Chapter 1
I woke up, as usual, bruises aching and with the smell of dog shit outside my bedroom window. As I sat up in bed and stretched out my sore muscles, I took in the view of the little cottage I lived in, built in the backyard of my employer, Connor Norrington. Compared to my employer's house I was technically living in the slums, but it was home. I fell out of bed and groaned as some of my fresh bruises were squished against the hard wooden floor.
I staggered into the bathroom and groaned again. "Jackson I'm going to rip your arms off!" I screamed at my cabin mate, still sound asleep. The mirror was cracked beyond all use, I might as well have tried to use frozen water in a pothole, it was the third mirror he had broken in the past month. It pissed me off that I had to replace it every time, although the way I felt, I didn't want to see my face. I stared into the part of the mirror that wasn't completely shattered, I stared at my jet-black hair, examining the two scars, I had received the previous day, one crossing over my right eye and the other forming a hook coming out of my hairline.
My eyes, which most of the workers described as emeralds straight from hell, were quite swollen from being hit in the face with fists the size of hams. I found it funny though the fact that the workers referred to my eyes like that, they said the way my eyes could reflect light was unnatural, and of course the fact that my eyes liked glowing in the dark.
Jackson got out of bed, stretched and swaggered into the bathroom. He stared at me stupidly and then at the mirror. "Sorry Alex, I had one of the maids in here last night and she was a wild one, ey." He broke into a sly grin but that was obviously too hard to keep up with a hangover and was soon replaced by a queasy expression.
I took my leave just as he plunged his face towards the toilet, the sound of retching did, however, for reasons only some understand, not fit well with the sounds of birds chirping. I rubbed my sore muscles covered up my bruises and left the cottage, I wasn't too worried about them I had a habit of healing fast. The day started normal enough, we got gardening equipment and started working on Mr Norrington's 50-acre garden.
Most people assumed I was in my late twenties because of the fact that I was working in a billionaire's garden for minimum wage, they were all wrong, at the time I was 18, I worked for Mr Norrington because I didn't have any choice, I had been dumped in his care before I could even talk. As soon as I had finished school he told me that as he had paid for my school tuition, I had to pay him back and that is how I ended up being his employee.
As usual Mr Norrington's daughter, Amber, kept prancing around the garden to get attention from the one worker she hadn't screwed yet; me. I could feel another set of eyes on me, although I had no idea who it was, strangely though I could almost smell the hopelessness emanating from the onlooker. That was of course another one of the reasons most of the workers were afraid of me or hated me, they had various names for how they felt about me. I could smell emotions, usually only fear, it smelled strongly of old urine which is rather hard to miss, but sometimes I got a couple of whiffs of affection, anger, greed and a bunch of other nice or not so nice smells.
Amber's soft hands wrapped around my shoulders and she softly touched the muscles that the work had given me over the years, she pressed her body against mine hoping I would feel her breasts or any one of her body parts curled around me. She started stroking my shoulders and moved slowly towards my neck. She stopped and withdrew her hand a couple of centimetres away from my neck, she only stopped when her father was looking at her. As can be expected he did not approve of his daughter flirting or sleeping with one of the workers. The spoiled bitch had gotten me in trouble more times than I care to count and she was the reason for the various bruises zigzagging across my body.
She left me in peace just afternoon at which time, I must have smelled like a musty old sock, thanks to all the sweat pouring down my neck. As usual, I tried looking for the origin of the other stare but found nothing. I only got a wave of relief growing stronger with every step Amber took away from me. As soon as Amber left for horse riding lessons. Pablo's face, which could give a dead man some nightmares, appeared before me. "Puta! She mine gringo!" He yelled in his broken English. It was as always quite humorous to hear a Mexican yell at you in a British man's garden, but Pablo's size and scar-marked face soured any conversation in a kilometre radius, so nobody laughed when he spoke.
Pablo's story was depressing. His mother had moved from Mexico, pregnant with twins to Britain using up the only money she had, to get herself citizenship. When she got to Britain she started doing any job she could find, she gave birth to Pablo and Amelia in a back-alley hospital, she died during the procedure. Pablo and his sister were left for dead, but Mrs Norrington found them and took them in, of course, Mr Norrington gave them to one of the maids first chance he got and they were raised as workers for the Norrington household.
