Gaze (✔)

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Nemo Malus Felix

Nemo malus felix = (roughly) no rest for the wicked

_____________________

Someone was calling her name in her dream.

Clara...

The voice was familiar, and she felt the urge to answer it.

"Clara."

It was louder now.

"Clara, wake up."

Her eyes flew open and she blinked several times – it was daylight, and it was blinding. She spotted a pair of eyes staring down at her with a little smile. She reached up, dazed from sleep, and touched the face above hers. Behind his smile, she saw concern. She tried to remember where she was, why he might be concerned.

"Dylan?"

She sat up, another bout of wakefulness hitting her as she looked around, realising that she was still in the glade she had wandered into last night.

Last night...

She put a hand over her mouth, feeling as though she might throw up from the pictures that flashed through her mind – blood – bone – flesh –

She spotted two others in the clearing with them. She didn't know them, but Dylan's posture was relaxed, and they had that same look of concern about them, focussed on her.

"Are you alright?" Dylan asked her. She turned back towards him, taking the hand he offered and rising to her feet.

She thought about saying yes. "I don't know," she answered instead, looking down at her hands. They were still caked with dried blood. She knew that under the clothes she wore, there was more. She quickly pulled Dylan into a hug. "How are you? What are you doing here?"

He seemed baffled. "Clara, everyone has been looking for you. When we saw the bodies on the road..." she shuddered. "Wyatt's gone out of his mind with worry, he's still looking for you."

"The bodies..." she thought that was a rather generous description of the pieces she had left behind. "My phone was out of battery. I couldn't call. Can you tell him that I'm alright?"

"I've mind-linked him already. He's far away, but he's coming as quickly as he can."

"There's no rush," she forced a smile. "I'm okay now. I just...need a shower."

Dylan didn't smile back. "What happened?" he asked.

"I was...on my way home, and they attacked. It was my mother and some other wolves. I killed them. She got away." She said shortly, looking away from his pleading eyes.

"You...did that?"

She lowered her eyes at the disbelief in his tone. She expected to see horror and disgust when she looked back up at him, but he was still gentle – worried.

"Let's get you home," he said softly, taking her hand. She didn't miss how his eyes lingered on the blood.

* * *

Clara tipped her head back, allowing the warm water to rain onto her face, eyes closed and hands running absently through her hair.

She had long since scrubbed the blood from her body – it was amazing where it could get, but she had scrubbed and scrubbed every crevice, cleaned her hair twice and used up almost all the soap until she was raw – but clean. Now she just basked in the warmth of the shower, where it was calm and she felt safe. All she could hear was the water, and she could see nothing with her eyes closed. Things were simple.