Dove's Blood: Prologue
Working Title is listed above. The tilte I'm considering is "Chronicles of the Scions: Dove's Blood (A Werewolf Thriller Fantasy: Book 1)"
Any and all critiques welcome. I'll be posting this to the Critique Circle (critiquecircle.com) shortly. Now on to the story.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At first, all was darkness.
The sleep fogged mind processed things more slowly, but eventually pieces filtered through the subconscious and into the waking mind. Voices whispered in the background, their words unrecognizable at first. The tone and softness suggested secrets, confidence, and hidden needs.
That caught Mariska's attention and her mind cycled up into full wakefulness. Her body still locked in sleep's embrace and tucked neatly under her sheet and blanket, she strained to hear the conversation. Her bedroom was the second one down the hallway from the living room. The sound carried poorly, so even as she laid still it was difficult to understand what the voices whispered.
Details of the conversation was limited. Single words or syllables surfaced clear enough to catch tidbits, but none of it made sense. One voice was definitely older, female, and sounded thoughtful but arrogant and stern. The other was male that was very familiar to the young teen, and carried curiosity edged with worry in it's tone. No matter how she stilled her breathing, Mariska couldn't clearly hear what was spoke. She sighed, frustrated, and even more curious then before. That curiosity warred with sense. She knew the rules. She wasn't yet considered an "adult", so such conversations weren't for her. She traced a finger along the circle patterns on her bed sheet thoughtfully. She could hear her mother's voice in the back of her mind and frowned at the thought.
'Never listen to your elders when they whisper. It's not for your ears if they do not include you.'
Mariska narrowed her eyes as a bubble of rebellion rose inside her chest. Her dark brown eyes flicked up towards the door as the urge intensified. The door wasn't closed all the way and stood slight ajar. The crack of light that glowed from the living room lights called to her. The voice of wisdom in her head fought for control, to keep her in bed and go back to sleep. A silent war waged inside her, and she shifted over to her other side to avoid looking at the door. She pulled the blanket and sheets over her head to tried to block out the voices. They stilled for a moment as if they heard her restlessness. Mariska froze, suddenly concerned. Her heart raced and her mind wondered even as she listened intently for footsteps in the hall. Slowly she shifted back, carefully mindful of the bed springs. Her eyes peered out over both of her hands, fingers clutched the edge of the blanket tightly. She watched the crack of light for any signs of life.
Nothing.
She sighed. The voices continued, the same distance away, and with the same intensity as before. Mariska pressed her lips together and strained her hearing to the farthest extent. Her breath stilled and her heart slowed in response. Still the words lacked meaning, and were so muffled they were not worth suffocating her self over.
She sighed again and sat up. Her curiosity stronger now as her irritation at being woke added fuel to that urge. As she weighted the cost of being caught listening in, she heard her name mentioned - twice. Once as a comment spoken by the female voice, then again as a question voiced by the male voice. Her mind with a burgeoning deviousness decided if they were whispering loud enough for her to hear, and used her name, then it was for her ears. Blanket and sheet fell to the side of her bed as she got up and sneaked to her doorway.
“Yes...” The rest of the sentence was muffled and ran together. Mariska grunted softly to herself and peered through the slim opening between her door and the doorjamb. No-one stood in the hall, but shadows moved at the far end where the hall met the living room. With narrowed eyes, she again weighted the consequences of being caught. The hallway was darkened, the lights off. She wore a dark navy-blue nightgown covered in tiny blue and purple printed stars. The light seemed to come from the left and she surmised that her earlier assumption was correct. The light emanated from the living room standing lamps that stood on either side of the fire place, along the far wall. At the end of the hall on the left corner stood one of the large household laundry baskets full of towels and clothes.
'Must be laundry night', she mused silently to herself. 'That would explain why someone's still up.'
With keen eyes, she gauged the distance between the basket and herself. She also considered it's size and overladen capacity. If she were quiet… Yes. She wouldn't be spotted.
