Blood Entwines (16 page)

‘You little –'

She didn't bother to wait to hear what they had to say. It was definitely time to leave.

Across the dance floor, on a raised platform, she could make out Hannah, gesticulating wildly at the bouncer. Something was about to happen, a decision was about to be made. Kara knew that it probably involved her. She pushed her way through the crowd, conscious of Conor's friends following behind, intent on doing her harm. She locked down all her thoughts, opened her mind and uttered one silent sentence.

I'm here
.

The feeling of coldness pressing into her brain overcame her. She stumbled into a group of moshing teenagers. Everything ceased: the sounds, the smells, the swaying crowd. She felt empty, completely void, as if someone was about to fill her up, replace her. Then, suddenly, somewhere at the back of her mind, three simple words, words that were not her own.

I see you
.

Kara found the fire exit and heaved against the heavy cross bar. She had to get out of there.

Outside The Loft the sky had turned inky black. The night air was cool on Kara's skin after the press of bodies. She inhaled deeply, savouring the relative calmness. The town was very quiet, the dull
thud thud
of the bass from the building behind her the only sound.

The scent came to her on a light breeze. Her blood hummed, getting warmer as she walked round to the front of The Loft. A clapped-out motorbike leaned against the side of the building, its rusted frame frail-looking. Kara knew he was nearby.

Rosemary's voice spiked in the back of her head . . .
a darkened street, at night, with a weirdo stalker . . . who owns a motorbike
. She flicked her hair out of her eyes. Caution be damned, she needed to talk to him.

An alleyway ran down the side of the building. She walked towards it, touching the cold, exposed brickwork. The neon lights illuminated the footpath and she stood on the edge, the toe of her boots over the line, into the shadows of the dark alleyway. She took one step.

He was so still, so silent, that she almost brushed her hand against him before she realised that he was leaning there against the wall, his head covered by the hood of his jacket, his eyes closed. When he blinked them open, she could see the whites clear against the dark of his shadowed features. The blood in her hand stung hot. She pulled it away quickly, wiping her palm on the sleeve of her leather jacket.

Jack pushed himself away from the wall, straightening up. She felt as if she should take a step back, put some distance between them. She knew he was angry, could practically taste it in the air. But she didn't step away from him. There was something else hidden in those eyes, a fleeting emotion that Kara couldn't place. It lingered for a moment, then it was gone.

He moved towards her, closing the small distance between them, stepping out into the light. He was a good foot taller than her.

‘What the hell did you do that for? Those guys deserved a good –'

She moved almost without realising it. She sprang towards him, slapping him forcefully across his cheek. The touch of his skin made her blood boil and freeze at the same time. She had to concentrate through the pain to ensure that she got the words out quickly, before the steam of her anger dissipated.

‘I am not yours. You do not own me. It is mine now, Jack Kennedy, whatever you have given me, and I will not give it back.'

She bent down to pick up a shard of broken glass. With surprising precision, she slit the palm of her hand. She didn't think. She just did. The pain was immense.

He attempted to move towards her, but she brandished the piece of glass at him.

‘Don't you dare move.' She was so angry. The anger burned through her.

She hadn't expected so much blood to ooze out and she didn't quite know what she was trying to prove. She felt the coolness of her own skin and saw the blood collect at a fast rate in the palm of her hand.

She looked at him, fire burning in her belly. ‘It's mine now.'

She concentrated on the feel of the blood in her palm. For a moment it puddled there, still in her hand, and she feared she'd been wrong. But then, ever so slowly, it began to move towards Jack. A stringy, liquid trail of blood flowing across her palm, in between her fingertips and over the edge of her hand.

He watched her silently, unmoving.

She breathed a deep breath and drew on all her strength. At first, nothing happened.

Then, with her concentration stretched to its limit, the trail of blood began retreating towards the jagged cut, receding into her body through the open wound. The skin knitted itself cleanly closed, stinging caustic hot for a few seconds. A smear of her own mundanely human blood sullied the palm of her hand. She stared at it in silence. The heat in her veins lessened, the pressure too. She had laid claim to the mutant blood and now it was hers.

She began to shake. Panting in shock she reached towards the brick wall for support, steadying herself.

