Havermouth, Present Day
Chris Arren stood, blocking her into the u formation of the kitchen. He held an odd-looking gun in his hand.
Aislen threw a bowl at him in a spray of soapy water. It struck him in the center of his forehead, the impact throwing his head back, and he jerked the gun up in response, sending two darts into the ceiling.
Aislen threw herself across the floor, slipping in the soapy water that had splashed on the linoleum, and falling hard onto her hip, the impact sending shocks of pain through her body. She slid out, her foot connecting with Chris Arren’s ankles, kicking them out beneath him, so that suddenly they were face to face on the floor.
His face pulled into a ferocious snarl, and he gripped her upper arms with cruel fingers and nails that dug into her skin. She slammed her forehead into his face, the impact sending sparks through her vision, but his nose exploded into blood, and he roared, releasing her in order to throw his palms up in defence as she tried to repeat the success of the first strike.
She kicked away from him, gripping the edge of the counter and finding her feet. The brief contact between them had been enough, her mind filled will his comparisons between her and his daughter, Heather.
She reached into the double-sided overhead cupboard and threw glasses at him. “You sick f-k,” she accused him. “You were raping your daughter, and when she found a boyfriend and tried to run away, you all but f-king killed her. She wasn’t injured in a suicide attempt, but because you strangled her.”
She grabbed a chair and slammed it over him, the wood shattering under the impact, and Chris Arren grunting in pain. She gripped a broken spear. “I remember her,” she told him through her teeth, her head arcing back. “I remember her. I bumped into her. She was thinking about how her f-king father was f-king her… It was you… You…”
He flipped her and she hit the floor hard, winding her. In the moment that it took her to recover, he was over her, his spittle foaming on his lips as he snarled down at her. “Dirty, f-king whore,” he snarled down at her. “You know how long I had to f-king wait until you were between customers here? Men in, men out, never with an empty bed. Slut.”
“Did you spray paint my house?” She clawed at his eyes and bit at his hand when he planted it on her face, holding her back from him. “Did you firebomb my house and send me a f-king tongue?”
“I have no f-king idea what you are talking about,” he gripped her by the throat, pinching in so that she could breathe and lifted her head by his hold before slamming the back of her skull against the floor. She writhed, trying to buck him off of her, hitting at him with the heels of her hands.
“Did you kill my dad?” She rasped.
“I suspected that he had found out about Heather and I and was keeping the evidence hidden here.” He flipped her onto her stomach and pulled her arms back behind her back, reaching into the back pockets of his jeans and using a zip tie to try to secure her wrists. She fought him, twisting a hand free and shoving it under her so that he could not tie them together. “F-k, you’re spritely for someone reported to have been shot two days ago,” he growled in frustration.
Chris was panting from his efforts, his blood dripping from his nose and splashing in mucus-sticky drops onto the linoleum. “I tried to do this the easy way. I asked you nicely to give me what he had on me. I asked you nicely several times, but you are such an arrogant b-tch that you would not give me what I need. So now,” he reached under her skirt and dragged her panties down her legs. “You will give me what I want.”
She threw herself over, bucking him off so that he fell to the side, the hand he tried to catch himself on slipping out in his blood.
She landed a knee to his groin and, when his breath oomphed out of him, curling him into a ball, threw herself over his back, fisting into his thin hair and slamming his temple into the ground. She did it again, screaming out her rage. And again, until he was limp beneath her, and then reached over shakily for the zip ties, and yanked his limp arms up behind his back, securing them together.
She pulled the cord so tight that the skin bulged over them. “Get out of that, f-ker,” she said as she stood on trembling legs, and delivered a kick between his splayed legs for good measure before spitting blood on him. "F-ker."
She picked up the weird looking gun and took it with her as she staggered down the hallway to the front door. Tyler had been bundled just inside of the threshold, felled by one of the strange bullets. She checked his pulse and breathing – both were steading and strong. She pulled a weird looking bullet with a needle on the end out of Tyler’s shoulder.
“Tranq gun,” she said with more authority than she possessed, but it made sense. The gun was weird looking, and Tyler was out, snoring in his sleep. She felt in his pockets and found a phone. It had facial recognition and opened when she held it in front of Tyler. “Talen,” she told it, and heard it begin to ring.
“I’m on my way,” Talen answered, video off.
“Daddy,” she said.
“Morgana,” his tone changed to alarm. “Where is Tyler?”
“He’s out. Chris Arrens… this guy attacked us…” She heard Chris groan from the kitchen. “He’s coming to.”
“I’m ten minutes away,” Talen’s voice was tight. “Kill the intruder if he is a threat.”
“Oh, I will,” she agreed. “See you soon, daddy.”
She walked back down to the kitchen and grabbed Chris Arren’s by the back of his shirt, dragging him down to the bathroom. He cried out in protest and tried kicking. She released him and delivered several good kicks to his midsection which silenced him. His breath was wheezed in as she dragged him into the bathroom and hauled him into the bath, pausing to press the heel of her hand against her gunshot wound, panting and wincing.