Without a second thought, Mariska carefully opened her door just wide enough to squeeze through. She felt the hinges as they stuck a little and held her breath and paused. A quick glance flicked between the door and the shadows at the end of the hall. No one responded. Good. She wiggled to free herself delicately, so the door kept silent.
“But,” the male voice, she finally recognized as her father's, spoke with deep concern, “what if she is...”
“Then we find her,” the older female voice interupted. Mariska quirked her left eyebrow, it wasn't a voice she recognized. The thought of being found confused her. It was she they spoke about, right? Or... was it? Now she wasn't sure and doubt crept into the back of her head. Had she heard her name? She sneered and frowned. Then with a mental shrug she justified her continued action to herself - she was too far out of the bag now, no point stopping. So, her curiosity prevailed.
The conversation paused again and she heard her father sigh. Her heart skipped a beat, then Mariska crept closer to the laundry basket, slowly. Crawling towards it on all fours like a cat stalking prey, she crept forward. The years of roughhousing games like 'Hunter', her brothers played with her when they were younger came in very handy. She smirked at the thought, pride welled up inside her. It was her favorite game because she was the best at it. Right now, she mused with an over satisfied ego as she reached the basket and crouched behind it without being noticed, she was elite.
“How do you believe spirits feel after being bound to an item?” It was the older female's voice again. Spirits? Lines formed in Mariska's forehead as she frowned deeply, more confused then before. Doubt crept into her head - had she really heard her name earlier?
“I… I don't know.” Her father sighed in resignation, the response stammered and uncertain in tone. “All I know is that Denise said...”
“Denise is not a spirit-speaker is she?” The older voice cut him off again, her tone superior and foul-tempered. The voice deepened in pitch, almost growl-like. Mariska tilted her head slightly to one side.
What was going on?
“Ma'am, I meant no disrespect. With how both Marton and Violeta proved...” Again her father was cut off by the older woman. Mariska's dislike for her sprouted. She was so rude and snotty. Who the heck was she and why was her father cowed just by her tone of voice?
“I know how Denise's line has twice proven true. It runs in her bloodline. It is expected of her... and of you.” Mariska's neck prickled in response to the old woman's comment. Proven true? Expected of her mother and father? She leaned a bit to her right and tried to glimpse this snotty old woman. All she saw was her father's back. He leaned against the couch and faced the fireplace, presumably towards the older woman. That meant the woman was near the fireplace in the center of the left-hand wall of the living room. But where Mariska hid, she couldn't see beyond the couch in the living room's center - not unless she increased her risk of being caught.
Her father sighed and slumped his shoulders. He looked up in the old woman's direction twice as if he considered speaking again and opted not to say anything. He leaned more heavily on the couch, then finally sat on the arm of the couch. His right hand on the couch back, he paused in thought. It was a very long pause.
“Well?” The old woman's voice prompted, but it held a strange encouraging note. It was as if she waited for some argument her father held but did not speak.
“Yes, Elder. I know. That's why we were paired as mates.” His shoulders sagged a bit as if defeated. A long intake of breath followed by a sigh indicated he sat on the verge of giving up. Both of his hands rose to his face and he scrubbed it in frustration. Footsteps sounded in the living room. Mariska cringed behind the laundry basket as the old woman walked into view.
Mariska's heart ached. She hated to see him this way. It was bad enough her overbearing, arrogant, worthless mother treated her father like this too. But to hear her father talked down to by some old bat angered the teen. As she looked at this old woman, she sneered. She was exceptionally old. Although she stood tall and proud with a straight posture like that if a younger woman's and a graceful, stable stride, Mariska noted that the flesh of her face, arms, hands, and legs bore the marks of a long and active life.
“Yes. Indeed.” The words were drawn out carefully, thoughtfully, as if the pairing weren't as good as this old woman wanted and wished it was something better. Her eyes flitted across the room, touched lightly and briefly on various items in the house as if she assessed their value, and moved to some other object. Her father moved to look in this woman's direction.
