Torment (Primal Progeny Book 1) (5 page)

Anne opened her mouth to respond when the kettle started whistling, and turned to make the tea while her husband explained.

Harold grimaced ‘It was rather horrible, I’ll see if I can find a report on it for you.’ He picked up the remote, which had lain rested on a folded newspaper before him and flicked on the television. Hunter visibly winced at the volume of the voices that blared out of the speakers; they had obviously been watching it with their hearing aids turned down.

Harold fumbled with the remote to turn the sound down and flicked through the channels before giving up and turning it back off.  ‘Never mind’ He turned to face the younger man just as two cups of steaming tea were set down before them. ‘There’s no substitute for a nice long chat anyhow.’

Hunter smiled and vaguely registered Mrs. Fitch taking a seat opposite them and settling down to listen to them talk.

Harold picked up his cup and gently blew on the boiling liquid, taking a tentative sip and smacking his lips appreciatively. ‘My my that’s good tea Anne’ he winked at his wife who rolled her eyes in response ‘you do make a sterling cuppa.’

Hunters own cup was cradled in his large, work haggard hands as he nodded in agreement and listened to Harold continue.

‘Well according to the local news there have been some rather unpleasant dealings going on all over the country, for the past six months or so now… The acts themselves are dotted about, three murders occurred in and around Liverpool, two on the border of wales somewhere, one not far from Cambridge and others near Bournemouth, Essex and Derbyshire. All in all there have been seventeen murders. At first they were all thought to be separate as they have all been so far apart, but they are all committed in the same fashion. The police are in a panic nationwide, they have a serial killer on the loose who has no apparent ‘zone’ of preference. They’re calling him the wanderer.’

Hunter took a long sip of tea before responding. ‘That’s awful Harold… But how do they know it’s a man, and how does this affect our area?’

Harold set down his own cup and stared into Hunters eyes as he spoke, he had been an officer in the military many moons before and it was one of the quirks he had picked up in service. ‘Most serial murderers are men, there just seems to be something murderous in the base nature of being male… The more brutal murders are almost always committed by men… Besides which the nature of the crimes proves him to be male, and to further narrow it down he has left a note on the body of every one of his victims detailing how much he enjoyed their company. He signs each one with the moniker ‘sir suture.’’

Hunters brows knitted into a confused frown ‘suture … I’ve heard that before somewhere… What does it mean? I’m sure I know, but my brain just isn’t giving me the information.’

Harold looked deep into the depths of his empty teacup as he responded. ‘The police have done their best to cover up the more grisly details… But as it always is nowadays, certain facts have leaked onto the internet, and reporters are broadcasting them with the sickening relish of the money hungry vultures they are. It relates to the manner in which he leaves his victims… He stitches up the parts that he as had his way with… The man is an animal. I hope they bring back the noose just for him, I can think of nobody who deserves to be hung more!’

Hunter tried not to think about the details of what he had just been told. It was beyond barbaric. Finishing his tea he nodded and smiled his thanks at Mrs. Fitch before repeating his earlier question. ‘How has this all ended up in our local news?’ He suspected that he did not want to know the answer but morbid curiosity forced his tongue.

Harold sighed sadly ‘The latest victim was a young girl in a town not ten miles from here, she was barely out of her teens…’

Hunter’s eyes widened ‘My god that’s awful Harold, her family must be distraught.’

Harold shook his head ‘the poor thing had jut got out of the care system. Her parents, so it was reported, had died in a car crash when she was tiny… What a sad end to such a tragic, short life.’

Hunter nodded ‘I suppose they will impose a curfew to try and prevent further incidents?’

Mr. Fitch shrugged ‘They can suggest one but you can’t make people listen, I have a bad feeling this beast is going to kill again before he is caught…’

Out of the corner of his eye Hunter noticed Mrs. Fitch checking her wristwatch and pushed back his seat to stand. ‘Lets hope not Mr. Fitch, we need to have some faith in the justice system. I’d like to stay and chat longer but I should probably start on those gutters of yours before lunch time!’ He chuckled as good naturedly as he could manage with images of murder and mutilation swimming around in his head.

Harold nodded ‘I suppose you’re right, you’d better get to work.’

Mrs. Fitch stood and made her way into the hallway, calling over her shoulder ‘I’ll see you out then Hunter.’

He followed her to the door and swooped down to kiss the back of her hand ‘I shall complete my tasks and be back in your fine company by mid day m’lady’ he winked.

Mrs. Fitch ushered him out of the door with a girlish giggle ‘you young scoundrel! You’ll get me into trouble with Harold; he’s the jealous type you know. Now be on your way you cheeky young man!’

Hunter could not help but smile at the mirth that filled the old woman’s eyes even as she pushed him out of the door and gently closed it behind him.

Chapter 5

Thanks to the strenuous nature of his work, Hunter’s morning passed by relatively quickly. He had the gutters cleared by ten and the grounds mown by half eleven.

