Beasthood (The Hidden Blood Series) (13 page)

             
Before he had to come up with a response, someone knocked on the door. Jaz turned, noticing that it had been shut all that time. She shivered unpleasantly. Never again did she want to be alone with him.

             
Skye appeared from behind the door carrying a small zipped satchel in her hand.

“
Come in,” Driver beckoned with his fingers.

             
She entered surveying the two of them pryingly but pretended to focus on her task of unzipping the satchel when Driver gave her a look. She perched on the edge of the bed and opened the satchel fully. The familiar sight of a small, light-orange vial with a long curved lid filled Jaz's vision. There was a brand new syringe tucked into the loop support.

“
You want me to...?” Skye trailed off signaling to 'do the honours' though she either wasn't sure what to do, or was embarrassed because she
did
know what to do and what that would mean for her.

             
If the latter, then what she was really asking was... 'Is it okay if I stick this needle in your backside?' and then, 'Do I really have to?'.

             
Either way Jaz wasn't going to let her anywhere near her
anything
with pointy objects of any kind. No offense to her, Jaz thought, she seemed nice but she just didn't trust her. “No, I've got it.”

             
The girl seemed relieved by her response, though maybe it was Jaz's imagination.

“
You can go now,” Driver said, a little harder than he meant.

             
Skye wasn't fazed. She jumped up, smiled at Jaz who stared warily at the springy girl before she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Great. Alone again.
Jaz glared at the syringe, tempted to stab him in the eye with it but her nerves were shot after her last attempt at fighting him. He was scarily strong. She eyed him beneath her lashes.

             
He was watching her with an unfathomable expression. “I'll get the shower ready.” He walked off towards the door she'd suspected had been a bathroom all along and she could just see his foot as he leant into a walk in shower that was hidden from her place on the bed. The sound of water running filled the silence.

             
She rummaged through her luggage. She'd brought her own towel, just in case. She grabbed a change of clothes then unzipped her leopard-print toiletry bag fishing for her usual grooming items, including her razor. She wondered what he'd say about that as she stuffed her clothes and toiletries into the towel, wrapping it around like a sausage roll as she tucked it under one arm. She held the sharp razor with that hand and the iron injection satchel in the other. She wasn't going to hide the 'possible weapon'. He'd have to fight her for it.

I am
not
gonna be hairy for the rest of my life!
she vowed.

             
She sidled over to the open bathroom door where steam was now pouring out.

             
Driver was waiting by the stone counter with the built in metal sink, which was opposite the molded, beige, stone shower with a front of frosted glass. The floors were huge square slabs of a rough, milk-chocolate coloured stone. There was a enamel toilet with an oak seat (matching the door) and the right wall where the sink stood was decorated with -the same- oak cladding. It was actually rather tasteful and warming.

             
The other wall was the exposed stone she felt she knew so well. It gave her mixed feelings, mostly the bad kind. She looked away and gazed back at Driver.

             
He had his head leant over his high shoulders looking down into the sink; his big, long-fingered hands supporting his weight and heavy head as they rested on either side of the stone top.

             
When he sensed her by the door, he quickly looked up, glanced at the running shower and rubbed the back of his neck as he said, “Uh, it's ready.” The shine of metal drew his attention to the razor in her hand. She waited uneasily for his reaction. As if he hadn't seen it he continued, “Well, I see you have your own towel but there's some more there, if you need them.” He pointed to a hand-made, fitted shelving unit by her right side, half concealed by the arch-shaped door.

             
There was a selection of white, cream and brown towels visible on the top and bottom end shelf, neatly folded. She stifled a chuckle as she wondered if the kidnappers had an interior designer locked up somewhere, but the image of her cell and what had happened in there turned her thoughts grim. “If there's anything else you need, just shout. I'll be outside.”

             
She moved to one side to let him pass and stepped forward so he could shut the door. Before he did she turned and saw him look purposefully at her then tap a metal turn and release bolt, below the handle. “If it makes you feel... safer,” he prompted. She bobbed her head in affirmation and he shut the door.

             
She marched straight to it and locked it behind her.

             
It was an old habit of hers to lock doors behind her, even when there was no threat or need; like being alone in the house when no one's going to walk in on you when you're on the toilet but you still lock it anyway. A habit.

             
But this time it was different. She did feel threatened. 