“I'm sorry, Elder. I'm just concerned with the influx of demon-dog attacks on the Clans and...” The words caught in his throat. The hesitation caught the Elder's attention. She turned to look at Mariska's father, her eyes passing over the hallway. They paused, narrowed in consideration, and Mariska's heart skipped a beat again. She was caught! She was sure the old bat saw her. Except... a soft, humorless smile touched the corner of this woman's lips, and then her gaze moved on to look at him instead. There was a coldness in the gaze she laid on him that the teen did not understand.
“Although you've performed honorably, it may be time to make some changes.“ Her father startled and stared in shocked horror at the Elder. His mouth opened to answer, but her words kept spilling out. “We may not be of the North-Sea Clan and understand fear for what it is worth, but it is a mind killer. If these are your feelings, you will infect the children still in your care. We cannot have that.”
“No. Elder, please. They are not just my charges, they are...” His words spilled out in a slurry of emotions. The Elder held up her hand and sneered down at him from over an upturned nose. Her left lip curled in a small snarl that showed a slight flash of teeth.
“Mind your place. You were lucky to even be paired as high as you were. Denise holds great status and rank within the Clan while your blood-kin barely received notice before he died.” A pained expression wrinkled the skin around the eye Mariska was able to see on her father's face.
“However, his sacrifice marked you as a potential excellent mate. His weakness ended up his greatest strength in the end, and we hope to breed that into the bloodline. Seeing that you share this same -” The old woman waved a hand back in forth in a dismissive gesture as she spoke, a slight pause highlighted her unimpressed feelings. “- quirk... of character, well, we figured you'd be at least a good brood-keeper.”
Mariska saw her father's eyes narrow, but he kept his peace. “As it is, the only reason we haven't replaced you is because you've done an admirable job so far. Denise will be pleased, I'm sure. However, your production rate is lower then expected. That needs to be corrected and soon.”
Mariska's mind reeled. Arranged marriages were something from the past, especially here in the U.S. However, this treatment was far worse. It was like he was some stupid breeder instead of a thinking, feeling, human being. A sick feeling rose inside of her gut.
“I understand,” a false kindness and lackluster compassion grated on both Mariska's and her father's nerves, and they both flinched slightly in anger, “that you have some minor performance issues. That your emotions get in the way and cause you to falter.”
He blushed bright red, his fists bunched until white showed on his knuckles. Swiftly up from the couch he stood and took a step forward, then thought better of it. Shoulders rose and fell and his chest heaved, as he struggled to control his temper and even out his breathing.
“It's no business of mine if you love her or not. But, if you cannot perform your duties as her mate, it becomes a concern of the Clan. So...” A sly smile spread across the Elder's features. “A favor for a favor?”
He paled. The Elder grinned with a feral intent. They locked eyes and stared hard at each other. The Elder continued to grin while her father frowned in anger. The battle of wills lasted about a minute or so, during which the Elder's grin broadened as a look of understood horror crossed her dad's features. Some kind of understanding passed between them. Then he broke first and looked to the floor crossing his arms over his chest.
Mariska was floored. Her mind drew back at the thought that her parents didn't love each other even as anger raged in her own heart. She had hoped that maybe, just maybe, there was something more between her parents. They cared for each other, she knew that, but it always seemed distant - like friends or roommates. Denise, Mariska's mom, never seemed to have any intrest in any of them until… something happened that marked them. Suddenly they became the "favorite child" and were whisked away from the home. Both Violetta and Marton disappeared one day for several months before they showed up again as if they never left. The way her mother treated the whole family, too, never made any sense… until now. It was too much.
A plan formed in her mind.
Mariska crept backwards down the hallway slowly. She pushed back into her room carefully. Then back into bed with a delicate touch so the bed barely creaked. As she waited for the conversation to resume she plotted. She was going to come to her dad's rescue and disrupt the conversation. It was a risk, but one she accepted as she had plausibly deniability on her side.
