Adapt (I)

Scarlet

I can hear every facet of the world around me.

The chipper of anonymous birds in the trees.

The distant pull and push of the ocean.

The creaking of the swaying pines that gather on the cliff side.

I let my foot falls wash away the sounds that seem at once familiar and foreign.

The very distant whoosh of cars.

The buzz of a distant boat motor.

The rub of the fabric of my clothes.

It has been around a week since I woke up and the days seem empty. I go through the motions, doing my work outs, and completing the online schoolwork Logan had organized for me. At first it was nice. I let myself enjoy the simple days. After all, it was all I have ever wanted. A quiet life.

Now as I jog around the forty-acre estate Logan owns, on my third and final lap of my seven-kilometre circuit, I can’t help but feel like I am in a prison. The sparkling ocean is my cell walls and the trees are the army blocking my way to freedom.

Yes, I run over twenty kilometres a day now. I have been monitoring my stamina and somehow, day by day, I seem to be able to stretch my distance and decrease my timing by another kilometre, another minute. Athletes would kill for my progress, but it just makes me hyper aware that my therian side is growing, like Logan said it would.

The final kilometre of my run comes into view and I know that my muscles are looking for something more. Most days I would oblige my muscles by tacking on another circuit. Not this morning. I had gotten up far too late, and the morning sun has started to beat down, making my skin too warm.

At any rate, if there is a day in the year that I deserve to rest, it is today.

I force myself to slow at the end of my circuit and walk the rest of the way back.

Logan’s cliff side mansion - or the Villain’s Lair, as I affectionately call it - comes into view. Well, when I say view, I mean the indent in the earth that marks the entrance to the massive garage that Logan and his two sisters fill with cars they buy on whims. The first time I had stepped foot in this garage I had been blown away by the sheer number of very shiny, very expensive looking vehicles. They range from sleek luxury SUVs, to spotless vintage cars, to loud coloured hypercars. I had walked through the show room with my hands laced behind my back, careful not to touch the paint jobs and reflective chrome. Logan had watched me with blatant humour as I made small noises of appreciation. He let me fan-girl in my quite way, answering my questions about makes and models, tops speeds and cylinder count. No, I am not a car enthusiast, but Trent had taught me the basics of the combustion engine. I have appreciation for these feats of engineering.

Even now as I walk through the garage, I moon at the super cars, pausing on the red Bugatti for a moment. Then I call the elevator, step in and make my way to the kitchen.

The living space is bathed in morning sunlight, making the golden grain of the wood floor glow. The hearth has been cleared and swept, and all of Logan’s night-time reading has been returned to the shelves. I had been delighted a few nights ago when Logan had told me that I was welcome to read anything in the library.

I push into the kitchen and am greeted by a clatter of noise. Bowls and plates are stacked high around the sink and flower dusts the silver countertops. An anxiously looking Margarita looks up from her recipe book, shock on her face.

“Scarlet! You are back early!” She wipes her hands off on her apron.

Margarita is beautiful in the most exotic way. Her hair is long, dark and curly, pulled up into a messy bun. Her skin is several shades deeper than mine and flawless. Her round face is homely and gorgeous, featuring the same dark walnut eyes as Logan. At a glance Margarita and Logan are chalk and cheese. If it weren’t for the eyes and the blue light in them, I would have denied that they were related.

I check the clock on the microwave. I am about twenty minutes early. I must have run a lot faster than I thought.

“What are you doing?” I ask, laughter in my voice.

“Well, umm...” She looks around as if the answer to my question is somewhere in the mess. She sighs. “I’m making your birthday cake.”

“Oh.” I say, unable to hide my surprise. “I didn’t tell you guys it was my birthday...”

"Logan.”

Of course, Logan had told them. I don’t know why I thought my birthday would be immune to Logan’s mind reading.

Margarita starts about her mission again. “You like chocolate, right? I found a wonderful recipe and I thought this is the perfect time to test it out.”

