CHAPTER FIVE

Unprecedented Circumstances

Reintroductions would be held off if only to gain him some time to think. Resigned the couch, finally, he'd gotten the chance to sit down, but now it was impossible to relax. When he thought about how she would interrupt his life, he pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. "This is all I need."

The circumstances in which he found himself were unprecedented, to say the least. How best to proceed was unclear. Perhaps allowing her into his home was misplaced compassion, but if Apollo had interrogated her, she'd have likely been dispatched by now. The mere contemplation caused the divot in his brow to deepen.

A night of uncertainty befell him, but no matter how peculiar the night before, one thing remained predestined: the sun would rise.

Warren woke early, sprawled on the couch, a forearm draped over his face. His first deep breath was bombarded by the honeyed aroma that filled his unit, reminding him: Ah, that's right—the girl.

Coughing the husk of sleep from his throat, Warren sat up and stretched but was instantly hit with the dizzy feeling of having risen too quickly. He groaned disgruntled. For one, he'd woken up from an ill night's rest. Two, he was still dressed in yesterday's clothes, and three, he was prematurely bloodthirsty. Slumped over his knees another series of displeased grumbles left him as he rubbed his fingers into the pits of his eyes where the early twinges of a headache already resided. It was all because of that heady scent of hers. It was one he couldn't marry with any of nature's perfumes. There wasn't a simple way of describing it other than to say it was mouth-watering, a hindrance to this thirst, and apparently headache-inducing.

On autopilot, Warren went through the motions of making his morning coffee. He would attempt to assimilate some form of normality, seeing that the girl's fortuitous arrival would undoubtedly throw his schedule off-kilter.

The trickling sound of the percolation was comforting in its familiarity.

Recalling fragments of the night before, Warren remembered how his answers to any of the girl's questions were deliberately vague. Before falling asleep, he'd only come up to dead ends regarding what would happen in the long term. There would have to be some sort of information exchange if she were to remain at the Compound in any capacity—but should she? Could she stay? If so, then he'd need to release a statement to the residents about her presence, which brought its own set of hurdles. The Compound was no place for Mortals, it was built to keep them out. Had he surreptitiously allowed the enemy in, betraying any trust his facilities residence had in his capacity to keep them safe? He could feel his headache getting worse.

He was pouring and filling the mug to the brim when he emerged from his deep thought. Ah, there is a scent I can identify. Bitter like earth, nutty in texture, and flourished with sweet, citrusy, floral undertones—truly a balm to his angst—Colombian coffee, the perfect morning pick-me-up.

✷✷✷

In the wee hours, Karou awoke, post nightmare, on high alert. It wasn't unusual. Once the cold sweat had subsided and her heart rate levelled, she flopped back into the pillows, hoping that she'd drift back to sleep. Between the sheets, there was an oddly comforting smell. It belonged to him. It reminded her where she was. It meant many things, and now, thanks to her restless mind, sleep was far, far away. So, quite unlike herself, she was awake bright and early.

However comfortable the bed was, it couldn't contain her, she began pacing the bedroom. On the nightstand, the red digits of an alarm clock said three-twenty-seven A.M. Outside, the trees quivered in the violent wind, yet she couldn't hear the pitter-patter of the rainstorm through the thick floor-to-ceiling windowpane. Moonlight glinted off of the glossy black surface of a grand piano, and she thought it was an odd location for it, but this was his home, so he could furnish it how he liked. This is his home. That thought kept repeating. He'd taken her in. Brought her to his home. Gave up his bed to her. Clutching her skull, she groaned; all the whys and wherefores raged like the storm, and nothing made sense; one question only begot another and on and on.

Regardless of her misgivings, Karou prized open the bedroom door a crack; her alert and steely-coloured eyes scoped her immediate vicinity. She could see down a hallway into the centre of an open-plan living space. Despite being wall-less, the 'rooms' were organised in an obvious way, as indicated by the furniture's arrangement. While her mind was foggy, harbouring a multitude of questions, one loomed in the forefront: Where is he?