Once more the voices rose.
She started to get up from bed more obviously this time, when footsteps sounded in the hallway. She hesitated, mentally shifted her plans, and continued towards the door. She put a tired-sleepy face across her features. As she reached for the door calling out to her father, it was pushed open. The Elder stood there with a strange look on her face.
“What is your favorite animal child?” The question startled the teen, and all pretense dropped away to nothing. A powerful presence, like some kind of aura, emanated from the old woman. She felt compelled to answer.
“Ah… Ravens.” The old woman seemed very pleased at this answer.
“What time of day?” Shocked flooded Mariska. What was going on here? Why was she being interrogated? “Well, child? I don't like asking questions twice, it's unseemly.”
“Uh, uhmn…. Night.” The old woman's smile spread widen and a soft light seemed to light inside her eyes. What ever Mariska said apparently was the right thing.
“Color?” Mariska blinked and answered quickly. “Purple.”
“Food?” Food, food?! What was this? But she didn't hesitate as long this time. “Steak, rare.”
“Books?” Books?! Mariska's mind couldn't fathom what was happening, so it sat back inside her skull and just observed. “All kinds, especially histories.”
“Really? What kind of histories?” That was a different response and it caused Amriska to shake her head, blink, and stammer.
“Uhmn… Old histories, battle tactics, Machiavelli’s the Prince is a current read though it's a bit dry. Uhmn.. I'm reading Shakespeare too for English class.”
“Fascinating, no tech?” Mariska shook her head in the negative. “I have some computer class in school but it's not that interesting.”
The old woman smiled broadly. “What do you dream?”
“I… I don't remember my dreams.” The old woman frowned at this response, looked thoughtful, then gave a curt nod to herself. “I'll fix that shortly. Dreams are powerful things. They can show us futures we normally wouldn't see when awake.”
Mariska pulled back, turning her face away to look over the Elder's shoulder. She spotted her father. Concern was etched in his features and shone in his eyes. He ever so slightly shook his head “no” and motioned with his hands for Mariska to pay attention to the Elder. She quirked an eyebrow, then looked back at the Elder.
“One last question… Have you bled yet?” Embarrassed and enraged Mariska rose up to her full height and looked the old woman deep in the eyes. Her fists clenched into tight balls, shoulders rounded and she rose to her toes. A deep, low growling answer rose from Mariska's throat. The Elder seemed a bit shocked, then thoughtful, then interested as the teen spoke up in a rush of angry emotions.
“I'll have you know that is no business of anyone's but my parents. That is an extremely personal question. I don't even know who you are, why you are here, or why you are in my family home.” It was all Mariska could do to keep her tongue civil and not revert to very foul language.
“Well,” the Elder seemed amused, “I am a Clan Elder of your bloodline child. Although you don't understand what that means now, you will. You will. Soon enough you will. When you do, you shall also know my name. Until then, whelp...”
The Elder left a sputtering Mariska to stew and turned towards the teen's father. “Well? Has she?”
With a sad look in his eyes, he nodded once then added, “Just last month. Middle of the month under the crescent moon.”
“Dad!” The Elder seemed inordinately pleased and didn't notice her outbreak. Her father on the other hand flinched. That was new. Mariska settled and stared at her father in confusion. He looked at her with a touch of… fear. Before Mariska could ask, move or respond, the Elder turned with a swift motion, put one finger to the middle of Mariska's forehead, and then all was dark.
~~
The next morning, her father came in to wake her up. He looked tired and his smile didn't reach his eyes. He sat on the foot of her bed with a small box in his hands. She propped herself up and then rubbed her eyes. Without a word he handed her the box. Her eyes flickered between the box and him, then she took it. Slowly she opened it and looked inside.
A soft-colored moonstone sat in a cage of silvery wire. It was attached to a thong of braided black leather. He reached into the box, took the necklace out, and put it over her head.