             
He was right; she did feel safer after doing it though she was certain he could break the lock, even split the solid oak door in two if he wanted. But he hadn't even batted an eyelid when he'd seen the razor in her hand. Something, she thought, he'd remove from her immediately. He knew what she was capable of and yet he gave her that leeway? She hadn't expected that.

             
She put her things on the stone top next to the sink. The mirror above it was steamed over. She didn't bother to wipe the condensation away, knowing how bad she must have looked. She stank too. She hated having the same underwear on two days in a row let alone three days. Or was it four days? Five? She shook her head. Then stripped off to her underwear. She took off her dirty knickers and kicked them in the corner.

             
She then took out the syringe and the iron injection. She filled the syringe the amount she'd seen her doctor, Dr Bhargava, do many times before. He'd even shown her how to use the correct technique though it wasn't at all recommended to do it yourself. It could badly bruise your skin or stain it, even permanently.

             
She ignored her niggling worries and remembering in her head the motion of Dr Bhargava's hand, she mimicked it and thrust the needle into the muscle. The nerves in her behind cried out and she let out a short, choked sob. It was more painful when she did it.

Too hard.
She whimpered a little and sucked in a pained breath. She prayed it didn't stain her skin. She released the contents until the syringe was empty and placed it on the side of the sink.

             
After that her eyes were filled with tears and now that she had a moment alone, with no one watching -no cameras- at least she hoped, no cameras - what did it matter now she was naked anyway? -she told herself she didn't care, forgot everything else but the pain and trauma and life-changing knowledge she'd endured these horrible few days in hell and cried. The sobs were quiet, drowned out mostly by the flowing water. She slid down the wall between the shower and sink until she met the floor. The cool stone soothed her throbbing butt cheek. Her hands shook as she held them over her mouth and she just... let go.

             
Driver was sitting with his back to the wall by the locked bathroom door. He cringed at the moment he heard her push the needle in. He could hear her every sob.

             
He felt something break deep inside of him and a single tear escaped his eye.

             
It was the first time he'd cried in over a year.

~
Chapter 13-
Taunt ~

Thursday May 12
th
, 2011, 11:42 a.m. -
Kormak Residence

             
Eliza and Thorpe Kormak were not expecting any visitors or parcels that day. So when the doorbell rang, they were instinctively alert.

             
They had been that way, ever since they'd left -some would say 'fled'- the 'community' over twenty years ago.

             
The thirty-nine year old Eliza, was cutting the vegetables for her homemade beef casserole; her big, brown eyes were completely focused as she sliced the carrots with perfect precision at a finger-chopping-off speed.

             
Her husband Thorpe was sitting in his usual cream, leather armchair, checking his emails on his laptop which was balanced on his lap. He had one foot resting on the coffee table, though he knew how much his wife hated him doing that. Most of the time he did it because he loved winding her up. 

             
Eliza brushed a dark-brown curl away from her ivory cheek with the back of her hand, then turned to her husband. She saw his sock covered foot tapping the air cheekily as it rested happily on the pristine black glass. She was about to order him to remove it when the sound of the doorbell cut through the silence.

             
The words got lodged in her throat and she stared wide-eyed at her husband. He swung round violently to look at her, nearly dropping his laptop on the floor. He placed it down soundlessly on the coffee table, stood up carefully so there was no squeaking of leather. He was successful and just as silently, he crept across the wooden floorboards -avoiding the creaky ones he knew all too well- and stopped right in front of his startled wife.

             
He gently grabbed her hand that was still holding the knife. Her palm was white from gripping the handle so hard. Her hand was shaking but the moment he held it, the shaking stopped. She blinked only seeming to realize he was there at that moment. He took the knife from her slowly, placing it gently on the chopping board. He then put his hand in hers.

             
She gave him a questioning look that he knew only meant one thing. 'Who is it?' she asked with her eyes. He squeezed her hand comfortingly and inhaled deeply through his nose. His strong sense of smell was attacked by the aroma of onions, carrots, parsnips and potatoes. He could smell the beef inside the fridge, the milk that he pegged would go off tomorrow if they didn't finish it. He'd remind her later if she didn't know already.

             
He then caught the scents further away from the kitchen.

