"I want you to describe the girl to me."
Beau took a deep breath and complied. "She looks – she looked about twenty years old. She had tan skin. I think she could have been of Latin descent maybe... dark hair, brown eyes, slanted a little." A face you couldn't forgot. A stare he couldn't forget. He shuddered. Once she'd been smiling at him, pleasantly, and now she was dead, "I don't know anything else about her."
"Harris, try and see if there are any missing persons or anyone involved with similar cases with a matching description?"
The other officer nodded and left the room, leaving him with the Detective. He folded his arms. "Why didn't you report this yesterday night?"
"I was told not to talk to the police," He admitted, his every syllable expressing his genuine nerves, "He said he wouldn't hurt me unless I kept quiet."
"And you told my partner that you only just found out who this guy was, am I right? What made you change your mind? Aren't you afraid he's going to hurt you?" He asked, a look of intrigue upon his face rather than concern. I didn't know what his angle was, as until now I'd assumed he believed me.
"I was kind of hoping that he'd be arrested," Beau returned, trying not to let the irrelevant questions throw him off his task, "Look, I saw this girl being killed. She was a young girl. I can't just let this guy get away with killing an innocent."
The detective folded his arms and studied Beau for a moment. "I understand," He finally came out with, nodding in agreement, "What did you say the guy's name was again?"
"Cyrus," He stated, "Cyrus Vaughn."
The detective's expression changed a little, though it returned to its neutral state less than a second later. But Beau had caught sight of that falter in his stillness, and he knew that a thought just came to his head. Before he could really question it though, Officer Harris came back in with a file. He handed it to the detective, and he placed it on the table. Way too quick and way too convenient, he thought.
"This morning, we found a body in the woods. We didn't have much trouble identifying who she was, though and she seems to fit your description rather well." Again, way too convenient, but he didn't mention it.
The detective slid a photo out, held to the paperwork by a small metal paper clip, and then he handed it over to Beau across the table. "Was this the girl you saw yesterday being killed outside of the coffee shop?"
His eyes widened. That was her! Same face, though a shorter haircut. And a bright smile was displayed across his plump lips. She looked a lot more innocent than she had the previous day, but there was no denying that it was her. "Yes, that's her."
"Well, it seems your story doesn't add up," The detective took back the photo and slid it back in its place, but he did not close the file, "She was found in the woods, having suffered a severe animal attack. The case has already been solved."
What? Beau's face scrunched to the words he was hearing. "But I saw her being killed yesterday?" By... an animal... No. He'd seen Cyrus Vaughn kill her. "I know what I saw. The guy took the body with him. That must have been where he put it," He explained, knowing that his wording was poor.
"You said you saw her being cut too, but there were no knife wounds on her body." Her body was displayed in separate photographs on the file, and the mere sight was enough to make him sick, but he had to be sure.
"Please, you have to believe me. He threatened me yesterday, and I'm afraid for my safety. This guy, he's a psycho – he's dangerous!" This was a serious accusation. Weren't they obligated to look into it? They were supposed to do something about it, but they seemed like they were just giving up.
The Detective sighed and placed his hands on his hips. "You just wait here one second and I'll see what I can do." Beau knew what he could do, and he had a feeling the Detective did too, he was just choosing not to for some reason. Even if they didn't have their full confidence in his accusations, this was enough to arouse some suspicion. No matter what they said, they insisted that this was nothing.
He'd left the interrogation room, leaving Beau alone with the file. The door was left upon just a crack, but if he was quick, he'd be able to get a look at the file. He turned it so that it faced him. He retrieved his phone from his bag, and got took a few quick photos of the case file, before speedily putting it back in it's place, putting his phone away and pretending like it was nothing. He'd been lucky. It was moments after he'd done so that the Detective returned.
"We will look into it, but for now there is nothing more that we can do. I'm sorry," The detective shrugged his shoulders and gestured out of the door, holding it open for him. Beau sighed, stood up and walked out of the room, but before he stormed off, anger and frustration in eager desperation to be let out, he turned and asked, "Will you at check the name I gave you?"
