7
BRODERICK
The girl standing in my kitchen was beautiful, and not just in the physical sense. She was attractive, yes. Petite and curvy and cute. But it was her brazenness I loved the most. Her sense of uncaring, of going immediately on the attack rather than cowering on the defense.
That, plus I loved her pretty, petulant mouth.
Even as she stood there, dripping defiantly with the last of my milk, I couldn’t be angry. Not at her — I had feelings for her. Feelings that shocked and surprised me. Familiar feelings of closeness and longing and kinship that I hadn’t felt in ages; feelings that thrilled and excited me in all the ways I’d forgotten.
But also feelings of dread. Of false hope. Of the potential for suffering, not just for her, but for the both of us too.
No, I couldn’t be angry at her for that. Not even a little.
But I could certainly be mad at Damien.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done here?” I asked him sternly.
He did what he always did — he shrugged me off. It was classic Damien, really: jump now, think later. Deal with the consequences another time. Or if he could pass those consequences onto someone else? Never, as the case may be.
The girl was in the other room now, changing. If I looked through the doorway I might even watch her. A part of me wanted to, very badly. To see her body. Her nakedness…
“You do know what this means, right?”
“Broderick stop,” my roommate replied with a dismissive wave. “You don’t know that.”
“Oh no? You don’t think so?” I was even angrier now. He wasn’t just exhibiting carelessness, now it was disrespect. “Don’t forget which one of us has seen this before. I’ve been through this, Damien. All of it. Remember, I was made years before you were.”
We stopped immediately as the girl — Serena, her name was — returned. She stomped right through the kitchen and toward the door, as I knew she might.
I couldn’t let her leave though. I called out her name.
“Don’t go,” I pleaded. “We have something to tell you.”
She didn’t care. Couldn’t care, really. Not that I could blame her. I’d been an asshole, and an obnoxious asshole at that. My quick temper was one of the worst of my many faults.
“You need to know who we are…”
Her hand stopped turning the door knob, and I took a breath. I had to be careful here, but I also had to be thorough. No matter how carefully we approached it, the concept was always hard to accept. I thought it might be different for her though. For one of her Order.
“To be honest,” said Damien, “it’s more about what we are.”
I shot him a staying glance. The word ‘what’ threw her again.
“Look, I need to get going. I’ve really got to—”
“—call Xiomara Magoro?” I finished for her.
Her hand dropped from the knob. It was obvious we now had her full attention.
“And… you know Xiomara?” she asked carefully.
“Not personally,” I replied. “But he does.”
She looked at Damien, who nodded. Even then she wasn’t sure.
“Describe her.”
Damien leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. I hated that he was actually enjoying this.
“Four foot nothing, African woman?” he said offhandedly. “Colorful robes? Real bad attitude?”
I watched as Serena tried keeping her face expressionless. It wasn’t working.
“Curses like an angry sailor?” Damien continued. “Scary as all hell? Wouldn’t want to mess with her… that Xiomara Magoro?”
“Alright, alright. I get it.”
Serena crossed her own arms and bit her lip. It only made her look sexier. I felt the swell of heat again, more powerful this time, rising up inside me. A distinct tingle I hadn’t felt since…
“So you’re my contacts,” she stated.
Damien nodded and bowed theatrically. She swatted him in the arm.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Because it wasn’t our decision,” I told her. “We weren’t ready. And besides…” I stared accusingly at Damien here. “Your boss hadn’t given us the green light yet.”
“I don’t have a boss.” Serena said quickly. Her body language spoke volumes.
“That’s funny. I was under the impression there was a distinct hierarchy in the Order.”
The girl who just drank my milk pouted. She said nothing.
“And as we understand it, Xiomara Magoro is the Head of your Order, no?”
“Yes, but—”
“So we were following instructions,” I cut her off. “At least until you were attacked. At which point Damien here broke protocol in revealing himself. Which as much as I hate to admit it, is exactly what I would’ve done.”
Damien looked especially pleased by the statement. I wanted to kick him.
In the meantime Serena was looking me up and down, as if seeing me for the first time. But somehow I got the strange feeling she was seeing something familiar, too.
“So which one of you is with the Order?”
“Neither one of us, I’m afraid.”
She looked perplexed, and I knew why. The Hallowed Order had always been shrouded in myth and secrecy. The organization had survived for more than six centuries by never mentioning itself outside of its own inner circle. Except in very rare instances, such as this one.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “I’ve been sitting in that hotel for days with both thumbs up my ass. Waiting for you to show up. Waiting for anyone to tell me what to do.”
“We weren’t ready,” I said.
“And you’re ready now?”
“Actually no. You’re early. We’re not prepared.”
She sighed and rubbed at her temples. I imagined whatever she and Damien were doing together had tired her out. Actually, I didn’t have to imagine. I already knew.
“So who were those guys who jumped me?” she asked. “You said their names. Like you knew them.”
“One of them was Boone Hammond.”
“The one you threw across the alley,” said Damien pointedly. Serena’s gaze shifted downward as he made the statement. I cast him a questioning glance and he mouthed the word ‘later’.
“The other was a man named Christophe Dupont. A real asshole. He’s their leader. Sort of.”
Sort of…
Images of Karessa floated to mind, emerald green eyes lost in a sea of flowing coppery hair. I fought back memories of being lost for hours in that hair. Of holding her in my arms. Of pressing myself warmly against that smooth porcelain skin…
Karessa, the actual leader.
Our actual leader.
No, a voice in my head said sternly. Not anymore…
“There was a third guy too,” Serena was saying. “A real big one. I lost him quickly though, when they all started chasing me.”
“That would be Lionel,” laughed Damien. “No big feat outrunning Lionel.”
Serena wasn’t in the mood to laugh. Neither was I. What Damien had done was beyond foolish. It was sheer recklessness. Selfishness too, although she couldn’t know why.
I looked her over again, and our eyes met. They were a beautiful green, flecked with brown.
Almost like Karessa’s.
“So I’ll ask again,” she practically spat, “since none of you want to answer the real question.” The girl standing in our kitchen let out a long, heated breath. “Who were those men, and what did they want with me?”
Damien and I looked at each other. There was no going back.
“They want you because they know why you’re here,” I replied. “They know exactly what you’re after.”
Serena shifted uncomfortably. Almost like we knew more about her mission than she did.
“And they’re not men,” I added. “They’re wolves.”