Pablo could have been a winner of the idiot of the year awards if, of course, he had enough brain cells to compete. As usual, he hated the idea that Amber had dissed him and was now trying to get down my trousers. "Pablo, please no!" A female voice rang over the crowd already gathering. "Amelia, Cállate perra!" Pablo screamed at his sister and I finally knew the name of my concerned onlooker, I could now smell that same smell of hopelessness emanating from her, mixed with the scent of fear. The other workers had formed a ring around us as soon as they saw Pablo walking towards us. They were already betting that Pablo would kick me far into next week, as they did every day.
Jackson was the only one who bet in my favour. He had told me the previous night, just before he left to entertain the maids that the stars had told him that I would win this fight. Lunatic, always looking for another way to make money. As 'the bell' rang (hitting two shovels against each other), Pablo roared like a demented bull and charged. He got in a couple of good hits before I could block him. I could hear Amelia crying on the shoulders of her friend Ophelia. I was tired of getting the crap hit out of me, so I decided to go for a change. I punched him straight in the face and then kicked him between the legs, making him go down like an axed ox. The yelling and euphoria dried up just as fast as it had begun. Pablo crumbled to the ground, his massive size grinding away at his already flimsy joints. He was crying into the ground before the final cries died out. He was good at hitting things, but his size did not always count in his favour. I could see Jackson's face, a leering grin spreading across his face as others started handing him money.
The silence was broken only when a man behind us spoke. "Most impressive my dear chap." The man exclaimed, he was wearing a biker's outfit, jeans, tight shirt showing off his rippling muscles, leather jacket, boots, and gloves, but they were all completely white, a comical sight if there ever was any. He was clapping as if he had just sold his clearly cripple horse for three times its worth. "The name's Samuel White and I must say that was worth a true Spartan." He continued, his overly posh English accent did not do the man any favours. "Before I get carried away, where is Mr Norrington?" He asked, sizing me for good measures, like a piece of prized steak hanging behind the butcher.
After we told him, he left us to continue but Pablo grovelling in the dirt meant I had to get back to work. All the other workers stayed away from me after that, grumbling about an unfair bet and a bunch of rather unkind obscenities. Around six, all the workers started heading to their separate cottages. Pablo walked past me and gave me a nice slap across the back of the head, almost making a new garden patch with my face as I hit the ground, but I got up and ignored him. Jackson quickly found me and started bragging about the money he made. "It was written in the stars man, I'm telling you, you should have given me the money then you could have shared in the profits." He said with a grin. Halfway to my cottage, I was summoned by Mr Norrington via his messenger, Amber, she did not look happy. He was sitting on his porch smoking a fat cigar, puffing out white clouds of smoke. Cuban by the smell of it.
Mr Norrington excused Amber and she left after a lot of grumbling.
"Alex, I believe you've met Mr White?" He enquired. His British accent strongly reinforcing every word. They were both drinking out of cups laid out on a nice tray with biscuits and everything. I could smell the brandy from about five feet away, everyone knew Mr Norrington only had alcohol in his drinking cabinets and nothing that hadn't been rotting in some rich, fat guy's cellar for at least ten years.
"Yes sir" I answered, trying to hide my disgust at the sight of his three chins wobbling as he took a sip of his drink. "I hear you and Pablo were at it again," Mr Norrington said with disapproval and an irritated shake of his head, spit and brandy forming a slight spray around his mouth. "No matter, Mr White says he requires a man of your talents and has offered to buy you from me for quite a hefty price." He continued with a lustful look of glee in his eyes.
"What talents?" I asked sceptically. Mr White's eyes narrowed. He studied me slowly and let out an astounded sigh. "Well don't you know, Alexander? Of course, you don't, this dolt couldn't have told you even if someone engraved on his fat sweat covered arse. You're family. It's in your blood. You're a Werewolf Alex, and Norrington, I never said anything about paying for him."