"We will. Goodnight, sir." That didn't feel reassuring. It felt like the detective was trying to get rid of him as quick as possible. He was so angry. This Cyrus was getting away with murder. He wasn't a guy at all. He didn't know how he'd done it, but he'd turned into that monster of a being. No one would believe that though. How had he managed to change his eye colour? Who wore contacts just for dramatic effect? He didn't care about that really, though. What he cared about was making sure that Cyrus was arrested for his crime. Clearly a name and a story wasn't enough, so he needed proof to proof that it was him. He was a journalist – or at least he wanted to be. And what were journalists good at doing? Digging up dirt.
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Beau shut the door hard behind him, heading straight for the stairs, unaware that Agatha was in her chair, though rose the instant she'd seen him come in. "Beau?" She'd called, stopping him in his tracks. Having been caught off guard, he was startled by her presence, and was breathing heavily as he turned to see her.
"Dahlia called and said you'd left the gallery," She'd walked over to him, far more concerned than the Detective had been, "Why did you leave?"
He sighed, and averted his eyes. He didn't want to talk about it, but he wasn't about to take it out on her. "I wasn't feeling so well, so I walked home," He stated, turning to take a step up.
Before he could go any further, he felt a grasp upon his arm. His Grandmother's hold was firm, "Don't lie to me, Beauford. I know you went to the Police station."
This had certainly perked his curiosity. "How do you know?" He was aware that her instincts were somewhat acute, but she wasn't psychic. She seemed to let on that she knew more, had done this morning too – well, afternoon, though he'd simply shrugged it off then.
"Never mind that. I told you that I was taking care of it. You need to leave it now," She told him, and though he knew she probably only meant the best for him, he couldn't help but feel as if he was hearing the same thing he'd heard at the station, "Don't get yourself caught up in these things."
He was already caught up in it! He was the witness of a murder! But arguing with her would do no good. He wouldn't lie to her, but he refused to just let this go. Instead, he sighed, as if to imply surrender, and then walked up the stairs. "Night, Gran." He didn't get a response.
Once in his room, he closed the door behind him and headed for his laptop. He started it up, and the second he was on, he connected his phone to his laptop and uploaded the pics he'd taken. He'd had a shaky hand, but the writing was clear enough to read. The girl was called 'Rita Malone', she was twenty-two and not much else was said about her. There were pictured of her body, after the supposed animal attack. Any traces of her being stabbed or slashed had been shredded and torn. It was a gory sight, and didn't support his story.
He then went and opened up an internet browser and googled 'Cyrus Vaughn'. Almost nothing came up. He wasn't so well known, and when he was mentioned, there was little more than a line. A painting here and there, and only one picture of his face. He was smartly dressed, handsome and devilish, but the picture didn't capture how his presence made you feel in real life. He was a Londoner, which would explain how Scottish the accent had died. It had been no use. No social media, or anything to even give Beau the slightest clue about him. Smart for a killer.
It was moments before he thought of what to type next. This Rita girl had claimed she attended the same University, so he assumed that he'd have better luck on social media. He was right. There were few Rita's, and he'd found her account in less than a minute, though it wasn't such a great discovery.
Her account had only been made months ago, so all her photos were recent. Again, lack of the Scottish accent made him assume that she was from out of town, perhaps came here for a new life and to study, like him. She uploaded photos from time to time, but wrote not much about herself. The only things he'd gathered about her was that she didn't have a specific group of friends, could be seen with different people in every photo, and she liked a bar called Henderson's. Nothing about University life, nothing about relationships or family.
Henderson's. He'd seen it before, though he'd never stopped there for a drink. In all honesty, it looked a little dodgy, the place you'd end up dead on the floor at after a bar brawl, and the staff would only mop up your blood rather than call the police. Urgh, he needed to stop thinking about death. Though it was hard not to when you were investigating one.
