“Just great,” she mumbled to herself as she turned back round to continue walking.
She must have been out of her mind to return to the house, but there was something about it that made her feel safe. It was only her mind that made her falter. She couldn’t. No, she wouldn’t trust anyone. The only person she would trust was herself, and whatever she had been made into, to help her live along enough to get the answers she had been searching for her whole life.
As her feet hit the rough ground of the driveway she looked up at the house. It was purely made up of aging red brick with small additions added on each side. Ivy wound around the front door and up towards the top left window. Moss had worked its way into the cracks in the dark slate roof. The house itself was small against the crowding woodland around it, yet it was a picture-perfect place for Lycans to settle down in.
As she stepped inside the house, she was greeted by an aging woman glaring at the man that now stood behind Clara. “Caleb, I cannot believe you would let her go running around in her condition,” the woman criticized, “she has been unconscious for almost 24 hours, and you let her outside. Honestly, I have to do everything around here” she yelled. Her eyes landed on Clara and suddenly Clara felt the need to back away. “You must be starving, come on in and I’ll get you something to eat”.
Clara was hustled further into the hallway by the woman until the man behind her shut the front door, and locking her in. “I bet Caleb has even failed to introduce himself and most definitely has yet to introduce the rest of us,” the woman moaned glaring over her shoulder at the tall dark-haired man. The woman smiled and put her hand to her chest in an elegant fashion, “I am Mary Kael, and I am as close to a mother all the riff-raff here have”. By the way her glare turned into a motherly gaze proved her point. Clara bit her lip; she had never seen anyone as her mother since the accident.
“I guess I should make the introductions then,” said the dark-haired man, that Mary had called Caleb. “I am Caleb Daevers, the pack Alpha”. With just the word, he had straightened and pulled himself up to his full height. Even so Clara could not find him intimidating. He was too young, although older than herself, and seem too kind in appearance to be classed as intimidating. “The usual lot you’ll find lurking around my house are just through the door to your left,” he said motioning her to move.
Clara slowly sidestepped and peered round the doorframe. There sat three men, all with their eyes set on her. Only one set her on edge. He sat in the centre of the sofa, with a slightly aging face. His body was still well built, showing he was still active, whist his eyes narrowed cruelly. His hair and eyes matched with a cold grey colour that stood out against his lightly tanned skin. Her gut twisted. Childhood memories flooded her mind.
“To the left we have Leonard,” Caleb introduced.
“Call me Leo,” he smiled subtly. Clara took in his startling appearance. His eyes were an outstanding pale blue, which shone out from his dark complexion. Leo took up a large proportion of one sofa, and Clara was pretty convinced he could very easily use just his size to intimidate challengers.
“In the middle we have Edmund,” Caleb added moving along. Clara swallowed hard as she looked upon the man. He looked too much like an old foster parent of hers to the point she knew instantly that she wanted to avoid being in his company as much as possible. Edmund stood and strode towards her. His whole posture turned her back into that small twelve-year-old girl who hid away from her foster father. Her body shook uncontrollably, a part of her wanted to run from the threat and the other wanted to attack. Her hands clenched and unclenched.
“This is the hunter?” Edmund asked Caleb as he just pointed at her, ignoring the fact she could hear him. He turned to Clara and looked her over, calculating her reaction to him. “I thought she would be more impressive than this,” he scoffed before pushing past her.
Anger fuelled her from somewhere deep inside. Throughout her childhood, men had looked at her and sneered. They liked her appearance, blue-eyed and blonde-haired child but as soon as they heard of her personality or her hobbies, they turned away from her. They never liked her for long. After a matter of weeks, sometimes months, she would be sent back because the men didn’t like her as she wouldn’t fit into their perfect little world. This time she was older. She was no longer vulnerable and defenceless.
