The Wrath of the Chosen (The Chosen Series Book 1) Read online

  If he sees my face, he’ll instantly bolt knowing I’m the one who gave him a hard time last night. The scar jutting out of the black paint swiped over my eyes isn’t exactly forgettable.

  He walks up to the alley and I turn around before he can focus on my face and move deeper into the darkness. I swing my hips suggestively—hating myself—to lure him closer.

  “Hey baby, where are you off to?” he asks in a disgusting, scruffy voice. I cringe and bite my tongue so I won’t ruin it all by saying something stupid.

  “Somewhere..private where we can..talk, if you know what I mean.” I choke back the bile threatening to make an appearance in my mouth.

  “Oh, I do like the sound of that.” His heartbeat quickens in my sensitive ears. He licks his lips and rubs his sweaty hands on the sides of his jeans.

  When we’re far enough away from everyone and immersed in the darkness, I stop walking. My eyes adjust straight away, and I can see everything clearly. I have my Lupi sight to thank for it. I make out every grain in the bricks of the wall I lean against and Ian’s grotesque shadow looming behind me. I don’t turn around.

  “This looks private enough to me, baby,” he purrs and grabs my shoulders roughly. His putrid breath ruffles my hair. He takes one hand off my shoulders, applying more pressure with the other to seemingly keep me in place. I hear his jeans unzip with grating quickness.

  “It sure does.” I smirk to myself.

  I’m going to enjoy this.

  Turning around, I easily brush off his hand. I yank out my dagger, the sharp blade pointing to the starry sky above me. It takes him a second, but he finally recognizes me with wide eyes.

  “Holy shit, you’re that bitch!” He tries to fix his pants he embarrassingly already started to pull down.

  “Yeah, I’m that bitch,” I concede with malice, the fire of rage burning bright in my chest. “It seems to me you have been chosen.”

  I step forward before he has a chance to run and plant my hand on his right shoulder, effortlessly holding him in place with all my strength.

  “What the..” is all he can get out before I take my dagger and ram it into his chest, right under his sternum with the blade angled upward to pierce his heart. I yank the dagger out swiftly and wipe the blood onto his shirt before he can even register what I’ve done. Ian groans and falls to his knees, coughing up bubbling blood. I watch him clutch his chest in pain and I smile menacingly at his shocked and torment ridden face. His eyelids flutter and close; the flowing blood removing every bit of his energy. I lean against the wall and stare with squinted eyes, enjoying the quenching of my bloodlust; breathing in the smell of fear and copper in the air. He eventually falls onto his stomach and his gurgled breathing stops with a convulsion running through his body.

  Of course, I could have made his death quicker, but I think he got the one he deserved.

  I call Ashley and tell her where I am so she can pick up the body and take me back to the Complex; back to where most of my Pack lives. I pull a small, nearly flat container out of my pocket with Ian’s name written across the top and dab some of his blood inside. A Proof; Proof of an eliminated target. I pat him on the head, bidding him a farewell I chase with a soft laugh. For some sick reason, killing makes my cynical sense of humor strengthen, further convincing me I’m the monster.

  This was quick and easy. Or, the killing part was easy, at least. Sometimes, I like the easy missions more than enjoying the hunt and taking my time when I’ve run out of patience. Unfortunately, neither of those happened with this guy.

  Now, I just have to turn this in to Cosma and hope she decides not to skin me for my missed deadline.

  Chapter 4

  Ashley pulls up to the gate of the Complex and puts her Voítheia card up to the gate sensor. Every Lupi has one based on their job. Mine is a pawprint like the assassin tattoo on my left shoulder blade. The Voítheia card is branded with a V within a circle. The rest of the pack have a P within a circle for Pack. They are just meant to gain access into the Complex or identifying us if we, you know, are murdered.

  The sensor beeps and the thick, wrought iron gates to the Complex open without a sound. Ashley drives through—receiving a respectful nod from the gate guards—and drops me off in the parking lot. I thank her for her help and hoist my clothes and weapons-filled bag over my shoulder and begin my walk to Cosma’s office. Hopefully she’s there and I don’t have to wait overnight on the verdict of my fate.

