Torment (Primal Progeny Book 1)

by Stacey Mewse

  Truman interrupted him with a sneer. ‘That would have been kidnapping Mr. Johanson. Perhaps you could tell us how you came to be found in the barn, cradling her battered body…?’

  Hunter nodded dumbly, wide-eyed and silent for a moment before he continued. Tears leaked steadily from his eyes as he spoke and he made no effort to blink them away. ‘I drove around for a while to try and think. I don’t know how long for, but it was very dark before I realised I needed to find a quiet place to park up and sit without the engine noise distracting me. I remembered hearing of an old barn hidden away down one of the side roads and decided to go and find it, and perhaps go for a walk across the fields. It didn’t take me long to locate it and I parked my car up down the road from the building and walked the rest of the way. It was very dark in there and for a minute I fumbled around in the darkness before suddenly the whole place was lit up. I guessed it must have been some of those motion sensor lights people put in their back gardens. I didn’t have much time to think about it though, as it dawned on me what I was looking at. There were some kind of restraints hanging from the ceiling and there was someone slumped in a heap in the middle of the room. They weren’t moving and it didn’t look like they were breathing, so I panicked and ran over to them. I rolled her over and tried to feel for a pulse… And it was her! It was the woman who refused my help. She was covered in bruises and I couldn’t feel a pulse. She felt so cold, I couldn’t bear it, so I put my T-shirt over her. And then I cried. I had let a young woman walk into her own murder… Why didn’t I make her get into my car…?’

  Hunter broke into shaky sobs, hanging his head against the chest that he had somehow forgotten was naked; knowing he looked like a mad man.

  Chapter 15

  Truman and Jaunt both stared unsympathetically at the man before them, crying what they believed to be crocodile tears. They had both seen it many times before… Murderers who only fully realised what had been done when given a little time to sit and think about their crimes.

  After a time Jaunt was the one to break the silence. She lent forward, her tightly curled hair falling from behind her ear as she did so. Her face was calm and level, with the certainty she felt that he was guilty only delectable in her eyes and very faintly in her voice.

  ‘Well.’ She began ‘that was a lovely tale but there are a hell of a lot of holes in it aren’t there Mr. Johanson.’

  Hunter looked up as she continued, his eyebrows knitted in apparent confusion.

  ‘For a start there was no car found at, or near the scene of the crime.’

  Hunter’s voice cracked as he answered ‘I – I can’t explain that.’ He croaked ‘there must be tire tracks on the road… Perhaps the killer stole it to make his getaway? I left the key in the ignition as it was so remote an area.’

  Truman raised an eyebrow ‘indeed it could have been stolen if you left the key in the vehicle.’

  Jaunt cut across her colleague before he could open his mouth to continue their questioning. ‘The interview is over. We have a lot of evidence to review. Perhaps it will also do Mr. Johanson some good to sit in his cell for some quiet contemplation.’

  She glared at Hunter ‘do you have a solicitor?’

  Hunter shook his head, only then realising that he had not had to answer any of their questions alone.

  ‘Would you like us to provide one for you?’

  He nodded silently in response, things couldn’t get any worse and it certainly couldn’t hurt.

  Jaunt nodded curtly and stood up to leave. ‘We shall have one bought in for you before our next meeting.’ She stated flatly before stalking out of the room and leaving him alone with Truman once again.

  The old man stared at him in silence for a while, seemingly enjoying seeing the other man wilt under his gaze.

  ‘Lets get you back to that cell’ he commanded after a while of uncomfortable silence. ‘Get up and walk to the door Mr. Johanson. If you behave yourself on the way down the corridor I’ll remove your cuffs once you’re inside the cell.’

  Surprised by this offer until he realised it was obviously just standard procedure and basic human rights, Hunter did as he was bidden. Pushing the chair back with his legs he stood up shakily, the naked skin on his back peeling off the plastic chair backing as he rose.

  Truman stood at the same time and followed close behind Hunter as he walked to the door. There was none of the pushing and barging that he had endured on his way into the room. Hunter wondered whether that was down to the other man being too deep in thought to bother with it, and decided that this assumption was correct. He glanced at the old man as he rounded the table and was met with a stern frown. The lack of mistreatment was certainly not down to a sudden burst of kindness! Truman’s mind was simply far too busy deciphering the information he had just been given.

  The ageing inspector reached around Hunter to open the door, and then waited for the seemingly young man to exit the room of his own accord. Hunter glanced warily at the police officer as he moved past him into the hallway, half expecting to be tripped or receive a blow to his unprotected belly. Neither occurred and he could not contain the surprised breath of air which hissed from between his lips. He had not even realised he was holding his breath.

  Truman glared at the back of his prisoners’ head, half suspicious of the sudden noise, and entirely convinced that the man before him was capable of anything.

