I’d stood in the doorway to block the exit. ‘Bollocks that is. I’ll be needing a carbon monoxide alarm.’
‘I want my missus to stop fucking the postman. Wants are like arseholes. We done here? I’m needing a pint.’
Our microwave got a fair bit of use.
Craving a sweet, milky cuppa, I loitered in the kitchen while I thumbed through the envelopes. I plucked out one with a menacing-looking red stamp.
Ripping it open, I rolled my eyes at the common threats of bailiffs and debt collectors then decided to pay up before the electric company had an aneurysm.
Opening the drawer closest to me, I found a ballpoint pen to scribble a pay now note to myself. I slapped the bill under a fridge magnet before warily sifting through the rest.
Water bill, council tax, gas bill. A leaflet for a new water heater I badly need, but would never be able to afford. Phone bill, broadband bill, and an unpaid reminder bill for satellite television I’d been meaning to cancel.
‘Many bills.’ I rubbed my forehead. ‘Single paycheque.’ A part-time, minimum wage one at that.’
I flicked on the kettle.
‘Mammy?’
I fixed my expression as I turned.
A baby the splitting image of me, but with flawless, porcelain skin tottered into the room, eyes brightening at the sight of me.
I knelt on the faded linoleum and opened my arms.
My daughter curled her cotton-scented body into my chest, laying her drool-smeared cheek on my shoulder.
She sniffed my hair then mumbled, ‘Want chicken,’ as she burrowed closer.
‘You’re always wanting chicken, Fergie.’ I rubbed her back, circles between her shoulder blades. ‘Eat too much,’ mouth falling open, I widened my eyes, ‘you’ll turn into a chick.’
She squealed, hands flying to her cheeks. The happy sound died faster than it should. ‘Ye dinnae tuck me in.’
Pain stabbed my breast. ‘I had to work late.’ My tone grew soft. ‘I will no miss story time tomorrow.’
She tugged on her ear, gaze drifting.
I scooped my child from the floor and carried her back to her bedroom. Her space was painted in pink and white, with thick fuchsia window drapes to keep out the chill.
I lay Fergie on her duvet; its puffy squares encased in a bright cotton cover with purple flowers. I pulled it over her plump body. Babbling sleepily about her day, she stuck her thumb in her mouth, beloved pacifier on the pillow.
I was not looking forward to weaning her off it. Parenting books claimed I should have started the process when she reached two years, but damn, I hated to remove one of the things that brought her comfort.
I already had so little to give her.
Drowsy eyes came to mine.
My heart twisted.
A replica of her father’s, hazel irises were tinged with a hint of my family green. They shone, even in the dark and misty with slumber.
She smiled. ‘Love ye, Mammy.’
I pushed fat, copper ringlets from her brow and kissed the crescent of her forehead. ‘Love you more, wee bit. Sleep now. I’m home.’ I switched on her night light and closed the door behind me, a signal she knew meant no more getting out of bed until morning.
Switching lights off as I went, I slouched down the hallway back to the kitchen. Steam rose from the kettle. I fixed myself a dark brew.
Sipping on hot tea, I dragged off my worn baseball cap. It smelt like fried chicken and vegetable grease.
Gagging, I tossed it onto the Formica countertop then pulled off the netting containing my hair, a necessary workplace item that made me feel a hundred. A ginger mass unfurled in a tangled monstrosity down my sore back.
I shook my head to break it up, but the hair just moved in one big clump. I sighed. It needed a conditioning scrub to get it manageable.
Curly hair was a gift from my sperm donor, the only one he’d given me.
I chewed my bottom lip.
My mind veered back to finances, or rather, my lack of them. My eyes dropped to the pile of opened letters.
Working everything out, food, bills, money to pay for Fergie’s after pre-school babysitter, the indomitable Ms Tait, I’d have sixty-eight pounds for the rest of the month.
A month with three weeks to go.
I twisted a hand in my hair and shut my eyes. My lips folded into my mouth, and I exhaled in a slow gust of air.
I fished out my mobile. I unflipped the cheap device, scrolling to find the right contact. I put the phone to my ear convinced he wouldn’t pick up.