Sweating profusely he hopped down from the ride on lawnmower having parked it carefully back in the garage, and walked slowly back up to the house. He wiped his sweat soaked palms on the thighs of his jeans before ringing the bell. Hitching up his already damp t-shirt to rub the beads of perspiration from his brow.

Mrs. Fitch answered the door just in time to see him lowering the garment back over his toned stomach, and gasped at the sight of him dripping all over her front doorstep. ‘Goodness Hunter you’re a tad grubby!’ She exclaimed ‘wait there and I’ll go and fetch your payment. You’ll be wanting to head home and change before your next job!’

Hunter begrudgingly agreed and waited patiently for his elderly client to return with his pay packet… When would he learn to pack a spare t-shirt in his van?!  Before he knew it Anne was back and holding out a little brown envelope for him, handing it over in such a way as to ensure that he had absolutely no chance of accidently touching her with his sweaty fingers.

Smiling broadly he turned away and waved politely back as he walked towards his van. ‘Thank you Mrs. Fitch’ he called ‘if you need anything else don’t hesitate to give me a call.’

She waved back as he climbed into the driving seat, shouting out just as he closed the door ‘I will. Lord knows Harold wont!’

Hunter chuckled to himself at that, she was probably right. Harold would rather write a letter than dial a number. It was an attitude he empathized with but sadly not one he could realistically adhere to in that day and age.

As he turned the key in the ignition he counted his lucky stars that the livery yard he was due at next was on the outskirts of the village. Luckily in the direction of his cabin; and that he was running ahead of schedule.

Against his better judgment he drove faster than he should have on the way home, and was back there in fifteen minutes. He dashed up the garden path and rushed to unlock the door and get back inside. He jogged to the bathroom, where he tore off his t-shirt and quickly scrubbed at himself with a soapy flannel over the sink. The cool water felt wonderful on his tacky skin, but he had no time to savor it and hurriedly rubbed himself dry with the same towel he had used earlier that morning.

He paced into his room and took two more t-shirts from the drawers next to his bed. One he threw over his head and the other he tucked under his arm and carried back out to the van; both were black as were all his work t-shirts.

On his way out of the door his gaze was drawn to a white square of paper rested on the floor just inside the door. Stooping to pick it up he held it under his nose to get a better look at it, it was a small piece of thick writing paper with a note scrawled across it in black ink. It read ‘Mr. Dalton I dropped by but you were unavailable. I shall call by again tomorrow if I do not catch up with you today.’ It was signed with a single kiss and written in handwriting he was not familiar with.  He sniffed delicately at it and sneezed abruptly, it had been liberally doused in a sickly sweet perfume, and he had no hope of identifying any underlying traces of natural scent.

Popping it into his jeans pocket he hopped back into the van and made his way back towards the village. He guessed it was from a possible new client; after all it was common knowledge that he never carried his phone with him. His mind was too full of what Mr. Fitch had discussed with him that morning for him to be able to give the matter any serious thought. Besides which he had his next job to worry about. He hated working at the livery yard but as he worked hard they always called him whenever they had a problem that needed fixing.

Ever since that first change, prey and predatory animals alike had been wary of him, and horses were about as bad as it got. After his first job at the yard he had been forced to request that the animals be kept stabled whilst he was working. The smell of him whipped them up into a frenzy, and the scent of their terror drove him to distraction. It drew out the wolf in him to the point that he had to focus half his energy on keeping it contained. During working on the first job he had done for them, the horses in the fields had stampeded around the edges of their paddocks and one poor girl had been dragged off her feet by a stallion that had charged at him. She had been attempting to lead it out of the field when it had lunged at him with its nostrils flaring, galloping towards him and dragging her in its wake. He had had to jump the fence and shelter behind it as other stable hands ran across the fields to try and help their coworker. She was lucky not to have been trampled…

Hunter grimaced at the memory as he pulled up in the yard parking area and grabbed his toolbox out of the back of the van. Slamming shut the rusted old doors he strutted, possibly slightly over-confidently to the office building and knocked loudly on the door.

It was answered almost immediately by a short woman dressed in jodhpurs and a polo shirt whom he knew to be one of the riding instructors. Her name was Gemma and she had never been a great fan of his, which he felt was at least in part thanks to her sexuality. One of the small irritations he had noticed in his life as he had aged was that lesbians always seemed to detest him. He was not sexist in the slightest and was never vulgar, and yet they still all seemed to hate him. He half suspected it was something to do with the way straight women practically fell at his feet; he guessed it must irk them. A chauvinistic train of thought to be sure, but he could think of no better explanation.

Either way he was confronted by a very agitated woman who refused to move to allow him passage into the building. With an exasperated sigh he looked down at her and huffed ‘can I come in please Gemma, I need to talk to Lucy.’

She shook her head almost gleefully ‘no, I’m afraid not as she’s not here. She told me to send you straight out to fix the fencing.’

Hunter stopped in his tracks and stepped back to get a better view of the woman he was talking to, noting bitterly the humor dancing behind her dark brown eyes at her denying his entry… Oh what an ironic metaphor that was! ‘That’s unusual, she’s always here’ his eyebrows raised in worry ‘is she alright?’

