His Awakening - 1. Chapter 1

“I’m sixty-eight.” Judah scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t need some stupid celebration. And even if I did, shouldn’t we have had it eighteen years ago?”

“Human years don’t count,” Amara scoffed. “Your fiftieth-year ceremony isn’t some sort of party.” She paused, tilting her head. “Well, it is but it isn’t.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Too bad.”

“Too bad, too bad. What if I just refuse to come?”

She stared at him with wide eyes. “You can’t just refuse to come! That’s just not done.” If she’d had a pearl necklace, she’d have clutched it. When he’d first met her, she had done the whole fifties housewives dress up complete with pearls, but then again, she struggled with changing to fit the wardrobe of the era. Amara was petite enough to pull off the look, if the style came back. Then she’d have something to grab and hold instead of just fluttering her hand in front of her neck in shock. The last time he’d seen what people were wearing, it had looked like they were heading closer to that sort of thing.

Jeans and T-shirts never really went out of style, and he had his favorites that were just as much his comfort items as her pearls had been. Band T-shirts he’d worn to ribbons, jeans that had not been artfully distressed like the expensive pairs he wore now. Clothes to fit his so-called station in the family, even if he never saw anyone or was allowed to go anywhere. Something to fit his importance, even if he never really understood what that was. He pressed his lips together and huffed.

“Judah, all the family heads will be there. I know you don’t believe, but… this is happening.”

“Fate, destiny, blah, blah, blah.” Humans called what the witches did magic. He called it bullshit. This room, the house, everything had changed in the last decade because of the damn witches. The rest of the families couldn’t give them enough based on some idea that he would do some whispered miracle. Whose miracle? Not his!

“You can’t fight the truth of what’s in front of you, Judah.” Her voice had softened, and when he glanced over at her, all he saw was pity. He didn’t want her pity.

“Get out.” He jerked to his feet, knocking the heavy chair over and slamming it into the wall, leaving a deep dent. “Get the fuck out!” he roared.

The guard on the door opened it, letting Amara scurry past him. Judah stood there, panting in fury, his nails digging into his palms. The only other sound was the slow drip of his blood hitting the hardwood floors.

“I’ve laid your clothes on your bed.”

Judah turned his head slowly. His suite of rooms had a small central area with a few chairs, a table, and a fireplace along with a tiny library slash office where he was allowed to write opposite his bedroom and an ensuite bathroom. Some might consider it a large space. He’d heard mutters about his past, his human years, even though they weren’t supposed to count once he was no longer mortal.

Guess once a bigot, always a bigot. He’d never felt lucky being raised in a trailer park in a dinky town in the Midwest. Hurricane season had been met every year with prayers and, more often than not, running to the town storm shelter with his emergency backpack while the wind whipped his short hair into his eyes and dust stung his throat.

But he hadn’t been allowed out of these rooms in a decade.

A decade.

Ten long, lonely years of pacing these small rooms. Twelve steps by eighteen steps. Six by fourteen. Twenty by twenty-three. Ten by nine.

No windows.

No escape.

No hope. He’d take running for his life over this endless void of existence instead.

“Did you hear me?”

He swallowed down the bile that threatened to erupt. “Yes, Matias.”

“You will get shower and dressed.” There was a pause. “Appropriately.”

“Yes, Matias.”

“And when she comes to get you, apologize to Amara.”

“Yes, Matias.”

As if there had ever been any doubt he’d do anything else. Judah held in the long sigh until he heard the door to his suite click shut behind Matias. He’d never heard him move, never known he was coming until he was there. Matias moved like a wraith, and he was far more deadly. Matias words coursed through him with unavoidable weight until he began to obey. And for all Judah had blustered to Amara, he’d do anything to get out of these rooms.

Even show up to the witch-be-damned ceremony on his fiftieth rebirthday. It wasn’t like he could run away. He’d daydreamed about showing up with messy punk rock hair in his torn jeans and a Def Leopard T-shirt, but that would probably just result in him being stripped naked.

Not a look he wanted to sport in front of that crowd. He’d heard the voices as others, clearly not from his family, had passed through his hall. They hadn’t dropped their voices enough when they spied his guard and began to speculate just how they’d benefit from the miracle he was supposed to spread through the families. He shuddered at some of the suggestions.

Judah knew exactly what Matias planned. Matias wanted his offering to be served up like a fine wine, a fancy label and caged cork.

There it was. A black bespoke suit with a black shirt. A golden hair cord that matched his eyes, just long enough to tie back his hair but not strong enough or long enough to do harm to himself… as if that would work. Any and all sharp implements had been forbidden to him after the first six months of his stay in his suite, so his dark hair had grown very long.