I almost dropped the damn thing when the line connected.
‘What do you want?’
I licked my lips. ‘Hello, Liam. Long time no speak.’
‘Get on with it, Sìne.’
‘It’s Fergie’s birthday Thursday next week. She’s three.’
‘You want money?’
My cheeks burned. I did. I needed money for nappies, clothes, and food, educational toys and childminding.
Oh, yes, I wanted money.
I wasn’t too proud to ask for help, but I’d phone my cousin to beg for a handout. I’d sell a kidney on the black market before asking this man for help.
Head tipping back, I stared at the water stained ceiling. ‘I need you,’ my words were low and slow, ‘to come see her. She’s a smart girl, and has been asking questions about her Da.’
‘Couldn’t help yourself.’
‘Living to please you, aren’t I?’
‘Amy gave birth eight days ago. We have a newborn, and you call demanding I come over to pick up your slack. I work my ass off for the things I have. I stare at a screen all fucking day then go home to a screaming baby.’
Sharp knives scored my gut. ‘I know what that’s like.’ My tone was scathing. ‘The difference? I was on my own.’ I wrapped an arm around my middle. ‘Listen, I’m asking you to see your daughter. One hour. So that she knows where she came from.’ Silence. ‘It will no kill you to meet her.’
He never had, and that hurt more than anything.
‘Don’t see why you think you can call me and ask for shit.’
I bit my cheek. ‘Liam.’
‘Didn’t I tell you to get rid of it? I owe the brat nothing.’
‘Well, she’s here now. So wee and sweet. She’s needing to see you.’
‘Shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up, huh?’
‘Of course, this is my fault.’ My teeth clacked. ‘Heaven forbid Liam Mitchum act like a decent human being.’ The moment I said it, I regretted it. Not because I gave a shit about him, but because I’d meant to deliver this gift to my daughter.
‘Fuck you, bitch.’
Dial tone.
Tongue rolling over my bared teeth, I went to call back, but the battery icon blinked, and the boxy screen died.
Throwing the hunk of junk to land with a clack, I screamed behind a clenched jaw. What the hell had I expected to happen?
Was I glutton for punishment?
Ramming a knuckle into my itchy eye, I stopped scratching when a door slammed. I tipped my head but heard nothing else. I slurped cooling tea and glared at the middle distance.
I weighed my resolve of getting Liam to meet Fergie against never contacting the prick again.
Thoughts of the slammed door intruded. With a sinister creeping, the horrible sensation of being hunted returned with scary intensity.
Eyebrows pulling together, I set my mug down, keeping a finger looped in the handle. The noise had been distant, and I decided the tenant downstairs must have arrived home.
‘It’s nothing.’ The hot water boiler grumbled agreement as it fired up. My fingers drummed the Formica. ‘I’m fretting over nothing.’
Unable to shuck the funny feeling, I gave into my heightened ‘mother’ sense.
It insisted I check my child hadn’t gotten up and wandered out of the flat as children (for mysterious reasons known only to them) were apt to do when feeling adventurous.
Clutching the mug to my che
st with one hand, I headed towards the dingy hall. So I heard very well the creak of the rusted front door hinge and the soft click of the latch. The mug slipped from nerveless fingers. It cracked. My toes stuck to the floor, tea puddling around them, caught in terror’s vice on the kitchen threshold. An aborted breath blocked my airway, and I eked in air past it, so that, trembling, I could peek my head into the hallway.
My hand fumbled for the door jamb.
I managed to hit the light switch, sending the room dark.
Heart bursting into a gallop, I backed the hell up. A strangled noise I failed to contain ripped free as I twirled to run back into the kitchen with nowhere to hide.
My thoughts unspooled into a blood spill of murder, rape and death. One, in particular, caused a flash freeze.
Fergie.
My baby.
Everything inside me turned to water. It was the middle of the night. Intruders were in my home, and my vulnerable child slept unprotected.
Ring the police, my mind shrieked.
My mobile was dead.
Hysterical now, I went to scream, hoping someone would hear me, and care, but instead inhaled saliva, the sound choked by fright.
