The Chosen

Xcor attempted one last removal of the leather collar at his throat, and had to abort his efforts readily. He had tried so many times to get it free that there was blood flowing from the claw wounds he’d made and further pulling was too painful.

No one from the village was going to help him. No one had before—

A shifting shadow drew his eyes from the gaining light at the east to the thicket of raspberry bushes before him.

Whatever had moved froze as soon as he turned to it. But then there was a second shadow that came in from the other direction.

Wolves.

Dearest Virgin Scribe … the wolves had found him.

Heart beating fast, Xcor looked around in panic. He had been waiting for them to come unto him, and perhaps they were zeroing in on him now that he had finally fallen silent.

In vain, he searched for some form of weapon, something he could use to protect himself—

The rock that caught his eye was within reach if he leaned into his chain, but it weighed more than he could handle easily as he sought to lift the thing from the ground. Grunting, straining, using the last of his strength, he got it up—

Growling roiled low and quiet from the brambles, and he had the sense that the wolves were toying with him, giving him notice such that mayhap he would run and provide a bit of fun a’fore he was consumed as a morning meal.

Frantic with fear, he backed away—

A twig snapped under the weight of one of the animals. And then another.

No chance to get in to the door and close himself in, no way to climb upon the roof or …

Turning around, he looked up at the dirty window. As the wolves closed in, their chuffing aggression growing louder, Xcor gritted his teeth and hefted the rock o’er his head. With a surge of power that he did not know he possessed, he cast the stone as hard as he could at the single pane.

Glass shattered, and he reared back, putting his arm up to ward off the shards. There was no further time to think. Ignited by the impact, the predators hunting him lunged forth in attack, all yellow eyes and jagged teeth and huge, pouncing bodies.

Xcor jumped up as high as he could, grabbed onto the lower part of the sash, and propelled himself into the cottage—and just as he landed in a bony heap a mere foot away from his pallet, the wolves hit the outer wall with thumps and scratches, their snapping jaws gnawing at his escape hatch, their growls now of frustration.

The door was still wide open.

Pushing himself onto his knees, he scrambled across the bare floor, scattering dirty bowls and utensils—

His tether reached its end before he reached his goal and he was yanked back, his feet continuing forth even as the top half of him stopped dead. And that was when the pack leader appeared in the open jambs. The lupine hunter was the size of a small horse, and its teeth were like daggers interlocked. With its jowls curled back, and its frothing drool puddling at its forepaws, it made the other two seem like young pups.

Smiling. It was smiling at him.

Xcor glanced at the door that was angled into the cottage.

And then he moved so fast that he was unaware of making the decision to act. He flipped onto his front, punched his bleeding palms into the floor, and swung his legs in a circle … catching the open panels with nary an inch to spare.

The door slammed shut and the coarse latching mechanism clicked into place at the very second the massive wolf jumped forward into the air.

The animal hit the wood slats so hard they chattered against the crude iron bars that affixed them in place. But they held. They held firm.

Trembling in terror, Xcor tucked himself up, holding his knees to his chest. Bringing his bleeding hands to his head, he covered his ears as he began to cry, the sound of the wolves echoing loudly in his skull—

And that was when the ghost arrived.

She came unto him through the wall of the cottage, stepping out of that which was solid as readily as one would still air.

Xcor blinked through his tears, regarding the white robing and the long blond hair … and the face that was as beautiful as a dream.

In silence, the specter floated over to stand a’fore him, but he was not afraid. How could anything so lovely hurt him?

And then he realized that the wolves were no more. As if she had sent them away.

I am safe, he thought to himself. With her, and her alone, I am safe …

And the motherfucking Oscar goes to …?

As Vishous re-formed in the forest some distance away from Layla, he nearly lit up a hand-rolled. He had stayed downwind of her on each of the legs she had traveled, and she was so distracted that he doubted she’d notice any kind of flare from his lighter or the end of his cigarette … but nah.

They’d come this far—and they were so close to finishing this, weren’t they.

The Chosen was up ahead a good thirty yards or so, her white robing standing out in the forest like some kind of a beacon. And whaddaya know, something had caught her attention and she was progressing slowly toward whatever it was, her head tilted downward like she was focused on the forest floor.

He smiled to himself. Oldest trick in the book. Take a person you needed something from, get into their emotions through their brain, flip a bunch of levers—and find the motherfucking bastard you’re looking for because said female leads you right to him: Xcor escapes and disappears. Layla has her blood in his veins. She is feeling guilty, alone, and afraid, an alienated victim of circumstance. V’s job? Lend a supposedly sympathetic ear, offer some understanding in an apparently sincere fashion, and provide her with a blueprint whereby when she stepped onto that porch at the safe house, and caught an echo of herself somewhere out in the world, she followed her impulse to go and help the male she loved.

Had V known for sure that she was going to go and stand in the snow and sniff the air? Nope, but it was a pretty good guess considering how suffocated she’d seemed in that kitchen. Had he given her his phone in hopes that she’d slip it into her pocket and take it with her wherever she went so he could track its GPS on his other cell? Yup. Disappointed that she left it behind? Yup. Made up for it because, as a brother whose own female couldn’t feed him, he had taken Layla’s vein prior to her pregnancy to survive and he could track her if he concentrated? Yup. Followed her here?

#paid

No, he hadn’t been certain that Xcor was even alive. Just like he hadn’t been one hundred that the Chosen would actually go out to the guy if she sensed him. But some dice were worth rolling.

And it looked like his had come up double sixes.

Up ahead, Layla stopped. And slowly sank down to her knees.

Bingo.

Vishous dematerialized closer, taking cover behind a thick oak trunk. And as he focused on the female, he tucked his hand into his leather jacket and locked a grip on the butt of his forty.

She was leaning forward to what seemed like nothing but a snowbank—and V did the same at his tree … which didn’t really help him see any better—

It was not a snowbank. Nope. It fucking moved.

Hey, hey, what do you know: Underneath the frigid cover of snow, there was a barely alive naked male, the drifts having built up around him as the wind had blown against his tucked-in body.

Frowning, V looked up and measured the sky. How in the fuck had Xcor made it through the daylight? Then again, was heavy cloud cover any different from a set of velvet blackout drapes over a window? Any vampire in his right mind would have sought a roof and four walls to shelter through noontime in, but if you were near death already, you no doubt just lay where you landed and prayed to someone, anyone, that you lucked out.

And clearly, Xcor had.

But that Lotto-winning streak was now over, Vishous thought as he dematerialized right up close, ready to bust out and take control of this situation.

And that was when he was able to visualize Xcor’s face.

Gray. It was gray. But the fighter’s eyes were open and he was staring up at Layla as if she were an apparition … a miracle come unto him from the Other Side.

He was crying. Tears were rolling over his sallow skin, and as he reached up to touch her, snow fell from his bare forearm.

Layla captured his hand and brought it to her heart. In a strangled voice, she whispered, “You’re alive …”

Xcor tried to speak, but only a croak came out.

And that appeared to galvanize her. “I have to save you—”