Okay, so this was somewhat of a dead end, but if he'd found anything, it was her local hotspot. He was bound to find something their right? Maybe it was a bit of a risky assumption, but he felt like he owed it to Rita to keep trying. The police clearly weren't doing anything, and even if he just asked around, maybe he could get some sort of clue or information as to what her relation was to Cyrus.
Beau had sat there and done nothing as she died, and he sure as hell wouldn't sit there and let the other get away with it. He'd already gone to the police, so he assumed he was already in trouble with Cyrus, so the sooner he found evidence, the better.
►►►
The next night, he'd made his way over to Henderson's. It had taken him a while to force himself out of the car and into the bar, but he'd managed to put away his fear, and he figured it was as easy as being at that art gallery. Just act as if you knew what you were doing, and no one would question you.
In his pocket, he had the most recent picture of Rita, the only picture he could find of Cyrus, his notepad and a pen. He was ready to do some digging around. He knew what he was doing, stepping on dangerous turf, foolish really, but he felt as if he needed to do this, even if he didn't really get anything out of it. It was for himself, and for Rita. It was the least he could do. He kept thinking that over and over.
It was a dimly lit kind of place. There was 80s rock in the background, and it looked like more of a biker's joint than a hotspot. Not the kind of place you'd expect to find in Scotland, but it seemed that since he arrived, things weren't turning out quite how he'd expected, and that was way before all of this. Pool table in the corner, dark booths at the side, and a hard wood bar table that looked as if it had taken a beating in its time.
He could see the spots where Rita had taken photos in. They were empty now, as if she'd taken the happiness from this place with her. He remembered her smile in each of those photos. She'd reminded him of Dahlia, of how bright she could make the darkest of times. She'd shone in every photo.
At least yesterday he was dressed for the part so that he blended in with everyone. He thought he could get away with just his casual attire, but even that was too dressy for this place. He was tense and uncomfortable, and he was regretting the idea of even being there already. He went over and sat at the bar, on a torn up old stool with leather padding. He was stupid in assuming that he could just walk in here and find clues just like that. He'd have to wait, ask around a bit.
The bar man was tatted up, looked in his mid-thirties and had a mean face, but he asked politely, "Can I get you anything, son?" He wasn't quite used to the terms of endearment used casually in most people's sentences. He'd been called love a few times before. He remembered the way Cyrus had called him 'love', the way he'd said it with such charm, and yet managed to make something so lovely sound sinister.
"Um, just tap water please," Beau responded.
The bar man looked at him as if he'd heard a joke he didn't quite get, but when he realised that he was serious, he went and got Beau just that. "Thanks," He replied anyway, before allowing his eyes to make his way around. He'd already been spotted and given the eye of amusement, judgement present in their faces. He tried to ignore it, pretend as if he were above it.
He retrieved the photo from his pocket and placed it upon the bar table before the bar man left. "Uh – excuse me, could you just take a look at this for a moment?" He asked, nibbling nervously at his bottom lip as he waited for a reaction. The man was drying glasses with an old rag, but he casually leaned over and eyed the photo. "Ye', comes in ere' a lot. Don't know much about her am' afraid, though."
"Let me take a look of that."
A man had appeared behind him, taking his breath away with his sudden appearance. He was perhaps around twenty-five, dark hair, rough around the edges but cute. Reminded him of someone in that sense. It was a face he knew too. Holy crap. He thought he'd seen him in one of Rita' photos, but wasn't sure. If he remembered correctly, he'd had his arm around her and some other guy, drinks in both his hands. He had one in his hand now, of which he lifted as some sort of a greeting gesture.
He leaned on the bar table and turned the photo around to face him. "Ay', that's Zoey. I like her. She's a laugh."
Beau's brows furrowed, and he turned to the other male. "Zoey? I thought her name was Rita."
