The Golden One

I Need Answers

"You look good in that dress sweetness, I knew it would fit your perfect body just right." His voice is deep and husky as his eyes flick from my chest to my hips and back to my eyes.

"I'm not here for your compliments Damien. The only reason you're not dead right now is because we need to talk. I need answers." I keep my voice calm, trying to ignore his repulsive looks at my body. He chuckles and takes a step closer. Instinctively I take a step back, uncomfortable at his proximity.

"We both know you wouldn't kill me, Meila. You're weak in that respect. You don't kill." He stands a few feet away from me, hands clasped and resting at his groin, dark eyes glimmering mischievously in the moonlight. When I don't respond he sighs.

"What answers do you need, Meila." His expression softens. Does he really want to talk with me?

"My childhood. Why was I— why did you take me?" My voice shakes lightly. Being alone with him, even in such an open space, unnerves me.

"The Elite have been around since the creation of our species, keeping us united and strong without our people even knowing. The prophecy came to light centuries ago. The Golden One would bring the rise of the Werewolves. Many people have searched for you through the centuries. My father, his father, his father before him and so on. Luckily for me, you appeared during my time as leader. Even luckier for me I found Ayoke; starving, helpless and all too eager to drag herself out of the gutter. She found you for me and had foreseen Christopher as your mate. I wanted to cover all my bases in case you were reluctant to help me. And as it turns out, you were." His voice is calm, his body language laid back and I can't help but wonder what he gets out of this encounter.

"When we found you, we weren't sure if you were the right one. But as our tests continued, it became clear you were. Your blood is special, you might have noticed, but we wanted to use this against the weak wolves among us. We took as much as we could and began engineering something that would destroy unworthy wolves who walk among us. A biological weapon to aid with natural selection. There are so many with watered down genetics, it's only right that we bring our species back to its former glory; pure blood wolves."

"Pure blood is not a sign of strength. Many purebloods are weak. Brad for example. You can't tell me you think he's worthy just because of his blood." The thought of Brad makes me angry, his attempt to overthrow me by hurting Christopher was beyond cowardly and now I realise it was done at the hands of the Elite.

"He is weak. But his offspring will be strong. We will mould the future generations of wolves to be strong and powerful so that this species will never be weak again."

"You can't just play god!" I yell at him but his stance is unwavering.

"I'm not playing god. I'm helping our species. I'm protecting it." I scoff at his words, no response available for his madness. I had to think fast, what else did I need to know? His words only brought up more uncertainty and questions.

"When I escaped, you stopped looking for me?"

"No. We had what we needed, we then needed time to develop the disease. I always knew where you were, Meila. It's no coincidence Francis found you." My face contorts into a frown, thinking about the words he's just uttered.

"Oh sweetness, did you think he cared? He was one of us. He was merely watching over you for us. We always wanted you back. I wanted you back." His emphasis on the last sentence sent a chill through my body, it implied that he cared for me when all he'd ever done was torture and hurt me. And Francis being one of them? I couldn't believe it, he was like a father to me. A stab of sadness hit my chest.

Michael. Did he know?

"Why wait all this time? Why take Christopher so many years after I was free?" My brain hurts trying to process everything he is saying, but there's so much more I need to know.