The Lost Omega

A New Beginning: The wind was icy, and she felt the cold all the way down to the tips of her toes. If only she didn't have to eat, she would give in and buy boots one of these days; she just couldn't help herself. Cassie laughed as she continued to trudge the remaining half mile to her house while burying her nose in her jacket. Even when she was in human form, the fact that she was a werewolf gave her an advantage in terms of strength and stamina. However, the twelve-hour shift that she had just finished working at Fangs's was sufficient to cause even her bones to ache. On Thanksgiving, you'd think that people would have better things to do than go to an Italian restaurant to eat, but some people still do. Although the proprietor of the restaurant, Jim (who was Irish and not Italian, despite the fact that he made the best gnocchi in Jersey), allowed her to pick up extra shifts, he wouldn't let her put in more than fifty hours of work in a single week. The most significant perk she received was a free meal for every shift she worked. She had discovered that living the life of a werewolf was just as expensive financially as it was personally. Despite this, she feared that she was going to have to find a second job in order to cover her expenses. She entered the home by using her keys to unlock the door. Since there was nothing in her mailbox, she went to Karin's apartment on the third floor, took Karin's mail and newspaper with her, and then climbed the stairs. Mouser, Karin's Ciamese cat, took one look at the woman as soon as the door was opened, spat in disgust, and darted behind the couch. It had been six months since she began providing food for the cat whenever her neighbor was absent, which was frequently due to the fact that Karin worked as a tour coordinator for a travel agency. Mouser's hatred for her had not abated. He cursed at her from his hiding place in a manner that could only be done by a Ciamese. Cassie expelled a sigh as she opened a can of cat food and placed it near the water dish in the dining room. She then proceeded to place the mail and the newspaper on the small table in the dining room. She proceeded to close her eyes as she sat down at the table. She needed to wait for the cat to finish eating before she could go to her own apartment, which was located one floor above. If she were to just leave him there, she would find an unopened can of food waiting for her the next morning. Even if it was a werewolf that he didn't put his faith in, Mouser wouldn't eat unless there was someone else there with him, regardless of how much he detested her. She would normally turn on the television and watch whatever program was currently airing, but tonight she was too exhausted to make the effort, so instead she unfolded the newspaper to see what had transpired in the time since she had last picked up a copy, which was approximately two months ago. She did not show much interest in the leading stories on the front page, so she only read them quickly. Mouser emerged from the room, still muttering his complaints, and walked angrily into the kitchen. She turned the page to show Mouser that she was in fact reading it, and she drew in a sharp breath when she saw the picture of the young man. It was a headshot, and it was obviously a school picture. Next to it was a similar shot of a girl the same age as the subject of the headshot. The headline read, "Blood Found at Crime Scene Belongs to Missing Naperville Teen." She was experiencing some anxiety as she read the article's recap of the crime for those who, like her, had been unaware of its occurrence when it was first reported. Kenzie Alan was last seen at a high school dance two months ago, on the same night that the body of his date was discovered on the school grounds. The dead girl's body had been so badly mutilated by animals that it was difficult to determine what caused her death. There had been a pack of stray dogs that had been causing problems in the neighborhood for the past few months. The authorities had been unsure whether or not the missing boy should be considered a suspect. The discovery of his blood gave them reason to believe he was another victim. Cassie reached out and trembled her fingers as she touched the happy face of Alan Kenzie. She was aware. She was aware. She jumped up from the table, oblivious to Mouser's unhappy yowl, and ran cold water from the kitchen sink over her wrists in an effort to prevent herself from becoming sick. The unfortunate youngster Mouser's meal took him an additional hour to consume in its entirety. By that point, Cassie had the article committed to memory and had made up her mind about something. To tell the truth, she had known as soon as she read the paper, but it had taken her the entire hour to work up the courage to act upon it: if there was one thing that she had learned in her three years as a werewolf, it was that you didn't want to do anything that might attract the attention of one of the dominant wolves. If you called the Marock, who ruled over all of the wolves in North America, he would undoubtedly pay attention to your summons. She was forced to use Karin's phone because she didn't have one in her own apartment. She waited for her hands and her breathing to become steady, but when it didn't appear as though this was going to happen, she dialed the number that was written on the crumpled piece of paper anyway. After the third ring, she figured out that it was one o'clock in Montana, not Jersey, and that the time difference would be significant given that she was dialing the area code for Montana. Which is it, a difference of two hours or three? Earlier or later? She abruptly ended the call by hanging up the phone. What exactly was she planning to say to him in any case? That she had seen the boy, who was obviously the victim of a werewolf attack, in a cage in her Alpha's house weeks after the boy had gone missing? That she believed the Alpha was responsible for ordering the attack? It was sufficient for Jason to inform the Marock that he would find the child at a later time and that he had not authorized the action. Perhaps this was the way that things worked out. It's possible that she was projecting her own experiences onto the situation. Even so, she had no idea whether the Marock would raise an objection to the attack. It's possible that werewolves were given permission to attack whoever they pleased. That was exactly what had transpired with her. When she looked up from the phone, she saw the boy's face staring back at her from the newspaper that was open in front of her. She gave him one last look before dialing the number once more, certain that the Marock would at the very least take issue with the attention that had been brought to it. This time, she got a response to her call on the very first ring. "You are looking at Eli." He did not give off an intimidating vibe at all. "Cassie," she introduced herself, wishing her voice weren't shaking as she spoke. She reflected on the past with a hint of bitterness, thinking back to a time when she hadn't been afraid of her own shadow. Who would have thought that her transformation into a werewolf would cause her to become such a chicken? However, she was now aware that monsters existed in the real world. She might have been upset with herself, but she just couldn't get another word out of her throat no matter how hard she tried. If Jason were to find out that she called the Marock, she might as well just shoot herself with the silver bullet that she had purchased a few months ago in order to spare him the inconvenience. "Cassie, you're calling from Jersey, aren't you?" She was taken aback for a second, but after some reflection, she realized that he must have the caller ID enabled on his phone. It was unlike any dominant figure she had ever encountered for him to remain calm despite the fact that she had interrupted him. It's possible that he worked in an office of some kind. That made better sense. The Marock's personal telephone number is not something that would be shared with others in any way. She managed to keep her composure thanks to the belief that she wasn't in fact communicating with Marock. Even Jason was shaken by the Marock's presence. She didn't bother to answer his question because she assumed he was already aware of the response. "I called to speak to the Marock, but maybe you could assist me instead." "I called to talk to the Marock." There was a brief pause, and then Eli said, "I am the Marock, child." with a trace of regret in his voice. Again, panic began to take hold of her, but before she could excuse herself and hang up, he offered some reassuring words, "It's not a problem at all, Cassie. You are in no way to blame for this. Please explain why you've called."