             
The scented candles- strawberry and vanilla-, the recently oiled hinges of the lounge door,  the hallway air-freshener plug in the socket by the shoe rack, his muddy boots and the newspaper he'd placed them on this morning after gardening, right by the door, and through the door... he swirled the smell of the unknown visitor deep in his nose, sampling it like a fine wine.

             
Leather, dusty boots, jeans that were recently stained with mayonnaise, the faint aroma of fresh and old sweat from the hot weather, mixed in with a masculine perfume; a cologne he recognized. He also smelt hair gel. It took him back twenty years and he knew who it was.

Bastard still hasn't changed that foul, cheap cologne. Bet he still spikes up his hair like a bloody hedgehog.
He laughed inwardly with a mixture of bitterness and genuine humour.

             
He glared at the pastel yellow wall he'd been gazing at the whole time; the silver wall clock ticking away through the silence was to the left of the spot he focused on. He gritted his teeth. Eliza knew very well that meant he was uneasy; mentally preparing himself for what was about to come. All the muscles in her body tensed. Thorpe saw this from the corner of his eye. He gazed at his beautiful wife; her oval face, her big brown eyes and little cherub's mouth showed every ounce of her trepidation. He gave her his warmest smile and instantly she relaxed.

“
Garik,” he mouthed. In that one word he told her not to worry but to stay on her guard. Her tiny mouth pressed into a firm line and she bobbed her head an inch.

             
Thorpe strode towards the door, allowing his feet to step heavily across the floorboards. His brother knew he was home, there was no reason to pretend now. He brushed a rough, honey-toned hand through his short, straight black hair and opened the door. The face of his brother stared back at him with a cold smile. Thorpe kept his cool. He was good at that. Better than his older brother who's emotions flowed through his face like sand through a sieve.

“
Hello, little brother,” said Garik in his taunting, deep, nasal voice.

             
There was a short, icy pause before Thorpe replied, “Hello, older brother.”

             
Another pause. They locked eyes. Thorpe observed Garik still had the same hedgehog hairstyle. He held back the urge to laugh. Thorpe was studying every inch of his brother's square face to spot his intentions before he acted on them. Garik could be read like a book, but his actions tended to be unexpected- on the rare occasion, even to Thorpe who knew his brother's capabilities better than anyone else.

“
Well?” Garik pushed, “Are you going to invite me in? It's rude to leave a guest hanging on the doorstep.”

             
Thorpe weighed out his options.

             
Eliza was waiting anxiously inside. Garik scared her but she wasn't stupid enough to let him know that. She locked away her fear and put on her pokerface.

             
Thorpe knew it would be worse off if he didn't let him in, so he stepped aside holding out his hand inside the hallway invitingly. Garik smiled in a way that Thorpe imagined he was mentally adding a point to the scoreboard under 'Garik'. Thorpe hated that but flashed a carefree -very charming- smile.

             
Garik hated that more.  Thorpe knew it.

One point to me then?
He thought facetiously though he wasn't really counting. That was Garik's thing.
Pathetic.

             
This thought made it easier for Thorpe to chain his dread in a dungeon hidden in the back of his mind. “Nice place you got here,” Garik began in a loud voice.

             
Eliza was still standing hidden from view in the kitchen. At the sound of Garik entering the living-room she walked under the archway to 'greet' him. He stopped in his tracks and smiled -a little too enthusiastically for her liking- at her, his
sister
-in-law.

             
He'd always had a thing for her, though she'd
never
had for him. His
thing
for her was
strictly
sexual, and it had always made her skin crawl when she'd caught the indication in a look or a gesture, or even just a smile. Like now.

             
She clenched her teeth together. “Hi, Eliza.” She gave a nod of her head in response. “You're looking real good. Tasty as ever.”

             
Yep, the familiar skin crawling sensation attacked her nerve endings. She tried to conceal the shiver of revulsion as she folded her arms and leant against the archway. A gesture followed by a glare that warned Garik she wasn't above snapping off his you-know-what if he carried on. His smile dropped off his face and he turned away as if the room was more interesting to him. That made Eliza smile inside.

             
Thorpe had felt his wife's revulsion- he always had when she was around his brother. Garik knew it annoyed him -maybe that was partly why he did it?- but Thorpe wasn't ready to 'mark his territory'- meaning his wife- yet. Curiosity had gotten the better of him. “Okay, Garik, what do you want?” he demanded rancorously.

