Dezirah Volume 4

By Jacey K Dew

A millennium and a half ago, supernatural beings signed a treaty to disappear. Upset with their treatment and tired of hiding, supernaturals started a revolution.

A day to day routine settles with those still alive. Survival requires skille

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jacey K Dew
• Release date: Jan 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781999241438

Jacey K Dew

Jacey is a mom, wife and author. She was raised in Leduc, Alberta, and often takes inspiration from familiar locations to set the scene. Jacey started writing stories when she was sixteen and continues to have a passion for creating tales. Writing across genres in whichever story needs to be told next. Jacey can be found at a multitude of social sites under the handle @jaceykdew and her website hub www.jaceykdew.ca Her Linktr.ee can quickly sort you to social sites, merchandise and book shop, blog, fan club, and a few stores her books are available at. linktr.ee/jaceykdew

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Dezirah Volume 4

By Jacey K Dew

Published by Jacey K Dew at Smashwords

Copyright 2021 Jacey K Dew

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To all my friends and family who have supported me through the years.

Volume 4

Chapter 1 – Dominique Marshall

Jaiden stalks off with Hectre. I watch them tuck in behind the counter, and go off into the kitchen. There’s a slight lure to follow them—purely out of curiosity.

But, I know better, and I don’t wish to get caught up in whatever he needs done—cooking, cleaning, fixing, moving inventory, and the such. Jaiden always seems to be finding herself helping with chores around her, even when she has no reason to be—the person everyone calls when they need an extra set of hands.

I wonder what exactly her role was the last time she was here. She never has spoken much about her in between—summaries are the best of what she’s described.

Of the time, she said she was a delivery girl. But, she seems like one of those overachievers, never content to just be one thing; reaching beyond her job title.

I sit down in an offered chair across from the twins. Neither of them looks more than human—though I should know better by now. I hadn’t even thought to think about what kind of powers they might have; something I’ll have to remember in the future.

John and Sara claim seats next to me on the left. Sara reverses quickly to pull over another for Jaiden’s return. She’ll sit between John, and Sara. A buffer, I figure.

I push my attention back on the twins. Dark brown hair frames all around their faces, and contrasts against white skin. Each has a neatly trimmed full beard; trimmed to the same length. Eyes, as dark as their hair, flit around between the three of us.

They mirror each other perfectly in a freaky samesies twin thing.

The one on the left, the one only distinguished by a jean jacket, touched Jaiden, and told everyone he couldn’t read her.

I figure, that’s a good place to start. So, you can read minds? I push Cole for more information.

I’m cautious to be weary of my thoughts. Wondering how many times he’s must’ve heard people thinking that they must not think about a particular thing. Better than the alternatives I suppose—hearing any nasty thought someone might have.

Only when I’m touching people. He eases my mind—slightly. Except for, with Connor, I can read his mind anytime I want. He can’t read minds, but he’s a lie detector. With one brother cleared, the other may have just become a bit of an issue. It isn’t said, but I hope Connor has the same limitations as Cole.

The unmistakable sound of crashing plates swings everyone’s heads to the source. The room claps, and so do I—it’s customary, if not embarrassing.

Jules has her head down, looking down at the food, and broken dishes. A sigh draws up, and down her shoulders. She takes no joy in the broken, and strewn about dishes. I still my hands from compassion—hesitant that it may not ease the embarrassment as much as previously thought.

Jerry might even have repercussions for this. He might force her to pay for any broken dish. Pay for any food wasted.

She bends down to pick up the pieces as the lounge goes back to their own things. As I’m about to rise to help, Sara goes over to help Jules pick up the broken pieces of the dishes she had been collecting from around the room.

It doesn’t take more than two people to pick up a tray half full of dirty dishes, so I feel alright with not offering my help, and settle back.

Jaiden, right? Cole asks for a confirmation of her name, and continues with a nod from his twin. It has to be hereditary. He says to Connor. They’re already going on about a conversation. I pick it up only at Jaiden’s name. Cole had mentioned he could read Connor’s mind without touch, perhaps their conversation had been within their heads, and this is the first I’m hearing from them.

Sorry? What do you mean? I ask.

They both pay me their attention, but Connor answers my question. Her mind guard. It’s either something she’s practiced at placing, or she was born with it.