  ‘Get a move on’ he prompted, urging Hunter to get back into his cell with as much courteously as he could stand. He kept back a couple of paces as he herded the other man down the hallway, giving himself just enough distance to get in a good strong hit if it was needed.

  Hunter walked with his head down, the skin on the back of his neck prickling as the beast in him objected to the other man’s constant close proximity. He found he could not help the curl of his lip when he was spoken to, and was thankful in the human part of his mind that he had been facing the other way and that the action had not been seen. He wished he could think of a way to calm the wolf, but his human self was just as agitated as it was and there was little hope of that. He would just have to try his best to keep it contained until he was alone. He could feel himself wanting to give into it, exhaustion weakening his will to fight. Anger spurring him on to want the change more than the rational part of him did not want it. He could feel the beast straining at the mental restraints that kept it in place and knew it was ready to break free at any moment.

  Too much had happened for him to be able to have total control. He was incredibly weary and in shock, and found that he could not wait to be back in the solitude of his locked cell. He shuffled down the corridor quickly with no need for the prompting given by inspector Truman. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as the door to the cell was unlocked; his eyes cast at the floor to shadow the wildness that danced behind them. The second the door was open he was through it, and moving straight to the hard cot which rested against the far wall. Not saying a word he seated himself heavily and turned his face away from the door.

  Truman followed him inside and roughly removed the handcuffs, which had been cutting uncomfortably into his wrists.

  Hunter flexed his newly freed hands and rubbed at the indents along his wrist bones, but he did not turn to watch the other man leave. The door slammed shut and was locked, and as he listened to the sound of footsteps fading down the hallway he slumped onto the wall. Slowly he sank and curled up onto his side upon the solid and unforgiving surface of the cot, drawing his knees up to his chest and staring blankly out into the dimly lit room.

  He lost himself in grief then for a while, crying unashamedly and burying his face in the rough fabric of the blanket that lay across the hard cot beneath him. His work hardened hands shielded the wailing mask of his grieving face as fierce sobs wracked his shivering body. The bed was cold against his naked torso but he did not care. How had his day come to this? How had everything gone so devastatingly wrong?

  He lay there and questioned t
he lack of fairness in the world, and after a time his body possessed no more surplus liquid to offer up for tears. It was then that the anger really began to set in.

  In the cold, dark confines of his cell sorrow slowly melted away to reveal pure rage. Rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms Hunter swung his legs from the cot and sat up slowly. Holding his head in his hands he grasped at the hair over his temples and his whole body tensed. Almost every muscle in him coiled and out of nowhere a devastated roar tore from his lungs. The sound echoed around the room and ricocheted down the corridor, sounding as inhuman as he felt and full of despair and hatred. The sound of hurried footsteps quickly rattled down the corridor after it, and a face suddenly appeared in the small window in the door. Those eyes peered around the room for a moment, rolling around to take in every detail of his cell. Their owner quickly satisfied themselves that there was nothing amiss, and they slid closed the window’s metal covering before walking slowly away. The station was never silent and all the officers were perhaps over accustomed to suspects kicking up a fuss. The young policewoman who had run to investigate had quickly put the noise down to pointless drama from an angry suspect and resolved to ignore any further unnecessary outbursts. It was only her complacency that saved Hunter from revealing thousands of years of carefully hidden secrets that night… He had almost no control over the events, which were to occur in the darkness of that small locked room.

  Inside the cell he had begun to rock slowly back and forth where he sat; the tendons in his arms standing out like thick cords of rope. Beneath his hands his temples throbbed and visibly bulged and his eyes grew wilder and wilder by the moment; their irises swimming and slowly expanding into reddened, vein laced whites.

  Outwardly he appeared tense and agitated, perhaps even unstable thanks to the rocking… Inwardly he was waging a war with himself unlike anything any normal human being could comprehend.

  It was very, VERY rare that he ever felt the urge to change outside of the cycle of the full moon; and never in his long life had he felt so utterly consumed by the desire to do so as he did then. He did not possess the self-control that the others of his kind seemed to; and when he did feel the urge to change outside of the three days around the full moon it was a battle of wills. It was the beast who wished to force the change, not his own conscious human mind. It was more insistent than it had ever been before. Grief and anger bought it bristling and snarling out of the recesses of his mind with a primal will that he was simply too weak to contain.

  Rocking more sharply he lent forward and tucked his head between his knees. Inside his head he struggled to keep his thoughts human, to focus on human things or human feelings. Staring wide eyed at his grubby jeans his human mind jabbered in his head at a thousand miles an hour ‘you’re wearing clothes. I’m wearing clothes. I’m wearing jeans. Wolves don’t wear jeans. Look at your shoes, my shoes. My HUMAN shoes.’ But no amount of distraction attempts would placate the beast and he could feel himself losing the battle to remain in control. Sweat began to drip from beneath his hairline and the skin all over his body began to itch and burn.

