Erin Dameron-Hill (21 page)

Chapter
Nineteen

The condo felt empty and void of life as I walked naked toward my bedroom. Beads of water ran down my legs and splashed gently on the hardwood floors. I hadn’t bothered to grab a towel and dry off from the earlier bath. Instead, I just trudged around like a stray dog; naked, wet, and lonely.

The first time the Hunter had entered my home I had immediately wanted him out. I couldn’t believe that I had invited him inside and even offered him a drink. And now I find it disturbing that he is no longer here.

I know he has a job to do and I want him to find the people responsible for Clyde, Charlie, and Billy but still, I was being selfish. He was the first man to ever treat me with respect, he was the first man who actually gave other men a good name. I guess he was the exception not the rule when it came to mankind. And I didn’t want to lose that. It’s difficult enough to find a good man these days. So when one comes along, you have to hold on tight.

I took a deep breath and plopped down on my perfectly made bed. The pillows were always kept in an upright position, the sheets and comforter pulled back. I made it that way so it would be easier for me to get under the covers. If I’m tired, I don’t want to waste time climbing into bed because there are usually two modes to a bed: made for company and made for sleep. Made for company is when a person makes sure that the bed has come straight from a catalogue and made for sleep is when the person throws off all the pillows and pulls back the covers. Instead of wasting my time on both modes, I combine the two. The bed looks made but it’s easy to get into at night.

So I laid back and stared aimlessly at the white, popcorn ceiling. I don’t like popcorn ceilings because it gives the appearance that the ceiling has some sort of horrible disease. Poor thing.

My God, I’m rambling. I must be really upset. I only ramble about inane things when I don’t what to think about what’s really bothering me.

And I knew what was bothering me: The Hunter.

I was in love with him.

The relationship happened too quickly. I didn’t have enough time to adjust to not being alone anymore and when he took off because he had to work, I just didn’t know how to cope.

How pathetic is that? I’m now pining away feeling sorry that he’s out there catching the bad guy. I should be rejoicing. I should be ecstatic that he has a lead and that he’ll bring the murderers to justice.

But I’m not. And it has more to do with just me being alone. I never told the Hunter about my attacker. I never told him that the rogue wolf was responsible, that my maker was responsible.

It’s odd. There’s some sort of connection between the attacker and myself, one that I can’t seem to explain. On one hand, I want him to be found and caught, on the other, I have this crazy desire to keep him safe. It’s probably because he created me, and who should turn their back on their maker? It would be like turning my back on God. I couldn’t do that.

My hands grasped for a large, sage green pillow and I held on tightly. I needed something to hold, to hide my face in. I couldn’t deal with any of this anymore. I needed sleep. That’s an understatement. I haven’t slept in over thirty six hours. No wonder my mind was a wreck. No sleep, loss of friends, new lover, attacker back in town--I should be exhausted.

And I am. Adrenaline can’t last forever, unfortunately. I wanted to stay awake, to keep my eyes open for any movement that wasn’t warranted. But I was just so tired and the bed was too welcoming and the chill in the air made me want to snuggle even more. So I pulled the covers over my head and felt my eyelids delicately struggle to stay open. They soon lost the battle.

A stiff breeze hustled about my naked body. It wound its way through my long, dark hair and across my rain-splattered chest. Chills danced over my skin as I began to walk through the wet sand.

The sand glued itself in between my toes and as I reached down to brush it off, I noticed that my feet were no longer human. Instead, the black paws of my jackal were sinking deeper into the ground.

From outside of my body, I saw that I had shifted. But all of my human faculties remained. I could think, I could feel, I could do everything a human could only I was more powerful, more in-tune to my surroundings.

The wind was blowing from the north, bringing very cold air amid the hot sun. I felt the frost nip at my fingers underneath all of that black fur and knew the chill wasn’t from the weather, but instead the Entity was making its presence known. I searched all around me with not only my eyes, but with my ears. I could feel it stroking my back sending its tell-tale signs of foreboding through me.

I knew this was a dream, but I also knew, with the presence of the Entity, that something was going to be revealed, that an answer was going to be told.

It’s odd that I could have an unconscious dream and yet have cognitive thought at the same time. I’ve never been able to use my brain in my dreams, I just always went with the flow. But now I was actually analyzing what was happening, I could make my own decisions.

I stepped down onto all fours, using my arms to help me run. I didn’t know where I was running to, I only knew that I should run. I didn’t have much time so I had to be fast.

The sand was thrown up into the air as my paws dug in and I powered myself forward. Tears washed themselves from my eyes as the wind blew harder. My tongue lopped out, giving me room to breathe deeper and faster, to keep myself alive as I soared across the desert plain.

A small dot on the horizon began to grow into an immense temple. Statues of werewolves lined the stone road. They were holding flails and looked as if King Tut had personally dressed them. They were Egyptian.

Torches lit themselves as I continued to run down the path, inhaling the rosemary and sage that lingered heavily on the crisp air.

As my eyes peered around, I caught glimpses of a Sphinx, of pyramids, of several different types of animal-like statutes. One had the head of a cat but the body of a human, another had the head of an alligator with the body of a human, and finally, the last statue that I past was larger than the others. It alone stood in the middle. The head was a jackal.

My heart stopped. I stood silently facing that statue. I couldn’t look away nor did I want to.

For the first time in two years I knew what had caused my fear, I knew what had attacked me. The answer was impossible, nay, improbable yet the answer was well defined. I was staring at the stone face of my maker--Anubis.