Clara’s hand shot her. Her hand cuffed his throat whilst a growl emitted from her throat. She could feel her eyes burning but she did not care. All she knew is that something inside her wanted to remind the man, Edmund, of his place, and that was several ranks below than her. Edmund turned slowly towards her. He snarled at her with glowing golden eyes. The growl he gave in return was to warn her off, to make her rethink her actions. But Clara didn’t rethink, she couldn’t think. She was listening to new instincts now. Ones that she knew would help her survive and keep her alive.
His hand moved to removed hers from his neck, but Clara swiped it away and threw him across the room. The other two men moved in front of him, blocking her view of him. A low steady hum, that had merely been an annoyance to Clara’s ears since she held Edmund’s throat, was now roaring. She became aware of a darkening shadow to her left. Her head tilted to see Caleb’s eyes glowing gold and realised the roaring hum was coming from him. Her human instincts told her to run, but instead she turned and faced him head on. Her eyes landed on his and stayed there in a staring contest. The growling became louder, as a growl slowly grew from her.
After a few minutes of trying to stare Caleb down, Clara lowered her eyes and tilted her head, revealing her neck. Her brain knew what the move was, and she hated it. She was being submissive. It was like admitting she had done wrong. In her mind she had done nothing wrong, her brain kept telling her to put Edmund in his place and teach him to respect her. Shaking her head Clara returned to glaring at Caleb before turning back to the men that kept a defensive stance against her. “And you are?” she said roughly, crossing her arms and looking towards the blonde giant next to Leonard.
The giant gave her a smug smile in return. His eyes took her in with pure kindness, no hatred or judgement which she thought would be there. Instead he stepped forwards and held out his hand like any polite and civil human being. “Michael. Michael Faulkner” he said introducing himself, “Caleb’s right hand man”.
“Nice to meet someone who is polite for a change,” Clara stated taking his hand and shaking it. His hand gripped hers tightly, to the point that when she tried to pull her hand free she stayed locked in the hand shake. He lowered his head, his eyes locked on hers before sniffing her wrist. Slightly confused and intrigued Clara kept her mouth shut and her fists to herself, for once. He straightened and smiled, “Welcome…”
“Why she is out of bed?” exclaimed a voice from the hall. As Clara turned, she noticed all of the men winced as they faced the person in the hall.
Clara stared at a thin man, with thick glasses and scruffy hair. His jacket was well-worn, and his shirt was creased, pointing out it was very possibly that he had fallen asleep whilst wearing it. His lips were pulled in a tight scowl. “She was injured only 24 hours ago, at the very least, and you have her up and about,” he almost yelled, “She is meant to be resting…”
“She has a name,” Clara mumbled before she could stop herself. The man glared in her direction as if he had heard her.
“Well, Hunter Clare Richards I believe you need to be downstairs in the medical room to be check over so I can make sure you are fit enough to be walking around,” he snapped back.
“Peter, she just woke up. We’re merely doing introductions, nothing too strenuous” Michael smiled with a shrug.
“Go downstairs with Peter,” Caleb said as he placed a hand behind Clara’s back urging her out of the room and into the hallway. “We need to make sure you didn’t cause more damage with that little run of yours”.
“Little run?!” Peter was becoming increasingly red in the face, “You let her run?”
“She snuck
past us,” Michael shrugged again.
A few more comments, and Peter looked closed to exploding. Although Clara found their interaction intriguing and was already trying to work out who truly had the power in their Pack, she felt it best to put Peter out of his misery. So, she smiled and calmly walked back towards the basement door. She climbed back down the stairs and just stopped at the bottom. Her eyes landed on the huge area just filled with files on bookcases, books on small desks and paper scattered along tables to the left of the medical room. They must have files on every creature that ever lived with the amount of information she saw. It was no wonder The Order found it hard to gain information on packs if the packs had it all on paper rather than on computers. Peter pushed her slightly with a moan, causing her to grumble in return but continued onwards into the medical room.