“Wear it always. It will save your life.” With that he rose and left her room before she was able to respond. She stared after him, silent, curious, and worried. What did it all mean?
Any and all critiques welcome. I'll be posting this to the Critique Circle (critiquecircle.com) shortly. Now on to the story.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At first, all was darkness.
The sleep fogged mind processed things more slowly, but eventually pieces filtered through the subconscious and into the waking mind. Voices whispered in the background, their words unrecognizable at first. The tone and softness suggested secrets, confidence, and hidden needs.
That caught Mariska's attention and her mind cycled up into full wakefulness. Her body still locked in sleep's embrace and tucked neatly under her sheet and blanket, she strained to hear the conversation. Her bedroom was the second one down the hallway from the living room. The sound carried poorly, so even as she laid still it was difficult to understand what the voices whispered.
Details of the conversation was limited. Single words or syllables surfaced clear enough to catch tidbits, but none of it made sense. One voice was definitely older, female, and sounded thoughtful but arrogant and stern. The other was male that was very familiar to the young teen, and carried curiosity edged with worry in it's tone. No matter how she stilled her breathing, Mariska couldn't clearly hear what was spoke. She sighed, frustrated, and even more curious then before. That curiosity warred with sense. She knew the rules. She wasn't yet considered an "adult", so such conversations weren't for her. She traced a finger along the circle patterns on her bed sheet thoughtfully. She could hear her mother's voice in the back of her mind and frowned at the thought.
'Never listen to your elders when they whisper. It's not for your ears if they do not include you.'
Mariska narrowed her eyes as a bubble of rebellion rose inside her chest. Her dark brown eyes flicked up towards the door as the urge intensified. The door wasn't closed all the way and stood slight ajar. The crack of light that glowed from the living room lights called to her. The voice of wisdom in her head fought for control, to keep her in bed and go back to sleep. A silent war waged inside her, and she shifted over to her other side to avoid looking at the door. She pulled the blanket and sheets over her head to tried to block out the voices. They stilled for a moment as if they heard her restlessness. Mariska froze, suddenly concerned. Her heart raced and her mind wondered even as she listened intently for footsteps in the hall. Slowly she shifted back, carefully mindful of the bed springs. Her eyes peered out over both of her hands, fingers clutched the edge of the blanket tightly. She watched the crack of light for any signs of life.
Nothing.
She sighed. The voices continued, the same distance away, and with the same intensity as before. Mariska pressed her lips together and strained her hearing to the farthest extent. Her breath stilled and her heart slowed in response. Still the words lacked meaning, and were so muffled they were not worth suffocating her self over.
She sighed again and sat up. Her curiosity stronger now as her irritation at being woke added fuel to that urge. As she weighted the cost of being caught listening in, she heard her name mentioned - twice. Once as a comment spoken by the female voice, then again as a question voiced by the male voice. Her mind with a burgeoning deviousness decided if they were whispering loud enough for her to hear, and used her name, then it was for her ears. Blanket and sheet fell to the side of her bed as she got up and sneaked to her doorway.
“Yes...” The rest of the sentence was muffled and ran together. Mariska grunted softly to herself and peered through the slim opening between her door and the doorjamb. No-one stood in the hall, but shadows moved at the far end where the hall met the living room. With narrowed eyes, she again weighted the consequences of being caught. The hallway was darkened, the lights off. She wore a dark navy-blue nightgown covered in tiny blue and purple printed stars. The light seemed to come from the left and she surmised that her earlier assumption was correct. The light emanated from the living room standing lamps that stood on either side of the fire place, along the far wall. At the end of the hall on the left corner stood one of the large household laundry baskets full of towels and clothes.
'Must be laundry night', she mused silently to herself. 'That would explain why someone's still up.'
With keen eyes, she gauged the distance between the basket and herself. She also considered it's size and overladen capacity. If she were quiet… Yes. She wouldn't be spotted.
