Blood Entwines (18 page)

‘Ya, well, Mr Good Samaritan, I didn't exactly sign up for getting some freaky mutant blood that has a mind of its own. It's worse than fighting a custody battle: one minute it wants to go back to its original owner the next minute it is happy festering away in my little ol' veins!'

Kara rocked back in her seat and sulkily looked out of the window. ‘It's not like I ever asked for any of this,' she said.

He smirked at her.

‘What?' she barked, more fiercely than intended.

She really would have to learn to control her temper more around him, but it was as if he was an annoying itch that just wouldn't go away and when you least expected he would flare up and irritate the hell out of you.

‘Nothing.'

They both looked out of the window into the night.

‘So do you know who attacked you? Your parents?'

He stared out of the window, the profile of his face in shadow. ‘I've been searching for him for a while. There's this connection between us, that's what I need to talk to you about. This man, this thing, he is dangerous, more dangerous . . .'

The shrill ring of her mobile phone made her jump.

‘Just a sec.' She jogged through to the hall, rooting for the phone in the bottom of her bag.

Ben. ‘Crap.' Walking on through to the front room she stood at the window, her back to the door. For some reason she didn't want Jack to hear.

‘Hello?'

‘Hi.' Ben's voice sounded tired. ‘Sorry for calling so late. I wanted to . . . Look tonight with Ashleigh. I don't know what she's playing at, but it's not what you think.'

‘OK.' Kara really couldn't have this conversation right now. She heard the floorboards creak in the hallway. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Jack standing there.

He'd followed her, why had he done that?

She didn't like having her back to him. She half turned, saw him come into the sitting room and stand by the fireplace. She wanted to hang up, but Ben was saying something.

Coolly she cut him off, ‘I'm sorry. It's really late. I can't talk right now.' The tone of her voice made her sound as if she was angry.

‘Can I see you tomorrow. Meet me at Easy Espresso?'

‘OK. I'll call you.' And she pressed the red button. She could only deal with one problem at a time. Ben would have to wait.

She turned round. Jack was standing at the mantelpiece, looking at their family pictures.

He had a picture of her dad in his hand. It was her favourite photograph, taken the day he was made senior fire officer at the station. They'd all gone down to a ceremony at City Hall, dressed up in their finery. Kara had only been six at the time, but she remembered it well, the excitement of the day, Rosemary fussing with her dress, curling her hair in real grown-up curlers. The sun had been shining and afterwards, when all the big men had shaken her daddy's hand and pinched her cheeks till they were sore, the three of them had gone to the park and eaten ice cream.

She didn't like it that Jack was touching that picture.

‘Who is this?' he asked, his voice ice cold, his gazed fixed firmly on the photograph.

‘That's my father.' She said the words quietly, listening to the unfamiliar sound that rolled off her tongue.

In slow motion the frame slipped from his fingers, and smashed to the ground, the crunch of glass echoing through the room. Kara knew she should have lunged forward for the picture frame, she probably would have made it, saving the expensive crystal and her father's image from the floor. But she hadn't been able to move. The look on Jack's face had glued her to the spot.

The room was silent.

She began to absently count the shards of glass scattered on the floor, distracting herself from the stabbing pain she felt in her chest. She didn't need to look at him to know that something was terribly wrong. Waves of heat peeled off his body. She began to tremble and knew it was because he was shaking uncontrollably and her body matched his response.

‘What have you done?' she whispered.

He shook his head and bent down, mumbling apologies as he began to pick up the pieces of broken glass, gently shaking out the photograph from the wreckage of the destroyed frame.

‘I'm sorry.'

She looked at him, his eyes, cold and dead, a light sheen of perspiration plastered across his forehead.

He would not look at her and she realised that he was vulnerable, lower than her, kneeling in front of her. She felt off balance. She knelt down beside him and started to pick up the shards. A sliver of glass, razor sharp, slipped from her fumbling grip and cut into the flesh of her finger. ‘Ouch.'

She didn't need to wait very long for the blood to congeal on the tip of her finger and push itself in the general direction of Jack. She stood up, gripping her bleeding finger closed in her fist. Nothing was ever truly hers, not her father, her friends, and now even her blood.

‘What did you do? Tell me.'

He stood up quickly, his face pale, his eyes hooded.

‘I didn't know.' The words came softly, as if they in themselves were an apology.

‘Jack . . .' If he knew something about her father, he had to tell her. He must tell her the truth.

A car pulled into the driveway, the beams of light piercing the living room, sending yellow puddles on to the far wall. He took a step backwards, his eyes darting to outside.

‘I should never have been there.' He started to back away.

‘No!' she called to him, her hand outstretched. He had to tell her. She needed to know.

But it was too late. The sound of the car door, the jingle of Rosemary's keys. He turned on his heels and sprinted through to the kitchen, out through the back door.

She should go after him, but her feet were rooted to the spot.