The man shrugged, and wore something of a smile. "Who knew? She was a spontaneous kind of girl. Liked to change her name from time to time – and her hair." What was with that? Maybe Rita was her real name, but around here she liked to go by something else. Made sense. Perhaps it was in his best interests to make up a fake name just in case anyone asked of his identity.
"So you'd say you were a friend of hers?" He pressed, the other having caught his intrigue.
"No one was really her friend. She didn't get close to people – but I knew her. Better than most people in fact," He explained, before brightening his smile and examining Beau, as if he was only just seeing him, holding his hand out. He got comfortable in his place, as if he was planning to stay. "I'm Doug."
He eyed the other's hand, and eventually just took it into his own. "I'm Nolan," He replied. He'd always been fond of the name, perhaps for a child in his later life, and it was the first name that came to his head, "Nice to meet you. Uh – you mind if I show you another photo?"
"Only if you let me buy you a drink that isn't tap water," Doug responded cheekily, catching Beau off guard. He signalled the bar man by lifting to fingers up and pointing to his empty glass, without even waiting for a response from whom he was buying the drink for.
Beau's face got a little hot, but never the less, he continued. He pulled out the picture he'd printed of Cyrus and put it down next to the one of Rita. "Now have you seen these two together before? Has he ever come in here with her or have you ever seen them talking?"
Before Doug answered, he thanked the bar man who placed two glasses of a champagne coloured liquid in front of them, though he had a feeling it was anything but champagne. "Him, I've seen him before... but not with her," He commented, taking a sip of his drink, "Although I do recall her mentioning someone like him."
"Did she ever mention the name Cyrus Vaughn?"
Something in Doug perked up after she'd spoken his name, like a jolt of excitement. "Vaughn. Now that's a name I've definitely heard," He said, to Beau's relief. He pierced his eyes and turned more towards Doug, preparing for him to say more and encouraging him to elaborate.
"They're bad people they are, and Zoey – or Rita, had a thing for bad people," Doug explained, leaning in closer now so that he could speak in a hushed tone, "She mentioned that they weren't on the best of terms... she was in a lot of trouble with him." Was? He knew she was dead? "I know where she lives actually. I could take you there if you want to see her."
Oh, he knew she wouldn't be home. But if he was telling the truth, and he did know where she lived... maybe there was something at her place that could be used as evidence to prove to the police that there was a connection between the two, and if the police could take Doug's word for it... "Could you give me the address?" He asked, getting out his pen and paper.
"No need, her place is only in walking distance from here. I could take you there after our drink?" He offered again, lifting his brows.
Beau studied Doug's face carefully. He was a questionable source, but so far nothing seemed too shady. Okay, maybe everything he'd said was a shady, but it had made sense in his defence, and he knew what he saw. He didn't know what to do. How else was he going to convince the police? It was risky and foolish, and there was a possibility that he was more likely to get murdered this way than waiting for some red eyed psycho to come get him, but he'd suddenly become desperate for the truth.
"Okay, sounds good," Beau replied, taking a deep breath before allowing him to confirm with a nod.
Doug's grin grew wider. A little too wide, but it was cute never the less. "Alright. Two seconds, let me go to the men's room. You drink up." With a playful wink, the other male was off. He wasn't too sure how to take that so he just sat there and awkwardly smiled. Oh god what was he doing. No, deep breaths. He'd be okay. He knew self-defence. Kind of. There'd been one gym class that time dedicated to it. How did you throw someone over the shoulder? What did he even learn? Did he even attend? He really wished he hadn't spent so many gym classes pretending to be sick. He made it up by early morning jogs, like he did most days, but he was still working on building muscle. He was a little too on the slim side for his liking – anyway, he could handle himself, right?
He was too caught up in panicked thoughts of gym class and worst case scenarios that he barely even noticed that the stool next to him was occupied once more. But not by Doug.
He shrieked a little, almost falling back on his stool but he gained composure. His eyes quickly scanned the place. Cyrus wouldn't hurt him in front of all these people, right? Would they even come to his defence?