An immense shadow ghosted past the door. As did another crepuscular form, so big that large shoulders reached the doorway’s top rail.
It tried to open the bathroom door.
The whole thing tore from its mooring leaving splinted wood.
Do something, my mind wailed.
I ripped open the cutlery draw. I grabbed the biggest knife I could lay hands on–one I used to butcher cheap meat. I shoved the drawer closed.
Knowing the clattering would draw attention, and not wanting to be hemmed in, I scuttled from the kitchen into the hallway. I held out the knife, gripping the wooden handle in white-knuckled fists. My demand escaped as a shriek. ‘What are you doing in my home?’
Ambulatory mountains stopped.
Turning, the Brobdingnagian-sized one, shoulders so wide as to be close to touching both sides of the narrow passage, released a rough growl.
‘Get out.’ A tremor in my voice betrayed the quaking of my limbs. My body shivered so hard, the world shook. I waved the cleaver. ‘I’m warning you.’
Oddly-shaped heads dipped closer, and they argued. It was a coarse, guttural language they spoke in silken rasps that landed on my ears weird.
Bizarre enough to cause a flickered break in my concentration.
Just enough to be caught off guard.
The larger shadow pounced.
It covered the distance between us between one blink and the next.
I lurched, feeling my waist snagged in a crushing grip. Lifted clean off the ground, I was hauled into an inferno of body heat and hard mass. An unyielding arm snaked across my middle as a cloud of musk, and exotic spice invaded my every cell, raging through me on a gasping breath.
A hard torso covered in toughened hide rumbled like thunder as a hand slipped something around my ear. ‘I like you.’ The masculine voice was a husky purr, a solid chest vibrating. Warm and dry, a snuffling nose burrowed into my hair. Inhaled. ‘Delicious.’
The other shadow paused at Fergie’s doorway.
My attention swerved, shock abating and reverting to the protective instincts of a mother. ‘Haud.’ My gaze bored into the hesitating silhouette, brought to a stop by the savagery underlining my whisper. My skinny legs dangled. I had the knife. ‘Don’t take another step.’
‘We mean no harm,’ said the one holding me. ‘Sweet one. My One.’ Fangs scored my neck. A dab of hot moistness on my throat, then a near-voiceless snarl. ‘She who is mine.’
Hands roamed my body. They were so possessive I hung docile, my primitive hindbrain lulled into complacency.
Common sense kicked in, and I kicked, shoving to get away. ‘Put me down.’ I flailed. ‘Let go.’ The knife, my only weapon, was plucked from my hand.
The shadow I’d threatened tossed it aside. ‘My King, there is a parlour.’
My struggle to break free stalled.
Still all hands, palming my ass, my captor huffed.
‘Best explain things, Owyn.’
‘I caught her.’
‘Breathe deep. Do you have it? This human has young.’
My heart stuttered.
It was insane thinking. They were crazy, and I was experiencing a trauma-induced psychosis, but…. They were abnormally large, strange feeling, smelt different, and the moment he said that word, said human as if speaking of a kind separate than his, something alien to him, I knew what was happening.
Lord help me, I just knew.
The lack of light transformed from a nightmare to a blessing. I didn’t want to see the monsters.
‘You were right to track her. It would be unforgivable to abandon a cub. I smell no male. She is fair play.’
‘No male,’ said the other. ‘No protector.’ But his even tone suggested that was beside the point.
‘Human?’ I shook my head in jerks to dislodge the splotches of white. My head lolled, floppy and filled with sand. ‘If I’m “this human” what are you?’
Burning stars blinked. Sharp teeth flashed a feral smile.
Floating spots merged into bright light down a windy tunnel, and things grew hazy, whitewashed into nothingness. I fainted. When I came to, I peered hazily at the swirled living room ceiling, draped over a hard shoulder, and an upper arm thick with muscle. A calloused palm stroked my front, breasts to belly, over and over.
I swatted it. ‘Stop.’
A queer profile illuminated by moonlight came closer. ‘Why?’ Malty breath gusted over my face.
‘If I have to explain why groping an unconscious woman is bad this conversation goes no further.’
Fingers twitched over my ribcage. ‘I comfort you.’
