Growing up as a care-home kid, I got used to being alone very early on in life.

Although I'd had some wonderful years with my pretend-dad, I never once lost connection with the orphan child that I had once been, the one that I became again after he died. Wind me up and I would have started singing Hard-Knock Life as if the lyrics were second nature to me. It didn't matter where I ended up, which care home, which foster family, I had always felt endlessly alone.

Ever since I had fallen into the proverbial rabbit hole and had discovered that my story was not your typical care-home kid tale, I'd wanted answers. Most nights, when the voices that whispered to me from beyond the Gates made room in my head for something other than their plaintive cries and twisted screams, what filled that space was questions, questions, and more agonising, unanswered bloody questions.

And now, I was close. So close. Closer than I ever imagined I would get. One step closer to the being that had created me. One step nearer to the being I thought had abandoned me to this Hell of never-knowing. Closer to the one person who could give me the answers I so desperately sought; who could maybe stop me from feeling so alone.

So, why did I suddenly wish I could run away? Leave the nun to her tiny room, her tiny bed and tiny armchair. Speak not one word more with her and just flee this place with its whitewashed walls and wooden Messiah's.

Sister Agnes, with tired eyes that still harnessed enough energy to spot what I wished to remain hidden, sat back, her body so small and frail that even the small armchair looked like it could easily swallow her whole.

"I knew a child like you once," she said, a small smile puckering the already-wrinkled skin around her mouth.

"Not quite like me, I'm sure." I raised a brow and ran my tongue over one withdrawn incisor.

"One or two notable differences, of course," she replied. "But she had that same look in her eyes. That same air of doubt and fear. She was a foster-child, passed from one family to the next and then, at the age of twelve, she had the chance to be adopted by a wonderful couple, to have that loving home she always wanted and yet the very notion of it filled her with fear. To spend your whole life wondering what if, to build that idea into an unattainable fantasy, well, I should imagine that to finally get it must seem like a daunting prospect?"

"Sister Agnes, with respect, if I find Michael, he's not going to suddenly adopt me, he's not going to be the family I always wanted. I've already found my family now."

The Sister made a dismissive gesture, waving her hand like she was swatting away a fly that had ventured too close. "They are not your family, child. To be with them is not why you are here."

"So why am I here exactly?" I retorted, feeling the anger scald like a cigarette burn to the skin. "To defeat Lucifer? To stop him from opening those Gates? To do Michael's job?"

"Whether you like it or not, you were created for a single purpose: to act in his stead should he be prevented from carrying out his duties."

"So I'm some kind of fail-safe device that kicks in if something happens to Michael?" I gripped a handful of blanket in my fists then felt ashamed I had crumpled the pristinely made bed and quickly smoothed over it. "Look," I sighed. "I can get my head around this crazy notion that Michael somehow made me what I am and that I can harness his powers in Purgatory to help those waiting Judgement. I can understand that he did all this just in case something ever happened to him. But what I don't get is, how did he know? You said yourself Lucifer tried to persuade you not to follow the path that Michael had put in place for you. So how did Michael know that you and I would eventually meet? Because that would mean he must have known that something would happen to him. Surely an Archangel of all beings, should be able to prevent something he knows might happen to him in the future?"

Sister Agnes went back to rubbing her thumb over the surface of the small wooden cross. "Miss Garrick, it is not my place to ask questions, just, to do. But there is one thing I can tell you: there are fixed moments in time that no one can alter, not even the Archangels themselves, events that have been set in stone, maybe even from the very first instance of creation itself."

"Some things just are," I murmured, recalling the haunting words of both Lucius and Lucifer.

"Yes," she confirmed, with a nod. "Then of course, there are those moments that are open to influence, whether by man or Archangel, demon or angel. Michael might not have been able to prevent what would befall him, but he was able to set in place measures to stop the Devil from getting what he wants. Unfortunately it is those measures that can be subject to influence. Lucifer tried with me and failed. He has tried with you and will continue to do so. And he will try with others, maybe even those you know, which is why it is imperative that you find Michael and quickly."

"Easier said than done when you don't have a clue where to even start," I remarked dryly.

"He will be there, child. Have faith. Think. There must be somewhere beyond the Gates, maybe somewhere Lucifer would not want you to go?"

"Wait," I said, feeling my throat go suddenly dry. "Michael is in Purgatory? But Sister, that's impossible. Josiah searched for him, he said that Michael wasn't there."

"Preposterous!" She dismissed the idea with a wrinkle of her nose. "Mr. Hope's sight only reaches so far. Some places are far beyond the limits of a seer's powers. Places where only Archangels and the Devil's captains can go, for instance. Trust me when I say that Michael is there, it is the only place where Lucifer and his demons could hide him, but it will be somewhere unseen to your eye."

