One Enchanted Season

by C. L. Wilson

  All furniture, clothing, and, as luck would have it, food had been cleaned out of the place. He'd found a partially consumed bottle of water on the counter and had chugged it down in one grateful gulp. He’d ventured a feet outside the cabin twice to scoop snow to swallow for additional hydration. It had been all he could manage without functioning eye shields. The pain from the sunlight, even muted by the cloudy day, had been unbearable. Now, he cleared his dry throat, anxious for more water. The rumble in his stomach made it evident he needed food. Soon.

  He stepped out of the cabin and was moving past a carefully constructed snowman someone had created from three large boulders of ice and snow, replete with carrot nose, black fedora, and a tattered old coat, when his body vibrated with alarm.

  He halted, senses on high alert, and closed his eyes. He pushed his essence outward like energetic fingers, seeking the source of danger . . . and honed in on two Anunnaki males. The ones who had been tracking him. They were no more than a mile away from him. Clearly, they hadn't been satisfied that blasting him out of the air had killed him.

  He snarled. Why had he expected anything less? The Nibiruan Anunnaki soldiers were of a singular purpose:

  Eradicate the genetically manipulated humans whose regressive genes had been reawakened. Destroy any who stood in their way. Even their own kind. Especially their own kind.

  Their commander would want proof of Roan's demise.

  One of his trackers pushed out his own essence, seeking Roan. Roan's jaw clenched and he recoiled. Just as Roan was about to pull back and shut his psychic doors to avoid detection, he sensed the soldier catching a different scent and changing focus. Roan was safe. For now.

  He supposed he should be relieved by this knowledge, but that's when a voice streamed over the ethers and wound its way to Roan's inner ear. Soft, melodic, hauntingly beautiful.

  “With each new day I hope and then

  the coldest rain falls down again . . .”

  Ah, the voice. It pierced him, sharp as a finely hewn blade. His chest constricted as he strained to hear more.

  “The coldest rain inside of me

  cools the heat that you can't see . . .”

  Tears pricked beneath his eyelids. He ached from the beauty of it. On Nibiru, music was revered; the poetry of song and the magical vocal chords of those who wove it were honored as sacred. Very few Anunnaki could do what this woman was doing. Those who could were kept in the palaces of the elite, under careful guard and protection. And they sang only to the royal courts. It was a rare privilege to hear them weave song.

  It was one of the talents certain humans possessed that the Nibiruan Anunnaki coveted and begrudged. But this voice was different. It wasn't just the voice of an excellent vocalist.

  It was a voice that did something only the Anunnaki few were supposed to be able to do. Her voice had an energy that reached between the dimensions, crossed the distance between them, and entwined with the serpent energy at the base of his spine. Goosebumps broke out over Roan's flesh.

  A jolt of bliss rode his spine, up, up, through the top of his head. He cried out in joy and wonder.

  The singing stopped. The only sound was the wind rustling the trees as the snow-laden branches swayed and crackled like feet over autumn leaves.

  Roan's breath caught. He could feel her, the woman, the owner of the magical voice. She was distraught and afraid.

  The trackers. They'd picked up the woman's scent too. Had they already found their way to her? His jaw clenched.

  He had only moments to decide what to do. Keep moving away from the trackers. Remain undetected. Save himself. She was, after all, only one human woman. Albeit an extraordinary one.

  His hands fisted and his chest tightened from the internal struggle.

  He shook his head in frustration, knowing there was only one decision to be made, that for him, there would always be just one answer. Sometimes, he wished he could be as cold and heartless as Enlil and his kind. This was one of those times. But Roan's sworn duty, his mission, his destiny, was to protect the innocent. Including this woman.

  Resigned, he pivoted toward the snowman and stripped it bare. Then, shrugging into the too-small coat, he took off running, west, toward the song weaver.

  Toward his destiny.

  ###

  Mona raced out into the snow after Cash, oblivious to the cold snow under her sock-clad feet or the wind whipping beneath her sweater.