Once there, Peter instructed her to sit on the bed where she had been lying. Clara stared at the thin sheets, there was minimal blood spotting which seemed the wrong amount for someone who was shot and left to bleed out. In silence she sat down and just watched as Peter prepared bandages and put on gloves. “Can you take your top off please, use it to cover your chest if you wish” he said turning to her. His expression was like stone, he had become truly professional. Clara never got used to people who could hide all their emotions and thoughts, it seemed wrong. Sure, she had played the game before but she never had a completely different persona. She always kept a hint of human emotion in her being.
Clara took off her top and held it, so it covered her breasts but not the puckering bullet wound that rested just under her left collar bone. Peter stepped closer and with a gloved hand he tested the blue-tinted flesh around the bullet wound. To touch, the flesh was almost completely healed with no visual scarring except for the blue ring yet to look at it was clear to Peter that the flesh that lay deeper was not healing. The muscle that had been around the bullet when he pulled it out had been badly burnt, it wouldn’t be surprising if it didn’t heal completely. Moving away from the wound, without any comment of what he thought best to do, he moved to her bandaged bite mark just above her right hip.
Quickly he pulled the bandaging off, causing Clara to wince. He carefully took in the appearance of the puncture marks. They weren’t deep anymore. When Caleb had first brought her in, the right-hand side looked as if it had been close to being torn out. Yet, now it was almost as if she had been nipped by a frustrated puppy with a wide set jaw. It was still weeping although it wasn’t as bad as it was for other bitten Mutts, which was surprising as they usually had the same healing rate. Leaning back, he slowly removed the bandaging from both her arms and looked at the closing wounds. Within a day or so her arms would return to normal with no sign of the claw marks. Peter moved and sat down in his chair.
“Can I put my top back on now?” Clara asked cutting his introspective thoughts short.
“Oh, sure,” he replied pushing his glasses up his nose. “Caleb” he called barely shouting the name. Clara quickly slipped on her top carefully around the bite.
The door to the medical room opened and Caleb walked in. He ignored Clara, who stayed perched on the cot bed, and headed towards Peter. “You called?” he asked.
“I think you need to know,” Peter paused and looked towards Clara, “She is healing at the rate of a pure-born, rather than at the rate of a bitten stray”
“There’s a difference in healing speeds?” queried Clara, who was completely unconvinced. Caleb, however, glared at her and stormed over.
“Show me your wounds” he ordered with a dark expression on his face.
“No,” She bit back as she stilled that small voice in the back of her mind that told her to follow his orders.
“Show me your wounds now” Caleb ordered again, this time an overwhelming pressure filled the room. Peter seemed to cower and pull himself further back in his chair whilst Clara stayed firm glaring up at Caleb.
Once again, they entered an intense staring contest, but this time it fell short when Caleb gripped Clara’s right wrist and pulled it up for his inspection. Clara swiped her other hand out only to have that caught with his other hand. He turned his attention to the other arm as he turned it around to reveal the claw marks running along them. “It can’t be possible,” he mumbled, dropping her hands and before she could fight him off Caleb had pulled up her top in order to look at the bite. Within a day the bite alone would be completely healed, leaving only pale scars that would last a lifetime. Yet, bitten strays took a week or more until they were healed enough to Change for the first time. However, the way Clara was healing she would be ready to Change within a matter of hours. “Strays don’t heal that quickly,” he said pulling her top back down to retain her modesty.
“Like hell they don’t, I’ve watched your kind heal,” Clara argued back pulling herself away from him. Her eyes stayed defiantly on his, “The next time you touch me without permission I will rip the offending limb from your body” she growled at him.
Caleb stepped back with his hands palms up to show he meant no harm. Clara stayed growling as she stood up and righted herself. Caleb wondered over the fact that she didn’t back down when dealing with him. Most Lycans couldn’t even speak back let alone make eye contact with him but Michael, and now Clara, were the exceptions.
“Is she well enough to walk around?” Caleb asked Peter, merely out of politeness even though he knew that she was.