He stood before him, looking smug and somewhat amused. "I didn't think you'd have quite such poor taste in hang out spots. Had you down as more of a coffee shop kind of lad, but each to their own," He commented, his eyes narrowing as he went on, "Beauford Fitzpatrick, you my friend are in a lot of trouble. By the way, I'm not at all happy with the picture you've chosen for me. Terribly photographed–"
Beau got out of his seat, and tried to hurriedly walk away but Cyrus caught onto his arm. His grip was way harder than Agatha's had been, to the point that it hurt. "Sit down," He commanded, his voice low, and viscous again. He was stuck for how to respond, and now words came from his lips. He was stuttering the start of his words, unable to process actual words. His heart was beating so hard, as if trying to force its way out of his chest.
"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" Cyrus asked with a smirk, "Or did curiosity kill it before it had the chance?" He chuckled, but there was nothing happy or amusing at all about it.
Beau wanted to be impressed by his clever use of reference and applaud his wording, he was a sucker for a man who was good with his words, but considering in this scenario, and picturing himself as the cat, he couldn't find a joke in the situation. He'd gotten himself into this mess, and this was the consequence.
"What are you doing, Beau?"
"I – I'm trying to do the right thing. You killed that girl," Beau was on edge, but he managed to bring a dark edge to his voice, to try and push past the weakening effect of Cyrus' presence. That was what it was like being near him.
"And now you're trying to avenge her death. How lovely and brave of you," He spoke sarcastically before allowing his expression to portray how seriously he took this, "You wouldn't be saying that if you knew why that girl was waiting out back till you closed up and everyone was gone."
Beau's brows furrowed, "Wait, what?" What was he saying? Actually, he hadn't thought of that at all... he shouldn't have to. It didn't matter, she was the victim in the situation. She'd gotten murdered.
"I don't believe there's any time for that now because in about a minute or so that creature trying to contain himself in the utterly unhygienic bathrooms of this place is going to come out and take you somewhere he can hurt you, and we don't want that," Cyrus explained, reaching into his inner coat pocket and retrieving a small vile, filled with a putrid cloudy liquid. He uncapped the top and poured the contents into Doug's glass.
"What is that? What are you doing?" Beau stood up, pulling Cyrus' arm away, though it seemed that the other was quicker in gaining a grip on his forearm.
"If you must know, it's poison. When he takes you outside you'll be able to get rid of him and I'll be able to dispose of him, no one gets hurt, do we have a deal?"
He was going to kill Doug – wait, who was going to kill who? What the hell was going on? What did he do? "No we don't have a deal, I'm not going to let him drink that."
The frustration on Cyrus' face was deepening, and the colour of his eyes was darkening, "It's your life or his. And so help me god if you waste me saving you the first time I'm going to go to that Grandmother of yours and–."
"Don't you dare lay a finger on her, you bastard," Beau hissed back, anger boiling within him the very instant the other mentioned Agatha.
"Make him drink the poison and you and your bossy old Grandmother will be fine. And this better be the last time I have to save your life, so help me God," Cyrus released Beau's forearm, in which he held in his other hand the instant it was dropped. It was sore to such a tight grip and most probably bruised, but he didn't care. He couldn't trust Cyrus' word could he? First he threatened his life, and now he was threatening Agatha's? But he couldn't very well let him kill another person, who was supposedly going to kill him – This was too fucking much for him to handle. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
"You all ready, Nolan?" Doug asked, walking up to the bar table, picking up his drink. Oh god no, don't, he thought over and over. The rim of the glass was almost at his lips, though he paused for a moment, "I bought you that drink, don't let it go to waste." He nodded towards the drink, before tipping his own back in one go.
Beau was on the brink of having a breakdown. He just became the witness of yet another murder, and he still could have done something this time, but he chose not to, at the risk of his own life. He needed that drink. He picked it up, tipped it back and downed it the same as Doug had done. That was vile! What was that? It felt like someone had set fire his throat, or like claws were scratching at the inner walls of his neck.
