The Belly was in Newport, a sea city over the Welsh border. The fancier places of the Upper Echelon, like the Velvet Room and the Murian Street, were in the historical rich side of the river Avon, while the beasts and the wilderness infested Newport. Not necessarily all of it was bad. I went there regularly as a teenager whenever Oliver and Alistair wanted to roam the freer bars and clubs. I was always jealous that I was banned from really getting involved in the fights and the drinking, both for being too young and the fact no one was meant to know I was a witch, but I loved it regardless. That air of cold civility I'd grown up with just wasn't present at all. It was where beasts and immortals could unsheathe their claws and rip each other apart without judgement, a different world to the one Lucius roamed and one I preferred. No masks, cloaks and daggers and no veiled threats - just the honest, raw side of our kind.
The journey was unpleasant for me though. A hot sticky car full of hyperactive teenagers just made me breathe out flickers of flame, but I gritted my teeth and put up with it, taking comfort from Lucius' bat nestled between my breasts where it listened to my heart. I wasn't sure Theresa's idea would work, the Belly was a very intense place to be, the roar of violence and stink of beast sweat heavy in the air, but she was right. If Ella was going to be cowed by our family problems, she stood no chance against the wild side of the Old World. She needed to see more and, just maybe, that stubbornness in her might break and she'll talk, or it might not and she'll just continued to be closed off. I glanced at Alistair as the streetlights swept over his soft features. I couldn't help but want to meddle on his behalf either. She had ignored him long enough.
The moment we swept into the city, Alistair became alert and I began to touch the bat's head, seeking its cold to stop me from spiralling into flames. The twins remained boisterous in the back, singing horribly to Take That while Henry seethed quietly, which oddly I found soothing now I was in Whelan territory. It meant they were safe and close to me - safe from those monstrous wolves.
The Whelan Pack wasn't a pleasant one. I had no idea what the history was exactly, but Murray Whelan was an old wulver, hated Vortigerns with a passion and fucking dangerous. He was the neighbour Lucius was the wariest of, always quick to diffuse and avoid bloodshed, as if we were constantly teetering on the edge of a full-blown war. But Whelan was losing his sanity over the last few years. He kept making more and more werewolves, fodder to protect his pups. With every one made, his mind split, dwindling his patience and lucidity until nothing but paranoia and rage was left. The werewolves he made carried as much sanity as he did. They were meant to only remain within their own section of Newport, but it didn't stop them from slipping to Bristol or Bath to murder or rape just to irritate Lucius. And when one group was found by the youngsters or Oliver, it always resulted in a nasty fight, one Whelan would test to see if he could tumble it into an outright war. At least his wife, Nora, had some semblance of control over him still...
I breathed out my tension. 'Sure this is a good idea?'
'You're the one who went along with it.' Alistair pointed out as his attention flicked sharply about the quiet roads of Newport. 'Bristows and Henry - you stay close when we leave. I want you within the Belly before any Whelans register we're here.'
Annabella and Miriam sang in agreement, before continuing to serenade one another out of key. Henry just said nothing and looked sulkily out of the rain-stained window, pretending to not be excited at all at going to the Belly when I knew for a fact he loved the place.
We eventually pulled into the town centre; busy and alive with clubbers and bar-hoppers. Alistair went straight past the nightlife, ignoring the youths stumbling around and screaming with laughter in the rain, and beelined for the Alexandria Docks. His bats whisked by, close and low to our car, whispering of any immortals they could see. Only a couple of Lucius' bats were amongst them - too many would draw the wrong attention.
'Any Whelans?' He asked.
I shook my head and sunk deeper into my seat, sliding the heavy-duty sunglasses that were, in theory, going to smother the burning silver-embers of my eyes. Lucius' bat seemed to not notice anything, and Sam wasn't whispering warnings either as her car trailed behind ours.
Nothing happened as the car came to a stop before a small, overcrowded warehouse at the far end of the docks. Cars were surrounding it, haphazard with no way of getting close, and drifting in through the open window was all kinds of smells and sensations; the various magics of immortals, the wild stench of beasts, drugs and smoke and alcohol. And blood. So much blood.
