Savage Wings: Book Three of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 28

"Is this a fucking joke?" he eventually stammered, his ratty eyes darting over each of us. "Is this O'Reilly's way of scaring the shit out of me, because you can tell him from me, I've got his fucking money, okay? I've got it."

Fenton sniffed and looked over at me and Harper. "I don't know any O'Reilly, do you?"

Harper shook his head slowly. "Nope," he drawled. "Don't think I do."

"Then what the fuck is this?" The pimp's voice was taking on a delightful squeaky tone. My smile widened and it was then that his eyes found me, his brow wrinkling in confusion. I guessed he wasn't used to seeing girls down here unless of course they were on their knees for him. I was going to enjoy making this one squeal. "Who is she?" he demanded, brandishing the small but nasty looking blade at me with a noticeably trembling hand.

"She," said Fenton, pulling the gun from the holster inside his jacket and aiming it squarely at the pimp's head with a very steady hand. "Is the one you're going to pay. Only you're going to need a lot more than money, my friend."

My stomach groaned, my senses already going into overdrive from the scent of Roach's blood and from the thrill of watching Harper feed. I wasn't sure I could hold out much longer. My veins were roaring with a hunger that was pushing me to the edge of all rational thought, rapidly overwhelming me with a desire for nothing but soft warm flesh beneath me and taste of blood on my tongue.

"Don't you come any closer." The pimp's panic had spiked, electrifying the air with a tension that was almost palpable. "I'll fucking shank you, bitch."

"Who wants to bet he's going to run?" Fenton asked.

"Oh come on, no one in their right mind would take that bet," Harper said, rolling his eyes. "It's a dead cert."

Their laughter was lost in a rush of white noise that crowded my head as instinct took over. Focused solely on my prey, I began to move, driven by the thirst and the zing of excitement that buzzed over my skin, making the hair on the back of my neck rise with anticipation of that first bite.

He did run, of course, but he didn't get far.

Bringing him down much harder than I had intended, his chin hit the ground with a sickening crack and the ineffectual blade slipped from his grasp and skittered to a stop some distance away. He was momentarily stunned and I easily straddled his back, pressing myself against him as I curled my fingers into his lank hair, yanking his head towards me. Nuzzling at his neck, I detected the intoxicating thrum of his pulse, ignoring the smell of sweat, cheap aftershave and sex that lingered heavily on his skin and clothes.

When my incisors pierced his skin, I moaned against his throat, savouring the first hit and feeling the warmth spread through me, my body tingling with pure undiluted satisfaction. I vaguely wondered if this was how the girl felt, desperate to stoop to any level just to get her fix and here I was, on my knees in some grotty, damp underpass doing whatever I had to do to feed the addiction.

He fought until the very end, his feet frantically hammering against the ground, his cries never diminishing – that was until Harper intervened and clamped his mouth shut, allowing me to finish without fear of drawing anyone towards the noise. The whole time, he kept his eyes fixed on me, the heat of his gaze forcing me to bite down harder as if it was his firm body beneath mine and not the pimp's. When it was done and the pimp lay still beneath me, Harper pulled me to my feet, snaking a hand around the back of my neck and pressing his mouth hard against mine, slipping his tongue between my blood-stained lips. I groaned again, wanting to feed an addiction of a different kind until I heard Fenton's exaggerated cough coming from close by and turned to see him standing there, with his arms crossed.