Cole shakes his head. No, it has to be hereditary. It was immediate, and strong, not something thrown up when I connected. I couldn’t get anywhere in her head—not even a peak—not even a knock. Most people don’t just have a bullet proof mind guard up for no reason—unless you constantly have something to hide. There is accusation within his words.

I eye Connor up, not daring to lie if he can feel it. It’s hard not to notice the attention of everyone else—all eyes on me. They too, want to know more about Jaiden. Maybe she was right in trying to keep to the background. Something I made impossible by announcing her as my second-in-command—woops.

Too late now.

Oh, yea, it’s hereditary. I answer vaguely. I don’t want to give more than needed, but I can’t make her untrustworthy by telling people she’s constantly hiding things on purpose.

Really? What is she? Cole pushes further.

I wasn’t ready for my vagueness to be questioned, and the word escapes me for what she had mentioned she was posing as. Umm. I fill in begging for more time to answer. She said to say something—something-path.

I can’t tell all these people that she’s a prophet. She doesn’t want people to know. And, I’m still not entirely sure if it’s safe for other people to know.

Darius might not care without reason, but Sandra might come looking for her if she finds out. She may have been skeptical of me, for good reason, but Sandra’s too cunning to ignore the benefit of real prophet. Knowing the future could be dangerous in the wrong hands, and that Jaiden wouldn’t last if taken, I can’t let them know.

I don’t trust any of these people yet.

Don’t know or can’t say? I shut my mouth tighter, but Connor takes his answer either way. It’s a secret then.

Cole takes a hold of my hand lying carelessly on the table. The thought of Jaiden is already in my mind. I try to think of nothing but my hatred of the forced entry to my thoughts—jealous of Jaiden’s ability to keep him out. And, try to rip my hand from his vice grip.

That’s definitely a secret, but not in a bad way. Cole pulls back. I snatch my hand back, and keep it close to my body. I apologize, but you were acting sketchy, and it doesn’t take Connor to know you were hiding information. It was in my best interest to find out what secret you were hiding. It’s hard to trust that strangers have the best intentions with their secrets. But, you do. While I believe they may be misplaced, I can respect your wish for it to remain a secret. And, I think, everyone else can too.

Cole, and Connor visibly relax with Cole’s admission, but the others only seem half appeased—more curious, and peeved.

I seethe through my teeth. Never do that again. Flashing my anger with my eyes, I warn him in an open ended threat.

I don’t know how much information he got, but he has to know about Jaiden as a prophet—at the least.

His words let on to more than that. I don’t know how the mind reading works. Does he just read direct thoughts, or can he take anything stuck in my head—more? How deep can he dive?

Shit! Sara shouts, standing next to Jules, and the collected dishes, gazing out the window.

Tumbling out of my seat, I bump with others scrambling to the window to see.

Darius is outside dumping a slumping body to the ground, and staring down Alexa.

As some go to the window to watch, others race outside to catch him. I dash to go outside.

The thought flashes that I don’t have a good weapon to confront him with, but there’s no time to grab anything. I have to hope one of these people have something bigger, and sharper than my pocket knife.

We can take him out -here, and now.

End this -here, and now.

A crowd around me covers much of my view. The far distance is more seeable than what’s right in front of me. Darius turns with Rayleen entangled in his grasp—running from the emerging crowd.

The people open up once we are out of the bottle neck of the entrance. Resistance releases at this point.

A body lies in a growing pool of blood in the middle of the way. Body faced away from me, yet, something inside me recognizes it as Daniel. Same clothes, hair, and in the right association.

Daniel is dead.

Alexa watches Darius as he leaves with Rayleen. Not one shout, or sign of resistance from either girls. Is she letting Darius take Rayleen? Was this part of some plan? The questions switch my aim from Darius to Alexa.

I’m upon her in moments.

Did you let Darius take Rayleen? Alexa does nothing but stare at the retreating form. Dead eyes and mouth agape. Is he kidnapping her? She’s not responsive. Alexa! I shout her name in frustration. Talk to me!

She’s useless. I resist the urge to shake her or slap her out of it. Those things only work in the movies—right? But, they would make me feel better.

A cold chill raises the hairs on the back of my neck with an epiphany; Darius took Rayleen, and Alexa wasn’t a willing participant. She’s in shock. And, Darius is running away.