‘Assault me; you’ll find.’
He huffed, but the heavy hand remained stationary.
‘I’m getting down now.’ I twisted my head to judge the best way to go about it. I studied the curlicued patterns on the faded carpet. In the dim room, it was easy to see the floor was far away. I changed my previous statement to, ‘You’ll be putting me down then.’
‘But I like where you are.’
Flushing, and my spine stiffening, I faced the unknown, featureless figure. My mouth opened wide, words to blister his ears bubbling from my gut, but then the light overhead switched on.
Tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, I stared, granted an up-close, unobstructed view of the creature.
His head brushed the ceiling. A charcoal mane plunged from the crown of his head to his waist, wild and dense, interspersed with looping braids and painted beads, not unlike the primitive decorations used by heathen barbarians. Locks of the stuff tickled my arms and neck. Rich and smoky, a drugging fragrance drifted from the blanketing mess as if rinsed in anise. He also had a full beard. It fell to his collarbone, braided in two. Only a duo of smooth patches on the underside of his bottom lip was free of its glossy thickness.
Moving as if underwater, I reached to touch the things protruding from behind his temple.
They curled from the nest of his hair, a diadem with capped, dagger-like points facing the front of his head. The engraved silver cuffs had been scratched and dented, lending him a rugged air. Spiralled bones were ridged to such a degree, I imagined I might remember their painstaking growth. My next breath hitched, lungs locking as I clasped the horn I fingered, full palm, fingers curling over its sleek warmth.
‘Oh, God, am I really touching this?’ I tugged. He grunted. As I stroked the curve, my expression grew pinched, my limbs leaden and tingled.
I tightened my grasp to do it again. And again. By the forth squeeze, I knew they were real, but my toes had curled, my nipples had peaked, and for the life of me, I couldn’t stop touching it.
He shuddered on my last pass, the violent spasm detaching my grip.
A guttural moan rolled from his corded throat. ‘Enough, female.’ He crushed me close, kneadin
g my behind.
The need for the movement was so frantic, I drew my hand away, banishing it to the barren between my thighs.
Though contorted from my invasive touch, his features lay arranged in a familiar mammalian way. Their shape was a blend of human and beast, predatory in composition.
Our gazes met and a frisson of belonging swept over me.
For all their dramatic appearance, there was a stillness at the heart of his eyes akin to a mountain loch, bottomless and as shockingly brisk. Wide and deep-set, they had stygian sclera and star-shaped pupils, irises a fractured prism. They were almost too large for his squared face, broader than it was long. Their surface depths lit with a curiosity I felt naive to return. Entranced by his gaze, I gleaned impressions of a ponderous brow narrowed into a broad, flat nose bridge, its look akin to that of a muzzle. Browned skin free of fine, henna fur had a bruised-yellow undertone that would appear sickly if not for its healthy sheen.
Alien, yes, and bestial, very. I was spellbound because of it.
‘I’m a simple woman, but I’m no simple-minded.’ My gaze skittered over his blunt nose, short and thin philtrum. My voice lowered to a hush as if sharing a secret. ‘You’re no of Earth.’
His eyes were brightly dark.
I trembled then was still.
This fiend who had broken into my home and put his clawed hands on me was unlike anything my feeble mind had encountered, yet I felt as if being physically harmed wasn’t a problem. I’d threatened him with a blade, and he’d yet to retaliate. Since he’d picked me up, I’d felt safe. ‘Are you going to hurt me?’ It was barely a whisper.
‘You know the answer to that.’
‘Is my daughter safe?’ I glanced at his face. His eyes had narrowed and his mouth downturned into a grimace. He was offended. Crazy as it seemed I felt an urge to apologise. I fiddled with the silver pendant lying in the hollow of my throat. ‘Tell us who you are then.’
Ruddy lips curved. One of his smaller incisors sat crooked in his gums, their near whiteness making his fangs seem massive rather than just large. ‘Beowyn Hassabard Gengorye ThunderClaw.’ His bearded chin lifted, words booming. ‘King of Vayhalun, Great Alpha of the Verak.’
ThunderClaw: Science Fiction Romance (Alien Warrior Book 2) Page 3