I rubbed my mouth, watching as Sam's car pulled up by us. I spied Ella within, looking uncertain and withdrawn, then glanced at the yawning mouth of the Belly's entrance crowded by beasts and immortals of questionable backgrounds. I wiggled my nose, doubt touching me that this was going to a smart move, but this was Theresa's plan. Unlike me, she hadn't been blind to Ella's suffering.
'Let's go.' Alistair grunted and pushed himself out of the car.
The twins leapt out fast, shadowing him as he demanded like excitable ducklings.
I shoved my cap on, yanking it to make sure my eyes were good and covered, and slid out myself.
Sam was staring at the entryway of the Belly, tension tight in her body and the little bats clinging to her back. Ella drifted towards me, looking thoroughly confused.
'Why're we here?' Ella whispered to me as she purposefully ignored Alistair as he set off ahead with the Bristow twins, Henry and Yvette following him obediently.
'I told you.' Theresa smiled. 'Education. Alistair has shown you the higher end of the Old World. Now you have to see the grubby side. The fun side!'
'I still don't know what you mean by that.' Ella muttered.
'You'll find out. Come on. The rain will only get worse.'
I jogged up to Alistair, not needing to drag Ella after me as she stuck to me like glue. I realised Theresa had been right. I remembered only two weeks ago, and Ella and Sam were thick as thieves, gossiping, laughing, and drifting out to late night cafes together. Yet, she avoided Sam now. She wouldn't really engage and her entire being trembled like she was ready to peg it. I wiggled my nose. Out of all of us women in the house, Sam was the most human in her soul. She loved plants and daylight, cafes and tiny little cakes, and didn't at all act like a vampire. But Ella has stated she realised Sam wasn't human. I just didn't know what that meant exactly..
'You going in first?' I asked lowly as I came to a stop by Alistair, flicking my attention about the dark, grim night for trouble.
'Might as well. The bouncers won't exactly stop me. They never had done before.' He murmured back, and caught sight of Ella staring pointedly at the immortals melting into the warehouse. 'Ella.' He called.
She flinched and stubbornly refused to look at him.
'Stay close to us, but this will be safe for you. It's neutral ground. Any fights are done in the ring and only the ring, or outside.' He reassured with a gentle tone as he gazed at her with warmth. 'Nothing will happen to you.'
Ella actually looked at him, but it was an expression I hadn't seen before on her - rage and an aching pain. Without a word, she stormed off ahead, forcing Sam to hurry after her. I glanced at Alistair. I didn't need to ask if he knew what was going on. He clearly didn't by the confusion written over him. Ella's mind was locked up tight, just like it was to Theresa. I tried not to worry about though. I was here to stretch my legs, roar with the crowd and be there the moment Ella needed to talk – if the did. That was it.
I pushed the bat deeper into my shirt, ensuring he was flat against my chest and nestled well, as we began to melt into the crowd. Ella was, thankfully, close to Sam and hadn't just stormed inside, and latched onto me the moment I drew close. Despite being at the entryway, not a peep of the ring below could be heard.
'What is this place?' Ella asked me curiously.
'The Belly.' Sam replied for me with a bright smile. 'It's great fun, just keep an eye out for Whelans.'
'Whelans?'
'Werewolves made by the wulver Murray Whelan. He's not Lucius' biggest fan.' I said as I glanced about the crowd, trying to spy one. 'They own this area of Newport and they don't like us much. If you see a grubby looking white man who's got yellow teeth, they're likely a Whelan werewolf. Just stick to Alistair if you see one. He'll defend you best, not me. I'm banned from burning them.'
And just like that, she retreated back into herself, drowning in what thoughts that seemed to be acting as a massive wall between her and my family. I sighed sharply and ducked my head close to hers.
'The fuck is going on with you, Ella?' I hissed under my breath.
She pressed her lips into a thin line and that stubbornness rose up sharply.
'Nothing.' She whispered hoarsely back.
Not unexpected, but it didn't stop it being irritated.
I grunted just as the massive bouncer, a bear I assumed by the sheer size of him and musky pine scent, waved Alistair through. I needed to pay attention now. Just because this was neutral ground didn't mean it was entirely safe. I breathed in my flames, letting it crackle within my senses and heat my eyes; disturbing the bat buried in the valley of my breasts. I touched its head, soothing it, hopefully sending the message to Lucius I was okay.
