Daeva [Alpha Odysseus]

prologue; finger condoms

PROLOGUE;
FINGER CONDOMS

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THE PREDATOR

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          HIS FINGERTIPS PLAYED along the hilt of his leathered Damascus dagger, his arm resting across the cloth-bounded armchair. The windows of his hotel room displayed the city of New York above, unbeknownst to the terror he was to unleash upon its residents, purely for his mate. His predestined soulmate, "a gift from the gods above," his predecessors would state, the very one thing, of his entire 422-year-old treacherous existence in this world, that could actually be worthwhile. He had tracked her botanical scent hundreds of miles from his pack's base, prepared to slowly coax her towards him, gain her trust and make her his.

          It didn't occur to him that she was human, living among them, until he found her through a window, at her dimly-lit apartment, lips, and legs wrapped around another's.

          No worries, Odysseus thought to himself, those same lips and legs would soon be wrapped around his instead. The corners of his mouth quirked upward in anticipation before a soft moan brought back his attention to the bed behind the turned armchair.

          A lean-bodied man was tied by zip-twined ropes from both corners of the bed's headboard. The same bruised lips that had enveloped his mate's two hours ago were now stuffed with a white cloth preventing him from forming a single word. The man's wrists ached from his restraints as he slowly regained consciousness, surveying the room exhibited in front of him.

          A light-blue hue of paint covered the hotel room walls, along with decorative photography that depicted landmark events, ranging from modern-day history to the 1930s, post-prohibition. The photographs were mainly displayed for tourists occupying the hotel, but Odysseus couldn't help but trace his eyes along one photo that showed a bartender behind his post, tending to customers, as one of them raises his drink in commemoration of the end of an oh-so despicable era of American history.

          The man raising his drink shared a striking resemblance to Odysseus, containing the exact, present-toned muscles that were still carved into his face and body this day. His black, tousled hair, however, was no longer coiffed into the slick feathery, moussed hairstyle that was trending in that era, but he still contained the same eerily calm grey eyes that bored into the bounded man's eyes. Only now, he held a knife within his hands instead of a celebratory drink.

          It was one of the first pictures he had partaken in since the camera's official announcement to the public in 1839. He had been so enthralled at the fact that a single sheet of copper would have the ability to capture a moment in one's life.

          He certainly wanted to capture this one.

          Two dark-wood bedside tables were located beside the bed. One contained a lowly lit lamp, and the other contained a device called the heretic's fork, usually wrapped around a blasphemer's throat. The prominent device, used in the middle ages, was designed to lock subjects into place. It contained two horizontal devil forks, connected to a wrap, that would be placed underneath one's neck and atop their chest, penetrating both parts of their flesh. It wasn't an instrument Odysseus had intended on using, displaying it merely as a scare tactic, but the incredulous look on the man's face as he noticed the torture device had him almost reconsidering. Odysseus started to tower over the man bound by rope, deciding to take the cloth out of his mouth, and let his meager voice come out of his throat, "Look man, I don't know what you think I did, but I promise you, I didn't do it, I'm innocent—"