THE UNDYING | TWILIGHT

27. Hidden Agendas

Alone his office, Caius tugged at his shirt collar until it covered the grotesque black scar which marked his neck. Even when it was completely hidden, he continued to pull at the fabric. Tugging and pulling. Again and again. He could never seem to cover it well enough. Somehow, it was always there.

Upon his desk lay a great pile of old, dusty books which he'd retrieved from Aro's personal library. He'd spent the entire day flipping through page after page, reading works from the most ancient texts, even some that men hadn't yet discovered. And in every culture, no matter the period or location, the beasts appeared. They went by different names, of course: lycanthrope, loup garou, hombre lobo, lupo mannaro, vukodlak, werewolf.

The Children of the Moon, that was the name Caius knew them by, and he would never forget it.

They were right there, right in front of him, no more than ink and paper but still as intimidating as flesh and blood. Trapped within the pages, the beasts stalked him with their haunting yellow eyes, and they sharpened their claws and bared their teeth. They were coming for him. Caius knew they were all coming for him. Already, he could feel their claws tearing and teeth biting. Already, he could hear their howls and their growls.

And her screams. He could hear her screams in his ears, the most terrible, agonizing screams a human voice could produce. Centuries ago, her voice had called to him, beckoned him across oceans and over mountains, and brought him home to Greece, to a small farm outside Athens.

The sweet spring air reeked of fresh blood. Young men, strong and able, lay in twisted, mangled pieces on the ground, their lifeless hands still reaching in vain for their scythes and hoes.

Their enemy, however, was nowhere to be found.

Giant paw prints tracked blood across the dirt and into the quiet farmhouse, where a woman's body rested beside an overturned table. There, the floor was covered with a fine layer of animal hair which carried a foul odor that repelled him to his core.

At once, his feet began their hasty retreat, but then he heard her voice again: a whisper in the silent air, a quiet plea for help. It grasped his never-beating heart and guided him outside to a vast field of wheat.

Helpless against the call, Caius followed his summoner's voice through the golden grasses, and his heavy feet trampled over four sets of footprints: three fleeing children and the beast that pursued them.

A desperate escape. A merciless chase.

Tiny hands had smeared the grass with red. Gigantic claws had ripped across the dirt. Further ahead, Caius found two children lying face-down in the field. Their weak hearts gave three more soft thuds before falling silent.

Down the row, the eldest daughter was still clinging to life. Dragging her bloody, broken legs behind her, the young woman slowly crept toward the rising sun. Like a beetle she crawled, grunting and groaning, inching further and further until Caius crushed her into the dirt with his foot.

"Was it you?" he asked as he towered over her. "Were you the one calling to me?"

The woman said not a word. Instead, she turned her head and focused her weakening gaze upon the stranger. Her eyes were the deepest blue he'd ever seen, as blue as the Baltic Sea, but their light was fading.

"Well you can stop now," said Caius as he knelt beside her. "It's irritating."

Gently, he lifted her frail body and turned her over, exposing the four deep gashes that stretched across her chest. With every breath, every gasp, more blood seeped from the wounds.

"Do you want to die?" he asked the woman.

"No," she rasped, her eyelids growing heavy.

Just before they closed, Caius carefully brought her drooping neck to his lips and sank his teeth into her flesh.