Without a second thought, Mariska carefully opened her door just wide enough to squeeze through. She felt the hinges as they stuck a little and held her breath and paused. A quick glance flicked between the door and the shadows at the end of the hall. No one responded. Good. She wiggled to free herself delicately, so the door kept silent.
“But,” the male voice, she finally recognized as her father's, spoke with deep concern, “what if she is...”
“Then we find her,” the older female voice interupted. Mariska quirked her left eyebrow, it wasn't a voice she recognized. The thought of being found confused her. It was she they spoke about, right? Or... was it? Now she wasn't sure and doubt crept into the back of her head. Had she heard her name? She sneered and frowned. Then with a mental shrug she justified her continued action to herself - she was too far out of the bag now, no point stopping. So, her curiosity prevailed.
The conversation paused again and she heard her father sigh. Her heart skipped a beat, then Mariska crept closer to the laundry basket, slowly. Crawling towards it on all fours like a cat stalking prey, she crept forward. The years of roughhousing games like 'Hunter', her brothers played with her when they were younger came in very handy. She smirked at the thought, pride welled up inside her. It was her favorite game because she was the best at it. Right now, she mused with an over satisfied ego as she reached the basket and crouched behind it without being noticed, she was elite.
“How do you believe spirits feel after being bound to an item?” It was the older female's voice again. Spirits? Lines formed in Mariska's forehead as she frowned deeply, more confused then before. Doubt crept into her head - had she really heard her name earlier?
“I… I don't know.” Her father sighed in resignation, the response stammered and uncertain in tone. “All I know is that Denise said...”
“Denise is not a spirit-speaker is she?” The older voice cut him off again, her tone superior and foul-tempered. The voice deepened in pitch, almost growl-like. Mariska tilted her head slightly to one side.
What was going on?
“Ma'am, I meant no disrespect. With how both Marton and Violeta proved...” Again her father was cut off by the older woman. Mariska's dislike for her sprouted. She was so rude and snotty. Who the heck was she and why was her father cowed just by her tone of voice?
“I know how Denise's line has twice proven true. It runs in her bloodline. It is expected of her... and of you.” Mariska's neck prickled in response to the old woman's comment. Proven true? Expected of her mother and father? She leaned a bit to her right and tried to glimpse this snotty old woman. All she saw was her father's back. He leaned against the couch and faced the fireplace, presumably towards the older woman. That meant the woman was near the fireplace in the center of the left-hand wall of the living room. But where Mariska hid, she couldn't see beyond the couch in the living room's center - not unless she increased her risk of being caught.
Her father sighed and slumped his shoulders. He looked up in the old woman's direction twice as if he considered speaking again and opted not to say anything. He leaned more heavily on the couch, then finally sat on the arm of the couch. His right hand on the couch back, he paused in thought. It was a very long pause.
“Well?” The old woman's voice prompted, but it held a strange encouraging note. It was as if she waited for some argument her father held but did not speak.
“Yes, Elder. I know. That's why we were paired as mates.” His shoulders sagged a bit as if defeated. A long intake of breath followed by a sigh indicated he sat on the verge of giving up. Both of his hands rose to his face and he scrubbed it in frustration. Footsteps sounded in the living room. Mariska cringed behind the laundry basket as the old woman walked into view.
Mariska's heart ached. She hated to see him this way. It was bad enough her overbearing, arrogant, worthless mother treated her father like this too. But to hear her father talked down to by some old bat angered the teen. As she looked at this old woman, she sneered. She was exceptionally old. Although she stood tall and proud with a straight posture like that if a younger woman's and a graceful, stable stride, Mariska noted that the flesh of her face, arms, hands, and legs bore the marks of a long and active life.
“Yes. Indeed.” The words were drawn out carefully, thoughtfully, as if the pairing weren't as good as this old woman wanted and wished it was something better. Her eyes flitted across the room, touched lightly and briefly on various items in the house as if she assessed their value, and moved to some other object. Her father moved to look in this woman's direction.