“You are a whore,” he spat up at her as she searched his pockets and found his phone.
“Yeah,” Aislen agreed and turned on the shower water. “But it’s always funny that a woman is a whore when she has the same sex life as a man. Let’s talk about your daughter, Heather, hey? I met her once at a football match, pretty girl. Being raped by her dad was a bit of a downer, eh?” She turned the video on.
“She was a f-king slut, just like you.” His nose was broken, and he was breathing heavily through his mouth, his lips pulled back into a snarl.
“Wrong answer,” she replied, pausing the recording. She dropped a towel over his head, letting the shower spray saturate it. He cried out, his breath wet sounding through the saturated cloth. She watched the fabric mold to his face as he sucked seeking air.
His face, covered by the saturated cloth, reminded her of her dreams of corpses floating through water. For a moment she watched in fascination wondering at the origin of her dreams, and then she peeled the towel back from his mouth.
“Please,” he sobbed in a breath. “I don’t want to die.”
“There are worse things than death,” she observed. “Just ask Heather. You f-ked her up well, didn’t you? She’s trapped in her own head, her mind too damaged to let her out. That would be merciful for you. And I’m not feeling very merciful.” She sat on the rim of the bath and used her heels to hold him down as the water rose around him, flipping the wet towel back over his face, so that he could not see, smell, or breathe.
“You were raping your daughter,” she flipped back the towel and selected record. “Let’s start from that. This is your opportunity to repent, Chris Arrens. You should start by how you were raping your daughter, Heather Arrens, and how you framed her boyfriend for her attempted suicide in order to disguise that you strangled her in a fit of jealous rage when she told you that she was leaving.
“And finish,” she zoomed in on his face. “On how you killed my father in order to silence him when he found out.”
“I didn’t,” Chris Arrens sprayed water in an exhale. “I didn’t kill your f-king father.”
“You didn’t?” She was taken aback. “How about spray-painting my house, hiring thugs to throw Molotov cocktails, and sending me a severed tongue.”
“You’re f-king nuts,” he garbled. “You’re a psychopath!”
She flipped the towel back over his face and used her heels to shove him back under the spray. “Maybe,” she agreed, leaning back, her arse on the bath rim, watching as the towel sucked tight to his mouth and nose. “Maybe…”
“Morgana!” Talen appeared in the doorway, his eyes going from her to the man that she held down with her heels. She pulled back her heels guiltily as he reached down and flipped back the towel to let Chris Arren’s breathe. His eyes met hers and he reached through the steam of the water to cup her chin. “Are you unharmed?”
She shrugged, suddenly teary. “I’m alright.’
He nodded, his eyes knowing and sympathetic, before they dropped to where Chris Arrens sucked in air. “How is he dying?”
She smiled slowly, her heart lifting. “Slowly, daddy, slowly.”
He met her eyes. “I have the perfect way.”
“Of course, you do,” she purred. “And that’s ridiculously sexy.”
Havermouth, Eight Years BeforeHeath parked his dirt bike in the bike rack. There were several of similar makes and models parked there, owned by other pack alphas too underage to hold a driver’s license in order to legally drive a car. The police turned a blind eye to the dirt bikes, as long as they were licensed to pack members.Heath hung his helmet over the handle, without fear of it being stolen. Anyone who stole from Heath Gale was certifiably insane, and even the foolhardiest of thieves knew it. He would let them get away it, only to hunt them down to where they felt most safe, and he would appear there, beat the crap out of them, set their safe haven on fire, before taking what was his home safe and sound.That was how it worked. You didn’t screw with an alpha. It was an alpha’s job to ensure that it was well known that there would be repercussions. An alpha’s reputation was built, it was earned, it was not given to him by birthright.It had only taken twice for the message to
Havermouth, Present TimeThe pack’s headquarters was also the original homestead of the area, built back before there was running water and cars, and when there were hundreds of servants to maintain the property. According to local legend, the Havermouth family and every last servant had disappeared one night, inexplicably, leaving clothing and valuables untouched. The vanishing of Havermouth was discovered over a month later, when one of the Havermouth’s daughters’ suitors, mystified how his letters to his beloved were going unanswered, rode to the property from Rideten, then a journey of several days, in order to investigate.He described the sight in a letter to the Havermouth’s next of kin, as a scene from a horror book – horses, sheep and cattle grazing amongst the roses and kitchen gardens, chickens wandering the main hall, and the house and outbuildings untouched. Not a single human being to be seen, no corpses, no sign of packing or preparation. Just empty.The Havermouth’s ne
