by Roh Morgon
The anticipation and hunger flaring up in my veins is not all my own, and I fight to keep my head as every muscle tenses for the attack. A touch on my arm pulls my red gaze away from the deer, and when I look at Taz, his crimson eyes are shining above a feral smile. I can’t help but grin back.
Moving only his finger, he points to himself and the uphill side of the herd, then signals me to take the downhill side. I give him a faint nod and watch him slip into stalking mode.
He drops low to the ground and inches his way up the hill. Even in boots and a leather jacket, Taz makes no sound as he edges closer to the unsuspecting deer. Mesmerized by his sinuous movements, I finally tear my eyes from him and focus on my own hunt.
I draw nearer to my quarry, a fat young buck in his third year, then freeze in preparation for my leap. Taz gives no outward sign, but his blood sends a jolt of electricity through me, signaling his charge at his selected target farther up the hill. I launch straight into the buck’s legs and sweep them out from beneath him, then grab his antlers and pin him to the ground. My fangs find their home, and as I descend into the euphoria of feeding, I feel Taz’s savage triumph adding to my own, and I joyfully embrace our twin ecstasies.
The bliss wrapping the inside of my body becomes warmer and warmer, and suddenly blossoms into the heat of desire. My eyes fly open to see Taz standing over me, his lips bloody, the lust in his eyes matching that building in my veins.
I slowly stand, wiping the blood from my own mouth, and shake my head.
“No.”
The smoldering look in his eyes shifts into anger. I can barely withstand his war with himself as I struggle to block him out.
Fear, all mine, urges me to run, but that did me no good last time. I brace myself for a fight.
The dark canyon around us is silent, like the calm on a battlefield before all hell breaks loose.
“You remind me of someone I used to know,” he finally says, his voice husky. His swirling emotions inside me give way to sadness and loss. His gaze softens and he looks away, then starts walking back upstream.
Shaken, I watch his retreating back. His mystery deepens and I feel myself becoming trapped by this fierce Chosen.
“What… what about the carcasses?” I call after him.
Taz answers with several coyote yips, and a dozen grey shapes slink out of the surrounding brush. The sounds of snarling and snapping quickly fill the air as they fight over the meat we’ve left.
He’s trained a cleanup crew. That’s something I never thought of.
Huh.
Taz remains silent during our long hike back up to the road. When we reach the top, I can no longer contain my curiosity about his origins.
“Taz. Where are you from?”
“You first.”
I press my lips tight.
“The sun’s going to be up in less than half an hour. We gotta move.” He steps into the brush where his bike is hidden and carefully backs it out, then tosses my helmet at me and straps on his own.
“Will you take me to see Alina tomorrow?”
He snorts.
“Not unless you give me some real answers.” He glares, puts on his sunglasses, and straddles the Harley. “Now get your ass on this bike, or sleep here on the side of the road.”
He stomps down on the kickstarter and the engine’s answering thunder breaks the silence of the surrounding night.
“Go to hell.” I slam my helmet to the ground. Screw this. I’ll get to Alina another way.
I turn and start walking down the road. I don’t make it two paces before he steps behind me and grabs my uninjured shoulder, stopping me mid-stride.
“By the way,” he says quietly. “The other reason I brought you out here was to hunt. And just cuz we shared one doesn’t mean things have changed. You’re gonna have to share a lot more than that if you want anything from me.”
“Oh, you mean, like my body? My blood? Is that what I have to do to see Alina?”
The desire in his blood surges through my barrier, and I quickly slam it back into place.
He laughs, then presses against my back.
“No, but that’s not a bad idea. If you’re offering, I might consider it.”
I wrench out of his grasp and rake him across the cheek.
He sucks his breath in through his teeth.
“Not now, though. I like to take my time—which we’re out of.” He turns his back on me and walks over to the idling Harley. “Your choice. Couch or rocks. But I’m leaving.”
