The sound of fists hammering against metal clanged loudly around the yard.
Rounding the rear of the lorry, I leaned against the side watching Harper as he laid his forehead against the cool aluminum, his face twisted in pure rage. With a cry of anger, he hit the truck again and whirled round slamming his back against it, his eyes tightly screwed shut.
"If you keep doing that, you'll end up with broken fingers," I commented, raising an eyebrow. "And surely hitting Garrick in the face would be more satisfactory than hitting a truck? A truck can't beg you to stop after all?"
"And get a gun pressed against my temple? I don't think so." Harper shook his head and turned round, raising a fist to strike out again but I was already at his side, catching his wrist in my grasp.
It was never a good idea to get within close proximity when he was this angry, to see that fury all pent up and desperate to be released. I'd seen it often enough. Hell, I'd even experienced it first hand and worn the bruises as proof. But things were different now. I was different. And I wasn't about to let him bloody his knuckles for no reason.
He glared at me. "What do you want, Megan?"
I raised his reddened hand to my lips and kissed the skin there, coveting the hard handsome lines of his face. "You," I said. "Just you."
His eyes widened as I snaked a hand around his neck and pulled his head down, crushing my mouth against his. For a few agonising seconds, he didn't respond, it was just me left adrift as I poured out all my want against him and then finally, thankfully, his lips parted and his tongue found mine, and I knew immediately that he was just as hungry as I was. My kiss was returned hard, pressed forcefully against my lips and I could feel his anger and frustration like a searing burn upon my skin.
Pulling away from him, I grabbed at the handle of the lorry's cab and wrenched open the door, using the step to haul myself up. Turning, I looked back at Harper, running my eyes over his questioning gaze, the rage still clearly visible as it spotted his cheeks scarlet.
"Well? Are you getting in or are you going to stand out there all night with your bad mood and your hard-on?"
"In there?" He gestured to the darkened cab. "You're serious?"
"Deadly." I smiled and ran a tongue over one elongated incisor. "You owe me, Cain. You didn't really think that I wouldn't call in that debt, did you?"
I didn't wait for him to answer, instead I disappeared into the lorry, stepping deftly over the gearbox and dropping into the back of the cab where a long cushioned leather seat stretched from one side to the other. When I heard the door slam behind and a dark shadow fell over me, cast by the moon as it shone through the windscreen, I smiled again only this time to myself, enjoying the little kick of pleasure his compliance gave me.
Slumping onto the seat, my arm stretched along the top of the upholstered leather, I watched in silent anticipation as Harper climbed into the back, his tall six foot frame towering over me. He hesitated, his face uncharacteristically wary. Something about this was unsettling him, the uneasy tension in his eyes clearly at odds with the firmness that strained against his jeans.
Leaning forward, I hooked my fingers over his waistband and tugged him towards me, deftly working the buttons of his fly and eliciting a small exhale of breath when I saw just how hard he was. Lifting the hem of his shirt, I pressed my mouth to the taut, honed muscle of his stomach, leaving a trail of kisses downwards to the soft dark hair that curled under his navel. Pulling back, I ran my fingertips very slowly over the same path my lips had followed, stopping briefly to linger over that dragon tattoo that curled menacingly around his hip bone. With a smile, I rubbed a thumb lightly over his erection, hearing him groan and thrust his hips forward, wanting more than the maddening, teasing strokes of my fingers as I merely grazed the fabric of his underwear. When I increased the pressure, he swayed a little and had to steady himself by pushing his hands against the roof of the cab and I glanced up to see that the anxiety still hadn't dissipated from his eyes. In fact, if anything he looked nervous, the frustration clearly playing out on his features.
This was new. I'd seen him rattled before, but not when we were together like this, never when we were like this. He was always the confident one. The brazen one. And no matter how much I tried to pretend I was the same, there was no doubting his arrogance whenever things got heated. This was his stage and he was the star player, acting out every fantasy his dark mind could think of. And yet now, I felt like our roles had reversed and I was the one leading the show, which thrilled me and unnerved me all at the same time.