The moment we stepped over the threshold, the ripple of sticky magic slid over me. Gone was the city outside, the hissing rain, persistent murmur of the crowd and distant roars of cars. Now we were at the top of stairs sinking deeper beneath the earth, neon lights glaring out at us from the dark, and the heavy blast of electronic punk music and screaming voices thundered in the air from below. While Sam flinched at the abrupt noise, the youngsters began to roar with excitement, bouncing about as far as Alistair would let them.
We delved into the depths - an endless stairway that began to thump with a heavy base. My bones rattled alongside it; my heart and eyes. Normally I coped fine, but something about it just made my chest swell with smoke and my fragile, charred bones ached painfully. Sam was quick to notice and slid her fingers about my wrist, cooling me and trying to draw the discomfort.
'It's fine.' I murmured. 'My own fault.'
Sam ignored me though, and focused instead on making sure she didn't tumble down the metal, vibrating stairs. I let her do as she wanted. I promised not to do things alone while recovering after all.
The deeper we went, the more alive the air became, rather than stagnant and still. Magic sang, raising the hairs along my skin as we passed floating specs of rainbow lights and vibrantly coloured bubbles. Shouts of immortals rang in the magically charged air, roars of victory and disappointment. Goading screams, insults and chants rattled the steeled walls, music blasting from thousands of speakers so thickly that you could barely hear a thing next to you. It was a storm of noise and scents, magic and darkness that surrounded a sea of people, dipping deeper down levels and levels that pointed every head towards a singular massive cage doused in white light.
Even up in the edges of the Belly, you could see everything clearly. Spells clustered about the eyes, puffed out from the vents as a vast rainbow of dust, ensuring your attention was drawn to the cage of the Belly and highlighted every detail of the fighters within, every twitch of muscle, impacting of a fist, ripple of hair.
Ella snatched at me, clearly unsettled how she could see something so clearly when it was nothing but a spec so far below.
'Your eyes are possessed.' I said, shouting over the din near her ear. 'Nothing invasive. Just let it happen. You won't be able to see anything otherwise.'
She nodded with uncertainty, but she didn't release my wrist.
Alistair herded the youngsters to the upper rafters, snatching at Henry by the scruff when he tried to descend to join the important watchers of the fight without the need of the sight spell.
'We don't want attention.' Alistair said sharply when Henry argued, and shoved him upwards.
I came up last with Sam and Ella, which clearly upset Theresa by how she wiggled, looking between Alistair at the furthest end then at Ella beside her. I managed to catch her eye and shook my head lightly, indicating to let them be, before I turned my attention to the cage so far below.
A Panther had just won, a massive Southern American Jaguar rippling with every step; his muzzle wet with red blood and his claws smearing gore over the Cage floor. In his wake remained a heavily wounded woman - a nymph by the pastel fish-scales glistening over her pale, wet skin. Her right arm was strewn several feet away from her and blood was squirting from the remaining stump. She was being dragged out of the cage and bundled into a vampire's arms, where they quickly set to healing.
'What's the point in this?' Ella asked with grim dislike.
I noticed her mind was processing it all though. She didn't recoil in revulsion or scream – she just let it wash over her. So, her psychic abilities were working well, which meant the recent violence within the house really wasn't the cause.
'It can vary.' I replied. 'Every Friday, you have the regular fighters. Think of it like boxing or wrestling. You go to watch your favourite and bet on who wins. Nothing more or less.' I shrugged. 'Today is the Bouts. You can sign up to fight and see how far you go. It's often a good way to settle feuds, and to practice against strangers who won't worry about hurting you.'
Sam leaned over the edge, smiling widely. 'Remember when we'd bring you down here, Susan? To watch Oliver and Alistair?'
Ella stiffened. 'Alistair would fight?'
I made a note of swift change in demeanour.
'Of course! He was a wild one back in the day, big headed by the strength of his magic and purity of his blood. Always quick to get into fights that would cause trouble for uncle. Lucius eventually snapped and dragged him here by the ear, tossing him into the cage and refusing to let him out until he got bested and put in his place. It's neutral ground. No one will get into trouble when you shred your opponent in the Belly.' She squashed her face against her cheek. 'I'd come down to practice healing by mending the non-vampire fighters. It's interesting how every beast and sorcerer needs a different touch when it comes to knitting.'
