Ryan lay with his face to one side, his black hair like the broken crown of a fallen king. His body was bruised and scarred. His clothes torn and barely covering his body. His pale face now possessed a slightly crooked nose, and his green irises were several shades darker, drowning in the pool of red that was fading through the whiteness ‘round his eyes.
He lifted his head off the ground as Marcus approached, and though he was trying to stand up he failed to muster the strength to lift a bone from off the pebbles of the roof. It was as if he was drawn to the ground, as if he was being swallowed into the depths of the concrete that lay under the pebbles by some peculiar force of gravity that was alien to him. Ryan glanced down to his legs. At the knees, the lower half of his legs were just hanging, dangling like a piece of meat foreign to his body.
“Marcus,” he uttered in something that sounded like a whisper, his voice barely audible, “Adelaide.” He tried to speak, but his words weren’t making their way through his rusty vocal chords.
“Stay still,” Marcus said assertively as he knelt to examine Ryan’s lower limbs.
There was a sudden crack and Ryan screamed out in a growl. It amplified through the forests and the lake behind them as Marcus corrected Ryan’s dislocated legs.
“The full moon,” Ryan said as his breath was caught in the pain of his torn body.
“When night falls,” Marcus replied, standing and looking at the faraway towers of the city.
Ryan crawled toward the walls of the roof, dragging his legs behind him. He sat with his back to the wall and let out a sigh that came from the deepest parts of his soul. “Where’s Atlanta?” he asked as the memories came crawling back to him.
“I thought you would have the answer to that question.” Marcus said quietly, and after a moment continued, “The Skolars are missing. They haven’t shown up since the beginning of all of this.” The Vampire turned to look at him.
“Me?” Ryan asked in surprise. “Last I saw her, we were in the basement of her house, the night you apparently gave me a beating at the Dome.”
“Of course you don’t remember,” Marcus replied, not in a scolding manner but more matter-of-fact. “It seems you’ve been compelled since then.” He tilted his head slightly. “That was months ago, Ryan.”
Months ago? Impossible. And yet, somehow his body seemed to make more sense of it than his head.
As night fell on the dreary roof of the building they sat on, the blazing full moon sat on the verge of taking its full form in the sky. Through their frustrated eyes, they watched the darkness take over the dust-swayed air of the city and swallow the pride of the daylight sky.
Little did Ryan know that with the full moon, not only was his strength returning to his weary limbs and muscles, but also the memories that would haunt him for years to come.
“What happened?” Marcus asked.
Ryan was about to answer when his voice caught in his throat.
At first, the memories appeared in his mind as flashes of a nightmare, blurry yet destined to be as animated as his own reflection in a mirror. The first memory was of his father’s murder. That morning when his compulsion first took form. He remembered how he ran out of the house, hearing the howls of his father, and then finding his father’s body lying in the grass, contaminated by the blue blood that encircled their backyard. Then came the hovering sounds of the hybrid that tore through Ryan’s own limbs, its claws still carrying stains of his father’s blood. There was the blur that followed; Skylar, or as the memories later whispered to him, Adelaide. He saw clearly how he was tossed into her wicked games like a stone thrown, just to sink into the depths of a darkened sea. His heart curled into itself in agony as he remembered kissing her in front of the one girl he knew he trusted. The one girl he would give anything to give his heart to.
Atlanta.
A whimper slipped through his lips. He wondered where she was. He gazed at the moon as it promised him more of the ugly story unfolding before his eyes. The flashes came like hurricanes storming into a broken city. He saw James’ face as he was pressing him against the floor of the roof that he now sat on, blade in hand. He saw the hesitation in James’ eyes, and he saw the last choice James made. The memory carried with it a scene that promised to haunt Ryan for years to come. James’ eyes telling him that by not piercing the knife into his chest, he was giving him the responsibility to protect his niece.
It couldn’t be. Ryan felt he was too weak. He’d never be able to protect Atlanta the way James had. He felt incapable of even saving himself from the claws of the dust in the wind.
He stared at the spot where Atlanta had fainted, her uncle’s death resting within her tear-stained eyes. He wondered what might have happened had he been stronger, more in control, more like his father. James would still be here. He sighed deeply and tried to stand. His now-restored legs carried him effortlessly, healed under the bright gaze of the full moon.
There was no time to waste. He had to kill Adelaide and save a particular Druid from the witch’s claws.
He looked at Marcus and his eyes burned. He began shifting, every bit of rage within him turning into tension in his own muscles. Every drop of blood shed because of him becoming a hair on his furry arms. His fangs elongated.
He stared Marcus in the eyes, and with a deep growl said, “I have to find Atlanta.”
Marcus reached out and rested his hand on Ryan’s broad shoulder. “We are going to find Atlanta.”