“I'm sorry, Elder. I'm just concerned with the influx of demon-dog attacks on the Clans and...” The words caught in his throat. The hesitation caught the Elder's attention. She turned to look at Mariska's father, her eyes passing over the hallway. They paused, narrowed in consideration, and Mariska's heart skipped a beat again. She was caught! She was sure the old bat saw her. Except... a soft, humorless smile touched the corner of this woman's lips, and then her gaze moved on to look at him instead. There was a coldness in the gaze she laid on him that the teen did not understand.
“Although you've performed honorably, it may be time to make some changes.“ Her father startled and stared in shocked horror at the Elder. His mouth opened to answer, but her words kept spilling out. “We may not be of the North-Sea Clan and understand fear for what it is worth, but it is a mind killer. If these are your feelings, you will infect the children still in your care. We cannot have that.”
“No. Elder, please. They are not just my charges, they are...” His words spilled out in a slurry of emotions. The Elder held up her hand and sneered down at him from over an upturned nose. Her left lip curled in a small snarl that showed a slight flash of teeth.
“Mind your place. You were lucky to even be paired as high as you were. Denise holds great status and rank within the Clan while your blood-kin barely received notice before he died.” A pained expression wrinkled the skin around the eye Mariska was able to see on her father's face.
“However, his sacrifice marked you as a potential excellent mate. His weakness ended up his greatest strength in the end, and we hope to breed that into the bloodline. Seeing that you share this same -” The old woman waved a hand back in forth in a dismissive gesture as she spoke, a slight pause highlighted her unimpressed feelings. “- quirk... of character, well, we figured you'd be at least a good brood-keeper.”
Mariska saw her father's eyes narrow, but he kept his peace. “As it is, the only reason we haven't replaced you is because you've done an admirable job so far. Denise will be pleased, I'm sure. However, your production rate is lower then expected. That needs to be corrected and soon.”
Mariska's mind reeled. Arranged marriages were something from the past, especially here in the U.S. However, this treatment was far worse. It was like he was some stupid breeder instead of a thinking, feeling, human being. A sick feeling rose inside of her gut.
“I understand,” a false kindness and lackluster compassion grated on both Mariska's and her father's nerves, and they both flinched slightly in anger, “that you have some minor performance issues. That your emotions get in the way and cause you to falter.”
He blushed bright red, his fists bunched until white showed on his knuckles. Swiftly up from the couch he stood and took a step forward, then thought better of it. Shoulders rose and fell and his chest heaved, as he struggled to control his temper and even out his breathing.
“It's no business of mine if you love her or not. But, if you cannot perform your duties as her mate, it becomes a concern of the Clan. So...” A sly smile spread across the Elder's features. “A favor for a favor?”
He paled. The Elder grinned with a feral intent. They locked eyes and stared hard at each other. The Elder continued to grin while her father frowned in anger. The battle of wills lasted about a minute or so, during which the Elder's grin broadened as a look of understood horror crossed her dad's features. Some kind of understanding passed between them. Then he broke first and looked to the floor crossing his arms over his chest.
Mariska was floored. Her mind drew back at the thought that her parents didn't love each other even as anger raged in her own heart. She had hoped that maybe, just maybe, there was something more between her parents. They cared for each other, she knew that, but it always seemed distant - like friends or roommates. Denise, Mariska's mom, never seemed to have any intrest in any of them until… something happened that marked them. Suddenly they became the "favorite child" and were whisked away from the home. Both Violetta and Marton disappeared one day for several months before they showed up again as if they never left. The way her mother treated the whole family, too, never made any sense… until now. It was too much.
A plan formed in her mind.
Mariska crept backwards down the hallway slowly. She pushed back into her room carefully. Then back into bed with a delicate touch so the bed barely creaked. As she waited for the conversation to resume she plotted. She was going to come to her dad's rescue and disrupt the conversation. It was a risk, but one she accepted as she had plausibly deniability on her side.
Once more the voices rose.
