Gaze (✔)

Chapter Twenty: A Short Madness

So, I'm continuing it a while.

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Sandra bared her teeth as she spoke, even her forward posture menacing as she spoke. “I came to see the girl that would kill her own brother.” She spat venomously, her bloodshot eyes locked on her daughter. “And to tell you that this isn’t over.” 

Clara ignored the first comment, her fists clenching at the accusation. It may be true, but the woman before her had once condemned two of her children to die. “It is, Sandra - you’re the only one holding on. Our family’s little storm died along with him.” 

Her mother stepped closer, her cracked lips turning up into a sort of smile. “You’re wrong. Duncan loved Sam like his own son.” She announced proudly. “He will destroy you – and this pathetic excuse for a pack, if they get in the way.” 

Uneasiness swept through her: it had been a concern of Wyatt’s that Duncan may seek revenge for the death of Sam – he was his step-son, after all. But after weeks of no word, they had started to feel peace again…until now. 

“No, he won’t.” Clara swore through clenched teeth. “You’re going to call him off, and let this go. Sam is dead because he tried to kill me and Luke – your children, remember?” 

“You’re no child of mine!” Sandra snarled back, shoving her daughter roughly back into the house. “You’re a monster.” She couldn’t help but see the irony in that as her mother spoke these words, her teeth extended and she began to shake, forming a monstrous sight herself. 

Clara’s breath escaped her as she was slammed up against the wall. She pushed back with as much strength as she could breathlessly muster, allowing the opportunity to break free of her mother’s hold and dodge the swipe of her claw-like fingers. With a growl that didn’t sound human, 

Sandra lunged at her again, dodged by some swift footwork that nearly tripped Clara up. 

The possibility of her mother shifting into a wolf was becoming more likely – she would need a better weapon than her own two fists. She turned and flew down the hallway, a screaming Sandra right on her heels as she reached the kitchen. Her hand brushed the knife-block for a brief moment before she was slammed suddenly against the hard marble counter, pain exploding through her head. 

She gritted her teeth and blinked several times, refusing to let herself pass out and be killed. God, she wished Wyatt was there – she wished anyone was there. Groaning, she rolled over on the ground – just in time to avoid an unseen strike of Sandra’s claws. The older woman hit the ground as her target dodged, allowing Clara to deliver a harsh kick to her midsection before scrambling to her feet. 

Once again, she grabbed at the knives, and managed to pull out one particularly large blade. Just as her mother erected herself, Clara leapt forward and held the knife at Sandra’s neck, speeding around to stand behind the slightly shorter woman to keep her from backing away. 

“Don’t move.” She hissed, allowing the cool metal to touch her neck. The werewolf paid no heed, and struggled violently. Clara had to manoeuver carefully to ensure she didn’t spill blood, but it was almost as if Sandra wanted to die… 

She realised with a chill that this may be the case. If she killed Sandra, either by accident or intentionally, Duncan would have even more reason to go after her – and Wyatt’s pack. With an indignant sigh, she brought the blade up with quick motions and knocked the hilt roughly against her mother’s head, silencing her growls and ceasing her struggles. She fell to the ground and did not move.