  She lost sight of the dog and paused, heart racing, panicked. It wasn't like Cash to run outside before being leashed. It wasn't like him to ignore her commands. What had gotten into him? What scent had he caught?

  “Cash!” she called again. The dog reappeared, panting heavily, circling her, and snarling into the darkness beyond the tree line. She made to grab his collar, but he shied away from her and let out a series of loud barks as he edged back toward the trees. What the hell did he see there?

  “Cash, come here!” she tried again. He ignored her and raced back toward the trees.

  A moment later, teeth bared, he leapt at something or someone moving in the shadows on the east side of the house. Whatever he'd gotten hold off managed to shake him off moments later with a violent thrust. Cash came flying through the air and hit the ground at her feet with a broken yelp.

  She immediately dropped to her knees next to him, blood rushing through her veins hard and fast, heart thudding like it would break free. Cash wasn't moving.

  She buried her hands and face in his soft, thick coat. “Cash, no, Cash . . .” Sobs escaped her only to be swallowed up by the roar of the wind. She didn't feel the numbing cold infusing her limbs.

  It was her fault. She shouldn't have opened the door. It was no night for Cash to be outside, not even to pee. She could have used the newspapers piled in the corner instead.

  She cradled her pet, chest aching with grief. She knew she should move. Do something. But a kind of paralysis had sunk into her limbs. There was fear there too; in the back of her mind she knew that whatever had hurled Cash through the darkness was likely still there, lurking in the shadows, aiming for her next.

  But all she could do was hold her furry friend with trembling hands and let the agony of loss consume her.

  ###

  “A human song weaver. Have you ever heard of it?”

  “Commander won't like it. It means another gene evolution.”

  “First the traitor gets loose, now this.”

  “What do we do?”

  The words of the trackers drifted on the wind. From his vantage point behind the bushes, Roan could visually make out the two Anunnaki soldiers conversing while one held a dark-haired woman by her neck, pinching the pressure points at her throat so the woman couldn't move or cry out.

  The trackers were tall, almost seven feet, like most Anunnaki males. And also like most of the Anunnaki on Nibiru, their hair was pale as the snow, their eyes dark as night, shielded behind the standard corneal protective lenses.

  The trackers, however, wore the uniform of Nibiruan soliders under the jurisdiction of Commander Enyir, leader of the Nibiruan militia. Roan noted that, unlike his own, their clothing was in one piece. Just another reason to dislike them. As if he needed another.

  The soldier holding the woman pushed the woman's hair from her face and studied her for a moment. “She's attractive. Perhaps there is use for her.”

  “You know we can't. Do not think of it.” The other tracker reprimanded.

  “Who would know? We must dispose of her anyway. First, we make her sing for us. Then we mate.”

  At these words, the woman managed to wiggle out of the tracker's grip enough to gasp out a breathy “No!”

  Anger burned Roan's belly. Enough of this! He leapt from the bushes and grabbed the tracker who held the woman. Roan circled his arm around the tracker's neck and yanked him backwards. Hard. The tracker released the woman and reached both of his hands up to pull at Roan's arm.

  The tracker was strong. But Roan was stronger. If h
e wished to, Roan could cut off the tracker's air supply and end of his life. Roan knew this. And by the panic he sensed racing through the tracker's mind and the pungent scent of fear clouding his aura, the tracker knew it too.

  The second solider moved toward Roan, and Roan tightened his hold on the tracker in his arms. “I highly recommend you stop where you are,” Roan warned between gritted teeth.

  Even in the dim lighting from the cabin porch light and between the flurry of snowflakes, Roan could make out the disdain on the other soldier's face.

  “You won't do it,” the solider said. “It's in direct opposition to your cause. All life is sacred. Isn't that what you and your human-loving comrades preach?”

  Roan scowled. Of course, the solider was correct. But these two men had already tried to kill him. And they were threatening to abuse and kill the woman. Out of the corner of Roan's eye, he could make out the woman huddled a few feet away in the snow next to a dead canine.