Beneath her feet, the hardwood floor didn't feel as cold as it had the night before. Vigilantly, she crept towards the lounge, but he wasn't there. The front door was tantalisingly close, but she knew it was locked and by a rather sophisticated-looking keypad at that. It was pointless to attempt an escape. On the doormat, she glimpsed her tatty shoes. How cooly he'd instructed her to "always take your shoes off inside" came to mind, yet conversely, watching him remove his alongside her had incepted the idea that her life wasn't in immediate danger. She couldn't settle for that, though, she had to find him and take control of the situation. So, the mission to locate him continued.

Poking her head around a corner, she found the kitchen and, most importantly, him. She stepped back, having interrupted what looked to be a quiet, personal moment. What he was doing was perfectly innocuous, and the toasty smell of fresh coffee sounded delicious.

This was only the second time she'd seen him fully illuminated. Admittedly, she'd recognised him at first sight and was equally sure that he recognised her, too. Though when he'd stood under the fluorescent lights, she'd been too taken aback by his presence to really look at him. Now though, while he was unaware she stared inquiringly and unashamedly, while the warm house lights made it possible to distinguish all his features.

The coffee machine dripped the last of it's bounty into the pot below. The digits on the microwave's clock changed, and from somewhere in the house an anologue clock tic-toked, also counting the seconds.

"Hi."

Warren sleepily pulled the mug from his lips, swallowed, and lapped any residual taste from his lips, wishing the peace of drinking coffee in solitude could have lasted just a little longer. He laboured just long enough for Karou to consider repeating her greeting before he responded, "Good morning," the words left his lips like a purr. Braced for her millions of predictable questions, he first asked one of his own, "Sleep well?"

"Uh, yeah..." In her befuddlement, her voice became mousey. It was a typical question, but given their situation, it wasn't the most obvious one to open with. "W-Where am I?" There, that was an obvious question and one of many she had lined up.

"I'm not sure it would be wise for me to answer that just now." Meeting her eyes, he leaned back against the granite countertop and folded his arms over his chest.

The intensity of his gaze caused her to take a sharp intake of breath.

"How about you tell me how you got here?"

"I… Walked," Karou answered, incredulity arranging her dainty features.

"You walked?" Frustration twitched on his lips. "The nearest inhabited settlement from here is south by thirty miles or more. And you expect me to believe that you walked over thirty miles through the wilderness in November, in the snow, wearing a sweatshirt and tennis shoes?" Perhaps now she would see how unbelievable her explanation was.

"I mean, I did… drive some of the way, but it didn't seem like thirty miles," she muttered, she wasn't about to admit to being a car thief.

"Why are you even in Montana? You're from New Hampshire."

A mix of emotions contorted her face: high-browed and twinkly-eyed in surprise and relief that he remembered her, yet when she mentioned, "My Mom…" all emotion bled from her face as she cast newly sullen eyes to her feet. "I... couldn't stay," and that was all she offered in explanation. Even though there was so much more to say, she wasn't ready to talk about what had happened.

"You're a runaway?" That wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"Wait—" Karou's head snapped up, new emotions flooding her face, making her eyes widened, anguished and pleading, while her voice took on a fraught pitch. "Are you going to take me home?"

Warren growled and rolled his eyes in exasperation.

Karou was left dumbfounded by her instinctive reaction. All this time, she had hung her hopes on getting home, but deep down; did she really want to go back? Did she even have a home to go back to? She hadn't left her Mom on good terms. She wasn't sure she would even be there to go back to.

Meanwhile, Warren had taken a moment to process the mess and had turned his back to grasp the work surface, thinking aloud; "Her family are going to come looking for her. Terrific! Then I'll have more Mortals on my hands,"

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"Mortals?" Karou gulped, "As opposed to..?"

It had been just over a year since news readers worldwide announced the conspiracy theories were credible. Supposed bona fide evidence, video footage, photographs and official government documents discussing their existence had surfaced online. The broadcasted Chinese whispers had gone viral, but initially, everyone felt safe, assuming it was a hoax, just more fake news to add to the twenty-four-hour media slurry. Behind the scenes, covert investigations started. Governments pooled funding and resources, desperate to separate truth from falsity. The fundamental question of 'Are we alone?' was asked, and an unlikely answer echoed back. When 'the others' had revealed themselves, a curtain fell, and behind it stood the cast of a secret world where myths were reality and magik wasn't an illusion. The eighty-year benchmark for a lifetime stretched, and the new average sat nearer two hundred. The divide between people now went beyond culture, language, and nationality but species, too. Numerous races had healing capabilities beyond anything scientifically imaginable. Morality became distorted because, for some, murder was necessary to survive.

