Of Watchers & Wolves- The Awakening Read online

  “Done.”

  She handed it to Ralph who looked rather suspect at the tube.

  “And I have more of that, so don’t get any ideas.”

  Ralph crossed his brow.

  “So untrusting. How long must we suffer for the transgressions our father?”

  “As long as you keep acting like him, I suppose.”

  It was unlike her to say such a thing to the Sons. She reckoned the murder bothered her more than she realized. She was usually much more respectful in her dealings with them. Jabs were more of Luce’s thing.

  Ralph tipped his head down and glared at Sophie. Murmurs spread across the hall. Ralph didn’t take too kindly to such treatment in his own house, especially directly in front of his own subjects. He stood up, his face flushed and tense, apparently straining to control his temper.

  “Faelan will see you out,” he forced through his clenched jaw.

  Faelan stood motionless, eyebrows raised, wide-eyed at Sophie with an expression that said something like, “I cannot believe you just did that!”

  Sophie began walking toward the elevator as Faelan followed close behind, hands clasped. The long journey to the front door was a quiet and awkward one.

  Chapter 2

  Beep!

  “Calling any available officers. We’ve got a 10-14 around NW 3rd in the Old Chinatown district. I repeat. 10-14 on NW 3rd.”

  Emiline grabbed the radio.

  “Car 626 enroute.” Emiline turned her car around and headed in that direction. She arrived a few minutes later on NW 3rd and slowed down to a creep, scanning for signs of a prowler.

  “Car 626, dispatch. Any specifics of where on NW 3rd?”

  “Negative, Car 626.”

  “10-4.”

  There was nothing. It was quiet, dark, and desolate. She slowly turned right onto NW Everett. The Chinese garden was up ahead on the left. An old Chinese style gate marked the entrance.

  “There!” she whispered to herself. A large, shadowy figure lurked around a building. It seemed to be searching for a way to gain entry. Em made her way over, straining to keep her eyes focused on the obscure figure.

  “Car 626, dispatch. Suspect spotted on NW Everett at 2nd.”

  “10-4 Car 626.”

  She pulled up along the side of the street and turned on the spotlight. The figure became illuminated, revealing, to her surprise, some sort of a large dog.

  “What the…?”

  The spotlight prompted the creature to dash for the safety of darkness toward the garden. Emiline sprang out of the car, chasing her perplexing suspect into the Chinese garden. The creature darted over a small bridge on all fours, through the scholar’s courtyard and into the scholar’s study of the garden. Em gave chase, but the creature was much faster than she. It took her awhile to catch up to the study. She leaned her back against a wall around the corner of the entrance and caught her breath. She pulled out her gun and flashlight. So much for a humdrum night of patrolling. She took a deep breath and turned the corner. Em slowly crept forward, sweeping her light and gun from side to side, searching the crevices for signs of movement. She wasn’t even sure if it was still in the area. As fast as it was, it could’ve been long gone by now.

  What the hell is it?

  She continued to move through the study, eyeing this corner and that. The darkness enveloped her as she carefully advanced through the room, her light pulling away the layers of black that blanketed her eyes. A green vase teetered on a small table. She swept her flashlight to the right.

  Thunk!

  Something slammed against the back of her head. She hit the ground hard. A rush of pain shot through her skull. She grimaced as she struggled to clear her mind and gather herself, but the pain was overwhelming.

  Get up!

  She couldn’t. She felt like a boxer attempting to recover from a thundering blow.

  1-2-3.

  Still down. She heard something moving around behind her. Nails slowly swept across the wooden floor.

  4-5-6.

  She slowly glanced toward the sound behind her, squinting into the blackness, still struggling to clear her head. She could just barely make out the silhouette of a large wolf! A calculating wolf? She must’ve been hit really hard, she thought. Now, she wondered if she were even really awake. She shook the thought and clamored to get up, again. She pulled herself up on one knee.

  Almost there. Where’s my gun?