I laughed. "Sister Agnes, Purgatory is like a maze and there are many places that I haven't yet seen. In fact, I doubt I've even touched on the realms that Michael and Lucifer have created there. It could take me forever to explore them all."

She wagged one bent, bony finger at me. "This would be no ordinary realm. It would be somewhere that Lucifer considers special, somewhere he would spend a lot of time, somewhere he would not veer too far from. He would hate to be too far away from his prize! Maybe even somewhere he could look upon Michael in his prison, where he could rejoice in the subjugation of the great General himself. Think, child! You must know this place!"

And I did think, but my mind was awash with images of the Garrick-demon, of oil-slick framed mirrors and rows upon rows of endless books stretching up into the indigo sky. I felt myself deflate as I sat on the edge of the bed, like I might sink to the floor and never have the strength to rise again.

"I have to go back, don't I?" I said meekly, the weight of that knowledge grinding me down even further.

Raising the rosary to her lips, Sister Agnes kissed the small wooden cross and her eyes, nestled deep in her thin, wrinkled face, emanated a warmth and kindness that seemed to illuminate the tiny room like a hundred church candles.

"Child, fear not the shadows beyond the Gates, for it is Michael's realm as well as Lucifer's. Remember that you belong there. See beyond what it appears to be. See beyond what even your own eyes show you. See beyond who you think you are. Feel. That is what you must do. Feel. Stop thinking so much on your fear because it disables you from carrying out your duties. Feel strong. Feel faith. Know that you are of Michael and that Lucifer and his demons fear you because they sense your power. You can find Michael and you will, you just need to believe that you can, my dear."

"Another thing that's easier said than done."

"And another preposterous statement! I'm starting to think it's not Lucifer and his captains that you need to fear, it is your own inner demons that are the biggest danger to you! Your lack of faith in yourself is holding you back, Miss Garrick. It always has. Pull up your socks and stiffen your backbone, girl, you don't have time to feel sorry for yourself any longer."

I balked at her words. "I'm not sure a nun is meant to talk like that?"

"Child, I have lived on this earth a lot longer than you. I have witnessed a great many wondrous and terrible things. I am old, I am tired and now I have lived to see out my duty to Michael and to God, my time draws near, so I think I have earned the right to talk any way I please, yes?"

The stern look that cast shadows across her soft, papery skin did not last long, before it was replaced with a kind smile and she reached out her hands, motioning for me to take them. I did without reticence, feeling a sense of calm sweep through me as she grasped my hands in hers and I slid easily to the floor, kneeling at her feet.

"Ah," she said. "It is I who should kneel, but forgive me, my joints are not as well-oiled as they once were." With one small hand, she laid her palm flat against my cheek and I couldn't prevent the tear from slipping freely down my face, which she deftly rubbed away with the pad of her thumb. "Cry not, dear girl. A weighty task you carry on your shoulders, but remember it was one you were born to do. Free yourself from doubt and you will prevail." Her hand moved to cup my chin gently. "So much strength lies behind your eyes, child. So much blessed power yet untapped, you truly do not understand just what you are capable of, but you will. You will."

As I struggled to know what to say, Sister Agnes' eyes seemed to glaze over and her head turned almost robotically towards the view out of the window, where the moon fought to free itself from the binding choke-hold of the heavy clouds.

"They are here," she said, her voice a flat, dead monotone and for a moment, the candles flickered as if a gentle breeze had brushed at the tiny flames. Her hands dropped away and she instantly retrieved the rosary beads resting on her lap, clutching them to her chest.

"Sister Agnes?" I whispered. "Who's here?"

Her gaze drifted slowly back to me. "Why, his hounds of course. The Devil's hounds."

When footsteps clattered up the narrow staircase outside and the door burst inwards, I expected to see some great Baskerville beast, with glowing eyes and lethal jaws, but instead Harper filled the doorway, his face animated with urgency.

"Megan, we have to go now. The Varúlfur are here, Brandon is with them."

Jumping to my feet, I practically threw myself at the window, straining to look down at the street below and there, standing on the other side of Hyde Park Place where the street ran parallel to the park, was at least ten Varúlfur in human form. And in the centre of them all, his dark unruly curls brushed back off his face, was Brandon, his arms folded across his chest as he watched the convent. I sucked in a breath, not just because he had come to the do the job I had assumed Lucifer's demons would carry out, but because by his side, in his long black woolen coat and black fedora, was Drachmann, the strange man enlisted as a go-between during the deal with Garrick, Lucifer and Walter and Noble.

