The Lost: Book Two of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 36

In my field of vision, I could see Edward's cell sweeping through the clearing and Fenton's people, all mercenary to the core, firing off shots; when the bullets ran dry, their skills with the blade were no less than that with the gun. The vampire army fought beside us. The ground churned under the pounding of many feet and the mud mixed with the spilling of Varúlfur and vampire blood alike. There were casualties on our side, of course, but I urged myself not to think of it because I had another mission to fulfill, a personal mission if you like and one that kept me fired up despite the horror that now raged in Oxleas.

Not all the Noble clan had followed Vánagandr in his escape.

They couldn't of course, for there was a battle to win, an age-old fight against an age-old enemy and it just wouldn't have been right for them to flee with their tails between their legs. It wouldn't have been befitting of a superior race such as theirs.

And it was with sheer delight and elation when I realised just who had remained behind. I had a score to settle after all. A huge, gigantic bloody score for that matter and by God, was I going to take what I was owed.

Paul and the blonde-haired bony-nosed one were still present, albeit now fully transformed, but I could still see them, I could still see their faces under the animal mask and could still remember the way they had attacked me, abused me, and tortured me to the point where I had felt like the animal. I had wished for death that day and I wished for it again now, only for them instead, a horrible lingering death that would make them rue the time they had spent with me in Brandon's compound.

With them clearly in my sights, I made my way across the clearing, cutting a path through the frenzied melee with Harper and Garrick close by my side, until somehow there they were, directly in front of me and I felt the adrenalin buzzing under my skin like I had been plugged into the mains supply.

As if detecting my presence, maybe from some faint speck of a familiar scent, the creature that had been the blonde one whirled around, its eyes widening when it recognised me.

"Biiiiiiiiitch," it snarled, spitting drool from the corners of its mouth as it struggled to form the word.

With a grin, I circled it slowly, placing one foot in front of the other, repulsed and yet full of desire to feel it underneath me as I carved at its putrid flesh. Harper and Garrick sensed immediately that this was no random Varúlfur and I noticed the determined look which cemented their features into grim visages full of hate and loathing for a creature they realised had done me great harm.

Separated from its kin, the beast was no match for us three and soon, I got my wish as I straddled its misshapen chest, with Harper and Garrick pinning its thrashing limbs to the ground and I sunk my blade into its throat and watched, mesmerised as it struggled to breathe, the blood bubbling from the deep open wound.

It was only a plaintive howl that brought me back to my senses and I stood up quickly to find the Varúlfur Paul, its eyes full of anguish and fury, standing within a nearby copse.

"Hello, Paul," I said, cocking my head to one side with a smirk.

I hated the beast at my feet, that was certain, but I had reserved a special brand of hatred for Paul because I had known him in my human life. I had met him when I had been Megan Walden, I had held conversations with him, I had known him as Brandon's friend and yet, despite all that, he had gone to great lengths to defile me, to humiliate me, to hurt me. I had to have him. He belonged to me.

Racked with an all-consuming anger, the beast charged, dropping to all fours in order to gain that necessary speed advantage and I was almost knocked to the floor by the force of its attack, just managing to jump clear at the last minute, twisting my body in the nick of time to see it turn and double back towards me. I raised my blades, relishing the sensation of the hard steel against my palms and focused on the beast as it advanced, noting the way it moved, drinking in every possible weak point, every place where I could do it the most harm. Saliva pooled into my mouth in the same way it did whenever I hunted my prey and I saw Garrick and Harper moving in, perfectly flanking the beast from either side.