She started to get up from bed more obviously this time, when footsteps sounded in the hallway. She hesitated, mentally shifted her plans, and continued towards the door. She put a tired-sleepy face across her features. As she reached for the door calling out to her father, it was pushed open. The Elder stood there with a strange look on her face.
“What is your favorite animal child?” The question startled the teen, and all pretense dropped away to nothing. A powerful presence, like some kind of aura, emanated from the old woman. She felt compelled to answer.
“Ah… Ravens.” The old woman seemed very pleased at this answer.
“What time of day?” Shocked flooded Mariska. What was going on here? Why was she being interrogated? “Well, child? I don't like asking questions twice, it's unseemly.”
“Uh, uhmn…. Night.” The old woman's smile spread widen and a soft light seemed to light inside her eyes. What ever Mariska said apparently was the right thing.
“Color?” Mariska blinked and answered quickly. “Purple.”
“Food?” Food, food?! What was this? But she didn't hesitate as long this time. “Steak, rare.”
“Books?” Books?! Mariska's mind couldn't fathom what was happening, so it sat back inside her skull and just observed. “All kinds, especially histories.”
“Really? What kind of histories?” That was a different response and it caused Amriska to shake her head, blink, and stammer.
“Uhmn… Old histories, battle tactics, Machiavelli’s the Prince is a current read though it's a bit dry. Uhmn.. I'm reading Shakespeare too for English class.”
“Fascinating, no tech?” Mariska shook her head in the negative. “I have some computer class in school but it's not that interesting.”
The old woman smiled broadly. “What do you dream?”
“I… I don't remember my dreams.” The old woman frowned at this response, looked thoughtful, then gave a curt nod to herself. “I'll fix that shortly. Dreams are powerful things. They can show us futures we normally wouldn't see when awake.”
Mariska pulled back, turning her face away to look over the Elder's shoulder. She spotted her father. Concern was etched in his features and shone in his eyes. He ever so slightly shook his head “no” and motioned with his hands for Mariska to pay attention to the Elder. She quirked an eyebrow, then looked back at the Elder.
“One last question… Have you bled yet?” Embarrassed and enraged Mariska rose up to her full height and looked the old woman deep in the eyes. Her fists clenched into tight balls, shoulders rounded and she rose to her toes. A deep, low growling answer rose from Mariska's throat. The Elder seemed a bit shocked, then thoughtful, then interested as the teen spoke up in a rush of angry emotions.
“I'll have you know that is no business of anyone's but my parents. That is an extremely personal question. I don't even know who you are, why you are here, or why you are in my family home.” It was all Mariska could do to keep her tongue civil and not revert to very foul language.
“Well,” the Elder seemed amused, “I am a Clan Elder of your bloodline child. Although you don't understand what that means now, you will. You will. Soon enough you will. When you do, you shall also know my name. Until then, whelp...”
The Elder left a sputtering Mariska to stew and turned towards the teen's father. “Well? Has she?”
With a sad look in his eyes, he nodded once then added, “Just last month. Middle of the month under the crescent moon.”
“Dad!” The Elder seemed inordinately pleased and didn't notice her outbreak. Her father on the other hand flinched. That was new. Mariska settled and stared at her father in confusion. He looked at her with a touch of… fear. Before Mariska could ask, move or respond, the Elder turned with a swift motion, put one finger to the middle of Mariska's forehead, and then all was dark.
~~
The next morning, her father came in to wake her up. He looked tired and his smile didn't reach his eyes. He sat on the foot of her bed with a small box in his hands. She propped herself up and then rubbed her eyes. Without a word he handed her the box. Her eyes flickered between the box and him, then she took it. Slowly she opened it and looked inside.
A soft-colored moonstone sat in a cage of silvery wire. It was attached to a thong of braided black leather. He reached into the box, took the necklace out, and put it over her head.
“Wear it always. It will save your life.” With that he rose and left her room before she was able to respond. She stared after him, silent, curious, and worried. What did it all mean?