Awakening: Book 1

by L. T. Marshall

  I can’t stay here like this, watching her sleep the day away, and if all he is going to do is take tests and fill me in with stories that screw up my head, then this is hopeless. I’m trying to process all of it, and I can’t swallow it right now, doing what I do best and pushing it to one section of my brain for a later date. When I can handle how awful it makes me feel. Right now, I need to stay focused and find a way out of here on my own.

  When Juan gets here, I’m all but useless against him and his men and can’t do crap about anything, especially not him, as long as this damn building holds my ability to turn captive. And Sierra over there ‘hey thanks for rendering my gifts useless at a time in my life that I could actually really be using them, and then getting yourself knocked out so I can’t access them. Stellar planning!’

  A seer who doesn’t predict the possibility of not being able to give a girl back what’s hers if your beloved mate comatoses you! What kind of seer is that? And what kind of witch binds her own child and leaves them motherless for ten years if she saw it all coming? If Colton had the ability to see things, and not been bound, maybe he could have found her a long time ago and avoided all of this. None of this was smart planning on her part. It’s really messed up.

  I stop my erratic mind brewing and moving around, only to watch that same female come and tend to Sierra’s machines, pausing my manic foot stomping around my small space as she disappears just as quickly without looking my way. I can sense her apprehension the whole time she’s in there, keeping her eyes averted, obviously uncomfortable they have a prisoner down here and I watch closely at what she does before scampering off, acting like I wasn’t over here staring. Not that she did much to watch. Pressed some buttons, check some fluids, move Sierra’s bed up and down, and rearrange her position to avoid sores. Prop her pillows, and turn her on her side, before pressing some more buttons, changing her bed sheet, and leaving her alone again. Basic care, and nothing too exciting. I guess I’m thankful they do at least show her some compassion and tend to her frequently, turning her and such.

  No matter how much I stand and glare like some kind of creepy psychopath at Sierra, nothing is waking that woman up, let alone will power. I can’t imagine what eight years in an induced coma has done to her to be honest. What state her mind and body would be if we did wake her up and now, I’m starting to doubt if that is plausible at all. For all I know, the drugs over the years have wasted her mind to mush anyway. Her body has been inactive for so long that I’m assuming instant recovery is not going to happen, and if she’s even capable of being woken after so long. In a building where her powers have been bound, then she’s mortal and susceptible to all the damage and harm an induced coma would do to a human in eight years.

  Not to mention the fact she’s lost almost a decade of her life, and what would coming to do to her now? Last time she saw Colton he was a nine-year-old boy, and now he’s a stocky, arrogantly handsome man … or the making of one anyway. That is bound to mess her up and disorientate her if she wakes up, and ten years ago was just yesterday in her mental timeframe. The world has changed so much, and her mate has brought our mountain to ruin in that time. Our people are divided by class, and worth, and the Santos rule with fear.

  Maybe I was never supposed to wake her up. Maybe she left some other way for me to get back my gifts and I just had to find her?

  My train of thought is interrupted as a lunch trolley is pushed down from the elevator, and left outside my door shortly after the woman exits, but the guard, another Santo looking asshole, shrugs at me with a distasteful smug expression, butts up against the glass with his shoulder and let’s his eyes lazily walk over me. Pure creep oozing from every pore. It’s the idiot who was sat at the desk upstairs, when Deacon informed him I was to be fed the same mealtimes as the rest of the facility.

  “I was told to give you lunch, but the doc stopped me and said you can’t eat anything until he’s taken some sort of sample….so, I guess I leave it here and it gets cold. Enjoy. Not that I would advise eating it later.” He smirks, clearly happy with his sad position of power. A total omega wolf, low pecking order, and looking for any kind of upper hand to scrape him from the bottom.