  The Complex poses as a prestigious school far on the outside of the city. It looks a bit castle-like in that the stones are old and worn, but strong. The many buildings meant for various training activities stand tall and ominous in the sky behind walls of ponderosa pines surrounding the outside of the gate around the Complex. No one really comes out here if they aren’t Lupi. If, for some reason, a human finds the Complex, they won’t be able to get past the fifteen-foot-tall iron fence surrounding the whole six miles of the thing. We haven’t had trouble with humans trying to break inside so far. The guards standing tall and intimidating at the gate entrance turn nosey humans around and back to wherever they came from with the fear of Hecate in their hearts.

  I trudge in the dark past the tall, stone buildings holding different purposes; some are dorms and classrooms for younger Lupi and apartments and offices for the older of us. A few Lupi I graduated with walk around the Complex. They make accidental eye contact and immediately look away.

  I roll my eyes. My reputation precedes me.

  No one here talks to me. They never have, really. I’m the Alpha of my class for a reason. I’m cold and lethal with no time to make friends.

  We are told to put our emotions away, anyway. Duty must come first. Showing too much emotion is a weakness, not to mention it gets assassins killed. If we love someone, our enemies can harm and use them against us. It would make us put aside our duty to the Pack and to Hecate. So, we are taught to live without them. It’s not exactly easy making friends for me to begin with because I’m not exactly a ray of social sunshine, so me stowing away my emotions like I’m told just makes me all the more fun to be around.

  Everyone locks away their emotions here, so it’s not super uncommon to have antisocial antics. I just take it to another extreme because I prefer solitude.

  I make my way across the Complex and through the chilling air to a dark, stoned building of offices. The structure is looming over me like my fate seems to be. I glance up to the window above and find the light on.

  Great. She’s here.

  I take a deep breath and open the wooden door, taking an immediate left in the dimly lit building, and jog up the creaky stairs. My footsteps ominously echo up the flight and I send a prayer to Hecate Cosma doesn’t rip my assassin mark from my hide.

  I land at the top of the stairs and walk straight down the empty hallway whose only company is uncomfortable, never used waiting room chairs. I step in front of Cosma’s office door and lift my fist to knock.

  “Come in, Falen.”

  Great. Here we go.

  I push open the dark-wooden door, slide in, and softly close it behind me. Cosma sits at her desk reading files and, thankfully, not paying any attention to me. Her scent hits me like a ton of bricks; a musky smell of grass after rain. She’s a smaller woman, but fierce as hell. Her dark, straight, brown hair stops just below her shoulders. She’s in her forties, but looks like she’s no older than twenty-six.

  Lupi aging is amazing. We live ten times as long as humans and tend to look young until we reach our late hundreds, if we can survive until then. Our aging seems to halt in our mid-twenties until we are much older. And by much older, I mean in the upper 900s.

  Cosma’s high cheekbones, oblong face, and sepia skin hint at her Native heritage. Her sharp, misty gray eyes cut up to me, making me want to throw the Proof on her desk and pull out my knife to combat the attack she is surely about to descend on me. She’s eyeing me like she wants to skin me.

  Instead, I walk to the desk confidently and
place the Proof right on top of the file she’s reading and back away to take whatever punishment she’s about to rain down. I place my bag at my feet on the hardwood floor and wait.

  She peers down at the Proof, picks it up, slides the files from in front of her, and puts the neat stack of them away in her giant redwood desk. I glance around her office, trying to look at anything but her; the plain, beige walls lead to a tall white ceiling crisscrossed by dark, wooden beams. Tan filing cabinets line the walls on each side of her desk—Cosma never liked the idea of going electronic—and the imposing window with a view of the training fields sits behind her. There are chairs in front of her desk I’ve never actually sat in. They look as uncomfortable as the ones in the hall, but I guess she wouldn’t want anyone to be too comfortable in her presence. It’s an intimidation technique I appreciate.