I turn to see where Darius was escaping from. He is no longer there. I widen my search, but he is no longer anywhere.

Darius is out of view, but those chasing after him are not. Most have given up already—they are heading back. Others are standing, and watching as the opportunity runs away.

There’s no way I could run fast enough to catch up with him—even as fast as I am. I am no match for a vampire with a head start. I’m not even sure I would be any match for any vampire.

Taking stock of my surrounding in quick moments.

The death of Daniel on the pavement. Someone putting, a barely alive, Crystal out of her misery. A catatonic Alexa stands in shock in the aftermath. Rayleen kidnapped by her cousin’s ex-boyfriend— again. Darius is getting away.

Elation turns to sorrow in just a quick moment.

An engine roars. Zippy movements pull it out of the stall. Putting myself between the truck and the driver’s goal without a second thought— it stops right before it hits me.

Ziam shouts out a declining window. Out of the way, or get in. He plays to the best reaction I could have hoped for.

I choose the latter, and get inside the passenger seat. Barely inside, and in the seat, I’m pulled back, as Ziam slams the gas pedal as far down as he can.

Arms fly out in front, and to the door to brace myself. I hold on tighter in the knowledge that I’m not wearing a seat belt.

Suspending myself in spot—my back bumps the seat twice. My stomach lurches in sync with the truck.

Ziam drives as fast as the vehicle will let him. Faster, and faster, until we catch up to those in chase. Passing them, we expect to see Darius just ahead, but he’s gone.

Left, right, there’s no sight of Darius.

Where is he? I ask the universe, but Ziam is the only one listening.

I don’t know. Gone. He answers back. The truck slows.

No. I refuse. No.

We can keep going, or swing around. Someone we passed might have a better idea. Ziam stops the truck completely.

I want to tell him to keep going, but I don’t know where. We stop in a large four way intersection. Parking lots and sparse business buildings allow for a clear view in all directions—ground, and sky.

Not one bit of it gives way to a hint of Darius.

Turn around. We missed something. You drove really fast, too fast for the others, and too fast for him. He had to have ducked down one of the side roads. We went too fast—that has to be it.

Ziam turns the truck around, and tracks back to John, and three other people. I recognize their faces, but we haven’t had our introductions yet—allies of the revolution.

They’re stopped. We roll down our windows to speak with them.

Frustration scrunches all of their faces. If I had a mirror to look into, the same look would be in my own features. I can feel the angered rigidness in my jaw, and eyes.

John changes out of his wolf form. Furred skin shifts with the bone underneath.

The transformation looks like it would be nauseating, and painful, two expressions John just barely shows as it’s happening. It takes away from the oddly funny sight of a humanized wolf in people clothes.

I avert my eyes, not bearing to watch any longer. It’s gross, and weird. The change feels like something private—something I shouldn’t be witnessing.

I lost their scents. They’re gone. I look to him as I figure his talking means completion. The transformation is over, almost, too fast for what it is.

John’s regret is written in his eyes. He won’t look at me.

Shoulders quake as he catches his breath. The transformation must be exhaustive.

It was your stupid truck. If you hadn’t passed us, we wouldn’t have lost sight of him. And, he would have smelt more than gas fumes. The one argues; thoroughly angered by our interference. He blocks my view of John as he comes closer.

I wonder if these three have had their own interactions with Darius. A motivation for their anger, and want to go after Darius personally. Beyond what everyone else had—killing someone outside our doorstep.

It’s foolish to think that Darius, and Sandra did absolutely nothing for the whole winter. Darius wasn’t just stalking Alexa in the shadows or sneaking away with her to make out. Sandra would have attacked us if she had her way.

Four months is a long time. They could have created more bases, leveled cities, and murdered thousands of people.

All four of them try to get closer to the window, to speak with us easier.

What way was he going? Where could he have gone in the half a second it took us to pass you? I turn it back around on him. It wasn’t all our fault. We didn’t see him at all. They’re the ones who were tracking him, and lost sight of him.

Straight down this road. He tries to defend himself further. He’s fast.

So, where did he go? Turned down a road? Ducked into a store? He had to go somewhere. I press. Because he didn’t just go straight. And, he didn’t just disappear. We were too fast, and we would have caught him. But, we didn’t see him at all. I didn’t see him after he split the parking lot.

