Nikkolas Cruz

Eye of the Warrior: The Awakening

CHAPTER ONE

Twenty days, thirteen hours, twelve minutes and forty-nine seconds… he wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

Barak signaled the bartender for another Makers Mark neat. He brought the glass to his lips and inhaled. The spicy vapors masked the tobacco that clung everywhere. It made his insides tingle in all the right places, and settled his stomach. It only lasted a moment. The flashing blue lights and loud music combined with the manufactured scents to scramble his elevated senses.

Would it be another wasted night? He looked toward the sea of bodies on the dance floor moving to the repetitive beat. The men and their beautiful faces and perfect bodies no longer had the same appeal. Easy prey, that bored him.

He brought the glass to his lips and drew in another deep centering breath. As the lining of his nostrils and lungs tingled, he honed in on the faint sensation that had brought him here.

Barak scanned the faces on the dance floor. Somewhere among the smiling or the high was his target. Which of the handsome faces belonged to his guy? Which of these damned humans would be his prize tonight? The thought of the takedown helped ease Barak's queasy stomach. The hunt always thrilled him, but the chase and kill made his day.

"Reveal him," he whispered an order to his senses. He downed the whiskey and waited for a response. The spicy liquid numbed his tongue, as his eyes connected with a dark haired man with honey-brown eyes.

A faint quiver in the hunter's gut told him he was the one.

Barak moved toward the dance floor. Through the manmade pollutants hovering in the air, he caught the scent of his prey; a sweet yet subtle freshness intermingled with a natural male musk. A chill spread over him. He savored the aroma and burned it into his memory. He no longer needed to see the man to know exactly where he stood.

Barak slipped his shirt off and continued to navigate his way through the crowd. His target was one of the few wearing a shirt. He laughed and rolled his almond-shaped eyes at the blond man dancing beside him.

If they were together, he would have to separate them. He circled the couple, wondering how difficult that would be, until their eyes met.

Barak froze.

The man sent him a welcoming smile.

Are you the one?

The olive complexion, waves of dark hair, and chiseled features didn't interest Barak. He wanted to dive deeper inside and rip the essence from within the man. There was something in the air about him. It was faint, yet powerful. He wanted to know for sure, but the lights, smoke, and human chatter interfered. Another chill passed through him. The nausea returned in a sudden rush and the sensation started to fade. There was no time to waste. Barak smiled and moved in.

He wrapped an arm around his prey and maneuvered him away from the dance floor. Their lips came together in the darkened corridor.

The nausea subsided. The sensation was now stronger than ever. It was time.

***

Antonio Manzanetti closed his eyes and savored the whiskey-flavored tongue for a moment longer than he should have. His head spun from the sudden rush of cool energy that swirled around him. He figured it was from the last shot he'd downed. When he pulled away from the stranger's lips, in need of air, he opened his eyes to the dim lighting of one of the restrooms.

He leaned against the tiled wall feeling the rhythmic vibrations of the bass. The man's callused hands worked their way over his stomach, moving toward his chest. The buttons of his dress shirt popped open as they did.

Antonio's eyes and his hands traveled over the smooth mounds of muscle before him. Gym bunnies with shaved heads were his weakness. He always fell for the bad-boy type. It was easier that way. They didn't want anything more than a good time and neither did he. He'd done the boyfriend thing for a year. Three months had passed since their break up and he still wanted to drive a stake through the bastard's heart whenever their paths crossed. Get off, get up, get clean, and get out. That was all he wanted now.

He cupped the man's sizable package with his left hand and gave it a playful squeeze.

Oh, yeah, this'll do.

Antonio was ready to play. When he looked up into the blue-gray eyes, a chill spread from his chest to the rest of his body. The warm and inviting gaze was now a cold hard stare.

The warm horny feeling left him. He put on a big smile and figured it a good time for a getaway. "I'd better get back to my friends," he said and shifted to move away.

The man's massive hands stopped their gentle massage and pinned him to the wall.