Crossing my arms, I shake my head in refusal as he gets on the bike.
“Just for the record, you won’t get to Alina unless it’s through me. Any of the others will kill you on sight. I’m the only thing keeping you alive right now.”
Shit.
I don’t know whether to believe him or not, but suddenly I’m not sure I want to take any chances.
I grab my helmet from the ground and hop on behind him. We take off while I’m still fastening the strap.
The ride to the house is nearly as fast as the ride out, but now our speed is fueled by a sense of urgency rather than anger. The sky is grey as we roar into the garage and stagger off the bike. Taz is in his room before the garage door finishes closing. I gratefully collapse onto the couch and bury myself beneath the ragged blanket.
As grimy as it is, it’s still way better than a tree.
A gentle hand brushes the hair back from my brow.
I open my eyes and Taz is crouching beside me, wonder shining in his golden eyes. He looks different, almost transparent. His fingers shimmer like candlelight above my shoulder, sorrow whispering across his face, then he pulls back the blanket and helps me sit up. When I look down at my arms, my legs, they bear the same transparency as his.
He stands and reaches out a ghostly hand and I take it to stand beside him.
Taz pads barefooted across the room, wearing nothing more than his jeans, his ebony hair loose and flowing down his back. He leads me to the front door and then we’re standing in the bright outside.
With a soft tug on my hand, he leaps into the air, and I follow.
We’re flying through the morning sunlight now, over tall forest speckled with rooftops in reds and browns, and then with nothing more than the green of the trees. The landscape beneath us changes to the short, grey brush of chaparral-covered hills, and back to the deep green of the coastal redwood forest. Taz guides us downward and the ground rises to meet our bare feet, and we take off running.
He keeps firm hold of my hand as we weave through the redwoods and leap over downed limbs across the steep slope. Cool shadows and warm sunlight stream past us, adding depth to the kaleidoscope of rust-colored tree trunks, greens of every shade, and the browns of the forest floor skimming beneath our feet.
Low, grey-furred shapes join us in our run, their ears back and pointed muzzles silent as they flow around us. Our mad race flushes a small herd of blacktail deer and, with quick, bounding leaps, the deer scatter. The coyotes take off in pursuit, but we continue our run, now heading upslope.
A wide strip of asphalt greets us, its center lined with twin yellow ribbons, and we follow them, our ghostly feet barely touching the ground. Bright sky ahead signals the edge of the forest, and as we draw closer, the redwood curtain draws back, revealing the blue-green waters and white-topped waves of the Pacific Ocean far below.
We slow, then stop on an overlook beside the road. The sounds of the eternal battle between sea and land drift upward, crashing and splashing as the ever-shifting water eats away at stalwart rock.
Taz draws me close, his fingers still entwined in mine. He kisses our clasped hands and, facing us toward the ocean, moves behind me and pulls me against his chest. His chin resting light upon my head, he begins to softly sing in a language I do not know.
His song seems to tell a story, and I catch glimpses of an Indian village, running buffalo across a wide plain, majestic snow-capped peaks piercing a bright blue sky. A group of Indian boys sit in
a half circle around a young Catholic priest, a book in his lap. A beautiful Indian maiden flashes a shy smile as she walks by with a basket of berries. Large, slim-fingered hands cradle a ragged piece of paper inked with the faded lines of a tiny sailing ship on an untamed sea.
His song dies, and he falls into silence. The sea below us continues its melody, and after a long moment, Taz kisses the top of my head, steps back, and with a tug on my hand, launches us into the bright air. We circle once over the restless waters below, then with the speed of an arrow, we’re back at the house and I’m on the couch. Taz tucks the blanket around me, kisses our spectral hands once again, and releases me into oblivion.
SUNDAY
CHAPTER 50
A hot shower usually gives me a clean outlook on things. Today all it does is wash off the dried blood and dirt.