  The flashlight lay across the room, illuminating a stretch of floor before her, but no gun. The wolf-like creature paced around her. Its eyes fixated on her every movement. She felt foggy headed as pain permeated her skull. She continued to scan the floor and spotted her piece about four feet away. Her eyes widened at the welcomed sight of safety that lay so near to her.

  7-8-9.

  Bam!

  Another blow came whirling at her cheek. This time she felt a stinging sensation as nails slashed across her face.

  Knockout!

  Darkness…

  ***

  Em awoke to an intense, pulsing headache. Her left cheek burned, and she cringed as she immediately recoiled her fingers when she touched it. She groaned. She noticed a speck of daylight piercing through the bottom corner of a window in the room. She was lying in a bed. Not her bed, nor a hospital bed. This was someone’s home, but whose? What happened? Where was she?

  Holy fu...!

  Her her head throbbed at the slightest hint of movement. The garden. She remembered: the call, the creature, the pain.

  My gun?!

  It was the last thing a cop should lose. She sprang up in bed, an act she immediately regretted as the excruciating twinge that followed was almost unbearable. She grabbed her head.

  “Lie down.” Sophie walked into the room holding a mug which she gently blew into. She sat down on the bed beside her. Emiline was absolutely stunned to find herself in Sophie’s home, of all places. She stiffened up, though the warmth in her voice was quite disarming.

  “Here,” she offered. Sophie handed her the steaming mug of liquid. Emiline hesitantly received it, the toasty mug warmed her cold hands. She peered inside it quizzically.

  “It’s tea.”

  “Hot tea?” Em wrinkled her brow.

  “Try it. It’ll ease your headache.”

  Em eyed Sophie in disbelief. No tea could do that. And, she hardly knew this woman. Only yesterday she was a person of interest that fled the scene of a crime. Who knows what this woman put in there.

  “The fluids will rehydrate you, and the warmth is soothing for inflammation,” Sophie insisted.

  Emiline peeped into the cup that she cradled in her hands. It looked like tea. She looked back at Sophie who had sat down on the bed beside her.

  “Is it too hot?”

  Sophie grabbed the mug from Em and took a sip. She gave a brief nod of approval and handed the mug back to Emiline. Em gazed at the contents for a moment, then reluctantly took a sip. She swallowed and waited for any sign of foul play, although Sophie had pretty much quelled that suspicion we she drank it, herself. Em raised her brow in surprise. It was actually pretty good. She had never had hot tea before.

  “You know, cold is good for inflammation. Not heat,” said Emiline.

  Sophie allowed a little smile of amusement.

  “Hmm, that depends. Although, I don’t think the cold feels as good, initially. Do you?”

  “Where am I?” Em asked as she blew into the mug.

  “My place. Looks like you took a pretty nasty blow.”

  “How did I get here? How long have I been here? Where...”

  Sophie cut her off.

  “One thing at a time,” she chuckled. “Drink, then lie down. You have a concussion.”

  “Shouldn’t I be at the hospital, then?”

  “No need. I’m a doctor.”

  Sophie stood up and pulled the covers up a bit. She stopped suddenly and eyed Emiline.

  “Unless you want the bill that comes with going to the hospital.”


  “I thought you ran a bar?” Em asked skeptically.

  “It’s a hobby,” Sophie shrugged.

  Em crossed her brow.

  “What? Is being a cop the only thing you do?” Sophie defended.

  Em acquiesced. She lacked the energy to push any further.

  “You win,” she thought. “Seems awfully ambitious...Fuuuuuck!” she groaned. She winced as a stabbing pain shot through her head.

  “Well, it seems you still have mastery over your vocabulary. That’s good,” she said with a wry smile.

  Sophie sat back down and gently touched Em’s left cheek, inspecting the cuts as any doctor would with a patient, gently turning her head from side to side, assessing the damage. However, for Em the touch was electric. It sent shivers down her spine. Em peered into Sophie’s sapphire blue eyes. The hue was the deepest, truest blue she had ever seen. The sheer sight of such a color, especially contained in the eyes of a beautiful woman was nothing short of hypnotic.