  I scowl at him, the smell of steak and soup wafting through the glass and even though he thinks he’s getting some sort of power kick by leaving it out of reach, I don’t even want it. I ate the food earlier, and it does confuse me that the doc would insist I ate that, and not this, it’s not really been long enough to even feel hungry yet. I don’t get the sudden urge to tell me not to eat now.

  I guess Deacon has briefed his sub pack on who, and what, Juan says I am, and they are all part of the Alora fan club right now, given the way this asshole is acting. I can almost taste his dislike, and the creepy way he’s eyeing me up like a main course on his dinner menu, giving me bad vibes. He reminds me of that jerk Damon, who used to watch me, all through school and tried to get at me in a hallway for a grope and forced kiss. He was a perverted creep who liked control over girls, much like this idiot.

  “Why don’t you have it … you could obviously use some extra energy boosts. I mean, if the chase in the forest was anything to go by.” I give him the same friendly passive aggressive attitude that I give Deacon, and he grins, ear to ear, as though he’s too stupid to realize it was a dig. Annoyingly smug, and if he wasn’t such a jerk, he would be kind of cute, in the whole Colton way.

  Damn, I really need to stop doing that. Comparing every hot Latino to him, then finding fault because it’s not him. I get it. I still give a rat’s ass and I still miss him constantly, and every dark haired, dimpled, and dreamy eyed, hot Colombian, brings him back to the forefront, but god…. timing. If he was Colton, he would let me out in a heartbeat, and he would never throw such a smug look at me for something so absurd. If Colton was here, he would know what to do about this whole mess, he always seems wiser, like he has the answers and he probably would be handing this idiot his genitals back about now.

  I can’t fault that part of Colton, even when he was a jerk in our youth. Apart from that one time he shoved me out of his way for epically tripping in front of him and his entire rabid crew, he never really went out of his way to be any kind of ass to people for no reason. He was always so effortlessly superior and seemed aloof, and quiet, like he was better than us. It was all in the looks he gave, rather than the verbal content, but I guess he does have a sort of intimidating way about him, even when he doesn’t mean it.

  A proper bro type, who hung with his pack, and played sports, and walked around like Danny from the movie Greece. Everyone looking up to him and kissing his ass when he waltzed by. I guess maybe he was not very sociable with those outside of his sub pack, because that’s not who I know now and his memories, they don’t show an asshole like that either. Colton doesn’t like to get close to people outside his own circle, and I guess it’s because he lost so many in the war, and then his own mother.

  He has a wall up, and he keeps everyone outside his pack on the other side of it. I guess that’s why he tries so hard to make his father proud, because he loves him, even if he’s not worthy of being loved, and that’s not Colton’s fault, that’s Juan’s. Colton’s flaw is trying to be this perfect Santo wolf, with a weight of responsibility on his shoulders that one day he will lead. He follows the rules, the laws, and the word of the Alpha without conflict, as he’s meant to, and even puts all of that over his own desires. I guess a leader does have to be that way, ingrained greatness, where his heart can’t always lead and it only further cements the fact that he’ll be the best for his people one day, but for us, not so much.

  I get back to my previous activity when smug smiley guard walks off, getting bored with my disinterest in him and go back to pacing the room and looking for any kind of tool, or helpful item to get out. It didn’t last long and enforces the fact he’s an omega and low in the scale of things. Used to being ignored and dismissed and quietly slinks off. Thankfully, as I have no mind space for asshats. I’
m uptight, worn thin, and agitated about my current predicament, with so many warring emotions coming at me from my own mind.

  The cupboards are full of medical crap, bandages, and nothing even sharp or useful. It’s practically an empty room and anything with real weight is bolted down into concrete floors with steel pins. There’s nothing at all that could be of any real use, let alone as a weapon of sorts, and I end up throwing my cushions against the glass in frustration when my anger piques and I can’t contain it anymore.