Taking the reins, I continued undeterred as I slowly peeled his tight boxers from his skin, my lips parting in heady excitement as I revealed more and more of him that ached to be released. Sensing that his tension was at fever pitch, I wasted no more time teasing him and gripping the base of his erection, I took him into my mouth, letting my lips move up and down his shaft expertly. He hissed a response, jerking his hips with every subtle sweep of my tongue over his sensitive tip. When he removed one of his hands from above his head and curled his fingers into my hair, urging me not to stop, I knew I was defeating whatever internal struggle had been bothering him. I let my mouth work him over again and again, desperately trying to ignore the insistent throbbing between my thighs as I listened to his breath quickening when I increased my pace. He whispered my name and I couldn't stand it any longer. Pulling him down onto the seat, I stood in front of him, quickly unbuttoning my shirt and shrugging it off my shoulders, feeling the chill inside the cab tickling at my skin.
I felt the tingle of his eyes as they lowered to my breasts, before they dropped lower, widening once again when he caught the movement of my hands as I toyed playfully with the zipper on my jeans. Slicking my tongue across my lower lip, I eased the soft denim over my hips, feeling the heat pool in the base of my stomach when I realised his eyes were firmly fixed to that point, watching me intensely as I pushed the fabric down to my ankles. Stepping out of my jeans and kicking them to one side, I straddled him easily, trembling as he ran his fingers, slowly, languidly, up my spine, sending little shockwaves of pleasure rippling over my naked body.
Gently, his fingertips brushed along my collarbone, caressing my neck which he then kissed with a warm, open mouth. I pushed my groin against him and arched my back as I felt his hardness against my most tender point. One hand travelled to my hips which he used to hold me at bay, the other traced a hot line down to one of my breasts, rubbing his thumb slowly over my nipple, teasing it almost to the point of pain before he lowered his head and soothed it with soft kisses and lazy strokes of his tongue.
I groaned and raised myself up on my knees, grabbing the hand that held my hip so firmly and pushed it between my thighs, knitting his index and middle fingers together and forcing him to touch me there.
"Fuck, Megan." He whispered my name again, his fingers moving in a circular motion, needing no real guidance from my own hand that still held his there, instinctively gripping him harder when I needed him to increase the pressure. My hips began to move back and forth rhythmically with the speed of his fingers and I only removed my hand from his when he easily pushed his fingers inside me and I grasped the back of the seat either side of his broad shoulders. As he eased them inside deeper and then deeper still, he flicked his thumb over my clit, the quick movement making me gasp out loud. When he did it again, I knew I couldn't stop the heat from erupting and I pushed myself down, forcing his fingers inside me as far as they could go, his thumb pressed firmly against me as I came, throbbing hard against his hand.
Not wanting to lose momentum yet barely stopping to catch my breath, I reached down and gripped him in my palm, massaging him there before raising myself up and guiding him right to the point that yearned for him. There was that sweet stinging resistance, before my body relaxed, yielding to him as he filled me completely. He slid one hand down my back, clutching my behind and squeezing me hard. Grabbing his other hand, the one he had used to make me come, I held it to my lips, flicking my tongue over the fingertips still slick with my wetness, before taking them in my mouth and sucking firmly from tip to base. His eyes never left mine and when I removed his fingers, I still held his hand there, kissing his open palm before nuzzling at the thin skin of his wrist, almost hypnotised by the delicious quickening of his pulse.