I lost Sam then as she rambled at Ella about the different properties; the sliminess of nymphs that meant she could lose control easily, the grittiness of lamia that were almost like stone, the sheer heat of witches, the softness of elves.
And while she continued, I watched Ella. I listened to how she moved, how she breathed, trying to detect her thoughts by the slightest hitch in her voice. Once, she'd sit with curiosity, a sponge when it came to magic. She'd absorb it all in, twist it about in her mind, then would question Sam further as she scrawled down notes. But now she sat next to me like stone. She didn't scrawl notes. She didn't ask questions. She didn't absorb. All she did was stand next to me, staring down at the cage that glowed in the dark depths, her mind elsewhere. Lost in miserable thoughts.
I just didn't know why. Her mind was fast, quick to absorb and dissect things. She could see through most magic. She could remember when someone tried to make her forget. She could process gore and violence like air. She couldn't suffer trauma. Yet, since my near explosion, she had shifted. She was pulling away from my immortal family members - from Sam whom she trusted. I wiggled my nose, doubting me dying was the actual problem, but something about that event had struck a chord with her. One she was hiding.
My attention flicked back down to the Cage as two new contesters were announced to a roar from the crowd, and instantly I stilled. A great werewolf, scarred and mangled, his grey fur ripped away in chunks and his eyes a vicious red, prowled onto the stage with boasting strength.
Werewolves differed from their wulver creators. Wulvers were wolves, just immortal, beasts that could wear human faces and think like people. Werewolves were torn between humanity and those wolves. They walked on two legs, their front paws twisted into claws hands, their arms so long their massive hands dragged upon the floor, and their snouts stunted with too many teeth to fit in comfortably. And the Whelan werewolves were different from other werewolves; massive, unruly bulk with more muscle than intelligence, savage red eyes, and arrogance so thick it choked the air about them.
This one in particular was one of the worst of them. George, a man who was cruel and sadistic even before Whelan decided to 'bless' the bastard with more power.
Alistair's mind brushed mine. I glanced at him, noting his eyes were now locked on Ella, blazing with protection, and I let him in.
'Seems the Whelans are about today.'
Which made me tense. I couldn't fight them today, not with my lock broken and Lucius unable to wrap me up in his arms to cool me. Lucius' bat seemed to notice, unfolding its wings and wriggling softly, at hearing the alarm in my heart. I swiftly waved back at Alistair dismissively and tugged the hem of my top down lightly to rub my thumb over the bat's head, soothing it and myself hurriedly.
'Who is that?' Ella asked when she noticed my unease.
'George Banks. A Whelan. You burn him to memory and stay far away from him.' I muttered, cracking my nails against my teeth in explosions of soft sparks. 'He's the worst out of the fucking lot of them.'
He was known to be as well, by how the crowd grew excited. The next match was going to be a blood bath; fun.
A vampire was up against him, tall, thin with umber skin splitting apart as her blood claws snapped into existence. She snapped her teeth and frost began to spread beneath her feet, her violent yellow eyes flashing. But my attention was on George and those claws of his, those shark teeth spiking out at odd angles from his mutated muzzle and black drool become to ooze between them. Acid. Most wulvers' acid appeared translucent and acted as a defence. The more a sorcerer was pumped full of it, the less access the sorcerer had to their magic and spells. Vampires could no longer heal, control the dead, or detonate your heart with a click of their fingers; elves could no longer sing to the wind or the trees; lamia could no longer trigger their alchemical spells or control their monstrous golems; nymphs could no longer hypnotise or summon the sea. It was devastating, making them the most dangerous beast a sorcerer could face and the original hunters of the immortals. The hounds of Hell. And, given the dark fluid of George's acid, his was unhealthy. A sign of Whelan's stability, or lack of. Either his acid was worse or weak.
And, as the fight began, it became very obvious which end of the spectrum his dark acid was.
The vampiress stood little chance. She was from a lesser house and had no mist abilities, no strong command over the body that Lucius had, no raw strength the purer vampires possessed. She tried to duck away, to swerve and lash out at George, but he was fast and he was massive. A mountain of flesh and muscle that bore down on her, armed with blackened teeth and claws, and became little more than a blur.