Jack spoke quietly, touching his cheekbone where her hand had connected.

‘You're right,' he said slowly. ‘It's yours now. You want it, you can learn to deal with the consequences. When
he
comes for you, try to resist. See what happens. He will use you like a puppet on a string. Then he will probably kill you.'

There was something she had to ask him first, something she needed to know, ‘What happened the night of your accident? When they found you in the alleyway off Drury Street? Tell me.'

He shook his head, distracted, as if he was physically shaking the memory out for him to replay. His eyes were dark, his body tense.

‘Mind your own fucking business.' The words growled from him, feral-like, and Kara was afraid, stepping away.

‘Kara?' Someone called her and she turned for a split second.

Jack didn't wait around, pushing roughly past her.

He moved towards his bike, throwing his leg over the saddle. The sound of the engine ripped through the night.

‘Wait.' Kara moved. She wanted to ask him what he meant about dealing with consequences, but he was gone, streaking off into the darkness, leaving a deafening engine roar in his wake.

‘Jerk!' Kara hoped he could catch her voice on the wind.

Turning, she stomped back towards the entrance of The Loft to find Hannah. But it wasn't Hannah who had called her.

There next to the main entrance stood Ben. Kara was about to shout out to him when she noticed who he was talking to. Ashleigh. The two of them looked to be having an argument.

Too late, Ashleigh had seen her.

‘There she is. The girl of the moment. We were just looking for you.' Ashleigh plastered a smile across her face.

God, thought Kara, I really hate you.

‘Where's your boyfriend?' she asked, smoothing her hair into a perfect mane of blonde.

‘What?' snapped Kara, not in the mood to play games.

‘The guy I saw you with in the alleyway. You too looked pretty close.'

Ben was glaring at her, spots of red on his cheeks.

‘No,' began Kara. How could she explain. ‘That was nobody. It was nothing.'

‘Didn't look that way to me,' said Ashleigh.

The Loft door opened and Hannah stumbled out, her face pale. She didn't have a jacket and her arms almost instantly goose bumped in the cold.

‘Kara,' she was struggling to get the words out. ‘Where is he? Where's Jack?'

‘Who's Jack?' laughed Ashleigh. ‘You see Ben? I told you.'

She stretched up on her tiptoes and lightly kissed his cheek, a couple of centimetres from his lips, all the while her eyes locked to Kara's. ‘I'll see you for coffee on Saturday as arranged.'

She turned and walked down the street, her tight jeans leaving little to the imagination.

None of them said a word.

The house was dark when Ben got home. Everyone had gone to bed. Trying to make as little noise as possible, he closed the front door. There was no need to flick on the light; he knew his way around in the dark.

The night had been an epic fail.

First Conor, then Ashleigh. And that guy, the one with the motorbike. It annoyed Ben that Kara had lied. She clearly knew him. Was he her ex-boyfriend?

The thought made him uncomfortable. He had no right to be jealous. Kara wasn't even his girlfriend, but it still unsettled him. He rolled his sleeves up past his elbow, a frown on his face. He was so busy convincing himself that he wasn't jealous that he almost tripped up the last step.

A slim line of yellow light illuminated the carpet beneath his mother's bedroom door. Perhaps she was awake and lucid, reading a good book. He pushed the door ajar, holding his breath. His mother, her head lolling to one side snored gently, her limbs entwined with the bedclothes. She must have passed out a few hours earlier. Ben sighed, turned out her light and continued to his room.

Flopping down on his bed, he kicked off his shoes, grinding the heel of his hand into his eyes, trying to wipe the memories away. The look on Kara's face when Ashleigh had kissed him. Why did he let her do that? Because she knew, that's why. She knew about Conor and if he didn't do exactly what she wanted then Ben was in big trouble. The whole evening was a mess, and it had started with that girl, Hannah something or other.

He shouldn't have bothered wasting his time trying to be nice to her. She was clearly a total bitch. So he hadn't recognised her from class, big deal. It's not like that deserved a public stoning.

He had to admit that his motives in charging into the mêlée to search for Hannah had been less than one hundred per cent chivalrous. He'd needed another tab and had agreed to meet up with Conor at the concert, somewhere near the main stage. He hadn't expected Kara to be with him. He'd hoped to see her there, but never imagined she would be on her own.