  I have so many swirling emotions that I don’t know what to do with. A vibrating energy pulsing through my core, and I’m mentally up and down and all over the place. One second, I want to cry and lie down and sob, then the next I’m angry, furious, boiling over, and want to slash Juan into a thousand, tiny, bloody pieces, for everything that brought me here, and my entire life since they went to war. Just when it feels like it reaches overwhelming levels and I can’t breathe for the suffocating need to expel this hatred physically, in the next breath, I’m calm, and logical, and trying to plan a way out. I can’t keep up and it’s exhausting.

  Time alone to think and let it sink in has done nothing except get me riled and upset, and yes, I’ve cried buckets. I sat in a huddle in the corner for a good twenty minutes and sobbed my heart out, while it felt like it was breaking all over again. Much like when I left Colton, and found myself alone without him, and no choice but to keep going. Soon as the doctor left it’s all I could do … for me, my mother, my brother and father, my family, my pack. For the mate I can never have.

  I cried until my nose ran, and I couldn’t breathe, and I drenched the upper part of my gown, because I was still wearing it at that point and the cold wet spreading across my chest on thin fabric was strangely comforting. Mirroring how my soul felt and how it was seeping into every pore. I felt hopeless, and weak, and broken, and I have no idea how to get past that.

  It was for Colton and Sierra too, for their pain, their loss, and this whole god damn mess. For the life I should have had, the family I should have still been with, and the mate I would have imprinted on in another life and been allowed to be with. It would have still been Colton, that’s what the fates decided a long time ago, but I would never have had to leave him, and I would be with him now, safe in his arms and calmed by his touch. Guided by that wise part of him that always seems to have an idea about what’s going on. Only it failed him when he needed that gift the most.

  I miss him so much it kills me, even if I can’t get past what he’s done to our bond, and I’m still broken by him. It adds to my urgency in looking around for some kind of pointer in what to do. I shake myself and I remind myself that the girl I was, she’s dead. Little Alora of the Whyte pack and Elren farm, peacefully living a carefree life. The war seen to my parent’s unplanned leaving, and Juan saw they never came back. She died a long time ago, when her life was turned upside down, and it altered everything she knew. Her path disintegrated, and all those dreams and hopes, they fluttered away on the breeze.

  That unwanted, rejected, feeble little no one, who imprinted on a boy ten years later, who stood in her place …. also, dead! She who couldn’t be allowed to love her fated mate, because of what she was. She never really existed anyway. She was a lie that was fed to me and made me live under a mask of my own making, because I never knew the truth and this girl, this one right here. She’s the Alora who’s been holding her breath and waiting for me to find her.

  She’s the daughter of a warrior. A daughter of a prophetic Queen, who was slain for her power. She’s the heroine of a prophecy, and she’s a god damn white wolf with red eyes, that makes her some kind of hybrid with gifts, a witch thought so powerful that she bound them until a time when she needed to get them back. A witch who sacrificed her life, and the sanity of her son to protect her. She’s someone to be reckoned with, she needs to find the way to bloom.

  That doesn’t sound like any kind of weak no one to me, not a reject, or unworthy of an alpha mate, and I need to own that shit. Everything I’ve done in my life for the past ten years has been overshadowed by a black cloud of shame and failure and believing I was never good enough, because they told me so. It’s gone. Almost like someone lifted that lid and finally uncaged my soul. There’s nothing over my head weighing me down now, and that little voice that second guessed it all. It’s dead too. That was never my voice, it was theirs, out there in the world around the mountain. I am deaf to their sounds now.

  This girl, she has a right to stand up and be counted as someone worthy, and the fates for whatever reason, led me here and I need to see it through. They knew me before I existed, and I was part of the plan. They know what I’m capable of and they set on my way to be sure I showed everyone else. If they got me this far then maybe they have a plan, and I should stop fighting and listen. Close my eyes and let the fates send me some kind of message through the cosmos and the air… because this is not how it ends.