Fear shot through Antonio, but a wave of anger pushed the fear aside. He didn't care if the motherfucker was as big as a house; after ending his last relationship, he'd promised himself that he would never let anyone bully him again.

"Fuck off," he said, and pushed the man away.

His heart raced as the stranger stumbled backward. Antonio headed toward the door, but before his hand reached the doorknob, the man grabbed a fistful of his hair and shoved him back against the wall.

Antonio raised a fist to strike back, but the man slammed his right palm into the center of his chest.

Something icy and wet grabbed hold of his wrist and forced it down to his side. Then the same invisible force wrapped around his entire body.

Antonio wanted to run screaming but his feet would not listen to the commands of his brain.

The man leaned in closer. His lips brushed against the curves of his left ear. They were cold and wet. His breath was hot and smelled of rotten eggs.

Antonio's heart slammed against his ribcage.

"I thought you liked it rough," the man whispered in a shrill tone.

The vapors of his rotten breath rolled down Antonio's cheek.

Antonio closed his eyes and fought off the nausea. He prayed to be somewhere else, anywhere else. Maybe he was imagining the whole thing.

Too many shots… I'll open my eyes and I'll probably wake up with my head in the toilet.

He took several deep breaths, deciding that what he told himself would be true as soon as he opened his eyes.

He counted backward from ten in his mind. When he reached four, his racing heart slowed. He felt the vibrations of the music once again. He was sure that it was okay to open his eyes now. Deciding that it would be water for the rest of the night, he took another deep breath and opened them.

Antonio choked on the rancid air, as he found himself standing before the pale gray face of a monster.

His terrified eyes traced the line of tiny metal spikes protruding across the center of the monster's forehead and around his jaw line. He looked into the man-creature's eyes. A veil of frost covered them. The gray irises and black pupils were no longer noticeable.

This isn't real.

Antonio stared into a mouthful of razor-sharp stainless teeth. His heart returned to its frantic rampage, and he blinked several times in the hope he'd wake up from the nightmare.

He found the strength to open his mouth and scream, but the sounds of the diva wailing about her cheating boyfriend drowned him out.

A burning pain ripped through his heart. He looked down and saw a stream of opaque green light flowing from his chest to the pale hand of the stranger.

It was a nightmare, he decided, watching the strange light pour from him.

What a silly dream, he thought, as he grew weaker. He wondered what it meant. He would have to ask his best friend in the morning, after he recovered from the vicious hangover. Kayla would probably tell him to avoid screwing around in the johns with strangers for the next month.

He heard himself laugh for a moment then felt himself drifting. The room grew darker and the music started to fade.

What would the next dream would be like? Warmer, he hoped, as he surrendered to the cool oblivion.

***

Barak stared into the lifeless human eyes. The warm fuzzy feeling was faint, but it still gnawed at his gut. The poor bastard wasn't Drakan. He was somewhere beyond the restroom door. He let Antonio's body drop to the floor.

Barak turned to the mirror and morphed back into the form he'd chosen for the night. His flesh tingled. Breathing in the air around him no longer made him nauseous. Taking in a human male was better than inhaling whiskey. It always made it better and lasted so much longer.

He looked at his face in the mirror again. Though not as perfect as his true form, he figured it would have to do. He needed to conserve his energy for the hunt.

A bang at the door called his attention to one minor detail. He pulled the communicator, fashioned after the sleek cell phones humans used, from his pocket. He flipped it open and after two beeps spoke into it. "Clean up and recycle required. Coordinates are as follows." He keyed a series of numbers before continuing his report. "Still in pursuit of target. Status out."

Antonio's lifeless body vanished in a flash of amber light.

Barak looked into the mirror once more. He decided he preferred brown eyes to gray and with one blink changed them. He opened the door and returned to the edge of the dance floor.

With no environmental interference, his predatory senses jumped into high gear. It took only a moment to pick up the scent of his next target.