The meeting with Conor was a nuisance, but Ben needed the amphetamine. And all it took was two minutes. Leaving Kara at the bar should have caused no hassle whatsoever.

At The Loft, as he'd traversed the packed mosh pit, he'd scanned the crowd, looking for Conor. Finally, near the front, beside the stage, he'd spotted a group of university students, Conor in the middle, a bottle of beer in his hand. Ben fingered the bank note in his back pocket, rationalising his decision as he pushed his way forward. It would probably be the last time he would need it. Conor turned and spotted Ben. Then the strangest thing happened. Ben stopped, right in the middle of the crowd. He was having a moment of indecision; it felt as if an internal debate was raging: should he, shouldn't he, should he, shouldn't he. All the time, Conor was moving nearer and nearer, calling to him over the din of the music. The whisper of doubt clouded his judgment and just like that Ben turned and veered to the right, away from Conor, away from the crowd. He pushed doggedly through the revellers to the side of the stage. He had to get away from Conor, had to put some distance between them.

He wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew that he definitely did not want to purchase any goods, not now, not ever. As he neared the edge of the crowd he spotted Kara's friend, standing immovable, her features calm and stoic, watching him. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should approach. When he had got to her side, he'd smiled charmingly at her. She'd looked back, blankly. Usually the smile worked. He would have to try to be more amiable towards her.

‘Kara sent me to find you. She was worried about you,' he offered.

Hannah had remained still. He raised his voice above the music and repeated himself, assuming she hadn't heard him.

‘Kara was worried where you had gone to. So I came looking for you.'

Hannah turned and looked at him, her grey stare penetrating. ‘No you didn't. You came to find your friend over there so you could buy drugs.' She nodded her head in the direction of the crowd.

Ben's brain went completely blank. His mouth hung open like a yokel's. He had no idea what to say. He began to form a denial, but the words did not come out.

‘Don't bother,' she said.

He seemed caught in between decisions: should he lie to her, concoct some rebuttal, deny everything? Instead he decided to say nothing. After a minute or two he tried to contextualise the episode, explain that it was only a one-off.

‘It's not what you think,' he began.

Her response perplexed him.

‘Since when does Ben Shephard care what I think? It's none of my business.'

She had rounded on him then, moving to stand in front of him. She was tiny, barely reaching up to his chin, and yet he'd stepped back, wilting a little under the intensity of her gaze.

‘I don't care one jot about you or your stupid decisions, but I care about Kara. Keep yourself clean. Or I
will
tell her.' She didn't need to make herself any clearer. Ben could see the steely determination in her eyes. He was also surprised by the dislike he saw there. Everybody liked him, all his school friends, his teachers, his teammates. He was a nice guy.

He'd thought it best to keep quiet, nodding his head in agreement. He needed a moment's quiet to figure out what the hell was going on. The best he could do was shut up and get away from her for a while, figure out how to damage-control the situation. He needed to get back to Kara. He'd been gone far too long.

Next thing he knew her petite hand was gripping him by the bicep, squeezing into his muscle, her fingers latched on to him like a claw, her eyes big and round. She seemed scared. Ben had looked about to see what had startled her. Nothing. He'd tried to shake her off, loosen her hold on his arm but she was staring into space, her grey eyes large with fright.

‘He's here.'

She turned her back on him and disappeared into the crowd. Ben had been left on his own, a cold feeling seeping through him, radiating from his head, as if someone with icy fingers had been massaging his temples. On autopilot he'd muscled his way back towards the bar, going the long way round.

Now, lying on his unmade bed, he considered the events of the evening.

He had to figure out what to do about Ashleigh. She told him they needed to talk, that they should have coffee together on Saturday. She wouldn't elaborate about what she wanted to discuss, but Ben could guess. She knew Conor, knew what he was. The trail to Ben was an easy one to follow. What would it take to make Ashleigh go away?

He could hire a contract killer to take her out. The thought made him smirk for a fraction of a second. He thought about phoning Kara to apologise. There was probably a perfectly good reason why she was talking to this guy, this Jack person. But for the life of him he couldn't think what it might be. He pulled his mobile from his pocket, running his thumb across the screen, undecided.