Really, Anubis? If I were to believe this right now, even though the truth is staring me in my face, I don’t think I could forgive myself for accepting it so readily. I mean, I know that there are thousands of spiritual and supernatural creatures out there, it’s just, well, Anubis? An Egyptian god has been plaguing my dreams for the last few years, seriously? An Egyptian God? Anubis from the Mummy movies? Seriously?

But I had remembered the jackal face, the gold eyes and the black body, the distinguished look that he carried. He wasn’t feral like so many werewolves, he had worn dignity. Every single detail from that night was always clear in my head and I don’t know why I never saw it before. Perhaps I didn’t want to. Perhaps my mind kept telling me that Egyptian gods weren’t real, just as Roman or Greek or Norse or any other religious icons weren’t real.

I could see why a person would mistake a werewolf for a God--werewolves are powerful, mysterious, dangerous, and frightening. Could Anubis really be the first werewolf, or at least, the first one any human ever saw? Is that where the myths came from? And how is it that he’s still alive anyway?

I kept scoffing to myself while I stared at the statue. Anubis. It just boggles the mind. But in a roundabout sort of way, it makes sense. Werewolves had to come from somewhere and old wives tales about putting on sacred wolf pelts or rubbing a magical salve all over the body to shape shift I knew had to be ridiculous ideas.

It makes sense that a disease this old and this popular would have its roots in ancient society. So, I guess Anubis has been biting people for many years turning them into abominations like him. But if that answers the question of who was the first werewolf, then
how
did he become the first werewolf? And why is he still alive? And what the hell does he want with me?

My eyes lingered for just a few more moments on the statue of Anubis before I began the trudge up at least a hundred sandstone steps.

The invisible Entity curled around me, danced on my fingertips as I pulled aside a sheer, white curtain.

He was in my past two dreams and only now could I fully see him. He was, in fact, stately, around eight feet tall. His body was indeed human only he was covered from head to toe in black fur. He wasn’t wearing a suit this time, instead, he was naked like myself.

As he stood up, his shoulders became more broad and defined almost as if someone was pumping his shoulders full of air.

His face was indeed a jackal and those eyes were more than just golden, they were brilliant and shined with the power of a thousand stars.

His toes clicked on the marble floor as claws descended from the black paws. He could turn his body into whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He had control and power, something that I didn’t.

I couldn’t force half my body to be a wolf and the other half to be human, no, it was one or the other, not symbiotic perfection.

My heart picked up speed as I felt his hot breath roll across my forehead. He was so close I could touch his fur, pet him, stroke him. My hand reached out to him and brushed along his hairy chest. I could feel his nipple tighten under my touch, feel his muscles contract so violently that I was slightly taken aback.

“I’ve missed you, Anput,” he said coming so close that I could feel a hard growth lop across my chest. He was erect, and it was searching.

Waves of nausea passed over me as his hands reached around me, as his member became more hard and heavy.

“No, please,” I said, trying not to plead but desperately wanting out of this situation. I had started this by touching him and now I wanted it to end. I could stop it, right? Please tell me I can stop it.

I have always lusted for my maker, desired him, and yet, I didn’t want to be anywhere near him. I was constantly torn between my wolf self and my human self and I wanted my human self to win. I was in love with the Hunter, not this aggressive and cruel beast that mauled people in their beds.

I may have a spiritual connection with this thing, with this false god, but only because he made me, not because I love him.

“Don’t touch me,” I said again more fervently even though I didn’t move away from him.

“We’ve been through this before, Anput,” he muttered, his tongue running across my upper shoulders.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Because Anput is your name.”

“Because you named me Anput when you gave me this disease?”

He chuckled. I think the giggle was more disturbing than the groping. He was enjoying this as I struggled to wretch myself from his grasp.

“No, you have always been Anput,” he said, pulling me tighter to his chest, “You just don’t remember.”

“What do you mean?”

“I will tell you all, Anput, but we need to be re-united. It has been too long.”

“What do you mean, re-united?”

“You know, women used to be beaten for asking questions of their betters.”

“Excuse me?”

“But I prefer this modern woman. I appreciate feisty. It makes the beatings more interesting.”

“Fuck off.”

He laughed loudly this time, the sound crashing around the stone temple like tumultuous thunder during a hurricane.

“You’re going to be fun as I break you.”

I turned around violently to fully face him. But my try for intimidation failed miserably. I couldn’t look him in the eyes because he was so much taller than me. Instead, I stared up at him like some sort of scared whipping boy waiting for the sting.

“Oh, Anput,” he began, his clawed hand stroking through my long, dark hair, “what happened to you?”

I stepped back, slightly, so I could leave him be. I wanted out of this dream, this nightmare, but I wasn’t waking. Instead of opening my eyes like I should, I just looked at Anubis with admiration and fear, just as I would looking into the face of God. Those two emotions should never be used in the same sentence and yet, that’s exactly how I felt. I admired his beauty, his confidence, poise, charisma, and the ancient touch of wisdom. But I immensely feared his power, his beliefs, his physical touch.

So I was torn.

I took a deep inhale and felt the cold frost bite at my nostrils as the stench of rot and decay clouded my head.

I finally looked around me and the temple had vanished. Countless strewn and torn bodies laid about my feet. On a big body pile I stood on top of them. I glanced up at Anubis in horror and he smiled.

“I am ready and waiting,” he said.

Within the blink of an eye he vanished. I was left alone with the corpses of at least a hundred men and women each having their intestines and meat lopped about them as if they were on a disgusting serving platter.

I had seen this kind of violence before, in fact, Clyde and Charlie’s bodies looked exactly like this. They had been nothing more than hamburger. Was I here to see this because somehow I had caused this? That somehow these dead bodies were my fault?