Don't touch them.

Chapter 20

   I walk straight inside. Through the door. Right in, through the front door of the trap. Yep. Right inside. Like a dumbass. But I know I'm a dumbass, so it's fine. Tied to a chair in the middle of the room is Samuel. His face is bloody and tear stained, his skin pale. His hands are tied aroud the back of the metal chair, the rope laced theough the hole in the back. He looks up at me with teary eyes but quickly looks away again. I can see his chest startting to move more rapidly.
   Then comes my mother, walking with a tall, buff man with a lot of tattoos. It's just the two of them.
   "Hello, no welcome party?" I cross my arms in an attempt to look careless, but my heart feels like it may explode as harsh nemories swarm me.
   "Please, for you? What are you gonna do?" My m- Clara rolls her eyes. Yet, just then, there's fighting outside. I snort, knowing she was, in fact, scared of what I'd do. And all her goons are gone.
   "Are you Troy?" I ask.
   "That's me." He grins.
   "You hurt him?"
   "No, that was your mother. I killed the girl though." His grin widens as I snarl. Me canines elongate, and my neck cracks as I roll it. I can vaguely see their horror as my eyes turn their crimson color, my nails growing. Sam stares wide eyed through his tears. Vampires can shift too. The aftermath isn't very pretty though.
   "You didn't tell me he could do that?!" Troy looks panicked.
   "I didn't know that he could! I'd been starving him!" She exclaims, backing away rappidly. Just then, at least three other men, all buff and tattooed, come in the side doors panting.
   "Oh shit!" One of them runs back outside. I launch myself at Clara, and it's all sort of a blurr from there. There's blood. A lot of warm, fresh blood as I rip out her throat. But I spit it back out, she's foul. They're all foul.
   I dont watch as she lays bleeding on the floor as I attack Troy. I drag my claws around his face, causing him to scream and flail. His eyes, his torn mouth, his shattered nose, and broken teeth. And when he finally lies dead, there's no recognizing him. The other two have fled. I'm panting, hurting, covered in blood. But so is Sam. I shift back to my mortal form, but collapse to my knees.
   The warriors start to file in, looking at the two bodies in horror. The wound in my hand has reopened, and is bleeding rapidly, and my side is once again turning a nasty purple and black color with my ribs. I guess Troy's flailing was more... Agressive than it had seemed at the time.
   I remove my bloody shirt, planning to wrap it around my hand. But when I see one of the warriors untying Samuel, I rush over, growling, instead. He backs away, eyes wide, hands up. I untie Sam, and slip my shirt over him, marking him with my scent. I carefully lift him from the chair and he buries his face in my chest as he sobs.
   And he sobs all the way to the pack house. I don't bother trying to confort him. He's lost his sister, his pride... I let him cry, keeping a hard scowl on my face, growling at anyone who looks at him for too long.
    He's mine, and no one will take him again. No one will hurt him again. I know my shift made our bond stronger, even if it scared him. I can feel it. My need to mark him, and love him, and feel him.
   When we get back to the pack house, I quickly thank the wariors, who are still staring at me like I crawled out of Hell, and slowly limp up the stairs to the apartment. When I open the door, all eyes turn to us. Only now do I let him down. Sandra and Heather rush to us, taking him to the kitchen for a drink and to clean him up. Heather reaches the doorway and looks back to me warily, silently asking if I'm coming. I shake my head, putting my hands in my pockets as I walk through the living room, past my mortified family, to the bathroom. I want to be clean when he decides he wants to be held.
  
I shower quickly, undoing the bandages on my hand. The water burns like a bitch, but I find everything becoming more clear, the pain an anchor. Then I sink to the floor of the bathroom. Finally crying. Breaking down. I took two lives today. And one of them, rather I like it or not, was my mother. She's gone. And I did it.
 
I don't know how long I sat in the shower, sobbing. But I ran out of tears, and sorrow. I was only angry at her now. Angry at them. So I get up and dry off, wrapping the towel around my waist to go to my room. I slip on some boxers and some loose grey capris with a matching grey tank top. I wrap my hand, still bleeding but not horribly since only a few stitches busted, in the baby blue towel, which is slowly turning red.
   I leave the bedroom, walking straight to the living room where Sam is curled up in Heather's lap, no longer crying but sniffling. Aspen's asleep, his leg badaged, at Heather's feet. It's about seven o'clock now. I don't remember when we woke from the sedatives, but it's got to be at least an hour since we got home.
   The others, including Jermy and Amanda, but no Del, are on the couch, looking at me like I may blow any second. I just hope they hadn't heard me in the bathroom. Normally, I'd be beaten for that.
   I find Sandra in the kitchen, making some spaghetti as she listens to Slayer, turned all the way up.
   "Will you help me?" I whisper, feeling to worn to speak any more.
   "With- oh honey." She wipes away her tears as she sits me at the table to rebandage my hand.