Bitten

Chapter 11- Silence

When I woke the next morning, Declan was gone. All that remained was a neatly folded wool blanket on a pillow beside my bed.

It was still dark out, moonlight casting a pale glow across my room.

Memories of the conversation last night between Declan and myself still weighed heavily in my thoughts.

I'd start training today at the pack house.

He was going to teach me how to fight as a human, and also with the new strength of a werewolf.

I couldn't believe how quickly I'd adjusted to this newfound knowledge, but as Declan said, there was little time for adjusting.

Especially now that I was being followed. I may not be the only one in danger.

I listened carefully for my mother's breathing, and let out a relieved sigh when I made out her familiar snores.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to check on her.

I stepped off of my bed, my feet hitting the cold wooden floor.

I adjusted my tank top to a proper position before tip-toeing down the hallway towards my mom's bedroom.

The house was eerily quiet, save for my mother's steady snoring. My ability to see in the dark was quickly growing better, and by now the moonlight was more than enough to provide an easily lit path to my mom's bedroom.

I pushed open her bedroom door, catching a glimpse of her form in bed.

She was still sound asleep, but safe.

I quietly made my way to her bed, carefully avoiding her dresser and nightstand to stand beside her bed.

There was something odd about her figure.

I could hear her snoring, but the lump under the blankets was still.

I looked down as my left foot stepped in a thick, wet substance. Warmth spread between my toes. Along with a deep red stain that settled against the skin of my bare foot.

Blood.

I looked back up at the figure in bed, the snoring silenced.

My head was spinning, my heart racing.

I was pleading with my senses to be deceiving me. I was hopefully that what I pulled back the blankets, she'd wake up and ask me what I was doing.

Quickly, before I could overthink, I pulled the blankets over the figure back, and all I saw was red.

Blood stained the normally light sheets, splatter patterns adorning the mahogany headboard.

My mom's body lie in front of me, her silky pink nightgown soaked in her own blood and cut off at the waist.

Bloodied entrails hung out of the lower part of her stomach, strewn about the sheets like macab party streamers.

I could feel the familiar vomit taste growing in my mouth, trying to free it's way to the surface.

Half of her.