‘Kara, you're up, what are you . . .' Rosemary stopped in the living-room doorway, her jacket half off. Then she saw Kara's face, the photo clutched in her hand, shards of glass littered around her feet.

‘What happened?'

But Kara didn't know. She had no idea what was happening.

I should never have been there
.

His words tumbled through her mind, over and over again, with no explanation.

The coffee house, Easy Espresso, was filled with people. It took Kara a minute to filter out the noise. She saw him in the corner, at a high table, nursing a mug of steaming coffee.

She'd debated whether or not she should come tonight. All she wanted was to stay under her duvet and sleep, but Rosemary kept asking if she was OK, kept trying to turn the conversation round to the broken picture frame. There'd been no sign of Jack all day. Kara had looked for him, desperate to
make
him tell her the truth. Her frustration was spilling out of her. She had to get out of the house for some peace.

Ben wasn't due back from his ‘holiday' until Monday so Kara hadn't seen him at school.

She brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, moving slowly around tables and chairs, squeezing her way, in between people chatting over lattes, towards the counter. She unwrapped her scarf, staring at the menu board, trying to decide.

The waitress at the orders' till smiled, ‘What can I get you?'

‘A mocha please, extra chocolate.' It was Friday. She deserved the treat. The bangles on her arm jingled as she searched for change in the depths of her bag. She was wearing a heavy gypsy skirt over winter tights. Her off-the-shoulder jumper was fleecy on the inside. The weather report said it might snow.

‘I'll drop it down, sweetie.'

Kara nodded, she wasn't really ready to face Ben after their almost fight, but she had no choice.

‘Hi,' she said in a low voice.

‘Hey.' He gestured to the free stool. Kara dropped her bag to the ground, hoisting herself up. Ben looked terrible, the skin around his eyes dark, his face tense. He tugged at the sleeve of his jumper.

‘Thanks for coming.'

The ring on Kara's finger was suddenly extremely interesting and she began to examine it closely. What was she supposed to say to him?

The waitress dropped over the mocha. Kara stirred the coffee fastidiously, watching the steam curl in tendrils from the frothy drink.

‘Ashleigh is . . .'

Ashleigh Bloody Jameson, always sticking her nose in where it's not wanted
.

Kara held up her hand, distaste for the direction of the conversation causing her to be forthright. She was sick of mincing her words. ‘I don't want to talk about Ashleigh. She's a viper. Everything she touches turns to poison.' She leaned across the small table, looking him directly in the eye. ‘Just be straight with me. Is there something going on between you two?'

He answered slowly, elongating the syllables, ‘Absolutely not.'

A strand of hair had come undone, tickling the side of her face. Ben reached over to tuck it behind her ear. She could feel the heat from his palm. The thumb of his hand brushed across her cheekbone.

‘It's always been you.'

Kara felt lightheaded, his touch like a lick of lava on her skin.

He reached across the small space separating them and kissed her. Kara could smell coffee, the tip of his tongue tasting of cinnamon. His hand travelled the length of her jaw, and a delicate sensation caressed her whole body. She wanted to breathe him in, to memorise this exact moment.

The metal rim of the table between them pushed into her stomach, preventing her from getting any closer. She wanted to push it out of the way, crawl across the small space that divided them and into his arms.

He pulled back first, breaking their connection.

‘Sorry.'

‘Hmm.' She wasn't able to speak, pressing her lips together, trying to savour the last of him.

‘I didn't mean to launch at you like that.'

Kara grinned. She hadn't minded.

He laughed, the sound of it causing butterflies to whirl in her tummy.

She sipped her drink, unsure what to say.

‘What's with your friend?' Ben asked casually.

‘What do you mean?' Was he asking about Jack? She didn't want to talk about him.

‘She doesn't like me.'

She? Kara smirked, sipping her coffee. ‘Hannah doesn't really like very many people. Don't take it personally.'

‘Has she said anything about me?'

Now it was Kara's turn to laugh. ‘Why? Do you want her number?'

‘No! Not like that, I mean has she said anything . . . else?'

‘Hannah isn't much of a talker.'

Ben's hand wrapped round hers, trapping her palm between the heat of the coffee and his touch.

‘Have you filled in your university application yet?' he asked absentmindedly. Ben had a disconcerting habit of changing the topic of conversation with rapid speed.

Kara took a minute to get her brain to change mental tracks. ‘Ya. I've applied for the Metropolitan campus and Harvey Hale University. They are the two I want. You?'

‘My coach thinks I'll get St David's, but he's waiting for the final offer to come through.' He looked at the dregs of his coffee, his eyes lowered.

‘Are you worried?' Kara didn't know why she asked the question. Everyone knew Ben was a sure runner for the scholarship.

‘Nah.' He slipped from his seat, the heat of his hand leaving her. ‘I got to get back. I have to babysit my little brother and sister. I'll give you a lift. I wanted to talk to you,' he paused, ‘somewhere a little more private?'