The enthusiasm in her voice warms my heart. Honestly, I am flattered that she would even do this for me. I hadn’t been much of a house guest, staying in my room for long hours, walking about the common areas with sullen expressions. It was clear after meeting Margarita that she is a home maker and is the main culprit behind the stunning décor. She talks often about her children and grandchildren, and when she does, I completely forget that they are therianthropes. Actually, when I look at Margarita, I find it hard to believe that she is the same species as the monsters of teeth and malice that I have taken out in my past.

That’s why it is so easy to give her a beaming smile. “I love chocolate. Thank you, Margarita. It really means a lot.”

She waves me off. “Don’t thank me until you eat it. It might turn out inedible.”

I realize that she wants me to leave so that she can continue making a mess. I grab a banana out of the fruit bowl and head back to my room.

Back in my room of windows, sunlight blanketing the entire space, I sit on the bench and munch on the fruit. In the daytime, the room is equally beautiful as of a night, but in a completely different way. The back wall is crisp white, making the sunlight that much more intense. Blonde woods accent the room bringing even more warmth. But the room is well airconditioned and the windows are heavily tinted, making the ambient temperature comfortable. I undo my sneakers, gather my clothes out of the closet and head to the bathroom.

Like everything else, the bathroom is an elaborate affair. The bathroom is a blend of the grey flagstone and white marble. Once I am done with my shower, I clothe and I set about doing some of my school assignments. They are straight forward enough, only occupying my time until late morning, when I decide that it’s time to eat and do my mid-day work out. Logan has a gym because, well, why wouldn’t he? And it is well equipped. I grab the book I had already burnt through from Logan’s library, and I head back down.

The sun is milder in the living room now. Focused on my task at hand, I stride over to the library and replace my book. I head into the kitchen and find Margarita, changed out of her dirty cooking clothes, placing the finishing touches on a delicious looking chocolate cake.

“Oh, Margarita, that looks wonderful!” I say as a sharp pain pierces my heart. Jess always made me a cake on my birthday.

Margarita gives me a proud smile. “It does, doesn’t it?” She swirls the last piped rose onto the cake, places the piping bag down and comes around the island to give me a hug. I burry my face into her shoulder, unable to control my craving for a mother’s touch. Margarita has the maternal hug down pat. My eyes spring with tears but I fight them back.

“Happy birthday, Scarlet.” She pushes me back to look at me with her warm dark eyes. “I know you haven’t been with us for very long, but I have to admit I am very glad you are here.”

I choke out a laugh. She laughs too. “Thank you.” I say.

She cups my cheek and smiles. “You’re welcome.” She moves back to the kitchen island to place a glass cover over the cake. “This is for later. In the meantime, I believe that Logan has a surprise waiting for you in the garage.”

“Oh, what is it?”

She gives me a sly smile. “That’s not how surprises work. Go!” She shoos me.

Smiling, I make my way to the garage. I decide to take the stairs this time. I wind my way up the flag stone stairwell.

I push through the door and walk out into the middle of the garage. Nothing is different from this morning. All of the cars are in place, gleaming in the florescent light.

Then an engine booms to life like a thunderclap, echoing off the stone walls. A set of white head lights beam, and the red Bugatti eases out of its parking space to pull up beside me, window sliding down.

Logan’s bright smile greets me. “Happy Birthday!” He says over the sound of the snarling engine.

My eyes bug wide. Is he giving me the Bugatti Veyron? Why the hell would he do that?

His smile drops, but his humour doesn’t. “Definitely not. But we are going to drive it to your birthday surprise.”

I let out a breath. “Oh good, because although I love this car, I am one hundred percent sure I would wreck it within five minutes.”

He laughs. “As am I. Now, if you don’t mind, we have a bit of a drive ahead of us.”

I rush to get into the passenger side, my heart racing at the thought of leaving Logan’s estate for the first time in weeks. With a roar, I am pressed into the seat and we jet out of the garage.

As we make our way down the coast, I revel in the feeling of the car gripping to the corners. I close my eyes and listen to the sound of the engine scaling the gears.