I had awakened feeling unsettled, the taste of Taz’s blood fresh in my mouth as if I’d just savored its wild energy. Worse, a vague memory of being elsewhere, the almost-remembering of a dream, had slipped away with my first breath, leaving me confused and longing for whatever it was.
Now I just feel frustrated and pissed off.
Residual healing hunger also still has me a bit on edge, but compounding it is the uncertainty about Taz and, to a lesser extent, what may happen if I keep refusing to answer his questions.
Yet my deepest instincts demand that I continue to guard both my origins and my connection to Nicolas.
Taz’s blood in me stirs, signaling that he’s beginning to awaken. I quickly shut him off, unable to deal with his complex emotions. Or mine.
I think back on our tumble down the hill last night and the severity of my injuries. Nicolas wasn’t kidding when he said broken bones demand huge amounts of blood to heal. Though I went through three deer last night, I’m sure I could handle a couple more if given the chance.
Even more surprising is that I healed perfectly fine without human blood, and much faster than before. Though the speed of healing might be due to the fact that I’m now full-Chosen, it only reinforces what I’d suspected when recovering from the bear injuries—that what I’d really needed then was the blood of deer and elk. Not horse blood, and certainly not human blood. Maybe my healing would’ve taken a bit longer, but at least I wouldn’t have bitten into the proverbial forbidden fruit and discovered a new kind of thirst that continues to plague me even now, more than six months later.
But this time around, the deer blood seems to have been enough. The stiffness in my shoulder is completely gone, and wiping down the mirror confirms what I’d already determined in the shower—no outward trace of injury remains to either my shoulder or my ribs.
Yet, though I have none from my human life, the spider’s web of silvery scars from the bear attack in Colorado still crisscrosses my back, arm, and cheek. The antelope horn scar on my belly remains as well. Those events happened months ago, while I was still a half-Chosen. Before I made the final Change.
Wonder what Nicolas would make of that.
Or the fact that Taz’s emotions are wreaking havoc within me. I felt none of Nicolas’s after he gave me his blood to heal me from the bear. Perhaps he, as an Elder and Maker, had better control. Taz certainly seems to hover on the edge of losing it much of the time.
One thing’s for sure.
I don’t want to be in his path again when he does.
Tension fills the house as the others wake, one by one, and stumble from their respective bedrooms. Their wordless exchanges, accompanied by tight-set jaws and glowering expressions, only emphasize the disharmony I suspect is unusual in this household.
Even the normally jovial Redd says nothing as he fusses with motorcycle parts at the dining room table, his silent condemnation following Taz as the big Chosen returns from the garage and disappears into his bedroom. The odor of burning sage hovers outside the door, and I wonder if it brings him a sense of calm similar to the oils in the ring. But lowering my internal barrier to find out will expose me to his other emotions. I decide it’s not worth the risk.
Chia’s out in the backyard, her knife thumping into the side of the house over and over. Her words from last night ring in my head as though she just screamed them at me. I feel a twinge of guilt for disrupting what may have been a previously well-oiled machine.
But, I remind myself, I’m not the real culprit, though I may be getting the blame.
The holder of that responsibility re-emerges from his bedroom, shrugging on his leather jacket.
Taz stops and looks at me, questions shining in his golden eyes. His blood in me surges and I resolutely block whatever it is he’s feeling.
“What?” I ask, puzzled by his expression, a mixture of curiosity and hopefulness.
“You don’t remember, do you?”
“Remember what? You attacking me? Like I could ever forget that.”
Dismay paints his features for a split second before flashing into raw anger.
“Aw, to hell with it.”
He stomps across the kitchen toward the garage, ignoring Redd’s inquisitive look.
“Let’s go,” Taz yells just before the door slams behind him.
I grab my jacket as Redd opens the window behind him and calls Chia. Within minutes we’re leaving the still-closing garage door behind, the sound of Harley engines filling the painful void between the three Chosen.