Gemma practically sneered her response. ‘She’s fine. Is your concern for her or for your possible loss of a bed-warmer Mr. Dalton?’

Hunter’s face darkened ‘I’ve never slept with Lucy, not that I can see its any of your business. It just seems strange that she’s not in on a weekday. Where is she?’

Gemma smirked at him petulantly ‘she’s gone to town to catch up with a gentleman she met, he wants to talk to her about investing in some of the land she’s not currently using. She’ll be back by three apparently, and in the meantime you should probably get to work and fix the fence you were called here to mend.’

Hunter turned and began to walk away, calling back ‘which –’

‘The sand school’ she cut him off.

He stalked off thoroughly agitated by the encounter but trying not to let it rile him. She was always snappy and it never failed to irritate him. Why was she so concerned about his relationship with Lucy, what did it matter to her? Yes they had been friends for a long time, had even briefly dated but things had not worked out. It had never felt right, it had been too forced on his part and he had balked the first time she had slid her hands down his belly towards his waist. He remembered vividly grabbing her wrists and stepping away from her, the hurt in her eyes as he shook his head. He had known her for so long she was more like a sister to him, it was a relationship he did not want to complicate. Something in him told him that she was not his, it wasn’t right and he felt inclined to listen as the feeling was a strong one.

As he got to work on fixing the fence his mind stayed focused on her. By all rights he should have found her irresistible, she was very typically beautiful; had everything society looked on as attractive. She was 5”3, slim, and yet with curvaceous hips, softly rounded DD breasts and firm buttocks. Her legs were slender and her dimpled smile lit up a room, her hair a cascading fall of sunny blonde and her eyes a clear, shining blue. She even had a good sense of humor… Yet something was missing. There was no spark with her, no butterflies, and even though she was pretty he had no desire to tear off her clothes. Perhaps it was something to do with her scent, or perhaps the fact that he had known her parents many years before he had moved away… Then moved back many years later to see her grown into a woman… The beast inside him was also on a constant lookout for females of his kind, that was what he needed to fill the void… Yet none ever came. He could count on one hand the amount of times in his life he had scented a female werewolf, and he had never laid eyes on one. He had puzzled over this on many occasions, but could not find a decent explanation. Over time he had considered many possibilities… Perhaps the females were closely guarded, or perhaps they were physically weaker and couldn’t cope with the change… Maybe less women got bitten as they just weren’t as ‘out-doorsy’ as men? Whatever the reason he didn’t hold out much hope of finding one, let alone one who was interested.

Lucy’s whereabouts were a far more pressing matter. She very rarely left the yard for the day as she always worried that something would go wrong in her absence. As he packed up his tools he wondered who she was meeting, not that asking Gemma would get him anywhere! He had known for a while that she was thinking of selling some of her land, but had secretly suspected that she would change her mind and either have more stables built or convert it into paddocks.

Knowing he would find out soon enough either way he picked up his toolbox and made his way back towards the office.

He was well prepared for the frosty reception he received from Gemma. She swung open the door and looked him over with utter disgust. ‘That was quick’ she snapped ‘I trust you’ve done the job to a suitable standard?’

Hunter couldn’t help the sneer that twisted his lips, she was deliberately antagonizing him. ‘Gemma no matter how badly you might think of me I do my jobs well, as anyone in the village will testify. As I’m sure would Lucy’s father who I know oversees this place and handles most of the external contracts for her.’

Gemma’s expression gave no indication that she had heard anything he had said, she simply turned away and closed the door in his face.

Jolting backwards Hunter glowered at the door, which had slammed shut just centimetres from his face. He would speak to Lucy next time he saw her, Gemma’s rudeness was getting worse and he had just about had enough of dealing with her. He’d never done or said anything to her for Christ’s sake! He deserved better treatment than he was getting.

Whilst he was busy silently fuming the door creaked open a crack and a sealed envelope sailed through the gap and into the mud. ‘There.’ Came the sharp exclamation from inside the building before the door slammed violently shut.

Hunter’s lip curled into a snarl as he fished his pay packet out of the mud and stormed back to the van. Jesus she was rude! But what could he do with a difficult woman except graciously accept the abuse?

Trying harder than ever not to allow himself to get too wound up, he carefully placed his tool kit in the rear of the van and sat down next to it to remove his third t-shirt of the day. Shuffling backwards he reached over the passenger seat and groped around for the t-shirt that he had thrown there earlier that day. Twisting round uncomfortably he swore under his breath as he struggled to reach it; his frown quickly turning into a smug smile when he snagged it with his fingertips.

Quickly rubbing off any remaining perspiration with the old t-shirt he threw on the new one and settled back to allow himself to cool down for a moment. Whereupon his stomach turned and released a loud growl. He was starving! Perhaps there would be time for a quick meal before his duties at the village hall if he hurried…

Spurred on by the churning of his belly he hopped into the drivers seat and set off on his way back into the village.