  Cosma clears her throat and I snap back to attention, meeting her eyes. I know it’s a challenge, but I’m an Alpha too, just not for the whole Washington State Pack. She growls deep in her chest, but I don’t look away.

  “So, you’re a day late, Falen.” I cringe inwardly. She says my name like a curse. I’m used to people dragging it out. Faaaaah-len

  “Yes,” I clip, finally dropping my gaze. “There were some….complications.” That Nina girl crosses my mind again and I roll my eyes.

  “I’m not sure I care about what complications there were. The point is you’re a day late.” Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard when she’s pissed. I never get intimidated—I’m too stubborn—but she can definitely make me think twice about opening my smart-ass mouth. I decide to keep it closed this time. Cosma is already pissed beyond belief at me and the only thing flying out of my filter-less mouth would be a sarcastic remark guaranteed to make this situation a whole hell of a lot worse.

  “In order to make up for this….complication,” she throws my word back at me, “I am going to give you a high difficulty target. One that will take a week.” She smirks and cold sweat breaks over my body. “This target is very heavily guarded, so you’ll probably need to eliminate more than just the target.” Her smirk grows as she slides a picture across her desk in my direction. I pick it up and turn it over, looking for more information.

  “Wait, no file?” The question pushes from my mouth after I realize she isn’t giving me more information. Great. This is a pretty shit punishment.

  Cosma’s smirk turns into a full-on grin and it gives me the creeps. “Oh, that’s funny.”

  “What’s so funny?” I meet her eyes in a challenge again. She snarls and I drop them, not wanting her to decide to give me an even shittier punishment. I don’t feel the wrath of her gaze and Alpha power like the other Lupi. I am her equal.

  Or maybe even more powerful, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  “What’s funny is you think you get a file.” Her dark, cackling laugh grates across my hearing even though it is most certainly not funny. She places the Proof I gave her in the top right drawer of her desk and slams it shut. She returns her attention to more files on the other end of her desk.

  I guess this is her dismissing me. I push my lips in a hard line, grab my bag, and head for the door. My hand clutches the doorknob when I hear a tsk behind me. “Oh, and Falen?” I glance back and meet Cosma’s eyes in another challenge, growing annoyed at her audacity. She doesn’t seem to mind. “Remember, one week.”

  I swallow the urge to snarl. Goddess, she knows how to get under my hide. I snap my head back toward the door and storm out like a child. I slam the door behind me, gritting my teeth all the way down the stairs and out into the cool air and make a beeline for my apartment. I’m going to need some sleep and an attitude adjustment to get this job done.

  I was wrong earlier. I do have another emotion other than rage. It’s resentment and it’s aimed right at that Nina.

  Chapter 5

  Ninety-nine, one hundred.

  I push myself off my hands and rest on my legs. Push-ups help get my blood pumping in the mornings. That, and yoga are what typically start my day. It’s not like I have to workout, though. Lupi are naturally lean and muscular. Awesome genetics and whatnot.

  I rock back on my toes, stand up, and stretch out the tightness of my muscles. Of course I didn’t sleep well and I woke up with one huge muscle cramp I used to call my body. Another nightmare in which those Poachers lurk in.

  Poachers. They call themselves Hunters, but Lupi call them Poachers. I mean, it’s what they are to us. They kill Lupi off for nothing other than pride and their ridiculous beliefs.

  Poachers are a group of humans who dedicate their lives to destroying us. They’re some of those religious fanatics who think we’re unnatural, so they train their whole lives, learning how to hunt us down and take us out. It’s funny; I thought murder is frowned upon and considered unnatural since it’s prematurely ending a life. Playing as a god, so to speak. But, what do I know? At least I know I’m a monster. They parade around acting like they’re better than everyone while committing their sins in the dark where no one can condemn them to hell.

  It was hard for me to take them seriously at first because they were so poorly trained—at least, in comparison to me—until I managed to personally hop on the bad side of the group leader of the Poachers here in Seattle: Damien.

  I snarl every time I even think about his name.

  His wife, or lover, or girlfriend..hell, I don’t know what they were to each other. All I know is Damien was pretty pissed when I killed her.