No statement was truer: Mortals feared nothing more than the alien. It was a given, a universal truth was that aliens would arrive from space because no one expected them to rise from amongst them.

Humanity's collective minds were blown. Mythicals had always been there; a threat hidden in plain sight for as long as time memorial. To say that there was unease amongst the flock underestimated the widespread hysteria.

"You're one of them, aren't you?" Karou's anxious curiosity was painted all over her freckle-speckled face. "One of 'the others'?"

She had asked exactly the right question.

From over his shoulder, his eyes locked onto hers and there was no need for any further confirmation—his eyes were no longer the hypnotic and dazzling blue they had been the night before. They'd eclipsed, becoming impossibly dark. Not in the way of fury just black, hollow, devoid of feeling. Combined with the angles of his face, he looked malevolent. Impossibly human.

The uncomfortable truth crashed over her like waves, one layer of realisation after another. That night, in August, she'd had the unshakable feeling, call it gut instinct, that he was different. Ultimately, she'd written it off and put it down to having been alone in the woods so late at night. It had been the atmosphere that made him seem so mysterious and ominous. However, it was true that he was unlike any person she'd ever encountered. He was subliminally peculiar in his external perfection.

A shiver ran down her spine. Her heart stumbled over its rhythm. She stood a little straighter and swallowed her nerve hard. After all she'd been through, now was not the time to show fear. The longer and deeper she peered into the void of his eyes, the more she questioned who was most frightened. The rabbit hole they were circling was getting murkier but more thrilling by the minute.

Effortlessly debonair, Warren swept a hand back through his brown hair to brush off the tension as he turned to face her head-on. "There are many breeds of other. But, I suppose the answer you're looking for is 'Yes, I am.'" Concise and unapologetic, Warren waited for the hysterical screaming to begin, or perhaps she'd faint from shock.

How her head tipped to the side like an inquisitive little sparrow unnerved him. It almost made him smile—almost.

"Which "breed" of other are you then?"

Surely, her bravery would falter the instant he revealed he was of the most wicked ilk. It was highly probable that she'd run for the door. And if she ran, there was no telling to what extent that would enflame his predatory instincts, but what he would do to her when he caught her was all too clear in his mind.

Warren cleared his throat. "The good news is you won't be seeing your parents again. I don't know exactly why you're here but now you have some idea of where 'we' are; I can't risk sending you back out into the world and revealing our location." He explained and poured himself another mug of black coffee.

Shock spread across her face. The heap of brown sugar he added to his beverage was alarming. So distracted was she by learning of his sweet tooth that she'd almost forgotten his avoidance of her question. Her brow, which had risen in surprise, now sunk in disappointment; she considered reiterating, but he spoke first.

"Would you like breakfast? Coffee?" He casually slid a mug over the counter, which formed an island in the centre of the square kitchen.

"Sure..." The quick diversion their conversation had taken left her feeling… apprehensive. Warren's breed aside, he was a man she didn't know, and even though she could usually trust her nerves of steel, Karou prayed that her hands wouldn't shake when she reached for the coffee pot. If he felt the urge to try anything reckless, she'd be helpless to stop him, and she was certain no one would hear her scream, never mind come to her aid.

Wielding the mug of scolding coffee close, supposing it might become her weapon, she rounded the kitchen island to distance herself again. Resolutely, and out of the blue, she asked, "Is this my last breakfast?"

All the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and the furrow that creased his brow threatened to crack his perfect face. "What?"

"You said I wouldn't be seeing my Mom again, so I thought that might mean you're going to 'dispose' of me?"

"I don't know what gave you that impression, but if I'd wanted to kill you, I would've already." Warren assured.

The dishevelled girl stood before him continued to be full of surprises. She faced the prospect of death nonchalantly. In truth, Karou hadn't valued her existence for some time, but she couldn't kick her strong sense of will to survive. After all, she kept running and surviving regardless of what life threw at her. No matter the damage or devastation she just endured, ultimately being too stubborn to die.

"So, what are you going to do with me?"

"I'm still considering my options..."