  He willed her to move, to run, but she remained frozen in confusion and shock.

  The free soldier started toward the woman. Roan bit back an obscenity.

  There was no doubt as to the free soldier's intent to kill the woman right then and there. Roan couldn't fight both the trackers and keep the woman safe at the same time. He was strong, but all Anunnaki were. Roan was even stronger than most. But he was also outnumbered.

  Sadness, deep and full, arched through Roan. He glanced into the face of the struggling soldier in his arms. The tracker's eyes widened in alarm.

  “I'm sorry brother. Peace be with you until we meet again in the world between,” Roan murmured. Then with one sharp twist of Roan's arm, the tracker's neck snapped with a loud crack. Roan released the limp body.

  The remaining soldier came at Roan with fury blazing in his eyes. He was on Roan in an instant, knocking him to the ground.

  They rolled, both struggling to gain the advantage. Roan took a blow to the ribcage and momentarily lost his breath as pain lanced through him. He recovered quickly and dealt a punch to the tracker's stomach. The tracker moaned, released his grip on Roan's arm, and slid slightly away. Roan leapt to his feet. The tracker reached behind himself and fumbled to retrieve something from a pocket on his suit.

  A weapon. The tracker lifted the small disk-shaped object and aimed it at Roan's head. The device emitted a rapid pulse of light toward Roan's face. Roan shifted his head slightly and the light beam skidded over the surface of his right eye, leaving a trail of heat and needles of agony in its wake.

  Roan sucked in the pain, unable to see now out of his right eye. The trail of blood was warm against his cool cheek. Roan turned the left side of his face toward the tracker and threw his body atop the man, effectively knocking the weapon from the tracker's grasp.

  For a moment, the two men grappled for the device, but Roan was just slightly faster. He curled his fingers around the pulser a fraction of a second before the tracker could reach it.

  Roan pushed the tracker against the ground, and lifted the device to the tracker's forehead. Forgive me, he telepathed to the soldier. Then he released the beam. The tracker's eyes rolled back and his entire body pulsed as one giant muscle. The pungent scent of dying flesh burned Roan's nose. Then, the tracker lay still.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Roan pressed his eyes shut, wishing he could will away the sight of his fallen brothers.

  Knowing he could not.

  The vision would be forever etched into his every cell. Life was a precious, miraculous gift. Every life he took, no matter how just or necessary, stained his soul. The humans were weak. They were no match for the Anunnaki. If Enyir's soldiers were allowed to roam Earth, the death and destruction left in their wake would be of catastrophic proportions. It was up to Roan and the other members of the resistance to keep that from happening. But did the ends justify the means?

  That was the eternal question. The question that followed Roan wherever he roamed, nipping at his heels like a rabid dog. The question that would continue to haunt him for centuries to come.

  Tears burned his eyes, further aggravating the throbbing pain in his newly injured eye and mixing with the stream of blood, which dropped now down his chin and ran in rivulets over his neck.

  He gathered himself together, pulled his stolen trench coat around himself, and tucked the hat that had fallen from his head back on. The woman was still crouched to the side. Her skin was almost blue at this point. He could sense hypothermia creeping into her body. She watched him, wide-eyed and wary. He tucked the pulser into the pocket of his coat.

  He needed a surger. And from the looks of her, so did the woman. He slanted a glance to the bundle of broken bones and matted fur on the ground next to the woman. The canine needed healing too.

  He found what he sought concealed in the uniform of the first soldier to die. The woman spoke as he knelt next to her and lifted the healing device, pointing it toward her.

  “Any chance I can convince you not to rape me first?” Her voice came out soft, but her words were sharply edged.

  Roan's brows knit. “I've no intention of raping you.”

  Her shoulders relaxed a bit. She nodded, her eyes dulled with resignation. “Just be done with it, then. Kill me quick.”

  “Why would I do that? I just saved your life,” he responded.

  She nodded toward the surger in his hand. “Isn't that a weapon?”

