Wolf Omega: Lykanos Chronicles 2

“Pompeia,” she said with bright eyes.

Instinctively, I drew my arms to cover myself, painfully aware of my exposure. If the woman noticed, she made no signal of it.

Without hesitation, Pompeia let herself into the bathroom and placed the dress on the large countertop of polished white marble. She then came to sit down on the first step outside the tub as if she meant for us to talk. Her eyes came within three feet of mine.

“There are no other females among us,” she said pointedly with an engaging smile. “So, I couldn’t wait to speak with you.”

I didn’t know how to answer such a statement. Was she so blind to her surroundings that neither my nakedness nor tears gave her pause?

But then, her face changed as if she realized my state.

“What’s happened?” she whispered. “You’re hurt.”

Francesca knocked at the bathroom door and entered carrying an enormous linen basket. She paused anxiously as if not expecting to find Pompeia with me.

“My lady, is there something I can get for you,” she asked.

Pompeia drew her eyes from me and stood quickly. She moved her hands to smooth her golden hair as if it had fallen out of place.

“I was just bringing Gabriella a gown for this evening,” she answered. “I expected she wouldn’t have one on hand.”

Francesca didn’t respond but stared almost reprovingly at Pompeia.

“I’m sorry to push in,” she said to the room. “I’ll take my leave of you both.”

When she’d gone, Francesca closed the door behind Pompeia and turned to acknowledge me.

“Forgive me, my lady. I would have stopped her had I expected she might intrude.”

I was at a loss to explain any of it.

“It’s alright,” I answered, not wishing to cause discord.

From her basket, Francesca drew several undergarments and placed them out for me. She also pulled a carafe and cup, into which she poured a light yellow fluid that reminded me of my thirst. Handing the cup to me as if I should drink, I discovered it was a lovely alcohol.

“Delicious,” I remarked with gratitude. “What is this called?”

“Moscato Bianco,” Francesca answered, “from the master’s vineyards in Piedmont.”

“This is wine?” I asked in amazement.

She stopped to look at me in confusion. I had never tasted white wine; another oddity I didn’t know existed. It was nothing like the acidic red, which held only unpleasant memories for me.

“I’ve never tasted it,” I admitted. “Do you like it?”

“Certainly,” Francesca answered, “though I don’t make a habit of it. But your nerves need calming.”

On the ledge of the tub, she placed a dish holding a small wedge of soft cheese. It drew pangs of hunger the moment I saw it.

“Thank you,” I offered and ate the cheese down in three full bites. It was another delicacy for the soul that I was grateful to receive.

But then I drew the wine to my lips once more, and something miraculous happened. The sweet nectar tasted different. It was now rich and full, filled with the flavors of apricots, peaches, and roses. Even the sweetness had changed and taken a second seat to its new body of flavor.

I drank it all down, overcome by an insatiable want for more. And just as quickly, the alcohol hit my bloodstream. I exhaled with delight and sank back into the warm water to lay against the tub’s side.

In time, Francesca helped me to wash my hair and back, taking care to keep from agitating my bruises. She withdrew a soft linen robe from the basket and held it open for me to step out of the bath.

“You’re too thin to drink like that,” she remarked when I stumbled slightly.

I couldn’t disagree, but I would’ve gladly welcomed a second cup and more cheese.

Francesca dried and combed my hair for me. Then dressed me in soft clothing that was comfortably light and unrestrictive.

“Why don’t you take a rest, and I’ll wake you later when it’s time to dress for dinner?”

I offered no resistance and laid down onto the bed, taking up no more than a tenth of its absurd size. Like the sheer clothes, it was exceedingly soft and moulded to my body when I stopped moving.

Francesca drew the curtains to darken the mid-day light that poured through the windows. After she left, the incredible comfort and sweet intoxication drew me to sleep within seconds.

At seven o’clock, Sempronio arrived at my room to escort me to dinner.

Francesca had styled my hair and dressed me in Pompeia’s blue dress.

“This is silk,” she answered when I asked of the exquisite fabric. It was the most refined garment I’d ever touched.

She also brought me jewelry: two gold rings and a pendant set with dark blue stones that sparkled in the candlelight. Its delicate artistry mesmerized me. Last, she helped me slip my hands into arm-length gloves the color of fresh snow.