With a roar and a scream, Georgie had her in his claws, his terribly long claws buried deep into her stomach and back. His acid was pouring out of his nails and teeth, dribbling into her mouth and pumping into her veins. She squirmed, snapping her teeth, but she was growing weak and fast. Her magic was fading. George knew it and, for once, didn't make a big show and quickly dispatched her. With a great, wet snap, his mouth of a thousand razors clapped closed about her face, spreading flecks of flesh, chipped bone and spatters of blood about the ring.
Ella flinched beside me at the mutilation, watching with macabre interest as George raised his muzzle and howled; a sound more demonic than wolf. A sound that scraped up my spine and puffed up my flames, but one that was met with thumping chests, stamping feet and screams of approval from the Belly. The bloodier the fight, the better.
'Is she alive?' Ella asked beside me.
I didn't miss the curiosity.
'She is.' Sam replied for me. 'Vampires are tough, the longest living of the immortals and the most physically resistant. So long as the heart keeps beating and they have a feed of blood into their body, even the weakest can recover. It just takes times.' She tilted her head as George was yanked back by a massive, dishevelled man, but George was fighting back, his wild, red eyes latched on the vampiress that was being dragged unceremoniously from the ring. 'Her face is full of that venom though. It's going to be a painful healing it. A long time too. She'll likely scar.'
Sam didn't sound upset for the woman, instead she was looking wistfully onwards. I knew she was eager to go down to the Gutters and help the healers there to test herself. Just like Alistair and Oliver would test their strength, she was quick to test her ability as a healer and the Belly was the best place to get the greatest variety of wounds to have a go at.
The fights went on and Ella, to my surprise, was watching with grim curiosity. George went onto more fights, before being forced out when he and a werebear nearly tore each other apart; chunks of flesh and fur and rivers of blood filling the cage to the brim. But, even when those two were locked, teeth sinking into throats, claws wrenching flesh from bone, unveiling muscle and sinew beneath, she didn't look away. She didn't become upset by it all. She just watched on as blood was sprayed and, when a lamia stepped onto the stage and crashed a pot of sand onto the cage floor, singing for the massive snake to grow from it, armed with sword-like teeth and stone scales, Ella leaned forward a little with that old curiosity of hers beginning to resurface. I furrowed my brow and wiggled my nose, deciding whatever was bothering her was definitely an emotional problem.
And that become obvious when the Cage was cleared of a vampire and his shredded limbs and the sticky, wet red remains of the sand-golem the lamia had torn him apart with, and a name was called into the Belly.
'Alistair Vortigern!'
I stiffened and Ella lost her ability to breathe. For the first time, she was looking at him. The curiosity had gone, replaced by horror. I glanced sharply at Alistair, ready to snip at him now wasn't the time until I saw how bewildered he looked, and his mind brushed me hurriedly.
'Did you put my name in?'
I shook my head wildly, scowling at him beneath the dark glass of my shades.
And then I saw Theresa looking sheepish and avoiding my burning gaze. It clicked then why she chose this place. She wanted Ella to see Alistair again, to see our roughness and magic and immortality didn't make us monsters. What better way than to have him fight in the Belly?
I wanted to cuff her round the head for being so stupid and thinking so much like a vampire and a teenager. Getting Alistair to flex his strength would only work on another woman of his kind! Not Ella, a very human woman who seemed to struggle with him displaying any kind of violence!
But Alistair's name had been put into the ring, which meant he had little choice but to act, especially with Whelans about the place. It would be bad for a Vortigern to be present within the Belly and ignore the call for him to fight.
I tilted my head roughly towards the cage, making Alistair rub his face in frustration. He clearly didn't want to go, but the pressure was beginning to mount as booing and upset began to echo about the unhappy swarm of immortals. They wanted blood. They wanted Vortigern blood. And either Alistair went in there willingly, or they'd drag him in.
'Go Alistair.' Sam hissed softly, flourishing to his side to get him to move. 'I'll replace you. We'll be okay for a round. Just end it fast.'
