat on her body, reflecting the moonlight and causing her skin to shimmer. With her blonde locks, she looked like an angel descended from heaven, a true seraph. The Watcher could easily make out the slight rise and fall of her bare breasts as she breathes in and out. A large red spot covered the lower half of her left arm, looking a little raw, like it had been scrubbed with some effort. There was a look of pure joy and peace on her face. Standing there with her eyes closed, she could have been mistaken for a statue if a person didn't have The Watcher's ability to hear each beat of her healthy heart, sending the oxygen-rich blood down the myriad of blood vessels that gave her skin its healthy glow and caused the side of her neck to gently pulsate. She was truly a magnificent being and The Watcher felt guilt at the part it would have to play in this drama.
The same Northeast wind returned to blow Kiera's scent to The Watcher once more, infiltrating its nostrils. An aroma of expensive soap wafted into its olfactory senses with each inhale, a fruity smell, like melon, one The Watcher had smelled before. With it also came a strong hormonal smell that made The Watcher's hackles rise. Kiera would soon be having her female cycle, another reason for her to have such a connection with the moon and the passing of its cycle.
As the wind continued to blow, it disturbed more leaves on the foliage overhead and encouraged the water-laden to leaves to simultaneously bow forward to drop their payloads down The Watcher's back. But it was barely noticed - in truth, completely ignored as it meandered down the muscular form of The Watcher, to fall silently on the dirt immediately absorbed, leaving no trace of its existence.
Unexpectedly the wind changed direction to blow from the Southwest carrying The Watcher's primal scent straight to the waiting nose of the moon goddess standing in the window. Almost immediately Kiera turned her head toward The Watcher's hiding spot. Startled, and unsure how well Kiera's vision could penetrate the darkened brush, The Watcher took a quick step backwards, only to disturb a low-hanging branch, causing the leaves to shake violently and dump all the water on their waxy tops to the ground. It resembled a light rain shower. Wondering to itself how many careless mistakes it could make in one evening, The Watcher froze and turned its attention back to Kiera. She appeared unfazed, but it was clear that her attention was fully on The Watcher's hiding spot. Looks of curiosity and peace suffused her face. After what seemed an eternity, Kiera's gaze turned back to the front and her eyes closed as she continued her silent communion with the moon. The Watcher released a breath it didn't even realize it had been holding.
Closing the big bay window, Kiera finally receded back into her room and out of The Watcher's sight. Finally trusting itself to move, The Watcher rose from its squat, almost surprised to find no moss growing on its lower extremities - it hadn't so much as twitched since it drew attention to itself.
The night was coming to an end. For now, things were calm. There had been no need to take any action this evening. But The Watcher had gained valuable insight which would further prepare it for its upcoming role in the unfolding dramaturgy.
Deciding it had seen enough for one evening, The Watcher slowly backed out of its hiding spot to start the journey home. Stretching to its full height, The Watcher was rewarded with the invigorating feeling of blood rushing into the muscles that had been contracted for the majority of the stakeout. Throwing back its shoulders to flex its back, it had to resist the urge to let out a howl of pure delight as it started to run back to its lair. The pine trees loomed like dark giants as The Watcher raced among them and the other denizens of the night. Running parallel to the road, The Watcher came to an abrupt stop when headlights appear around a curve, weaving from side to side, on both sides of the road. A pickup truck seeming to be out of control, The Watcher was easily able to make out the shape sitting behind the wheel.
"How fortuitous," The Watcher thought "Tonight won't be anticlimactic after all." The Watcher focused on its prey. This evening, The Watcher hunts.
Ten
The next few days were uneventful for Kiera. She spent most of her time at home, lounging in her bedroom and trying to avoid her mother. She hadn’t seen or talked to Brandon since she dropped him off at his house the night of the Josh Riley incident. It wasn’t a conscious choice, just something that happened.
Awaking early one morning, she bounded down the stairs to the kitchen to break her nightly fast. She was in the mood for some of the local bacon cured in her hometown and hoped that her mother had remembered to pick some up for her. Coming around the corner into the kitchen, she saw her mother standing at the counter, reading the newspaper. They had not really spoken to or seen each other since their last argument. Kiera had done her best to avoid her mother and as luck would have it, Katrina had been out on business a lot, buying and selling antiques. Who would have known the life of an antique dealer was so busy? Most people assumed it was no more than spending your days in a beaten-down old
shop, surrounded by the junk of ages, covered in inches of dust, waiting for that one customer of the day to find something they wanted. Not so Katrina. She dealt primarily in ancient Roman and Sumerian antiquities, some pieces selling for hundreds of thousands, and sometimes millions, of dollars. Not so long ago she had brokered a deal for the sword of Alexander the Great and fetched quite a healthy commission, reflected in Kiera's bank account when she got an unexpected deposit of fifty-five thousand dollars.
Katrina's store in town was new and spotless and with more security than most banks. The showcases were streak-free and full of ancient artifacts. Gold, silver, and jewels lay nestled on velvet cushions, enticing the eye and encouraging people to spend vast sums of money to pick up the one-of-a-kind pieces. People traveled from all over the world to visit the shop in the little town. Presidents, sheiks, dictators, businessmen, and all other types of powerful people had graced the shop with their presence, all were quickly humbled by the intimidating presence of Katrina. One woman who, not intimidated by them in the least, gave them the same respect as she did anyone else. But she had a sort of casual indifference, one that deflated egos. Everyone who walked through those double doors knew that Katrina was in charge and that if you forgot that, you would be leaving. Abruptly.
“Good morning Kiera,” Katrina said without looking up.
“Good morning Mother,” she replied as she opened the refrigerator. Her nose was assaulted by the smell of various meats densely packed onto its glass shelves.
“Where is that bacon, I can smell it,” she said more to herself than anyone else.