Judah dressed, sighing at the cliché in the mirror. Black on black on black. The only relief were his pink lips and his golden eyes and the cord tying the end of the long braid coming over his shoulder. And bare feet.

His fangs just peeked out of his mouth, denting his pink lip when he grimaced. He looked ridiculous.

“I apologize, Amara,” Judah intoned formally. The spark of rebellion he’d felt had already faded, the overwhelming crush of his so-called fate having reasserted itself. In the first year or two, he’d tried to fight back, to push, to demand a different life… he’d failed.

How could he fight off an entire family of beings gifted with all his own abilities and more? Decades and centuries older, stronger, wiser, sneakier… and who he’d trusted? He’d learned, sort of a growing up in his rebirth, that had been far more painful than human puberty could ever be. Worrying about getting a boner in the classroom and everyone would notice?

Nope. That fear had nothing on knowing that the fucking witches made up a prophecy that when he’d hit his fiftieth year, his blood would supposedly become a raging fire and give the vampire world powers they’d never dreamed of holding. Mortals and immortals beware, he was an atom bomb about to go off and start a chain of events no one would see coming.

Except those witches. Judah didn’t believe their prophecy. How could one vampire’s blood give all vampires some sort of power? Sure, vampires who survived to their fiftieth year came into their full powers, losing their fledgling status and shedding the link their master had over them, but that was personal. And a vampire couple could feed off each other and borrow the other’s gifts, but especially in the same bloodline, but Judah was supposed to supercharge all vampires.

Amara believed it was a magical gift, that Judah had special powers from the beginning. No one had seen a golden-eyed vampire before. Bronze, sure, but not gold. He’d just said it was a trick of the light, brushed it off, ignored her.

Until the prophecy.

Others in the families believed differently. Judah had heard those guests wonder if they’d all get a bite. Wait for his fiftieth then keep him strung up like a blood sacrifice. Drip, drip, drip, spreading him out like a vast ocean into those deemed worthy of his blood until Judah had been drained dry.

It was no wonder he’d lost himself in books and mindless movies over the years, barely focusing on the menial tasks shoved his way to keep him from going completely insane.

“Judah? Judah!”

“What!” He snapped his attention to Amara. She was in a purple dress, the side pulled down and over, so it was tight on her chest and waist before falling loosely to her feet. Her perfect makeup was marred by the frown as she looked him up and down. What? He hadn’t even heard her accept his apology. Oh well. Why was she looking at his clothes? Did he forget something? He looked down. No, fully dressed. Zipper up. Nothing peeking out, just his bare toes.

“Are you ready to go?”

Yes. No. “Yes.” He was actually getting out of these rooms. What might happen after that, he wasn’t sure, but he was getting out.

It was like a bad vampire movie. The heads of all the families sat in chairs on raise semicircle platform, and Judah was led to stand in front of them onto a small rug that scraped against the soles of his feet. The weight of their powers beat at him, but he was too busy feeling… everything… to mind that much.

He could smell the food in the kitchen. Hear voices, the sound of water trickling in the creek he’d once heard mentioned by a guard. Someone had a window open somewhere. He could smell grass. It was summer, he knew that. He’d been human until one summer day, decades ago, when Matias had found him and chosen him to dance with.

To seduce.

For many years, he’d loved the head of his family. Graced his bed when the urge struck them. Worked on his writing and got to know the others, since he was by far the youngest in the family. They’d moved on almost immediately from the Midwest, but he’d been on vacation in the city and had no ties that he’d cared about cutting. Matias had been all he cared about. Amara became a friend. He was friendly with Kyrie, Omar, Zayn, Wrenley… but they’d all become his guards. His jailers to keep him safe until this very moment.

“Judah. Welcome to your awakening.” Matias pushed out of his chair and stepped forward. Amara and his guard melted back into the throng filling the rest of the room behind him.

He bit back a retort, closing his eyes. Either way, his torment would be over.

Matias stepped forward and took off his jacket. Judah refused to look, though he knew exactly who was touching him. His breaths came in small pants as he strove to control what he could. Matias slowly started unbuttoning Judah’s shirt at the collar, one button at a time. His fingers traced over the hollow of his throat, startling Judah into opening his eyes.

Matias stared at Judah, the heat familiar from the past, but Judah hardened his heart and glared back. Matias slid his hand under his shirt to where he’d first bit into his neck, seeking out his artery. “My fledgling no longer, this night you become part of us fully.” His palm heated, sparking pain through the scars that shone silver on Judah’s already pale skin.

“Welcome,” intoned the room.

The other family leaders stood, and Matias backed away to stand with them. A woman stepped forward this time, older than anyone Judah had ever seen. “It is time.”

If Judah expected a clock to strike, or a rooster to crow, or some other cliched bullshit, he was disappointed. What he didn’t expect were the witches.