  “Nothing major,” Sophie calculated. “Minimal scarring.”

  Their eyes met.

  “You should lie down,” Sophie insisted.

  Sophie took the cup from Em and set it on the nightstand beside her. Emiline gave in. She lacked the energy to do much else. Her head immediately felt better when it hit the pillow. She moved her legs side to side, forcing the silky sheets to dance across her skin. They felt cool and soothing. She happily stretched out her arms and legs. The bed was huge.

  “You could fit a Mexican village in here,” she said.

  Sophie smiled. Em closed her eyes. Sophie was still sitting beside her. She gently combed her fingers through Em’s hair, starting at the base of her forehead and moving back down her head. If Em were a cat, she’d purr. She fell asleep, instantly.

  ***

  Sophie stood at a table in the back of one of Luce’s strip joints. Luce sat on the other side of the table looking drearily up at Sophie. Luce owned an extensive collection of big money makers: strip clubs, casinos, dance clubs, and bars. She even operated in the drug market, insisting that whatever humans wanted to do with their short lives was entirely up to them.

  “Life’s too short to be good,” she would joke.

  Besides, “good” was a completely subjective term for the most part. Everyone had their own take on what it meant to be truly “good.” A good person, a good wife or husband, good mother or father, a good friend, citizen, or human being. As far as Luce was concerned, the point was moot.

  Sophie and Luce had been in business together for centuries. They were pragmatic when it came to basic survival. With longer lifespans than humans and all the identity tracking humans did these days, they would stick out like a sore thumb with regular jobs. Income earned off the beaten path made more sense. Underground nightclubs and bars were much easier to keep off grid.

  “He says he doesn’t know, but I don’t believe him. They won’t do anything without his consent,” explained Sophie.

  “Yeah, there’s no chance of a rogue lycan. About as possible as the tooth fairy,” said Luce as she pondered.

  A topless woman came up to Sophie and handed her a clear glass containing a thick, dark red liquid.

  “Here you go, hun.”

  Sophie eyed its contents and held up her hand.

  “No, thanks.”

  The glass contained human blood which Sophie tried to abstain from unless absolutely necessary. As much as she needed it to survive, the memories and visions contained within it from its owner were too haunting for her to shake. Each feeding was a unique and intense experience. The rush of nutrients and energy, a potent, euphoric high, immediately followed by vivid hallucinations of memories from the person’s life. Sometimes they were pleasurable memories, full of happiness and bliss. But, more often they were filled with heartbreak, hurt, pain, failures, regrets, hate, or abuse. Unfortunately, humans remembered the bad far better than the good. It was something attributed to evolution, but it made for a very negative race of creatures and a very unsatisfactory, yet unforgettable meal.

  Luce groaned as she rolled her eyes.

  “Are you still doing this? Take it,” Luce insisted. “You need your strength.”

  Sophie reluctantly accepted the glass. Unfortunately, she was right. With the murder of a Watcher, war might surely be around the corner. She peered at its contents, contemplating whether to drink. She swished the dark liquid around, watching the legs run down the sides of the glass. Sophie still wasn’t sure which was worse, the bad or the good memories. Whenever she relived someone’s treasured memories, she felt guilty, knowing they were the last.

  “Keep your eyes open. They’re brewing something,” Luce said.

  “They used to kill as frequently as the tides, but not anymore. They’re more methodical these days, especially with us,” continued Luce.

  Sophie nodded.

  “Oh, and um….maybe that friend of yours has some answers?”

  She looked up from her glass at Luce.

  “Faelan?” Luce inquired.