“Good evening,” Sempronio bid me as I emerged to meet him. “You look lovely.”

I thanked him with a bow of my head. He was no longer dressed in his simple tunic but sported a lord’s coat and breeches, just as fine as the clothes Duccio wore. Sempronio’s apparel, for all its wealth and refinement, stood out because of the regal way in which he stood. His back was far straighter than I might expect from a man sporting white hair. Perhaps, I read too much into it, but it was one more reason Sempronio remained at the front of my thoughts.

Instead of departing, the old man gestured that we should sit down on the sofa in my drawing-room. He thanked Francesca, and she excused herself, leaving us alone by the lit fireplace.

“Before I introduce you to the others,” he began, “I want to discuss certain practicalities. I would not have you face them without a better understanding of who we are first.”

I agreed, hungry to hear every word the man might say.

“Lykanos—it was the word my master used to describe our people. You now understand part of how we are different, but allow me to share the rest.”

You can see my thoughts, his voice spoke to my mind. The sensation was both unnerving and delightful, and I could not help but exhale a smile in return.

“We are often born randomly to normal people, as your parents most certainly are... or were,” he corrected himself. “It is only when we come in contact with another lycan that our unique gifts awaken. My master speculated this change resulted from a physical exchange. Over time, I’ve learned that the change may come through a transfer of a different sort. Duccio tells me he sensed you from an impressive distance through his dreams; that you drew him and reappeared in his dreams again before he ultimately found you working in a field.”

I nodded emphatically. “Yes, I knew his face from my dreams before I ever laid eyes upon him.”

“And you heard Duccio’s voice speak to you through those dreams?”

Again, I nodded.

“So, you see, your change began before he was ever in your physical presence,” Sempronio nodded. “Regardless, it was Duccio who precipitated your change. And now, your dormant gifts are a part of your faculties like any other sense. We can hear each other’s thoughts, very similar to how we hear each other’s voices, but to a far greater effect.”

“And the people,” I said. “I can also hear their minds.”

“All my children’s minds will be open to you now,” he replied.

“No, I mean Francesca. I can see her thoughts, as well.”

Sempronio blinked and paused with a look of incredulity.

“I could sense her concern when she undressed me. Through her eyes, I saw the bruises on my back.”

The old man rose from the sofa and turned away to move about the room. He fell deep into silent contemplation.

“Yes,” he whispered at last, “it must be so.”

“Should I not have listened to her mind?” I asked with concern. I would do anything to keep from offending the man.

“Not at all,” he answered and returned to his seat beside me. “I told you when we met that I sensed you before you stood in my house. Yours is a stronger gift than most. I could feel you in my very bones as you approached from the harbor.”

“I heard you as I approached,” I admitted. “I heard... I don’t how to describe it. It felt like the sound had more to do with heat rather than music.”

Sempronio sighed as if the statement struck him; as if he might become emotional.

“Most of us can’t hear that sound. I have told Duccio of it before, but he does not hear it the way you or I do. For him, it’s a pull of the mind toward another’s. My other children have not even that gift. It may come to all of them one day if they live long enough, as it did to me.

“But that brings me to another fact of lycan: most of us age much more slowly than normal people. And during that time, some gifts may become stronger, though few understand this. Nor can they predict which gift will strengthen.”

“Why not?” I shook my head.

“Because most do not live long enough to discover those changes,” he said with resolve. “Most die in violence long before nature would be done with them. There is a dark side within most of us. It gifts us with extended lives, but also places us in great peril from ourselves and other lycan.”

“But why?” I pushed him to explain himself.

“That part I speak of grants us terrible strength, but it also disables even our most fundamental disciplines. And so the darkness takes advantage of our weakness and drives us to fight each other for dominance. What this place is, besides your home forever, is where you will learn to control the darkness and stop it from consuming you.”

Sempronio’s words, their true meaning, were foreign to me. But from his mind, I glimpsed an image. It was that same likeness from my first dream of Duccio, which I’d woken from in terror. I saw a black and terrible beast release a deep, threatening growl from its chest.

It was a monster.

As I beheld its fearsome eyes shining in my conscious mind, I understood it was to be my destiny, if not also my fate.