Now seemed as good a time as any to make the breakfast he'd offered. Karou watched her host gather ingredients, and it became clear that he was making scrambled eggs and toast. Finally, a look of concern came over her face, not because he hadn't decided her fate but because he had gotten butter from his well-stocked refrigerator. She watched as he cooked the eggs in that butter, placed the scrambled mixture atop two slices of toast and then slid the plate in her direction.

"Uhm, can I have just toast, please?"

"You don't like eggs?"

"I kinda like eggs, but the butter… I'm dairy intolerant."

To hide his irritated sneer, Warren sipped his coffee, and to appear accommodating he put the option of a jar of jelly onto the counter. Plucking the last two slices from the toaster he presented the dry offering to her and seating himself at the kitchen island, he picked up cutlery to eat the meal she'd refused. Little was said while they ate, but occasionally, they shared fleeting eye contact.

Just as Karou had taken the measure of Warren, he sat sizing her up, too. The peculiarity of the situation was nothing compared to how he was struggling to read her—she didn't react to anything the way he anticipated. His face remained stoic, sharp, and intimidating in all its edges as he contemplated the numerous courses of action. Karou wouldn't be leaving the Compound, that much he had concluded. But what he'd do with her while she was there was the dilemma hardest to answer.

To say that Warren wasn't fond of people was perhaps the understatement of the century. People had never done him any great favours, so he generally went through life using them to gain whatever they could provide. Like a typical recluse, he never sought companionship and kept few friends; arguably, his only one was Magnus. He took refuge in solitude and savoured alone time because the inconsistencies in people's personalities irritated him and inflamed his foul temper. At all costs, Warren avoided casual conversation. Still, here he found himself confronted with not only a person but a puzzle, and even if he couldn't stand people, adolescents especially, his great passion in life was being a master of logic and reason.

So far, the fragile Mortal girl had avoided becoming a casualty of the ongoing war, as well as her first encounter with him. So, it would've been a shame for her to meet her demise by accidentally stumbling upon the Compound. Coincidentally, she didn't appear to have any obvious malintent towards Mythicals; he couldn't make any such inclinations about his intentions toward her though.

Without an obvious catalyst, a singular and deplorable thought reached from the dark recesses of his mind. The image of the girl's frail body, pallid from exsanguination, splayed over the cold black leather of his living room couch, appeared before his mind's eye. Her languid limbs had been left strewn where they'd fallen once her fight to be free of him had given out. Her neck had become the home to some dozen fang pits, though there was not a single crimson splatter on her skin. It was no stretch to imagine that, in such a scenario, he would lick every last drop of blood from her supple, soft, pale skin.

The image had him fighting the reflex that moved his fangs to bear. Fortunately, all Karou would've noticed was how his upper lip twitched as he reached for his coffee. He'd hoped that the flavour would distract his mind from imagining the texture and taste of her blood. It did little to help because the sugar he'd put in spurred his imagination. Oh no, she'll be so much sweeter than that. Mmm, but just as warm.

His mind was insidious! His inner demons, each a reflection of the spectrum of his iniquity. There was no solace he could glean from his next unsavoury thought. It was an obvious one, fuelled by other basal urges.

Pity the scene lacks her finer details...

Before he could dissuade himself, he was staring over the kitchen island and taking in her form to fill in the gaps. The way the clothes she'd been wearing in his previous daydream gradually fell away until he could see every last inch of her supple, soft, and pale skin was evocative. He watched his hands peeling, no, tearing them from her body.

Yes... Do that... Just like that... A voice whispered seductively, prompting him to grip the knife in his hand.

Once she's docile, you could touch her however you want. Another agreed.

Only for another to retort something more egregious. But then you won't be able to hear her scream and beg you not to do it. You won't be able to watch her cry.

Warren shuddered in his seat, aroused or disgusted—he didn't dare enquire of himself.

No! A fragment of his humane morality prevailed, much to the disappointment of his mind's fiends; they whined and snarled as they slunk back into the filthy pits from whence they came. She's too helpless to consider any of that.

Yet the fact remained that she couldn't leave with the knowledge of the Compound's whereabouts, and he had very few choices of where to house a vulnerable Mortal girl.

"You're going to have to stay here."

That's not so bad, I guess. Karou supposed, for now, her ignorance was her protection. "What is here? A prison?"

"No, it's a gated community for Mythicals. But if I say you can stay, you won't be challenged or harmed."

"So, you're the boss here, then?"

"Something like that."