The same trio, two men and a woman, entered through a side door. They’d been the ones who condemned Judah to this nightmare of a life, and maybe they were there to end it. The pain he’d felt in his scars, small sparks only, spread from his neck into his brain, blasting off like a supernova.

A golden glow filled the room.

The witches began to chant. The burn spread from his head and neck through his chest and down his arms. He raised them, clenching his hands into fists and screaming as the molten lava continued down his body.

“What. Is. This?” Judah eked out through clenched teeth. His fangs pierced his lower lip, blood oozing down in twin trails over his chin.

One witch pointed a finger at him, green witch-flame erupting from her hand. Finally, an end… the rug at his feet went up in flames, but then it disintegrated without touching him. “No!” Judah howled.

The burn inside him reached the soles of his feet and then began to leech away. He looked down in wonderment. He was no longer standing on a rug, but he was not standing on a marble slab like most of the room. He was standing on a circle of gold which was slowly starting to glow.

Rays of more gold branched off from his circle to where the heads of the family families stood, each with bare feet. Judah was panting, his eyes, his head, everything hurting too much to make sense of what was going on other than something was taking some of the pain away.

He bent to reach down and touch the circle.

“Don’t move!” one of the male witches shouted. Judah ignored him.

“Stop him!”

“Judah, stand still,” ordered Matias.

Habit froze Judah but nothing else. No compulsion, no pain or pleasure. No feelings but those that were his own, and all he felt was the pain. He had to make it stop! Judah pressed both hands to the circle, falling to his knees. Please let it take the pain. The gold began to glow brighter, but so did his eyes and it only hurt more.

“He’ll overload the circle! We won’t be able to harness his power!”

“Judah, stand up!”

He couldn’t. He needed this to be over. Judah collapsed, pressing his forehead, his face, to the cool gold. Oh, shouldn’t it be hot? He was on fire; it should have been on fire.

Screaming. Was he screaming? Every cell of his body was infused with whatever this power was now, and his back bowed upward. Fabric tore and his shirt fluttered to the floor around him. He went rigid, hands beating at the cool disk, as something tore from his back and snapped open.

Pulled away from the golden circle on the floor, away from the vampires leeching the power out of his body, wings he’d never had before held Judah aloft. He stared down at the assembled faces that were staring back up at him with wide eyes and open mouths, shock betrayed by all their expressions. All but the witches.

“Abomination!” the female witch cried. Her lips writhed back from her teeth in disgust.

“Kill it,” the men shouted. “Before he kills all of you!”

Judah was an abomination? For having wings? Golden eyes? What were they talking about? All vampires received powers on their fiftieth rebirth. He’d never heard of wings or flying, but it wasn’t that amazing. Others could change form, compel, mind-speak, transmute… so many things the witches hated because it mimicked their own powers.

“He was no human, and he is no vampire. You must kill it,” the witch hissed. “Or he will curse all your kind. You know the prophecy.”

The pain he’d felt was fading, and Judah was starting to wonder why he’d never asked what the damn prophecy said. Or why he’d let Matias keep him locked up for ten years, when he knew he’d hated every damn day of it. In fact, for the first time in a very, very long time, Judah wondered what the hell he was doing with the families at all.

Camille, one of the heads of the other families, pulled out a gun. How… modern of her. “I’ll kill him,” she hissed. “If we’re not going to get his power, then all these years of coddling him were useless.” She pointed the gun at Judah.

“No!” Matias lunged at her.

Judah took advantage of the confusion, swooping toward the wide double doors. He wasn’t sure how he knew how to fly, so he went with it and tried not to think about how he was doing what he was doing. He shoved the doors open and darted into the hall. Too narrow for his wings, he landed on his feet and started running. His bare feet slapped against the marble floors.

He could hear pursuit, so he kept going, looking for an open window, a door, anything. He’d heard the voices, smelled the grass. He just had to find it!

There!

Judah lunged and slammed open the thick set of heavy double doors, through an empty salon toward a window in the east wall of the mansion. He hit his wings on the upper panes window, wincing in pain, but it was nothing to what he’d felt earlier. Wiggling, he got through just as a bullet pinged and shattered the glass pane above him. Shards fell, some slicing into his legs. His blood sizzled where it splashed onto the wood and grass, scorching it.

Snapping his wings open, he beat them hard, pushing up and away from the window and whoever had the gun. Judah didn’t look back, refusing to be that stupid. He was outside, in the moonlight, the wind brushing past his face and tearing up his eyes.

Freedom. The taste of it tantalized him, the first he’d breathed in decades. He had no idea where he’d go or how he’d survive, but he’d figure it out. If he’d managed so far, nothing could stop him!