It’s nearly midnight. We’ve spent the evening in the East Bay, cruising from bar to bar in what must be an established route for Taz and his crew. We didn’t stay long at any single place; rather, it seemed like they were searching for someone, though who remains a complete mystery to me. The terse communications between the three indicate they’ve resolved none of their issues, and I wonder how long this will go on before the backlash strikes out again.
And when it does, it will most likely be at me.
We pull into the parking lot at yet another seedy dive. But as I slide off the seat and remove my helmet, two Chosen emerge from a black Audi sedan parked a few spaces away.
I step away from the bike, instantly on guard. Taz and Redd didn’t seem to care for the last Chosen we encountered—those of Nicolas’s lineage at the airport—and I watch their reactions as these approach.
“Stay here.” Taz hangs his helmet from the handlebars and takes off his sunglasses. Redd and Chia seem in no hurry as they dismount.
The Chosen stop about ten feet away.
One of them is dark haired and clean shaven; the other, a honey blond, sports a neatly trimmed beard. Dressed in tailored slacks and button-down shirts, the distinct scents of alcohol, cigarettes, and perfume cling to them as though they just stepped out of an upscale nightclub.
More notably, they do not bear the scent or any other sign of belonging to Nicolas’s lineage. Like Taz and his crew, their single-colored auras, one a pale yellow, the other turquoise, are unique and unrelated to one another.
Taz walks toward them, his body loose and relaxed. They, on the other hand, seem to grow more tense as he nears.
“Evening, Taz.” The clean-shaven one hesitates, then steps forward and nods.
“Haven’t heard from you in awhile.” Taz’s gruff admonishment sends a flicker of fear across both of their faces.
“There’s… there’s been nothing to report.”
“What about that new club in Oakland?”
“Oh. Well, we haven’t been there yet. It just opened last week.”
“Should’ve been there several times by now.”
“Sorry. We’ll go by there tonight.”
Taz studies them a moment—a long moment in which I can almost feel them twitching beneath their manicured façades.
“Keep Redd updated. Nightly. Got it?”
“Will do.” The Chosen nods. “Anything else?”
“No. We’re finished.”
The two visibly shaken Chosen offer half bows, then take several steps back before turning and heading for their car at a fast walk.
“Looks like they’ve b
een playing more than working,” Redd says as Taz returns to the bikes.
Taz just nods.
“You want me to split ’em up?”
“No. Have Jansen and Twig check on them. If they didn’t get the message, they’re done.” Taz puts on his helmet, and I take that as my cue to do the same.
“It’s all clear inside,” Chia announces, walking toward us from the direction of the bar. Redd holds out her tiny helmet and she tugs it onto her head.
“Let’s roll then.”
I climb on behind Taz, relieved to hear normal conversation happening once again between these three. As crude as they are, their little family’s beginning to grow on me.
Because they have the one thing I don’t.
Companionship.
And with that companionship, the trust that those guarding your back aren’t going to stick a dagger in it.
CHAPTER 51
Echoes from our engines bounce back at us as we cruise through one of the many warehouse districts that line the East Bay. Some of the areas near the docks are brightly lit, with towering cranes unloading massive container ships, like giant dinosaurs taking great bites from the swamp. Others are dark and silent, their sky-high steel monsters lying in wait for the next ship so they can pick at its flesh until it’s nothing more than a stripped carcass, only to reload it again a short time later.
We pull up to a small warehouse on the waterfront and park. People are milling around outside drinking from bottles hidden within paper bags, smoking cigarettes, smoking other stuff.
But the huge bouncer at the entrance is one of Nicolas’s Chosen—one who looks like a candidate for world-wide wrestling, though he’s not as tall as Taz. He nods and opens the door.
Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive” is screaming from the jukebox when we walk in. Glancing up at Taz, I chuckle. Someone must’ve expected him—they couldn’t have picked a better song for his entrance. But my amusement dies as we get all the way inside.