Alistair hauled himself onto his feet reluctantly, and his attention slid to Ella. She refused to look at him, but I could tell it was an effort for her by the way she held herself with rigid pride and pressed her lips together into a thin line. With a sigh, Alistair folded away into mist, only to reappear within the bloodied cage to a thumping roar of approval. His name was bellowed, his high win rate applauded, his strength, purity and lineage overshadowing his young age. And, while the crowd grew louder and louder, Ella's expression was growing increasingly sour.
'He didn't sign up for this.' I said as I leaned closer to her. 'He knows you don't like to see him fight.'
I knew she heard me, but she stoutly refused to say anything and refused to explain what was bothering her and why she was shutting down. I left her to it. She'd talk when she was ready and not before.
The youngsters (apart from Henry, who never showed excitement, and Theresa, who was anxiously watching Ella) were screaming their support for Alistair and eager to see him fight. It was rare for them to see him fight untethered, his bouts with them were always careful and he took them to the Belly to watch and teach rather than to be involved. He'd blasted through his need to fight years ago under Lucius' firm hand.
Alistair paced within the cage, flexing his fingers as they ripped open and released his claws, his attention fixed only on the gigantic bear sliding out of the dark. It was a thing more muscle than flesh or fur with great curling horns sprouting from its head, and shoved its way into the cage with wild impatience. Its paws were double the size of Alistair's head, its teeth more shark-like than ursine, and its thick fur an inky void of darkness. This was an old bear, one that would be tough to take on and built to tank almost any injury.
The bear reared up, a mountainous thing of claws and teeth and shadow, and roared. Blood sprayed from its mouth, its ragged ivory teeth glistening, and the whole thing rippled with dangerous strength. Even from here, I could smell its musk stained with a toxin made to make you fear it. To see it as a thing of your nightmares. To cower before it and realise the fight was lost before it had even begun. Those weaker and closest to the cage began to scream, maddening terror taking hold as the bear took their minds, twisting itself into a demon. A monster.
Not Ella though. Despite the youngsters quietening with uncertainty, the twins whispering to Sam if Alistair was going to be safe, Ella stood tall and didn't even flinch. What toxins latched onto her failed to win over her eyes and mind. She saw through it all. Which was why I found it curious she was looking unsettled as she watched Alistair. Like she feared him...
A bell rung and the crowd began to thump and scream as the great bear tore forward like an ominous shadow, fast and fluid like it was made of water rather than bone and flesh. My attention latched onto Alistair instantly. He was a good fighter, he had to be as Lucius was preparing him to take over one day and it was his job to protect the young, but this bear was old and fast and strong. He could wrench Alistair apart and inflict such terror into him that he'd see no point in healing. His fur was so thick and armoured against magic that Alistair's will wouldn't be able to reach the hulking thing's body. Lucius would be fine against this thing, but Alistair?
I gripped the barrier keeping me from tumbling into the abyss below, watching as Alistair melted out of the bear's charge and appeared by its side, his large, blood-claws glistening before they cut at its side. Sparks flew as the hardened blood scraped against the resistant fur, the magic of Alistair crashing against the armour, but no blood was spilt. Alistair didn't get through.
A claw arced, slamming against the cage floor with a crack and shredding it apart with a lazy, powerful sweep. Alistair moved again and again as the bear bore down on him relentlessly, not caring for Alistair's claws or the savage punch to the snout that sent him back a step. And with every shake of his fur, more toxins were released like puffs of dandelions. Even I was beginning to see him as something bigger than he was. Mutated. Terrifying.
Alistair remained focused though, despite his mind being clogged. I heard his bats twittering abouts, whispering of the truth, getting him to focus on what was really there, so, when the bear reared up, howled like a storm and shook a cloud of toxins from his coat and lunged forward, he was surprised to find Alistair still holding his ground rather than crumbling with terror. Alistair's claws dug into the armoured fur, his teeth extending with anger and his body glistening with frost to shield him from the bear's knife-like claws slicing open his back, and he tossed the bear far. It crashed into the cage wall with a hefty crash, bending the metal into an awkward shape, and Alistair roared at it, an animalistic bellow that sounded more lion than man, and bore down on it fast.