"That's a lad'!" Doug cheered, patting Beau on the back, "Come on." He began guiding him towards the door, a hand placed upon his lower back, steering his way. Wasn't he supposed to pay for those drinks? Had he already? Argh, a headache kicked in because of all the questioning. Alcohol was supposed to relax him.
About five steps in, his foot became weak. A few more steps in, he got dizzy. He couldn't get drunk off just one drink could he? He blinked and rubbed his eyes, hoping that maybe if it worked when he woke up, it would sharpen his senses now, but his vision started to do the opposite.
"You're alright," Doug said, leaning in to speak in a soothing voice, "This way. I know a short cut."
They were out of the bar now, and the sky had suddenly gotten a hell of a whole lot darker. Beau felt sick in his stomach, and drowsiness began to overwhelm him. "What's happening to me?"
He heard Doug let out a little laugh, "You sure you didn't have a couple more drinks while I was gone?" He asked, only playfully teasing, though as they turned and went down the side of the building, his voice took a darker turn, "Well, either that or it's the poison you consumed."
Immediately any remnants of a smile in return to his tease faded, and he stopped. He didn't know how to respond, too hurt to react, and before he could think of anything to say, Doug was forcing him further back down the side of the Henderson's, in between another building that seemed to be out of business. No light whatsoever. He'd been in this situation once before, but now it was his turn to get killed.
"So ignorant. They think that just because you have a little magic on their side that they can get away with anything. They've forgotten about our keen sense of smell, and the fact that we have brains." Holy fucking shit.
He began stepping back faster, in hopes of escape, but before he could go any further, he reached for Beau by his neck, gaining a firm hold upon him, then slammed him hard into a wall. His feet were lifted off of the ground, yet he was too drunk with fatigue to fight back. This reminded him of the night he watched Rita die. "You didn't think I saw you talking to Vaughn. When I'm done with you, I think I'm gonna' send you back to the Wulver pack and let them know that the Hounds aren't to be messed with."
"Or, just a suggestion, you could say it to our faces. But then again you lot have never really been the type to face up to your enemies have you. Been hiding out on our land for a while now and not even a call to say Hello. Frankly, I'm quite offended."
Cyrus casually stepped forward, mocking genuine offence.
Beau was dropped onto the floor, hitting it hard, hissing to the overwhelming pain that came with his head slamming against the stone floor. He was too busy vomiting my guts out onto the ground to hear what the 'hound' said in return. He wasn't following the conversation to begin with, but boy was he glad to hear Cyrus' voice. Didn't think he'd be hearing that. No – that guy was still a killer... but he'd been right. Was he genuinely here to save him?
He glanced back up to view what was going on. Cyrus stood in a position as if he were ready to launch at the man, his red eyes glowing, providing enough light to view his altered features. He was snarling back at the Hound viciously, extended canines threatening the other. In his hand was the blade Beau had seen him kill Rita with. His frighteningly bright orbs provided enough light to see the other transformation too.
The man's torso expanded through his clothes, so that they became tight fitting, but not just because he was getting bigger, but contorted till he had the body of a beast. Displayed before him was no longer a human sight, but a beast like monster, it's skin a shade of red not quite dark enough to be considered red, it's muscles larger than he'd ever known possible. The face of the man, charming and rugged, was no longer there but before me was a long snout and long sharp teeth.
"By the way, Fitz, you owe me," Cyrus claimed, growling his words in the darkest of tones before he went at the ferocious animal without a sense of fear, attacking it with all his force and might, but judging by the size difference he doubted he'd have any chance against him, even if he was armed.
When the large clawed paw reached out for him once more, Cyrus ducked down and rolled out of reach, swiftly slicing his blade into the beast's torso during his escape of attack. It barely did much damage though as the cut was barely deep. More of a graze.