Harper's lips parted in silent awe, revealing the tips of his incisors, as my own scratched at the skin, shooting him a grin before plunging them into his flesh and feeling that first hot rush of blood flow into my waiting mouth. He bucked underneath me and I just sucked harder, enjoying the ecstasy clearly evident in his eyes. When he pulled his hand away, I almost moaned in frustration and want until he found my nipple again and lowered his head, pressing his mouth to the swell of my breast. His teeth pierced my flesh and I issued a growl of pure pleasure, grinding my hips hard against his and digging my nails into the leather seat as his tongue licked voraciously at the wound. I felt the warm trickle of blood as it snaked down my breast, seeping over his fingers as they worked tirelessly at my nipple, before moving to the other and doing the same, forcing me to suck in a breath.
Harder and faster I moved against him, inhaling the scent of our blood, perspiration, oil and old leather. Clasping the back of my neck, he pulled my head towards his, his mouth finding mine and kissing me hard, the taste of our blood on each other's tongues. When the warmth began to surge between my thighs, spreading heat upwards in waves, I wrenched my mouth from his, but still held him close, locking eyes with him as I came. I wanted him to watch me as I did so, I wanted to watch him as he followed my lead, hissing out a curse as he lifted up his hips, unable to keep still as he jerked and throbbed inside me.
When it was done, we remained locked together, breathing hard, feeling those last delicious pulses of pleasure slowly dissipate. Tenderly he stroked back a lock of hair that had stuck to the perspiration peppering my forehead and brushed his lips very gently against mine.
"You know, I think Lucius was wrong about you," he murmured, running his tongue lightly along my top lip, making the skin tingle.
"How so?" I replied.
"You're no angel," he said. "No angel could possibly intoxicate me the way you do. This must be the Devil's work."
I shivered on hearing those words as if saying it out loud would lure the malevolent spirits that lurked in the dark seas of purgatory, dragging them to the surface in search of anyone who spoke His name. Pulling Harper closer, I buried my face in his neck, his tight embrace doing little to ward off the chill that now rippled up my spine.
**********
We lay on the long leather seat in the back of the cab, both pretending that the cold of the winter's night creeping into the lorry was forcing us to remain wrapped together, seeking warmth in each other's embrace when truthfully, I think we would have sought that embrace no matter what the temperature. I nestled against Harper's chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart and enjoying the tingle in my scalp as his fingers raked through my tousled locks.
I had dressed quickly afterwards, blaming the chill, but hadn't resisted when he had pulled me back down onto the seat so I was laying half on top of him, our legs entangled and his arms wrapped tightly around me. It was some time before either of us dared to speak, both silently coming down from the high.
I traced my fingers lightly over the numerous tattoos on his neck, wondering if they had some significance to him, some lasting memory from his human life. It struck me, that until tonight; I really had known nothing about him at all. He had always been my killer, my maker, the one I was meant to hate and yet somehow, without even realising it, the dynamics between us had changed and although I wanted to keep hating him, try as I might, I found I could not. There was a sense of calm in the eye of the storm, some small space where I felt at peace. The irony wasn't lost on me that I had found some kind of strange sanctuary within the arms of the very man who had brought my whole world crashing down around my ears.
"There are times when I wish I had taken you up on your offer," he said finally, emitting a deep, exhausted sigh.
I wrinkled my brow in confusion. "What offer?"
"When you asked me to leave with you. To take the boy and run as fast and as far away from all this chaos as we could get."
I remembered then, back in the asylum, before the meeting at the cemetery, before the Cleansing, before Brandon. It never dawned on me that he might regret saying no. He had seemed so sure at the time, so certain that our place was with Garrick and the others.
"You wouldn't really leave Garrick though?" I frowned. "I mean, I know you're angry with him right now...."
He stiffened underneath me. "Angry doesn't even cut it."
"How on earth did a Varúlfur become one of Garrick's contacts anyway? And why does he trust him?"
"This one is...different...admittedly. Not all Varúlfur have what it takes to tow the line. Some get cut adrift because the clan doesn't see them as strong enough. Oh, they might be all about the family, but the whelps get put out to pasture if they don't make the grade. And then there are the ones who fight the system. The ones who get so caught up in their human lives that they end up distancing themselves from the clan completely. You saw it yourself with Brandon. I wonder how close he got to choosing his human life, before Walter and Noble pulled him back into the fold? Anyway, this other Varúlfur, Garrick's contact, is one of those who managed to break free from the clan. He chose his human life over the beast but that doesn't mean he is not one. Underneath the facade, he is still one of them."