The bear was recovering quickly though. He whirled on Alistair with unnatural fluidity, its massive mouth gaping wide to crush his skull within its sharp maw. Alistair jerked his head backwards and did the smart thing of sticking his hand into the bear's mouth just before it closed with a wet crack.
Instantly it realised the problem. Alistair's blood was in its mouth and his magic could now slide directly into his body. The bear didn't detach itself though. It didn't bite off Alistair's arm either. It just stood there for a heartbeat before it slumped to his side, falling into an unconscious state.
But I didn't see this though. Nor did Ella. She was abruptly up the moment she saw Alistair roar, his claws large and threatening, his back shredded as he approached the bear he'd flung across the massive ring. She pushed passed me roughly and vanished into the crowd.
'Stay Sam!' I shouted frantically when she got up to follow instinctively.
I didn't check to see if she agreed, I just launched myself into a run, shoving my way past a crowd full of so much magic it felt like I was drowning, their tastes and sensations crawling up and down my spine and sliding over me uncomfortably. I snatched at my hat twice when it was nearly dislodged, shoved my glasses further up my nose when it nearly slid lose, and Lucius' bat stirred within my shirt with alarm as my heart flew.
'I'm fine.' I whispered to it, hoping Lucius would hear.
It was Ella who wasn't and I didn't get why. How had she been okay with the gore she'd seen so far, then flip out over Alistair doing the same thing?
I barrelled out into the night air that stank of seafoam and fish. Luckily, the crowd had mostly dispersed, either gone for the night or now inside the Belly enjoying the show of Alistair Vortigern. All that was left were the guards and those too drunk or high to move, slouched along the wharf and either asleep or laughing hysterically. It made spying Ella vanishing down the road all the easier.
I darted after her, thankful Ella wore heels so she couldn't outpace me easily with her long legs.
'Ella!'
She ignored me and kept walking.
'Ella! Shit, stop will you!'
She only did when I snatched at her wrist, trying to get her to stop wherever it was she was going, but all she did was shake me loose and cast me a teary-eyed glare. She was crying.
She was off again quickly, hiding her face behind her immaculate hair and stoutly ignoring me. I didn't particularly care. I just walked swiftly beside her, peering up at her from behind my thick glasses.
'Ella. What's going on?'
'Nothing.'
I grunted and didn't bite. I just kept pace with her, watching our surroundings as Lucius' bat squirmed between my breasts with worry. Then, as predicted, Ella eventually slowed, coming to a gradual stop. She stood scowling at the floor, her eyes red and her fingers balled into fists. I just waited.
'Alistair.' She blurted out. 'He's not human.'
'No.' I agreed faintly with a light shrug. 'Neither are the youngsters, Sam, Lucius, Doc or Arnold. I'm half and half. You know this.'
'I don't like it.' She forced out with venom. 'I don't like this.' She dashed her tears angrily. 'We're not...we're not right for each other. I'm human. I'm mortal. He's...I don't know what he is!'
'He's Alistair, a big teddy bear.'
She shot me a withering look and turned on me. 'He's not.'
'He is.'
She gave a frustrated cry. 'He's not! He just tore apart a bear!' She blustered and became fixated on me. 'You should be terrified of all this, Susan. You were nearly killed!'
I shrugged as I swallowed the hellfire beginning to snake through my creaking lock.
'Ella, I've no idea what you're talking about, so get on with it.' I choked out with smoking tendrils.
Her cheeks puffed in that irritated display of hers, and quickly began to shout at me, unloading all the thoughts she'd been carrying with her for weeks.
'You are so blind. You think that Lucius doesn't want to harm you, but he does! He's done it! Ripped your throat out! Again!' She snapped and drew herself up.
'He's addicted.'
Ella flapped her hands wildly. 'There! You accept the violence! Accept it all! Ripping people apart, and killing each other. It's not normal.'
'It is. Oldworld is different to yours and you are fine with it. As much as you tell me it's wrong, I saw you watching the Belly. You were curious and you weren't upset by the violence then; only when Alistair joined in did it actually bother you. You're one of us.' I breathed out a wreath of flames. 'It's obvious this is about Alistair. Not me, not the Oldworld and not my family, but him. What is it?'