The creature turned, this time, successfully grabbing at Cyrus and flinging him back to the other side of the building. He watched the man's back contort, and from his lips was a cry of pain. And that's when Beau finally realised that Cyrus was doing this for him. He was willingly going through pain for him, and saving his life.
Was it true? Had Cyrus killed that girl for him? Was that why she'd been in that photo with Doug? Did they kill together – he was too sick, confused and horrified by the fact a man had turned into a monster to even consider these possibilities and theories, but he did need to get one thing straight. Was Cyrus one of the good guys or a bad guy?
"For God's sake, Beau! Run!" Cyrus had called out to him, occupied with fighting off a hound thoroughly engrossed and determined to beat him. Or kill him. Cyrus remained strong and ready for battle. It never stopped, the back and forth blows of attack and cries of torture from both parts, and yet still both opponents were up. That's why Doug needed to be poisoned, to weaken him, like how Beau now was weak, and numb.
He turned. He tried to make his way through the alley and back out onto the street where the moonlight reached, but his attempts at trying to leave failed. He kept stumbling when he picked himself up. He kept trying and trying, and though he stopped when his attention was distracted by the clambering of metal against stone. The dagger was out of his reach but close.
He looked back behind him. Cyrus wouldn't win without his weapon. From what he could see, the other male was holding his own, but he was struggling. He wasn't the big scary undefeatable monster now. He was the Rita in this situation. It was a crazy thought, and Beau didn't want to believe it, but it was true. It was right, the same thing was happening all over again, and this time Cyrus was going to die if he didn't help.
Maybe he could help this time. He'd been selfish all this time, putting himself and his own wellbeing and interests first. This guy claimed to have saved him – he was saving him now! Giving him the perfect chance to escape.
Cyrus pushed himself off the wall and leaped at the creature, and with one swift blow of his first, it was sent backwards. And towards me, although the space between myself and what was once a man increased as the furious hound took it's steps back towards him.
Beau considered tossing the blade towards him so that he could slay the beast with it, but if Cyrus let his guard down for one second, even just to catch it, he didn't know what would happen. Too risky. The fight was still far from over, and he took this as an opportunity to crawl himself over to the dagger. He was weak, yet he continued on. Determined to go forth with the insane plan he'd come up with. He was regretting it more and more the nearer he came to the blade.
He reached out for it, and soon he found that it was it was obtained in his shaky hold. Yes! No time to cheer – or think. The fight was heavily violent and chaotic, and he was hesitant to go near. The dagger wasn't large, nor too heavy, yet it required both his hands to pick it up off the floor and hold out in front of him. With every step he took, he swayed, but yet he regained enough balance to take another.
The beast was flung towards him, and he stumbled backwards. Luckily, it hadn't noticed him, and launched itself forward at Cyrus again. He had to do this. If Cyrus managed to escape this, he may kill him for failing my task, he wasn't exactly doubting that, but he knew that it was the right thing to do. He'd mentioned his Grandmother too. He wouldn't hurt her? He'd spare them, right? They were even now? But this kind of thought fuelled his anger, to strengthen his and gain him a rush of thrill and might to push him towards the beast. He was running towards it, not fast, but running none the less. He lifted both his arms, allowing the dagger to rise up in the air before thrusting the blade down upon the other man's back, sinking deep into him.
A cry of sheer pain escaped its mouth. When Beau pulled the dagger back out, the animal had reduced. It had not fallen to its knees, but it had altered into a weaker state. Blood poured out onto himself, the dagger leaking the beast's contents down his wrists, covering me in him the deep red substance. The man appeared muscular and strong, but he was in a state in which he could not carry himself in, much like his own.
Cyrus came forwards towards the man, and he was given a sense of pride, but unfortunately he was passed out on the floor before he could see him go forth with snapping the other's neck, finishing the kill.
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[ plowing through the chapters to get to where we left off in the story. the art gallery scene has already happened, as has the saving of Cyrus so... expect the romance to be starting right around now. oh and no more whiny "you saved me but you're still a killer" B.S. you're welcome <3 ]