"I don't understand why Garrick would put any faith in this one? Despite breaking free as you say, surely this Varúlfur would not turn against his own kind or put them in any kind of danger? Garrick is talking about an ambush, after all. He means to slaughter them. Would this Varúlfur really allow that to happen?"
"Well I'm glad at least someone shares my concerns," he said, planting a soft kiss on my forehead. "To be fair, this one has come good in the past with certain information. He claims to have no direct contact with the clans having been cut adrift some time ago, but he knows enough to be useful when the time calls for it. But this....this is a precarious situation to say the least, because if he's wrong, we'll be marching ourselves right into an ambush, never mind staging one of our own."
"And there's a chance this all could be a set-up anyway?"
"Exactly," he said, gruffly.
It was my turn to sigh and I nestled further into his embrace, inhaling his musky scent and picking thoughtfully at a loose thread on the neck of his shirt.
"There is one way we might find out whether this Varúlfur is trust-worthy or not," I said, the idea suddenly snaking its way into my head.
"Good old-fashioned torture?" Harper replied, a note of hopeful humour in his tone.
I chuckled in response. "Put away the thumb screws, Cain. No, actually I was thinking of a far less violent method."
"I don't think I like the sound of this," he retorted. "I've always found violence to be a highly effective method of extracting the right kind of information. Plus it's damn good fun."
"Whilst I'm not denying it has its merits on occasion, I'm not sure it will work or is even necessary in this case. After all, don't forget we are fortunate to have someone who knows many of the faces of the Walter and Noble establishment. Someone who might be able to recognise this rogue Varúlfur and say for certain whether or not he is true to his word."
I lifted my head and grinned at him.
His eyes widened. "You're not serious?"
"You keep asking me that tonight. I wasn't aware I was that much of a joker."
"You're not, which is why I feel the need to check whether or not you mean the things you say." He raised himself up on his elbows, forcing me to sit up also. "Megan, there's no guarantee you will recognise this guy, but what if he recognises you? It's too dangerous, I won't risk you again."
"Come on, it makes perfect sense. I don't even have to meet him myself. Garrick could take me to where he is, if I could just get a good look at him, I might be able to name him. It's the only way we will know for sure."
Harper had no time to answer when a sharp rapping on the driver's window made us both flinch and turn sharply in the direction of the noise. The door opened a few inches and a voice filtered in through the gap.
"If you two have quite finished?"
Garrick.
Stepping down from the cab, with Harper close behind, I found Garrick leaning against the lorry, his arms folded across his chest and his face turned skywards as if casually drinking in the star-lit sky above. When he lowered his gaze to look at me, his expression was pensive, something unreadable flickered across his eyes before he replaced it quickly with a brash smile.
"Nothing quite like a romantic moonlit interlude," he said. "Although I never had either of you down as the romantic type. At least not when you're together." He cast his eyes over Harper warily. "Are you done now? Can we at least discuss this civilly?"
"You're in the wrong town if you're looking for civility. Maybe even the wrong lifetime." Harper sniffed but held his brother's steady gaze.
"Quite possibly," shrugged Garrick. "But after all these years, I would hope that you would at least grant me the honour of hearing what I have to say before you have one of your monumental hissy fits?"
Harper sucked in a breath and clenched his fists. I laid a placating hand on his chest, before shooting a warning glare at Garrick.
"Stop it," I hissed. "Do you really think anyone in there needs to see you at each other's throats? How is that going to help them? You want your army, Garrick, then you need to make them believe that those at the helm are in perfect control of the situation and right now, neither of you could organise a piss-up in a bloody brewery, let alone an attack on the Varúlfur clan leaders. Get it together, for goodness sake, both of you."
