Gaze (✔)

Chapter Three: Preconceived Notions

Chapter Three: Preconceived Notions

Clara jolted awake, breaking away from her dreamless sleep.

She sat up, glancing around the room for the noise that had woken her. The bedroom was empty, but light filtering through the edges of the drawn curtains told her that it was morning. She frowned, unused to sleeping for so long. Usually she would wake several times during the night.

Noticing that she still wore her wrinkled and dirty clothing, she climbed carefully out of the bed, swiping her knife from where she’d left it under the pillow. She left behind her jacket and boots as she headed for the door, blade held hidden behind her back.

She was surprised when she was able to open the door – hadn’t it been locked? This little discovery, although welcome, sent a chill of suspicion through her mind. Warily, she stepped out into the well-lit hallway, checking left and right for any signs of the werewolves.

With silent steps, she hurried down the corridor towards the stairs she had ascended the night before, constantly checking behind her. It seemed all too easy.

The house was nearly noiseless, except for the quiet sounds of a nearby television. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the path to the front door. Unfortunately, it was in the same direction that the noise was coming from.

Clara swiftly walked past the closed doors, wincing at every soft noise her feet made against the wood floors. After turning a corner, she could see the door. Before it, however, was an open door with a perfect view of her escape route. The noises were coming from there. A soft yawn confirmed that there was someone inside the room, and they would definitely see her if she tried to get past.

To hell with it, she thought, treading carefully towards the door. She prayed that the room’s occupant would not look towards the doorway –

“And where are you going?” the voice made her freeze. She stuck the knife in the back of her belt as she slowly turned to see the speaker. An unfamiliar young man stood in what looked like the living room, raising an eyebrow at her. He seemed younger than Wyatt and his friend, perhaps around her own age. He had a messy shock of dark hair that hung in his eyes, but did not succeed in disguising his friendly smile.

“I’m leaving.” Clara spat out, turning and running for the door. Turning the handle proved futile: it was locked.

“I don’t think so.” The boy said. She turned to see him in the hallway before her, the happy grin still on his face. “There’s only one key and you’re not getting it.” He patted the pocket of his baggy jeans. Big mistake.

With a sigh that she hoped sounded defeated, she walked past him to the living room, slumping down on the large leather couch. She took in her surroundings, impressed by the large, expensive-looking furniture that Wyatt owned.

The boy walked up to the television, seeming to look for something in the shelves above it. “Don’t be grumpy, now.” He laughed. “This wasn’t my idea.”

Clara stood up, pulling the knife out of her belt and advancing towards the young man before he could turn around. He was only an inch or two taller than her, meaning she could easily hold the knife at his throat from behind.

“You’re going to open the door, or I’ll kill you and do it myself.” She hissed in his ear, shocked at her own words. Since when had she not killed a werewolf? Assuming, of course, that was what this boy was.