Gaze (✔)

Chapter Eighteen: Implode

Sick at home calls for an update! Not sure who to dedicate it to...maybe Richard Gere, I just watched Pretty Woman for the first time :D

Thanks for the feedback :) Here's chapter eighteen, short but important. Ish. 

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Not even an hour later, the scene had changed completely.

Dylan shook off his confusion and anger long enough to call Wyatt, and upon his arrival promptly stormed out of the warehouse with clenched fists. Joanna went after him.

A few Maddox pack members, few of whom Clara recognised, swarmed around the open space, covering up the bodies and searching the area for a lingering threat that she knew didn’t exist.

She stood standing over Sam’s body, her gaze locked on his face, which was twisted into some sort of horrific grin with a large, bloody hole that nearly encompassed his forehead. She held on to the gun, but did not raise it as Wyatt approached.

Clara looked up at him. He had a gentle demeanour to him, as if he were approaching a frightened animal. She hated it. She didn’t want his pity, his anger, even the guilt she saw in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked tentatively. She nodded in response. “Look, Clara…I’m sorry. The way I treated you was awful. I don’t know what got into me.” He took a deep breath. “I just…I was so mad when you left, and it consumed me. I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” she said softly, allowing her cold demeanour to melt a little bit. The pleading look in his eyes nearly left her speechless, wanting to throw herself into his arms and forgive him. The stronger part of her kept her feet rooted to the ground. “But I have to go after my brother.” She let the gun slip from her fingers, watching it clatter to the ground near Sam’s cold body before she turned and began walking. Wyatt took her wrist gently.

“Wait – are you sure?” he asked. “He didn’t seem very happy the last time I saw him.”

“He’s still my brother, Wyatt.” She pressed, glancing towards the door.

“And he’s still a hunter.” He let the harsh words slip, and she tore her hand away from his. She felt her irritation boil up again.

“So am I.” She didn’t realise until she’d crossed the threshold of the warehouse, leaving a shocked and guilt-stricken Wyatt behind, that she’d used the present tense.

Clara walked in silence across the empty yard without a destination – who knew where Luke could be by now? She could only hope that he’d returned home, although she had doubts. He didn’t seem to want to see her, and the apartment was the only place she knew where he might be.

It was a long drive across the city, and an even longer walk without her subway pass or any money. She sure as hell wouldn’t go back and ask Wyatt for a lift, though.

Once she reached the gates, she immediately noticed the figure trying to blend into the shadows. She turned quickly, wishing she’d brought the damn gun. Out into the dim light from a distant streetlamp, her father revealed himself. From her quick assessment, she could tell that he was unarmed, but wouldn’t take any chances.

“What are you still doing here?” she spat, thinking he would have fled Boston the moment he escaped from the Faction building.

He held his hands up in a sort of surrender, a sad smile pulling at his lips. “I’m not here to kidnap you again, if that’s what you think.”

She scoffed. “That’s only because the Faction is gone.” She corrected herself: “Destroyed.”

“I know.” He replied, and after a pause: “I saw you fight in there. I’m proud of you.” Clara looked away, feeling her skin crawl at his compliment. She didn’t want his approval.