Twiceborn by Marina Finlayson Page B

the dark like satin, flat and still.
    I was hot and headachy and my arm burned like hellfire. In fact I was hot all over. Anxiously I scanned the backs of my hands for any sign of fur. I wished I could pretend this was all some crazy fairy story of Ben’s, but I’d seen the creature, felt its weight, smelled the meaty stink of its breath. And had the scars to prove it. Please God scars was the end of it.
    Neither of us spoke for a long time. I had a lot to think about.
    He took the Gosford exit and we cruised down quiet streets. Gosford was the hub of a loose collection of beachside towns known as the Central Coast, prized for their proximity to Sydney as much as their prettiness. But even the “big smoke” of Gosford was pretty dead at night. Still, Ben kept closer to the speed limit here. The last thing we needed was having to explain my blood-soaked appearance to a curious highway patrolman.
    After about ten minutes we turned off the main road, following the signs to Avoca. Once a seaside tourist haven, it was now increasingly settled by commuters who had to work in Sydney but didn’t like the big-city lifestyle. Despite the encroachment of apartment blocks, it still kept a lot of its old-style charm, with old beach shacks nestled among the newer developments. Lachie and I had visited its grand old cinema once on holidays and paddled canoes on the lagoon behind the beach. Or rather, I’d paddled and he’d yelled excited commands as the captain of our little vessel.
    No one moved on the streets now as Avoca lived up to its sleepy reputation.
    Ben turned left and slowed the car to a crawl. “It’s along here somewhere. Ah—there.”
    He pulled up in the carport of a tiny little box of a house, with a front door in the middle and a window each side, like something a child might draw. I got out and gulped big lungfuls of the salty air as Ben disappeared around the back. I could hear the faint shush of the surf; the beach must be close—probably at the end of the street—but it was too dark now to see.
    Ben came back brandishing the key and let us in. The door opened straight into the main room, with lounge and dining table at the front and a primitive kitchen along the back wall. Inside was hot and stuffy; Ben went around opening windows while I yawned fit to crack my jaw, barely able to keep my eyelids open.
    “Come on, Sleeping Beauty, let’s get you cleaned up and into bed.”
    I followed him into the tiny bathroom, forcing myself to hold it together. “Best offer I’ve had all day.”

CHAPTER SIX
    The little bathroom was too cramped to fit a chair, so Ben boosted me on to the small sink, where I perched with my feet resting on the edge of the bath. It was an ugly shade of pink that matched the pink and caramel wall tiles. Probably the height of fashion in whatever long-ago decade the house had been built. I wondered how long Ben’s friend had been coming here. Maybe the house had been built by his dad, or even his grandfather. Bet they’d never had any werewolf victims here before.
    Today was turning out to be a real day for firsts.
    The house seemed like the kind of basic, homey place a family would come to year after year. On one side of the main living area two doors opened into the bathroom and a bedroom boasting a lumpy double bed. On the other was a small bedroom with two double bunks for the kids. Nothing flashy, but what kid would care? They probably spent their days at the beach, sunburnt and carefree, while mum and dad enjoyed the quiet. In the evenings dad would cook a barbeque, and after dinner they’d sit around playing cards or some noisy board game. Dad would probably cheat or pretend to be hilariously bad at it.
    I sighed as Ben peeled the bandage from my arm. Why torture myself imagining happy families? Didn’t I have enough to worry about?
    Red and inflamed, the wound looked nasty. The skin all around it felt hot and itchy. Was that a sign I was turning into a werewolf? Anxiety opened