  In my defense, I told her she wasn’t ready to fight me. I even told her to go home. She was probably a few years older than me, no older than thirty. She did the Poacher thing they all do, yelling about how she was going to send me back to hell where I came from, blah blah blah. She knew who I was—I have a bit of a reputation when it comes to the Poachers. They call me Reaper now, as Damien deemed it my nickname after I killed his whatever-she-was. I am the embodiment of death to them and everywhere I go, death follows—and she decided to fight me anyway.

  So, I killed her.

  Word got to Damien pretty quickly after that and he found me the next night. He was dripping with hatred and tears for his newly dead whatever-she-was. Being the cocky asshole I was, I thought it was entertaining. Long story short, he pulled out a sickle—a long, curved knife—and I just knew I could take him without a weapon.

  Turns out, he could keep up with me.

  In fact, he was stronger than any Poacher I had ever encountered. He was unnaturally strong for a human. We were even hit for hit and it was completely unnerving. I’m strong. I’m stronger and faster than other Lupi in my Pack, yet, he kept up with me.

  I got distracted by cop cars flying down the street in our direction, surely called by someone witnessing our fight, and Damien took the opportunity to slice his sickle across my face, giving me the scar. I wasn’t going to let him leave unscathed, though. While he was staring down at me with his ugly smirk, I pulled my knife out of my boot and rammed it in his thigh, yanking as hard as I could all the way down to his knee.

  I’m not sure what became of him. I had to crawl into an alley, half blinded by the slash on my face, and call a Voítheia to pick me up before I eventually passed out from blood loss. I woke up in the clinic on the Complex with doctors telling me they had to apply a skin graft around my eye because most of my skin wasn’t salvageable, even for Lupi healing.

  His blade was laced with Wolfsbane, a substance poisonous to Lupi. I lost blood faster than my body could compensate because of it and had to get a transfusion too. Fun times.

  Now, Damien frequently haunts my dreams—when I’m not having nightmares about everything else—and I hope to goddess he survived. I would love to pay him back for the facial accessory he so kindly gave me.

  I groan and hit the wall. The frame of the closet door rattles under my held back strength. I sigh and walk into the closet, grabbing a bag and stuffing it with everything I need. It’s a decently big closet for the small studio apartment I have
, but I suppose whoever built this building planned for assassins and their weapon storage.

  I throw my clothes into the bag—most of the clothes being black, but I get adventurous and wear gray or white occasionally—and toss the bag behind me, through the door, where it lands on the end of my bed. The black bag almost blends into the black comforter.

  All black everything. It’s not like I’m much for colors or even decorating as can be seen by the lack of anything on my walls. Except, I do have a target hanging on the wall across the apartment. But, the target isn’t for decoration per se. I use it to practice aiming at Damien’s head with my throwing knives.

  I pull my Cheytac M200 Intervention sniper rifle off its wall mount in my closet. It’s like my child. I mean, I have two others, but this one is my favorite. It can shoot a target from nearly a mile and a half away and it’s so fast. Like, 3,000 feet per second fast. It’s fifty-six inches long and weighs twenty-nine pounds, so it’s not the most convenient rifle to carry, but I love it and I’m deadly with it.

  I sit on the bed with the rifle’s weight in my lap. I pull out the case, unscrew the barrel from the body of the gun, and place it gently in the designated slots in the case. I pack a few magazines, clips, and several more rounds just in case and lock everything up tight with a click. I tuck away my sheathed knives, two RUGAR pistols, my springblade, and my throwing knives in the bag full of clothes. I throw the ceremonial black face paint on top and zip up the bag, yanking it onto my shoulder. I shove my knife in my boot, pick up my rifle case, and shuffle out the door.

  It’s time to complete the impossible.

  Chapter 6

  Walking in Seattle during the day is a completely different experience than at night. A divergent type of people are out and the streets are lively and full of maddening noise. Breakfast food trucks parked everywhere make my stomach turn. All the aromas from the food are melding together and overwhelming my regrettably hyper sense of smell.