Chapter Seven
`Where ya been, ya slut? I've been waiting up all night.'
Her mother's slurred words in the darkness sent a shudder up Carly's spine. She closed the front door behind her and switched on the light. Ruby Edwards hugged a whiskey bottle as she slumped against the couch.
`Mum! Have you been drinking again?' She dumped her school bag on the chair.
`It's your fault, leaving me here, while you're having it off with any boy who'd get his pants down.'
`Mum, I texted you. I was at Meg's, doing our joint project. It's due tomorrow.' At least Meg's mum had offered to drive her home at this late hour.
`Liar!' Tossing her bottle on to crumpled mags, she staggered from the couch and faced her daughter. `I know what you're up to. You don't fool me!'
`I've had a big day—'
`You whore!' Her hand lashed out.
The slap stung Carly's cheek. She had seen it coming, could have stopped it if she chose, but fourteen years of blame had worn her down. She screwed her eyes shut, stemming her temper — calm — then opened them again. `I was not sleeping around. I was at Meg's. My project's done and I'm proud of it.' A good education was the only way she was getting out of here.
`There ya go, being all smart and hoity toity again. Well, I ain't taking your rot anymore! I'm not stupid like ya think. I coulda made something of my life if it weren't for your stinkin' nappies and school lunches, and what'dya become? A lying whore. Well, I don't want ya anymore. Get out!'
`What?'
`Out! Now!'
`Mum, I'm not leaving. I'm going upstairs and I'm—'
Carly ducked as the fist flew towards her. Her heart pounding, she leapt away and fled towards the door. `I'm going, but only until morning. Once you're sober—'
`Nothing'll change, Missy. I'm sick of your smart mouth!'
`Mum, you can't.' Tears pricked her eyes.
`Git!'
`I'm going.' Fingers dug into her pocket and gripped her house key. She left her school bag on the chair. If she could lie low for an hour, she could sneak back in once her mother had fallen asleep. In the morning, they would sort things out. Maybe.
She closed the front door, her mum's barbs cutting her to the bone. She leaned against the patio rail as her eyes filled with tears. Was it true? Had she ruined her mother's life? There'd only ever been the two of them, and she'd tried so hard to be well behaved and helpful.
Maybe a walk would clear her head. She stumbled from the patio and along the garden path to the front gate, but as she kicked a crushed can along the deserted street, the knots in her stomach tightened. Why did Mum hate her? What had she ever done? If only she'd go to AA and give up the drink. But that was obviously too much to ask.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as a masculine odour assailed her. Her head whipped to her side, but she couldn't see anything amongst the shadows in the front gardens.
Just her imagination. The street was as safe as a dough-nut at a supermodel fashion shoot. She'd traipsed it a thousand times, whenever Mum was moody or under the weather. She just didn't understand what had—
Fear gripped her stomach as a leaf crunched nearby. She stiffened and turned towards the shadows again. Nothing.
She was just anxious and jumpy. Her mum's awful mood had put her on edge.
A rustle made her head snap upwards and she barely had time to gasp as ivory claws rushed towards her, sharp and ready to kill.
What the hell?
Carly's claws shot out from her knuckles and she slashed at her assailant, catching his arm just as he pierced her shoulder. He grunted, but did not loosen his grip.
`Are you Carly?'
He knew her name! What sort of a freak was he?
Pain seared her ripped muscle as his claws sank deeper.
His face remained in shadow though his eyes glinted, and his iron grasp prevented her from wrenching free.
`Let go!' She dug further into his flesh.
`Are you Carly Edwards?'
`Who are you?'
`Someone important to you.' The purr of his voice made her heart shudder. He smelt of leather and acetone.
`Get away!'
`We don't even know each other yet.'
A tinny tune jangled the air: Three blind mice
She walloped him in the groin.
Three blind mice
He grabbed her. She unhooked her claws from his arm and lunged forward, ripping at his face while he gouged at the flesh beneath her collarbone.
See how they run. See how they run
The pain was awful but Carly ducked and sprinted, the stupid song giving wind to her pace.
They all ran after the farmer's wife, who cut off their tails with a carving knife
Did you ever see such a thing in your life?
The stitch was digging into her side by the time Carly had sprinted two full blocks. She crawled through a small hole into someone's backyard, grabbed a shovel leaning against the garden shed and just stood there trying to calm her breathing.
Dread gripped her. He was a hunter like her. A creature with claws beneath his knuckles and, she suspected, the same bloodhound sense of smell.
This had only happened to her for the first time a few weeks before. She had changed from human to... to something else and she had no idea why. Or why any wounds healed faster and she'd gained a fascination for blood and, she shivered, meat.
Her heart pounded. Until tonight, her worst nightmare had been the fear of waking up and discovering she'd become a werewolf. Now this stranger — someone `like' her — had attacked her. How many more were out there, like him; like her?
What did he want? Not to kill her; or her throat would already be sliced. He could have easily ripped open her jaw, not her shoulder. He knew who she was and what she was. Could he sense it, smell it? The creature she was becoming?
Carly perched on the grass, sheltered by the shed, and watched for signs of movement. She'd see him if he tried to wriggle his large frame through the hole. She had a shovel to crack his skull — and she wasn't afraid to use it.
She only prayed it would be enough.
Chapter Eight
Dozens of flickering candles cast an eerie glow across the carved relief of Balor. Thirteen men fell silent at the polished oak table as their coven leader began the proceedings with a prayer.
When he then turned to the agenda, he was swamped by a gaggle of protests.
`The Beardmore heir is dead — our sixth Rip`n'Stitch victim in less than a year,' the Second addressed the Supreme One. `Neither your police nor your spies have any leads. I demand the killer's heart on a platter!'
The Supreme One raised an eyebrow. `If you are so keen to track him down, go spear him yourself.'
Second's face contorted.
`You know I have not your connections or resources.'
`Then let me proceed as we discussed.'
`No, this needs further discussion,' Fifth interrupted. `Until this killer is found, every Taloner is at risk.'
`The renegade is only killing