Tears sprung again, anger and frustration and fear clouding her. She wobbled and broke. 'I can't be with him. I can't love him. I'll be dead long before him and, as the other women at those clubs are quick to inform me, I'm not good enough for him. I'm lowly. Dirt. Not worthy of the future Lord of Bath, pure blooded and old. I'll just sully his name and birth half-breeds no one will love.' She shouted.
I hated it hearing this. I hated it because it sounded just like the me in my head that desperately tried to stamp out the little flame I held for Lucius.
'But what's worse, is that he'll kill me. The more he loves me, the more likely he'll suck me dry or rip my throat out. It's better I have nothing to do with you all and just go home and forget he existed, but I can't. I love living in that place. It's so warm and active, but they're Alistair's family – his home. I can't be attached. I have to go home.'
I scrunched my nose in confusion. Alistair? Kill her?
'Why the fuck do you think Alistair's going to kill you?'
'Lucius, a man who is clearly in love with you, nearly murdered you Susan!' Ella cried out with deep frustration. 'And Sam told me it was his attraction to you, his love for you, which is likely driving him to kill you.'
I stared at her. I couldn't breathe or think, vicious joy exploding in my chest for just a moment, the fantasy of Lucius running rampant, those kisses and embraces meaning more than they did, before my mind was shutting down hurriedly. Denial swept in before the hope could blossom, shredding it apart hurriedly.
Sam is a romantic and always has been.
Why would someone like Lucius love a demon like you?
It doesn't matter. He'll kill you. You'll kill him. It doesn't matter.
I blinked rapidly to focus myself and keep Lucius from clouding my mind and registered Ella staring at me, crying.
'Alistair's going to do the same. He'll kill me if he loves me. Rip me apart. And they're right. You saw him fighting! You saw him! He wasn't human!'
'He's won't hurt you, you stupid, fucking twit!' I snarled, startling her at the burning exasperation in my tone.
She was wrong. Lucius was addicted to me and my blood, twisting him into something else, and was a pure-blood in every shape and form. Alistair wasn't. He was vampire in body but mortal in mind and soul. He loved like a human man, not a vampire, and Ella's blood, while likely very tasteful for him, wasn't going to make him sick. She was wrong. So wrong. Alistair wasn't someone she needed to be scared of.
But my attention was snatched by a shrill scream echoing in the damp night. Alarm shivered up my spine as I heard clicking heels against the wet pavement. And not just heels, but claws. Heavy-set claws.
I dove by Ella as she blustered with offence at me suddenly ignoring her, slid my fingers over the bat against my chest, and bee-lined for the alleyway some steps from us. I didn't reach the entrance though before the clicking grew deafening, the heavy laboured breath of a terrified woman frantic in the air.
She crashed into me, sprawling backwards into a thick, filthy puddle. Panicked, she stared up at me with absolute terror staining her emerald eyes and mascara smearing down her cheeks from tears. Her dark, red hair was sticking to her from sweat, her clothes torn and blood seeping from her thigh. Large, gaping wounds smiled over her tawny skin, sticky with hot, fresh blood.
Ella stumbled to a halt beside me, a gasp slipping from her mouth, but I snatched at her before she dove forward and shoved her back. The warehouse was groaning. Iron-claws sliding over the tiles, melting into the thin patter of rain.
'Help me!' The woman begged, scrabbling to her knees and reaching for me with sheer desperation.
But the thing above had dived. All I could do was shove Ella behind me as a massive bulk of scarred muscle, blazing red eyes and damp fur landed on top of the woman. Long human-fingers edged with iron claws snatched at the woman's head, clamping down like a vice and cutting open her skin.
She cried out, shivering wildly and babbling until the mutilated muzzle of blood and teeth snapped near her face. She fell deathly quiet then.
Ella clutched at my back, allowing me to defend her as I gazed with blazing silver eyes at the ten-foot beast in front of me, my hellfire curling like a vicious snake.
George Banks, the worst of the Whelan werewolves, growled, his hot breath puff into the damp air like a heavy cloud, his body flexing with dangerous intent and his mutilated maw parting into an ugly smile as he registered who I was.
'Vortigern.'
I tensed up, the hellfire I couldn't use puffing in preparation and my lock straining against the heat of my soul.
The Whelans knew we were here now and I was on my own.
Fuck.