Havermouth, Present TimeTalen had trussed Chris Errans up like a pig ready for the rotisserie, and Aislen enjoyed, very much, watching the man grunting, dragging air in through his broken and swollen nose as he was gagged, and squirming as if seeking relief from his predicament.“Be careful of the broken glass.” Talen scooped her underwear up off the floor, shaking them free of glass shards, and his eyes hardened as he passed them to her, his hand stroking under her skirt. “Did he…?” He growled.“No,” she assured him as she stepped into the panties and pulled them on. “He f-king tried though, the raping bastard. I kicked his balls so hard that I’m pretty sure they’re lodged in his throat, now, and he can taste his own come.”“Good,” Talen’s search had discovered the bruise on her hip, and he shook his head, his glower darkening.“I have a few lumps and bruises,” she admitted. “But I gave pretty good back, I think.”“I agree,” he caressed her hair. “I am sorry,” he leaned forward unti
Havermouth, Eight Years BeforeHeath watched as Rhett and Cameron laughed, trading the bottle between them. The music thrummed through him, the pulse throbbing in an echo to his c-ck. He was oblivious to the party around them, to the scantily clad human girls in their miniskirts and mid-drift tops, to the laughter and shrieks.What would he do, Heath wondered, if Cameron turned his face just slightly towards Rhett, if Rhett leaned forward just a little…? If Rhett’s hand slid down from Cameron’s shoulder, over his chest and stomach, would Cameron lean back…?“F-k,” he muttered and adjusted his jeans. He was sitting in the middle of a house filled with humans and pack members, fantasizing about his best friend and the new boy getting it on. As he cast around desperately for a distraction, he saw Lauren Bascall enter the party with her best friend Alice Kelly.What would the senior alphas do? He asked himself. They would take what they needed and do what they wanted.He shoved up from th
Havermouth, Present TimeThe house looked sad, Cameron thought as he parked in front of it. It was too much house for just Jules Edison, his father being more focused on the land around it than the architect designed mansion. The curtains were drawn in the rooms that Cameron knew his father did not use, the internal doors shut as if in doing so Jules could shrink the house to something more manageable.Cameron had begged his father to employ a house cleaner and grounds keeper to maintain the property, but it was the Edison way, it seemed, to let their empty houses decay around them, to shut off what they didn’t need or want, and to focus entirely on what they did. It was, after all, what the Edisons had done to the river house. Simply closed the doors and walked away from it, and all the history that it contained. Jules had employed two new field hands instead. Cameron headed to the stables and found Tim mucking out. “Hey.”Tim looked up and grinned. “Hey. How’s your lady?”“She’s o
Havermouth, Present TimeTalen drove just out of town, deep into the forest that followed the contours of the hills, turning off the main roads onto dirt roads, and then from those to little winding tracks that were little more than two furrows carved into the undergrowth.He stopped at a gate and let the Ute idling whilst he went to open it. Aislen could see at the top of a hill a modern house that overlooked the forest. The front windows were mirror glazed, reflecting back the sky.“Where are we?” She asked Talen as he returned to the car. He left the gate open behind them, following the winding driveway, but turning away from where it rose up to the house.“Vampire safe house,” he told her. “New house up there, but there’s also the old farmhouse down here, along with a couple of smaller cottages.”They bounced along the track, and she imagined Chris Arrens being tossed around in the tray with malicious enjoyment. “What the f-k is an oubliette, daddy?”“It is called the Forgotten Ro
Havermouth, Eight Years Before“That one,” Rhett rested his elbow on his knee, and nodded his chin in the direction of a human girl walking by. On the grassy knoll behind them the cheerleaders shrieked as Rohan sprayed them with his water bottle held at groin level, gyrating towards them as if it were his c-ck. Rhett looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. “Arsehole.”“She’s a bit… round,” Heath wrinkled his nose. He leaned slightly against Rhett as he tracked the girl with his eyes, and Rhett breathed in the scent of the other alpha, feeling it unfurl with him, heating through him until his c-ck leapt to life.F-k, Rhett thought. He wasn’t sure which alpha he found more attractive, Cameron or Heath, and sitting between them was f-king dangerous. He was pretty sure that they were straight, from the way they talked about sex with human girls constantly, and that his mum was right, and the pack was generally intolerant, which sucked, because Rhett had always known that he was open
Havermouth, Present TimeBy the time Heath and August walked back to the house, there were more cars parked in a neat line up of luxury and excess. The Merc belonged to Lilith Boyston, the BMW to Harry Ridgeway, and the Porsche was Phillip Salem’s.“Shit,” Heath muttered sliding a look at August who did not look surprised. “This is going to be fun.”August chuckled under his breath as they stepped onto the porch.Due to the number of werewolves present, the meeting had moved from the office to the dining room and as Heath and August made their way down the wide, luxurious hallway with its antique furniture, brightly threaded rugs, and grim-faced paintings, Heath could hear the angry voices silenced abruptly.“We will not overtalk each other,” Abigail announced calmly, her voice carrying. “We will discuss this like the civilized adults that we are. Yes, I am aware that there are a great number of incidents of concern at this time, but we will address them one at a time.”“I am sure tha