‘Sure.' Kara looked at her mug, there was half a mocha left. She wanted to buy herself some time. His proposition sounded serious. Butterflies in her stomach were suddenly replaced by a hornet's nest of nerves. What could he want to talk to her about?

Whatever it was, there was no backing out now.

She took a final drink and replaced the mug on the table. Slowly she eased from the stool, bending to retrieve her bag. A stabbing pain shot through her side and she keeled over, pressing her palms into the lino floor. Groaning, her free hand went to her side. The pain was like the worst stitch she had ever experienced. She pressed into her abdomen, searching for the knife, or the wound, whatever it was causing her to hurt so much.

‘Kara?' Ben was beside her, bending down, his hands taking her weight, helping to haul her to her feet. The movement was excruciating. All around, the room began to pulse, to shift and move. Her eyes couldn't focus; her perception of the world around her blurred.

‘I need air,' she croaked, finding it difficult to get the words to come out in a sentence.

With Ben's hand securely round her waist, they moved to the door and out into the night.

The pain travelled from her abdomen to her heart and she winced at each constriction of the muscle.
Deep breathing, slow in, slow out
. She repeated that mantra over and over, concentrating on the air going into her lungs.

It was him, she knew it. The link they had, he was in pain, deadly pain. She concentrated on the feeling, shutting down the door on it, confining it to a tiny part of her awareness, so she could move, propel her body forward, one foot in front of the other.

The street in front of her looked ordinary, the usual sounds, the usual sights: people milling about; a gang of students perched on the park bench on the opposite side of the street; a couple walking together, talking in hushed tones.

There was traffic and the normal night sounds. She searched the parking spots along the street, no sign of a motorbike, no sign of anyone loitering under the trees. The fresh air seemed to revive her, the pain dulling. She concentrated on her surroundings, ignoring the pulse of discomfort in her body.

‘Where are you?' she called into the darkness. If she could feel him, then he must be able to sense her too.

There, she heard it, soft, like the rustle of silk, her name, carried to her on the breeze.

Kara moved down the street, her hand pressed to her abdomen, as if holding her guts in place.

‘Kara?' Ben walked a pace behind her. She ignored him, could only focus on one thing at a time.

She stopped at the front of Chang's Chinese Takeaway, the smell of boiling fat and rotting rubbish overpowering. There was an alleyway next to the takeaway. A scum of some sort had formed on the ground, making the footpath slippery. Stagnant water and slime oozed from the bags of rubbish that were discarded there. This was the place. She just knew it.

She hovered at the entrance, unsure of what waited for her. She knew she must step into the darkness.

Ben's fingers brushed her arm, ‘Kara, what are you doing?'

‘There's someone down there.'

Ben peered down the dark alleyway. ‘Down there?'

‘Yes, I can hear them.'

She moved down the alleyway, stumbling gracelessly through a puddle of composting vegetable peelings.

‘Damn it,' she muttered to herself under her breath.

The alleyway was getting darker and the light from the street lamp behind her was fading rapidly.

Stupid, stupid, she was being totally stupid.

The smell was almost unbearable. Kara could feel it clinging to her clothes and hair.

She could hear Ben follow after her, his night vision nothing like hers.

‘Kara,' he called loudly. ‘Wait.'

An audible groan escaped from somewhere near her. She felt her blood quicken, her abdomen constrict and before she knew it she was upon him. His pain was her pain. His blood was her blood. They were linked and there was no denying their connection, no matter how much she wanted to.

Jack lay on the ground, his head flopped to one side at an uncomfortable angle, his body wedged in between two rubbish bags. It looked as if he had been tipped out of one of the giant dustbins, left in the alleyway to rot.

Kara knew he couldn't be dead because her blood pushed at her veins and the night air froze her skin into tiny pimples of goose bumps.

She knelt down beside him and put her hand on his forehead before whipping it away quickly. Her palm smarted as if touching a hot kettle. His head rolled backwards. He half opened one eye as he tried to say something, but the words were indecipherable. She moved closer to him.

Wheezing, he forced the words out. ‘Get. Away. From. Me.'

She shook her head. ‘No'

‘I can't control him. He will want to hurt you.' His body shook with a fit of coughing.

‘I'm not leaving you here,' Kara said forcefully, squatting down next to him. ‘You need a hospital. I have to get some help.'

‘He will kill you,' he whispered.

Kara had no idea what he was talking about. She wondered if he was delirious. She leaned forward and wiped the sheen of sweat from his face with her sleeve.

‘Tell me what to do.'

He shook his head.

She bent down even closer, kneeling in the wet slime. She lowered herself till she was eye level with him. ‘I am not leaving you here.'

His eyes were red, streaked with ruptured veins.

‘Take me home,' he whispered weakly.