Let’s go back to the hotel. Ziam interjects.

No. My frustration turns on Ziam. I’m not going back until I find Rayleen.

He’s gone. There’s nothing we can do. He kicks back.

He has to be close. I say. Further away each second we talk this over, and over.

Or, he had a dragon waiting for him—like last time. John tries to help Ziam with reasoning.

How does he know that? I question before the answer pops into my mind.

Jaiden.

A short cool down stops the battle between us all. Ziam breaks the silence. Look, I don’t care what you do, but I have to get this truck back. We don’t have much good gas left, and Jerry will be pissed if he finds out we wasted too much of it for this. I’m sorry for your loss, but she’s gone. There’s nothing we can do now.

He’s wrong. I want to tell him as such, but I feel like it would be wasted words on a closed mind.

Throwing the door open pushes the four outside back, and out of my way. They wouldn’t have been hit, but the air breeze touches them all.

I get out through the door, and slam it shut behind me. I’m going to look for her.

Dominique. John chastises with only my name.

John. I dare him to argue with angered tone, and glare. He can do what he wants, but I’m going to do what I need to do.

He relents with sinking shoulders. Head back. John waves them off. We’re going to look around some more. See if I can catch his scent again.

The others file their way into the truck with their goodbyes, and good lucks. Ziam takes them back to the hotel.

I wish to get started, but John doesn’t do anything. So can you—umm. Do you smell in this form or do you have to morph?

An eyebrow goes up, and I imagine his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth in distaste from what I said. My smell is better in my lycan form. And, we generally go with transform or shift. He informs me. He grins, and shakes his head. Air blows out audibly through his nose, likened to a snort of laughter. Morphing sounds like something the Power Rangers would do.

Any other time, I might loosen up with his sign of peace.

Okay? I look at him, expecting him to get the cue to change. He’s wasting time. I raise my eyebrow in irritation.

John’s shoulders rise, then sink with an audible fast breath out his mouth.

Eyes bore into mine. Changes to his face structure grow out towards me. He grits his sharpening teeth. A small growl escapes at the same time his right eye twitches.

An abundance of hair grows from every pore—every spot on his bare skin. He’s wolf like, but also human too.

The change happens incredibly quick for what it is—a full body transformation.

Not like what I’d expect. Many movies and shows go with a bone breaking total wolf transformation—the human body changing into a wolf. Not, this. Not something in between—not something more human than animal.

Is it because of his human mother? Is he more human like because of her? Or, are all werewolf transformations like his?

So focused on the physical changes, I almost miss the rest of his reactions to the change. Scowls, and near growls of pain. Twitching muscles. Clenched fists. The barest of blood from the new features blends so well, is gone so quickly, it is a near miss.

The clothes look strange on him. So often, more than not, werewolves in movies tend to be naked. They either remove the clothes before that transformation, or it breaks off during the transformation—somehow.

They also look more like actual wolves—or angry monkey face, wolf eared, and fur suit creatures.

He waves his snout around. I can hear him sniffing the air. John walks around the area with intent. Scenting slowly as he walks back to where we had originally crossed him in the truck.

Right—towards some restaurants, and stores. Down, a little ways, to the left, and to a road between more stores, and houses—both named 37th street despite not meeting up in a perfect line.

Left we go, down to the houses. Two blocks down to apartments. A quick, but leisurely pace. Right, left, right. A stroll by housing, parking lots, and trees. All, with no sight, and no scent.

A hospital comes up on our right.

John stops walking. I think he might have final gotten something—so far away from our original position.

Hands clench, muscles twitch, and his head tosses side to side. Excess hair falls to the ground—pushed out of his skin. It doesn’t retract like I thought it would. He shakes his clothes to rid himself of trapped fur. Somehow, his body knows to keep the human hair exactly as it was in either form.

John turns around. There’s nothing. No scent of them anywhere.

Try again. I insist.

No. If he could growl, I’m certain he would be.

I bite my tongue, and resist yelling at him. He’s not who I’m angry with— just part of my frustration. There’s other roads. We haven’t checked them all.

The hotel is on the other side of this hospital. Let’s just go back, and regroup. He insists.

"I can’t