The Chosen [Wolf + MxM]

The Chosen- Chapter 11

{PART TWO- Danyel Maynard & Richard Crowley}

::CHAPTER 11::

[Five Years Later]

Danyel’s POV

…Another riot took place in the Gary Lannister Square at six o’ clock today as a result of another two deaths. The protesters are demanding justice and ask that something be done about the Chosen being allowed into the village.

The Rondesdale Police Service has confirmed the deaths of yet another two human males, going along with the pattern of two men, one child, two women, one child. The victims have been identified as Charles Bowen and Deacon Ramdeen. Both men have been reported missing for exactly one week today.

 Police Officer Percival Scott says that the humans appear to have been murdered by either an animal with wolfish claws or a member of the Chosen race.

The serial murder count concerning this epidemic is now fifty-six. This is TV9 with the Afternoon Update.

I shut off the TV and sighed. Things were getting worse by the week. So many of the Chosen had been held and beaten to near death because of these serial murders. I had thought being Chosen would make everything easier. I’d never been more wrong.

Every afternoon I watched Eliza’s father, Officer Scott, get on TV and pretty much talk out of his backside. He had no more of an idea what the hell was going on than I did. But people expected him to, so everyday he spewed a big pile of nothing for a few minutes to pacify the uneasy civilians. Useless just like his daughter.

The humans thought that it was one of the Chosen and the Chosen Crime Squad was positive that it was a human faking Chosen attacks. I wasn’t being biased, but we were right. The markings on the body just didn’t match the physiology of Chosen claws. Some parts were too neat and others too brutal. Sometimes it simply went too deep. It couldn’t be one of us.

I turned at the sound of the door opening. “You guys ready?” Richie asked pulling the headphones out of his ears. Aunty and I got off the couch at that. Her truck was out in the shop getting fixed and Uncle Bert was at work so Richie was driving us to the medic in his parents’ car.

He bent over and I hopped onto his back. “Onward, Trotter!” I said, slapping him on his behind. He tossed a grin over his shoulder, straightened up and led the way to his mom’s car. He trotted over making horse sound and with me laughing my head off all the way. Some things just never got old. He turned his back to the open car door and let me slide off.

My aunt took the backseat while I sat up front. Richie and I babbled through the whole ride. At a point my aunt was massaging her temples complaining about music these days and poor conversation skills in youths.

“M-M-Make that booty drop!” Richie sang to the pounding music in the car, doing a dance that resembled a seizure.

“M-M-Make that booty pop!” I sang along.

“Dr-Dr-Drop it the floor. Yeah? B-B-Baby give me more! Uh-huh?” Richie sang doing the sauciest duck face I’ve ever seen, booty popping like he was getting paid to do it and still managing to drive.

“Dr-Dr-Drop it to floor! What, w-what? Baby baby, give me more! Huh? What? I said b-baby give me m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-more!”

“Screech! Time fo’ tha booty pop session. The what? B-B-Booty pop sesh!” we chorused.

At this point we did the dance that was on the music video. We both leaned back and wiggled our shoulders.

“Hold on to the blasted wheel, Richard Crowley! And take that nonsense off!” Aunty hollered when the car began to swerve. Richie grabbed the wheel and turned down the radio. He and I shared a look but I knew we were thinking the same thing. No more music sessions with Aunty around.