“So, it is your eighteenth birthday. How does it feel to be a legal adult?”

I open my eyes, pulled from my revelry. “What? Oh, I wouldn’t know. I must have lost a year of my childhood at some point and didn’t remember my age. I’m nineteen.”

Logan gives me a look from the driver’s side. “Well, yes, technically. But you are eighteen, in heart and mind, as you would say.”

I frown, contemplating his words. In a way, he is right. Up until Boe had told me I am a year older, I had thought of myself as seventeen, turning eighteen. Surely that counts for something. Yet, I have always acted older than most of my peers, so when I was told of my actual age, I had no arguments.

I shrug. “I think I have disassociated from my age, so to answer your question, it feels no different. I have lived by myself for two years, and I have never been much of a teenager.” I sigh, and with it I feel a little bit of the pressure in my mind dissipate, a light heartedness replacing it.

Huh. Is that what it’s like to come to terms with something?

Logan doesn’t respond. Instead, he segues us into inconsequential conversation as we wind down the coastline. After a few hours, the coastline starts to become familiar. Half an hour later, I realize that we are getting close to the Green Haven.

My eyes light up when it dawns on me. “Are you taking me home?” I ask, a little afraid he is going to say no.

He smiles, showing me his straight teeth. “For the day, yes. I know you have been missing them, and after calling in some favours, I am able to get you into town without being noticed.”

I am about to question how he could do that when I stop myself. I don’t want to risk Logan turning us around.

Logan chuckles at my thoughts as I force myself to fold my hands in my lap. “Thank you.” I say in careful composure.

“You are welcome, Scarlet.”

“Why have you been so nice to me?” I blurt out.

“I have told you, your mother-”

I interrupt him, unable to stop myself now that I have opened up this can of worms. “No, I know why you’re protecting me and saving me. I want to know why you are treating me so well. You and Margarita have been so nice to me, and I’m not sure what I did to deserve it. I mean, I pointed a dagger at your spine once.”

“And I turned that same blade on you, if you recall.”

I raise an eyebrow at Logan.

He chews on his tongue for a moment. “I see a lot of your mother in you.”

My eyes narrow slightly. “So, what were you to my mother?”

He chews on his tongue again. “Are you ready for a full answer or something vague?”

I think for a moment. “Full answer.”

He sighs. “I was born four years before your mother, in the early seventeen-hundreds.”

“Oh,” shit. That is definitely one hell of an opening sentence.

Logan continues, ignoring my inner monologue. “Your grandmother died some five years after your mother’s birth. Your mother was left in my mother’s care. For intents and purposes, Lariana - or Lara - and I were raised as siblings. Your mother was a... delicate child. She was not fond of being outside and shied away from anything distasteful, like cooking or cleaning.”

I screw my face up, thinking about how I couldn’t have less in common with this woman.

“But she was also unbearably kind-hearted. Almost too much so. We grew up and Adapted. She was beautiful in adulthood, but her fragile spirit was not suited for the challenges her lineage presented. I became her protector and mentor, hoping to harden her just enough so that she could be strong in the face of adversity.” He flexes his grip on the steering wheel. “In the end I think she may have been a little too strong, leaving the safety of those like her to be with her Hunter.”

I am quite for a moment, absorbing it all. I am still stuck on his description of my mother, wondering how the hell he could see her in me. I know he can hear my thoughts, but instead of letting him answer my unspoken question, I ask one that I would rather the answer to. “So, my parents were in love? It wasn’t something else...?”

He nods, relief seeming to paint his face. “Yes, they were a love match, although a star crossed one. It was hard won for them and seemed to have a great cost. Yet...”

“Yet?”

“Yet the product was you, and I do think that you have some greater purpose.”

“And what do you think that is?” I ask, though I am not sure I am ready for the answer.

Logan turns to me with a soft smile. “Today is not the day for heavy conversations. If you wish, we can talk about it tonight. For now...” he gestures to the welcome sign of Green Haven. “Just enjoy.”