  He shook his head. “No. It will heal you.”

  Life sparked back into her gaze. “Can it bring back the dead?” She reached out and twisted her hands into the dog's furry back.

  “It depends upon how long ago life left the subject.”

  “Thirty minutes or so.”

  He nodded.

  “Good,” she said. “Then save Cash first.”

  “I don't know how much charge this surger has. I should heal you first.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Save Cash first.”

  He sighed. It probably wouldn't do him any good to point out his weeping eye wound to the woman. She would still likely expect him to make reviving the dog his priority. Instead of angering, Roan, however, this knowledge of her character made pleasant warmth spread through his chest. A woman who puts the needs of others before her own. Loyalty and selflessness were traits he admired in others and strived for in himself.

  “Fine,” he agreed. “But let's go inside first. Before the frostbite takes your toes and I have to heal those too.”

  As if suddenly aware of the frigid cold and her lack of shoes, she glanced down at her feet. “I don't think I can walk.”

  “I will carry you,” he told her, tucking the surger in his pocket and reaching for her.

  She jerked back, wrapped her arms tightly around herself and opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

  “Yes, I'll take the canine inside first.”

  Was that a smile he saw lift her lips just a fraction between the chattering of her teeth?

  ###

  Mona watched in amazement as the stranger, who despite his enormous size and the circumstances of his arrival at her cabin, no longer frightened her. She'd gotten a good look at the energy field around him and it sparked with greens and blues. Healing. Compassion.

  The man ran the small metal object he'd called a surger over Cash's body. Moments later, Cash's eyes blinked open and the dog sat up.

  “Oh my god,” she gasped. “Cash!” Tears of joy welled in her eyes and she reached for the dog, but before she could scoop Cash into her arms, the man placed a hand on her shoulder and held her down.

  “This may be a bit uncomfortable,” he said. The surger emitted a beam of light that zipped at her toes then moved up her legs and through her torso. Heat filled her, followed by a quick, biting stab. Needles of pain trailed her limbs and out her hands. She sucked in her breath.

  As quickly as the pain appeared, it was gone. And so was all numbness in her fingers and toes. She held her hands up toward Cash. The dog scrambled to her, yelping with excitement t
o be petted.

  “That thing is amazing,” she said.

  The man nodded, but didn't respond. He was busy pointing the surger at his face. He grimaced as the beam made contact with his oozing eye. The eye immediately stopped bleeding and the redness retreated from it, leaving the white of the eye and the dark iris intact and whole. He blinked and then focused his gaze on her.

  In the light of the table lamps she let her gaze roam over him. He was very tall. Taller than her father who, at six foot five, had seemed to her a giant among men. He wore black boots and a ragged army green trench coat, stretched taught across broad shoulders. The coat was too small. The sleeves ended just below his elbows, and the hem barely touched his knees, leaving much of his pale, almost pearlescent skin bare.

  Thick white-blond hair brushed his shoulders. The faded gray fedora perched precariously on his head, also clearly not properly fitted to this giant of a man, gave him an almost comical appearance.

  Only, she wasn't feeling much like laughing.

  Dark eyes beneath thick blonde brows watched her keenly.

  Mona cleared her throat. “Let me get a wet cloth to help wash some of that blood off of you.”

  She padded down the hallway to the linen closet, retrieved a wash cloth, then exchanged it for a hand towel. The man needed something larger to clean himself with. She wet the towel with warm water from the kitchen faucet and returned to the living room.

  The man sat on the floor. Cash was in his lap, periodically lapping at the man's hands between pants of pleasure as the man patted his back.

  Mona knelt beside them and reached out tentatively to grasp the brim of the stranger's hat. She lifted it from his head. “So I can see your face better,” she explained.

  He said nothing as she began to drag the wet towel across his face, wiping away the blood around first one piercing eye, then the other. She ran the towel across both of his high cheek bones, past his wide mouth, over his square jaw, and along his neck, wiping away the tracks of red from his pale skin.