  Th noise of the elevator interrupts my train of thought, a noise so perfectly on cue I blink and open my eyes and my head spins towards the source. Half expecting to Deacon strolling on in and making my day worse, if that was even possible, but it’s the doctor, and he’s pushing a cabinet on wheels with all manner of things sliding off the top as he dashes to Sierras room. Drawn to the wall to watch him, suspicious of his behavior. Forgetting my pep talk and all my internal boosting of confidence.

  He seems different somehow. Wired maybe, a little erratic in his abrupt walking around and hurried movements. He drops a scattering of implements on the floor, the noise of cascading metal, and hard objects clattering and echoing in this large space as he abandons the cart outside Sierras door and swipes the panel to open it. He stops before entering, picks them up, and throws them back on top, scooping anymore he disturbs with his ungraceful and somewhat rushed movements, and then rushes into her room and starts frantically pressing buttons on machines by her head.

  I can’t do much else but watch, and as he starts picking up small mobile devices and sitting them on her bed, his face ashen and serious and fully focused on what he is doing, I realize he’s not just checking on her and something’s up. His expression says it all, and there’s no hint of gentle jovial eccentric doctor in this moment. He looks frayed and afraid.

  Even from here I can see he’s sweating, his forehead blushed and shiny and the underarms of his white jacket are beginning to darken with excessive body heat. He’s in a state of panic, and I look around expecting his staff or the guards to come flooding down, suddenly worried about why. My own nerves hitching as my stomach ties itself in knots, and I end up flat to the window, palms pressed by the sides of me against the glass, heavily breathing as I watch, anchored to my spot.

  Maybe Sierra is crashing… maybe all I was to do was witness her die. God no, please, Colton needs to see her one last time. She can’t die…. he needs her!! I can’t stand the thought of him losing her without saying goodbye. I need to know what I’m supposed to do now.

  The doctor unhooks her from the machine, keeping her heartbeat monitored loudly, and I hold my breath, inhaling sharply as the beep, beep, is stalled so suddenly the air becomes unbearably silent. I don’t get why he would take that off, but when he yanks another box from under the bed and plugs her onto that instead I exhale, slightly confused. That familiar beep, beep, starts up again, in a subtler tone from a different machine and he moves to the next, and next, replacing everything he can with smaller mobile devices as my brain pulls together amid my own frantic fear and gives me a shake.

  He’s not trying to save her, or trying to take her off the machines, he’s making her mobile so he can move her.

  He stops, rushes off out of sight as he heads into the elevator once more, abandoning everything he’s left in chaos and a moment later, comes crashing back ungracefully, pushing another bed. This time it’s on wheels, back to her room. I press my cheek to the cool smooth wall in front of me, eyes locked on and heart rate hitching as it filters through. He catches
me watching him, notices me with a second snap of his head as though he didn’t glance me the first time and makes a weird wave gesture with his hands that translates to nothing. I don’t understand.

  “What?” I yell back, unsure what the hell he’s doing, and he does it again, waving two fingers in the air which I can only assume means two minutes. I move back, confusion overtaking but intrigue definitely the dominant feeling. Everything else that had been coursing through me is replaced with a thousand questions, about why he’s moving her. I watch as I’ve nothing else to do, and over here it’s all I am capable of anyway, as he struggles to get her from one bed to the other and shakes his head in defeat, getting redder faced, and sweatier as he does. He pulls out a handkerchief from his top pocket, pats his face and puts it back, while he seems to be taking a moment to size up his plan. He clicks his fingers in mid-air like he just had a eureka moment, and then abandons her, turning and heading out towards me at speed. A complete look of determination on that furrow browed, overly serious expression, as he dashes at me.

  He crosses the bay so quickly and without hesitation, opens my door and gestures me with flicking hands that I should come with him. His face is almost beetroot, and soaked, and he looks like he’s just run a marathon

  “What’s going on?” I eye him warily, unsure how to feel about his current behavior and trying to figure out if the doc is drunk and realize he’s breathless as hell and can barely talk.