  Clamping his knees to his temples he folded his hands behind his neck and laced his fingers together tightly against his sweat soaked skin. He could feel the hair all over his body standing on end, and a quiet groan escaped him as his weary body began to give in. He knew the pain would be much greater if he resisted, and that he had no hope of holding it in any longer… In his minds eye the beast was circling him like a shark, pushing his crumpled form to let it out. To let it breathe and run, and chase, and snarl. There was revenge to be had and it slavered with the desire to hunt.

  He shuddered violently and flopped down onto his side as a sudden burst of prickling heat exploded within him. Curling into a ball he moaned quietly as wave after wave of sickly heat rolled over his shivering body. Sweat poured from his pores as he shuffled back against the wall, his green eyes rolling back in his head as the pain really began. It started as a burning sensation on his skin, but slowly spread deeper and deeper into his flesh, and soon his muscles began to cramp savagely. It began in his legs and arms, slowly spreading to his neck and head and finally to his torso. His stomach muscles contracted so tightly that he rolled forwards, rocking back sharply as the muscles across his shoulders spasmed in return. He dared not open his eyes as the pain spread, he knew the stages of the change well and did not have any desire to watch it was well as feel it.

  He felt his chest bulging and the muscles tearing, and could not stifle the gurgle, which erupted, from between his lips. He was still resisting despite himself and with a wet popping sound the space between his pectorals burst open, splitting wide and gaping as he gasped for breath. Blood flowed thickly from the wound as muscle fibre felt its way across the gap like twitching feelers to heal the wound. He felt the muscles knit together and gaged at the sensation; breathing sharply as his bones began to crack and split. His muscles stretched and tore as his limbs distorted, his fingers and toes popping and cracking as they shortened into paws.

  Squirming to kick off his boots and jeans he fell to the floor and whined in agony. His vocal chords twisting and stretching into those of the beast which concealed itself within his skin. His breaking hip smashed painfully into the floor as he fell, the hard concrete drawing a sharp yelp from him. Twisting onto his stomach he felt his shoulder blades shift, and his ribs splinter and re-form as his chest broadened. Hanging his head limply against the cold stone floor, he was forced to open his eyes as the planes of his skull shifted and his jaw began to slowly lengthen to form a muzzle. Within his mouth his canines thrust downwards and sliced painfully into his gums, blood dripping from between his jaws as the final stages of the change took hold.

  Staring down into the space between the paws that had replaced his hands, he saw the thick black fur of the wolf begin to spike its way up from beneath the skin upon his arms. He felt the prickling eruption all over, and his body sagged against the floor for a moment before he began squirming in a vain attempt to rub the sensation away. Last of all the bones in his spine began to shift and a thick tail sprouted slowly from his coccyx; his ears shifting slowly higher and higher upon his sweat soaked head.

  Lying in the darkness he panted heavily, his thick greying pelt holding the heat of the change against his still prickling skin. His tongue lolled onto the floor as he waited for the pain to subside, his tail thumping once against the ground with his wolfs joy at being freed.

  Cloaked in his lupine self’s feral mind-set, he rose to his enormous paws and shook himself roughly. His claws skittered across the floor as his weight lifted him from his toes with the corkscrew motion that ran through his body. Arching back his neck he stretched his muzzle skyward and licked the blood from his maw. Dropping down on his forelimbs he stretched and flexed his muscles; yawning broadly to release the tension that had built in his jaw and throat.

  He could not deny that it felt good to be back on all four paws; but he was trapped and this made both sides of him restless and uneasy. The human part at the back of his mind exploded into concern that he would be discovered and a high-pitched whine escaped him. He had nowhere to go. He was trapped and with no hope of a reverse transformation until the following morning. Could that day get any worse?

  - Click – clack – click – clack -

  His ears twitched, the sound of a woman in heels approaching echoed down the corridor. Flaring his nostrils he tried to pick up her scent but he could not yet detect it. It had to be jaunt.

  Scrambling under the cot he pressed himself tightly against the wall.

  - Clack -

  The cell door was unlocked; and slowly it began to swing inwards.

  Chapter 16

  Hunter screwed shut his piercing green eyes and held his breath; certain of his discovery… But the voice that rang through the gloom was not the one he had expected.

  ‘You may leave me now, I know my client well and I am quite safe.’ A stiff female voice commanded; its
hint of an Italian accent giving it a more stern edge somehow.

  Hunter’s eyes snapped open, his nostrils working frantically. It was Audra, there was no doubt about it! He could think of people he would rather have seen but there was no time to be choosy; and that proved that his set up had not been by the pack. As well as which they had not abandoned him as he had first feared.

  She rounded the door and shooed away whichever officer had led her there. ‘I shall call you when I wish to be let out!’ She said huffily, slamming the door behind her. Evidently whoever it was did not wish to argue as their footsteps faded into the distance without reply.