Playing Dead: Book One of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 20

I lay on my back, looking at the great stretch of black as it crept across the ceiling, starting directly above where the broken floorboards were and aggressively sending its feelers out, like ink on blotting paper. The damp infested this house. I didn't know how Harper could stand it; this place so full of rot and damp and dirt, it was like a sickness in the veins, infecting every corner. I felt sure the longer I was here, the more it would infect me.

I turned my head to look at him, noting the long thick blanket of dark lashes that lay on his cheeks, his pale flawless skin and hair that fell across his face. I resisted the urge to brush it away. I daren't wake him.

There was part of me that wanted to just lay there with him, breathe in his musky scent, wrap my arms around him and listen to the rhythmic sound of his heart.

But there was also a part of me that wanted to break him, rip him in two and cause him just as much pain and suffering as he had caused me. I wanted to destroy him and consume him. It made me nauseous to have him so near; my torturer, my killer.

Slowly and cautiously, I sat up, looking around for my t-shirt when my eyes fell upon a small pile of clothes and a pair of boots near the door. Creeping closer, my footprints making patterns in the disturbed dust, I crouched down and was surprised to see these were clearly for me. A black vest top, black skinny jeans and leather lace-up biker boots all in my size. Even the underwear was a perfect fit; possibly unsurprising seeing as he'd spent more time than most examining my underwear.

Gathering my treasure, I tip-toed along the landing corridor, finding my way to the bathroom, wrinkling my nose at the smell of the mould and a broken sewer pipe. A large yellow stain spread out behind what was left of the toilet bowl, staining the cheap vinyl and spreading the stench of stale urine around the room. Approaching the basin, I dared to look in the cracked pieces of mirror that still hung on the wall and couldn't help but gasp and clap a hand over my mouth at the monster that stared back at me.

My sun-damaged skin did not seem as bad as I thought it would be. I'd pictured horrible weeping blisters and bubbled skin, yet it was just very red, like a large strawberry birthmark and the area around my eye still looked puffy and swollen. But looking in the mirror, I could no longer recognise the Megan that I remembered. My skin was paler, tinged blue around the lips and eyes like mottled bruising or the kind of hue you would associate with someone pulled stone dead from icy waters. My eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot and the iris was much darker than its normal hazel, so much so that it almost verged on black. Many of my bruises and marks had faded, except for the one on my shoulder where Harper had practically gnawed through my collarbone. This one was an angry red and the surface was sealed with a nasty looking puce yellow scab. My long dark hair, long neglected by straighteners and hair product, had reverted to its normal waves and looked even darker than usual against my new pale complexion.

Leaning slightly closer, I curled my lip up in a snarl, expecting to see elongated incisors; the final proof that I was what I knew I had become and yet I was strangely disappointed when I found nothing. I pulled my top lip back with my fingers and examined them more carefully, prodding and poking them, wondering why they didn't look like Harper's. I was sure they'd been there. I'd felt them when I'd fed from Margaret and from Harper and when the thirst had ripped through me, I had felt a sharp pain in my gums, the same pain you would experience if you had an infected tooth or abscess. And yet now, my teeth looked perfectly normal, if in need of a very good deep clean. I ran my tongue over them and grimaced. Still, bad breath and plaque was the last of my problems.

I dressed quickly, leaving my boots off so to keep my footsteps as quiet as possible and when I was done, I peeked round the door spying the back of Harper's head as he still lay fast asleep, the blanket draped over his naked hips. From here I could see the back of the dragon, it's tail curling around into the small of his back and I was relieved I couldn't see the dragon's face as I felt sure it would alert Harper to the fact I was awake and roaming the house. And the last thing I wanted right now was for him to wake up, especially when I was about to do something that would seriously piss him off. Serious to the point of him probably, and finally, killing me.