The silence that followed echoed around the yard. Garrick's eyes widened momentarily, before shaking his head and emitting a low chuckle. He pointed at Harper, a small smirk on his lips.
"Just so you know, I'm blaming you for her," he chided, playfully.
Harper returned his smirk with one of his own. "Guilty as charged." He looked down for a moment, kicking at the dirt with his boot and sending clouds of dust whirling around his feet. When he looked up again, he glanced at me, running his emerald eyes over my face before turning back to Garrick. "Okay," he sighed. "Look, if what he's told you is correct, then I'm behind this all the way. We'll never get another chance like this. I don't want us to run for the rest of our infernal lives, any more than you do. I'd rather risk everything taking them down than continue to live like vermin. But, I need more assurances that this is genuine, that we're not about to walk everyone into a trap and make the Varúlfur's lives a hell of a lot easier by rounding us up in one spot, rather than having to chase us across London."
"Come on, Harper," urged Garrick. "You know him. You know how he has helped us in the past. What more assurances can I give to you?"
"You can't give me any assurances," Harper shot back. "But Megan might be able to."
Garrick frowned. "I don't understand?"
I took a deep breath. "I know the clan," I explained. "I know many of their faces, their names even. If he's a northern Varúlfur, which I'm assuming he is, then chances are that I might know him."
Garrick raked his fingers through his hair, mussing it up so it curled down one side of his face. "I don't know, Megan. He's been out of the clan for quite a while now."
"Does he know Brandon?"
"Every Varúlfur in London knows Brandon. He's is Vánagandr, remember?"
"I know that, but if he knows of this meeting between the clan leaders, then he clearly has some contact with the clan itself. Now, that's either a concern or it isn't. We need to rule that out. If you could take me to where he is, maybe I can identify him; work out his connections within the clan?"
Harper stepped forward, closing the stilted distance between them. "Look, I have to admit, I was dubious at first, but Megan could be onto something here. She's the only one of us who knows the clan inside out. She's met most of them and the ones she hasn't met will be the younglings, and Philippe definitely isn't one of those."
As soon as the name left his lips, my head snapped up to look at him, my mouth dropping open in utter shock.
"Philippe?" I stammered. "You're sure that's his name?"
"Yeah," said Harper, narrowing his eyes. "He has a restaurant north of the river. You know him?"
"Do I know him?" I croaked, feeling my mouth go instantly dry. "Yes, I know him. He used to work at the firm; he left a few years ago to set up his own brasserie. The only person within the clan that he had any connections with was Brandon."
"Fuck it," snapped Harper, his eyes blazing at Garrick. "You mean to tell me we're in cahoots with Vánagandr's best buddy?"
"No, no," I quickly interjected. "You don't understand. Philippe was completely cut adrift from Walter and Noble. Initially Brandon was the only one who stuck by him, we used to eat at his restaurant sometimes, but after a while, we stopped going as much. Then not long after our last anniversary, we stopped going altogether. I didn't know why at the time, but when I eventually pressed Brandon about it, he confessed that they'd had a huge row. Apparently he'd asked Philippe to come back and Philippe had point blank refused. He was happy; he couldn't understand why Brandon couldn't see that whereas Brandon thought he was an idiot. There was a lot of money involved, a big salary, a top notch pay packet. He acted as if he was offended that Philippe hadn't taken him up on his offer. All I know is that it got heated and I got the impression there was some kind of fight."
"Physical?" Garrick quizzed.
"Yeah I think so," I nodded. "Brandon never said as much but whatever happened between them, it wasn't pretty. He never mentioned him after that, as far as I knew, that was it."
"So you're saying there's a chance that Philippe is genuine? That he's not playing us at all?" Garrick said.
"Well I guess there's only one way to find out." I looked at them both steadily. "Let's go have another chat with Lucius' Gruffalo Man."