             
Garik raised his thick brows innocently. Well he
tried
to appear innocent- but failed. “I'm just visiting my favourite brother and sister-in-law. Sorry for not giving you any notice of my coming, but you see, you've never invited me to your home before. I'd have been waiting for another twenty years at this rate. Didn't know your address until recently,” he said in a high voice that reeked of contempt.

“
Don't pretend like you don't know why.”

“
Fine, but don't pretend like you aren't interested in knowing the meaning of my little visit.”

“
Fine, then why are you here?”

             
Garik grinned. It was hard and menacing. Eliza blanched. He didn't see. “You should be more curious as to how I even knew you
were
here.”

             
Thorpe raised a brusque brow. His eyebrows were thinner and tamer than his brother's. Garik's features were harsh and flat, like a boxer's. He had a flat rectangular nose, thin hard line for a mouth, square jaw, flat square forehead, small blue eyes always squinting as if he was suspicious of everything. It suited his character. He watched everything like a hawk. Garik's dark blue eyes now creased at the sides as he smiled unpleasantly at his calm-faced brother.

“
So you have a good private detective, I'm happy for you,” Thorpe's sarcastic, unfazed tone riled his brother.

             
Garik's face creased up like a bulldog and he spat, “You're damn hospital records for one!”

             
Thorpe felt his heart stop at the word hospital. Had he connected the dots? He swore inside his head.

             
Eliza gazed at her husband. She became the stronger half in the relationship and spoke to give him time to collect himself. “So you found out where I gave birth, and where we live. Congratulations,” she replied mockingly, stepping away from her safety spot by the archway.

             
Garik focused on her for the second time since he walked in. The lust in his eyes was evident. She held her ground, unflinching. “I also found something else rather interesting.” Garik paused, heightening the suspense until it blew through the roof.

“
What is it!?” Thorpe barked.

“
Your daughter.”

             
Thorpe couldn't control the gape he flashed at his wife.

             
She stared at Garik and then scowled vehemently. “She's dead, can't you leave her be?” she growled.

“
Are we referring to your pretty blonde, dead Lora, or the one who you claimed was dead and yet, is very much alive?”

             
They couldn't speak. You could have cut the tension in the air with a knife.

             
Thorpe had feared this moment but they had both known it would happen deep inside. Garik was thorough when it came to finding things out. Especially when he suspected they'd been lying about it.

             
Thorpe had seen the smugness in his face the moment he'd opened the door. He'd guessed straight away that Garik had something on them. What else could it have been but the proof they'd lied about the death of their twin daughter all these years?  The fact he was even here at all was enough to set off alarm bells.

“
You'll never find her,” Eliza said threateningly.

             
Garik grinned evilly and both parents' hearts stopped. “You underestimate my skills. You see, not only have we found her, she's now a guest at Deer Creek.”

             
Thorpe's hand reacted before his brain had time to process it and he backhanded Garik in the jaw. Garik's head snapped back from the force and he clutched his chin in agony. He shot a homicidal glare at his younger brother. It took all he had not to rip the pretty boy's head off.

             
Thorpe regretted doing it but not because the prick didn't deserve it. Oh he deserved much more. He just feared what Garik would do in revenge. He held a grudge like a stone glued to his ass. He never forgot, and he rarely forgave.

“
I'll let that one slide,” Garik said through gritted teeth. He rubbed his sore -likely to bruise- jaw and sat himself down on the matching cream, leather armchair opposite the one Thorpe had occupied moments ago. Thorpe frowned at his brother, arms folded. He wouldn't sit down so Garik continued to speak. “I don't understand why you kept her from us. You hate us that much?” he was genuinely offended; his tone was softer as if Thorpe's punch hadn't even happened.

             
Thorpe gazed at his older brother dubiously. “I don't hate you,” his voice was stiff. It was hard to speak nicely to his brother  - and Garik to him- after years of bitterness. “Any of you. I lived that life and it was not what I wanted- or
want
- for any of my daughters.”

“
So you blame us for Lora's death?” Garik retorted. Thorpe's jaw locked tight and he turned his head in irritation, enveloping his grief. Garik saw right through him. “How were we to know? You lied to us. We thought she was a pureblood. If we'd have known otherwise, we'd never have let her- we'd never have even taken her!”