“Perfectly,” Peter sighed.
“Good,” Caleb looked at Clara, “Time for you to answer some questions”.
Chapter 3
Clara sat uncomfortably in an armchair facing four male Lycans, one of which was in wolf form. Taking in the fact, that apart from Caleb, it was Michael and Edmund sitting opposite Clara assumed that it was Leonard by Caleb’s feet. Unease filled her. Sitting in front of them was like a painful interview that was getting exceedingly worse through its silence. Her mind told her to stay still and act like she was confident and comfortable in this situation, yet another primal part of her was telling her that she was cornered and that it was a choice of running or attacking. Her eyes darted to the closed door. There was no way she could get there and out of the house without one of them grabbing her. Her knee bounced up and down as she thought of running. She was becoming anxious and impatient, which is not a good combination in a trained killer.
They were watching her, assessing her reactions. Clara knew how it went with the board back at The Headquarters; they assessed your body language and worked out visual weaknesses. The difference with Lycans was that they studied everything; changes in scents, body language, and the underlying emotions within a person as well as the weakness that they could see straight away. That’s what made them the most difficult to deal with. Even after all her training, Clara now found herself struggling to keep her body under control. She knew how to work around her aggression towards Lycans and make them believe it was lust, but she had no idea how to trick them into believing her anxiety was anything other than anxiety.
“Are you going to ask questions or just stare?” she snapped crossing her arms and legs. Her eyes narrowed on them as she settled on trying to convince them she was angry. It didn’t quite work as her right leg kept bouncing up and down nervously.
“I was quite enjoying view,” Michael joked. His joke won him a thump on the back from Caleb and a deathly glare from Clara.
“We want to know what happened, just before you were bitten,” Caleb stated without looking at her.
“Then ask your questions,” Clara stated watching him closely.
“Why were you in Ash Forest?” Caleb asked, mimicking her body language. Crossed arms on him just made him seem more imposing.
“Hunting,” she replied not going into details.
“What or who were you hunting?” He pushed.
“Brandon Cox,” she replied with a name. The wolf by Caleb raised its head and chuffed. Its tongue flopped to the side of its mouth. He was obviously happy with the news.
“No
w that’s where we are slightly confused,” Michael leaned forwards, his joking smiling turning into a serious straight line. “Cox hadn’t harmed anyone, made anyone aware of our existence, and he had never turned anyone. So why were you hunting him?” he asked. Clara’s eyes widened. She had never questioned why she gained the targets she had been given, she merely hunted them and killed them.
“I…I never asked. I was merely given his file and told to hunt him” she replied shyly. She looked down into her lap as she thought about it.
She couldn’t count how many Lycans she had killed under orders on both hands. The last time she had thought about it, even felt guilty about it, was during her first year in the field. She had only been eighteen and fresh faced after only two years in training. Training had been easy. You focused on dummies or already dead Lycans in a monstrous half-animal forms. In reality Clara had never pictured them looking just like ordinary people. It wasn’t until she met Howard and James, who had told her horrifying stories about them, did she even start to think of them as beasts. They became monsters in her mind, and that helped to make them easy to kill.
But now she was one of them and the last man she had killed may not have been guilty of anything, except being a Lycan. Her eyes lifted slightly to look at the men opposite. Apart from Edmund, none of them scared or horrified her. None of them were beasts. They had saved her from death. They had helped her with her only life goal, to survive, unlike Howard who had been the only one to truly know the real her.
“You expect us to believe you never questioned your orders?” roared Edmund. Instinctively Clara’s head shot up. Horror filled her eyes. She cowered back into the soft cushioning of the chair. Her arms unfolded and braced the arms of the chair. The child in her readied itself for the hit, the slap that always came when the ‘Father’ didn’t believe her.
“I learnt not to,” Clara replied meekly. Her wide eyes watched Edmund carefully. For the first time in a long time, she couldn’t control her reactions. He scared her, just as so many foster fathers had.
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