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Daniel. Sean. Charlie. Eric. Victor. She had bought their silence and complacency with her body, and they had deleted their recordings as agreed. However, nothing could undo what they had seen. Mina’s stomach tightened at the thought. Maybe, if she was inexplicably lucky, all four would hold their tongues, taking the secret to their graves, but that was a gamble of long odds. It would only take one slip to let the cat out of the bag.
No, she knew it was inevitable, whether slurred amidst a drunken rant or as an anonymous tip given pride of place on the cover of some gossiping celebrity trash magazine, the truth would come out. It was only a matter of time.
Her innards churned with a sudden sense of hopelessness, but Mina tried to put it to the back of her mind. She wished she knew what to do. There was nothing she wouldn’t give, nothing she wouldn’t do, to protect Mark. He was more than her stepbrother, more than a lover. He completed her, made her feel whole in a way no one else ever had, or could, and for him she knew she’d relive last night all over again without a moment’s hesitation. However, when that awful day of reckoning arrived, could she protect him?
Tears began to burn the corners of her eyes. Quickly blinking the unshed moisture away, she cast a rueful look back at Mark, watching him sleep until a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her lips. A storm was coming, but no matter what devastation it would unleash upon them, they would face it together, as they always did.
Grabbing what comfort she could from that thought, Mina quickly turned off the phone and slipped it back into her jacket. She would need it later, when she made that grovelling call to Jason, apologising for not coming home, insisting she’d merely lost track of time and spent the night kipping on her father’s bed. But for now, all she wanted to do was have a shower.
Clambering awkwardly to her feet, she gathered up her clothes from the floor and folded and placed them neatly in a pile at the foot of the bed before tiptoeing across the room. Lingering by the door, she took one final look back, smiling fondly as she etched the image of Mark sleeping into her memory. Turning back, she grasped the handle, eased the door open a crack and slipped silently through, pulling it closed as she went without making a sound.
The hallway was inky black. Pressing her back against the door, the wood cool against her skin, Mina waited with bated breath, her ears peeled for the slightest sound, yet the house was as still and silent as the grave. When she was certain she was alone, she let the breath go in a heavy sigh. Turning on her heel, she hurried past the closed door of her father’s empty room and past the framed family pictures she knew were hanging upon the walls, masked by darkness, their unseeing eyes watching her naked body pass with voyeur’s delight. Her feet padded with every step, the carpet soft underfoot, and she moved quickly, silently, and with all the grace and elegance of a stalking tigress towards the far door, pausing only when she came to the mouth of the stairs.
Hugging the wall, she edged forward and peered around the bend, but the foyer below was vacant except for the crumpled Styrofoam cups, crisp packets, a pizza box, and a mass of other rubbish littering the faded carpet.
Damn punks, Dad will freak if he sees this mess!
Still reluctant to pass through the shafts of light blazing from the floor below for fear of being spotted by some hungover reveller just waking from a drunken slumber and stumbling into the foyer, she drew back. Taking a breath, gathering her courage, she raised her leg, and then the deed was done.
With the sun warm upon her skin, she sprang the gap into the cloak of darkness and ran the last few steps to the bathroom. Throwing open the door, she darted in without a backwards glance.
Long and narrow, with deep blue walls and white vinyl floor tiles, the bathroom was the smallest room in the house. With a tug of the pull switch, the thin chamber flooded with bright yellow luminescence that belied the weak light trickling through the frosted glass of the only window. Noting the already drawn shower curtain around the bath, she reached in, turned the shower temperature dial to full, pushed the power button and quickly withdrew the arm just before she heard the rush of water and the pitter-patter against the cloth. Whilst waiting for the water temperature to rise, she busied herself with taking a neatly folded towel from one of the shelves of the tall linen cabinet and hung it on the towel rail, taking care as she did not to glance at the mirror above the sink. She would not dare to look at her reflection, fearful of who, or what, she’d see staring back at her.
Pulling back the curtain, releasing a great billowing plume of steam, Mina clambered into the bath and stepped under the spray. Letting out a contented sigh as the scalding water cascaded down her naked body, slowly turning her creamy skin baby pink, she stood motionless beneath the pelting torrent with her head tipped back, letting it purge her, cleanse her and wash away all remnants of the night before and then carry her away. Completely engrossed in the shower, she didn't notice the dull creak of the bathroom door opening and closing.
A warm fog enveloped her. The heat was therapeutic and reached deep inside her, soothing the dull ache in her abdomen, the proof that last night had been anything but a dream. Feeling the stress flow from her body, she took a bottle of citrus-fresh shower gel from the caddy hanging off the fixtures, popped the cap and squeezed a generous portion of the lemon-scented substance onto her palm. Closing and replacing the bottle back on the shelf, she began washing her arms, purring with delight as she did at the silky sensuality of her hands moving across her skin, her heart suddenly pounding beneath her breast.
There was something so… sexual, about washing in the shower. Surrendering to impulse and letting her hands work their magic, they slid down her flanks, down her smooth thighs and drew perilously close to the folds of her womanhood before rising, gliding ever so lightly up the flat plane of her belly to cup her breasts, her nipples rising beneath her soapy palms. Her heart beating fast, she bit back a moan as she began to roll the pebbled buds between her thumbs and forefingers, sending a tingle surging down to her centre.
I am a slut.
There was a sudden damp rustle, and a frigid breeze brushed her skin. Her head whipped around to discover Mark standing over her. He was completely naked and an almost inaudible groan escaped her as she watched him step over the rim of the tub, her greedy eyes drinking in his tight buttocks and bobbing erection, before realising how she must have looked. She dropped her hands to her sides, her cheeks burning with a sudden nervous blush.
Mark pulled the curtain closed behind him with a gentle tug before turning to confront her, his eyes gleaming with dark, predatory hunger, the spray plastering his fringe to his forehead. She could feel his gaze upon her soapy breasts. Feeling suddenly embarrassed, she tried to say something but before she could fathom a word, he closed the gap between them and claimed her mouth in a deep, devouring kiss, his arms coiling about her waist and pulling her against him, his engorged arousal poking against her hip.
Here we go again.
The End.
Danny Royce knew this was a bad idea. A terrible idea. The worst idea in a long sad history of bad ideas. He didn’t have any choice. He was desperate.
He needed her help.
And it meant going back there… Lupus Latr.
A small quiet place built along the Avon to all the rest of the world, Lupus Latr looked much like any other little village across the south of England. A collection of traditional old houses and shops lined a warren of weaving roads that all led to the central hub of the community, a thatch-roofed pub with a wartime memorial on the doorstep.
Yet it had a secret. A secret the villagers had kept and protected since before the age of
Druids. When the old gods had ruled the land, the spirits walked the earth, and man and beast were as one.
Danny’s stomach started to loop when he saw the signs for the historic little hamlet, but he wasn’t sure if it was trepidation or anticipation. It was quite probably both.
It had been eight years since he’d left- or rather since his mother had packed their bags and spirited them away in the dead of night. It felt like he’d been running ever since.
But there came a time in everyone’s life when they had to face their demons, and as he pulled his old Rover into the village’s only car park, Danny knew his day had come.
Overhead, the sky was melting away from shades of pink and orange to a deep magenta.