  Sophie nodded, reluctantly. The Watchers and Sons weren’t supposed to associate. Their treaty forbade it, yet Faelan had always been the exception. Sophie would come to their mansion to deal with clan formalities and the young toddler would latch onto her leg and hitch a ride wherever she was going, marveling at her silky black feathers and asking all sorts of questions. To him, she was different and that made her interesting. To her, he was an innocent, full of hope and wonder. A promise of the possibility of change. A key point that both clans tended to forget, a point she wanted to remember. As he grew older, they grew closer, much to the dismay of both clans. Sophie didn’t care. She wanted him to know what the Watchers were really about. She needed him to know because he represented his clan’s future. He would be making decisions one day that affected them all. She tried to teach him as much as she could, about their history, their culture and customs. But, eventually Ralph put an end to it. They were forbidden from contact. Faelan didn’t care and ignored the order, but Sophie felt it important to honor his wishes and refused to see Faelan. He was young, and she didn’t want him caught in the crosshairs of their feuds. She still felt that way, but Luce was right. He was her best chance at inside information about The Sons and he was already involved whether he liked it or not. He was one of them.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” said Sophie.

  She set the glass down and headed for the door.

  “Uh, you’re drink,” Luce clamored, as Sophie exited the room.

  ***

  “What have you done?”

  A glassy-eyed, scrappy looking man in an unbuttoned police uniform walked into the kitchen. A woman in a day dress stood over a hot stove worriedly inspecting the fruits of her labor in a baking dish. The man walked up behind her and stared down over her shoulder.

  “Look what you’ve done! How do you fuck up meatloaf?”

  The woman tensed up. He turned around and walked toward the fridge. She relaxed a little and turned toward him.

  “I’m sorry, Tavor,” the woman explained.

  “The oven was just a little too hot. I…”

  “You dumb bitch.”

  He swung open the fridge, grabbed a beer, popped the top, and took a swig.

  “The oven. It ain’t done a thang. It’s YOU.”

  The man moved toward the center of the kitchen, beer in hand.

  “Tavor, I’m sorry it won’t...”

  Smack!

  The back of the man’s hand smacked across her face and slung the woman to the ground.

  She half sat, half laid on the floor, trying to gather herself from the pain that enveloped.

  “Can’t you get anything, right?”

  She looked up toward the entryway and caught the eye of a little blonde haired girl fearfully looking in. The girl didn’t dare enter the kitchen, but concern for the woman on the floor filled her eyes and her heart with panic. The woman immediately ignored the pain and smiled at the girl.


  “It’s okay, honey,” the woman assured the girl.

  “Mommy is just a little clumsy. Go play in your room. It’s okay.”

  Em opened her eyes. The ceiling met her gaze as a dull ache permeated through her head and neck. For a second she thought she was home, but the feel of the silken sheets against her legs jolted her memory. She never had sheets that felt this nice before. She was still at Sophie’s. Em sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed. A cool chill whispered down her back. She was shocked to realize she was wasn’t wearing her uniform, only a mere undershirt and underwear. She hadn’t noticed it before.

  Clothes. She needed her clothes. Em fumbled around for a light and found a lamp beside the bed. She twisted around the bed corners, wrapping the sheets tighter around her, hoping her uniform was nearby on the floor. Nothing. Her eyes scanned the room. She noticed her black uniform draped over the side of a chair. She darted her eyes around checking for any possible audience she may have missed. No one. She dropped the sheets from her bosom and scurried across the room to her clothes. She hurriedly put on her pants and shirt, skipping the bra, for now. She didn't know what lay outside that room and time was precious. Sophie may have helped her, but she didn’t trust her. She picked through the rest of her clothes: shoes, utility belt, badge, bra. Everything was there.

  "Wait? Where's my gun?"

  She looked around. She felt around the chair, in between the cushion and armrest, a dresser nearby, the nightstand drawer. Nothing. She grew more flustered by the second. She dropped down and looked under the bed.

  Thunk.

  A door closed somewhere outside the room. Footsteps moved about and seemed to be getting louder.

  Em scrambled to her feet, scooped up her clothes and looked for an exit. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt compelled to leave, immediately. She spotted a window on the other side of the bed. She scurried over as quietly as possible and pried opened the window. Em squinted as she covered her eyes. To her surprise, it was daylight. The glass had been blacked out. She exited the window onto the fire escape and made her way down into the street.