APEX

Ch. 1: The Situation

WARNING: This story contains mature themes including violence and strong language that may not be suitable for some readers.

Rhys

We referred to the day after a full moon as the forgotten hours. After transforming, our bodies contorting into those of bestial predators, we'd hunt, attack, kill, and feed. As the sun rose, we shifted again, back into the human skin we'd wear for the next month. The process was like running a marathon; it left us spent and sore. Unable to immediately function like normal humans, we gave our bodies and minds a stretch of time to recover. I'd slept around the clock on more than one occasion after a full moon and had always thought the forgotten hours well named.

This month should have been no different, except for the high-pitched buzzing coming from my phone. The only number allowed to break through my do not disturb setting was the only one I couldn't ignore.

I swiped to answer and made a garbled declaration to indicate to my father that I was on the line.

He spoke only one sentence before ending the call. "Get over to Apex HQ now."

That was an order I had no choice but to follow; still, I rolled onto my back and gave myself a moment. My legs and arms burned from last night's shift, my stomach felt heavy, and my head pounded like I'd downed a bottle of whiskey. In the last ten years that I'd held an official position at Apex, I'd never once been called into work during the forgotten hours. Nobody had, except for the human employees who kept the lights on and operations running in our absence. Whatever Gerald Rawlings needed me for, it could be no small thing.

Forty-seven million people lived in the megalopolis of Sury, and I was one of the few with the ability to save them from the worst of their impulses. Today, however, I could barely save myself from stumbling off the curb into mid-morning traffic. Located three blocks from my building, Apex Headquarters on a normal day would take only a few minutes and little exertion to get to. This morning, I might as well be climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I put on shades and a baseball cap and kept my head low, hoping no one would recognize me in this disheveled state.

By the time I made it to the lobby of Apex, I was sweating, breathing hard, and in the mood to argue with people for stupid reasons. I grunted a passable hello to the humans, Lilly and Tonya, at the reception desk, who countered with polite smiles. I imagined them exchanging knowing glances followed by giggles after I'd passed. I hate looking less than my usual put together self, especially in front of our human employees. My father's unknown reason for dragging me out of the forgotten hours irked me as I headed to the elevator. I dove into the nearest one just as the doors were starting to close.

The aroma hit me first, the bright honey-like sweetness of cherry trees in bloom. In spring, wind carried that smell from the riverside park in the Crown District over to our territory. The whole elevator smelled like a grove of blooming trees, an enticing amaretto scent that made me buzz.

It was all because she was here. Calla Bardot, daughter of Simone Bardot and therefore one of the highest-ranking members of the Crown pack. We barely knew each other, which was the way it was meant to stay, cherry blossom scent or not.

"You look like shit," she said.

I wished I could say the same of her, but it would have been a damned lie. Her long, glossy hair fell in uniform curls down her back and her nails had been painted to match her auburn locks, something she would have had to do post last night's werewolf transformation. She looked like she'd just come out of a photo shoot, rather than rudely awoken with the world's biggest hangover.

Thankfully for me, I didn't have to look my best, all I needed to do was take up space. And so, I stood in the center of the elevator, removing my cap and sunglasses and then calmly placing my hands behind my back. I was almost a foot taller than her, and while there were only the two of us in the elevator, I stood only inches away. It was ballsy of her to insult me, never mind that the insult might be true. She was on my turf, and she knew who she was dealing with.