Almost as soon as the image of the strange man hit my eyes and exploded in my brain, as soon as I focused on him, Drachmann raised his head and looked straight at me. The coldness of his smile sent a chill spiking right through my veins.

Michael.

That voice in my head was as immobilising as the first time I'd heard it at the old Jewish cemetery.

He mouthed something and Brandon's attention switched from the door of Tyburn, following Drachmann's intrusive gaze right up to the window of Sister Agnes' room. I drew back with a gasp.

"Your friend is right, you must go now," the nun said.

I whirled around to face her, feeling crestfallen. "I can't just leave you here!"

"Oh, I am quite safe, don't you worry. They are not here for me. The time for that is gone now that I have fulfilled my purpose. I am no use to them anymore. It is you that they want, it is you that they have come for. You must go. Mother Hildegarde will show you through the garden at the back of the convent, there is a way there you can go."

Clasping her hand, I leant down and planted a kiss on her soft knuckles. "Thank you, Sister. Thank you."

She smiled, turning my hand over and coiling the beads of the rosary into my palm and closing it into a fist around them. "Find him, child."

"I will," I promised.

As I neared the door where Harper waited, Sister Agnes called out, her voice cutting through the panicked tension that engulfed me.

"Remember what I said, Miss Garrick, you are not here for them. You were created for one purpose in life and one purpose only." I flinched when I caught her gaze fix on Harper. "Forget that and I'm afraid, all will be quite lost."

********

"What was that all about?" Harper said as we ran down the stairs, our heavy footsteps echoing up the stairwell.

"No idea," I breathed, shoving the beads into my jacket pocket. "Did you call Edward?"

Edward, Benjamin's compadre from the old days, had joined us on our trip to central London, taking Charlie with him and with Clayton and Maggie in another of Fenton's vans and they had been navigating the streets nearby, waiting to escort us back to the base. Knowing that reaching our car was completely out of the question, I could only hope that Edward and the others weren't too far away.

"Fenton called him as soon as we realised we had company, he said the area is crawling with them, he had to take a diversion to avoid their scouts but he's on his way back now."

Waiting at the bottom of the stairs, Fenton stood with Mother Hildegarde. Any previous discomfort he had felt was gone, replaced with a look of steely determination - and I was surprised to note - an air of exhilaration about him. While I was buzzing with nothing but near-crippling nerves, Fenton was clearly buzzing with adrenalin that lit up his eyes and made his skin practically glow.

Mother Hildegarde, however, appeared to have caught whatever anxiety Fenton had displayed when we first entered Tyburn and she stood wringing her hands, her face flushed and a thin sheen of perspiration glistening on her forehead. As soon as she saw us, she turned on her heels and took off down the corridor, away from the entrance hall.

"Come on," urged Fenton and we fell into pace beside him, although none of us moved faster than Mother Hildegarde, whose soft shoes squeaked furiously against the polished floors as she led us through the convent. Soon we reached a corridor with large wide windows that overlooked a well-tended garden area, which was illuminated by small solar lights that marked out the edges of the closely-cut lawn and pathways.

Pushing through a door, the nun entered the garden and we followed close behind. The cold night air soon enveloped me as I left the building and I could hear the sound of the traffic beyond the high walls, strangely muted by the peaceful atmosphere that seemed to pervade the convent garden. As we rushed along the winding pathway that curved through the copse of trees, I felt suddenly bereft at the thought of having to leave this place with its faintly-bleached floors and silent halls – that silence that I couldn't bear when I'd first walked through its doors and yet now, didn't want to be without. Tyburn was the calm, surrounded by a city of chaos and fear and I didn't want to go back out there and face it.

Soon we had reached a small arched gate to the rear of the garden, half hidden by an overgrown patch of tall thorny shrubs that looked as if they had resisted many attempts to be tamed. Retrieving an ornate-looking key from her pocket, Mother Hildegarde fumbled as she tried to find the lock, the key clacking loudly against the door. Pushing past Harper, I grabbed her hand to steady it, gently guiding the key and turning it. As soon as the lock clicked open, Mother Hildegarde snatched back her hand and I noticed how she clutched it to her body, rubbing at it gingerly as if my touch had burned her skin.

Whatever had been said during my time with Sister Agnes, I had no idea, but all Mother Hildegarde's pleasant joviality from earlier had completely disappeared. I could sense the fear emanating from her and I couldn't work out whether she wanted us out because we had brought danger to their door or because she thought that we were the danger. Whatever the reason, I knew she needed us gone and I felt a touch of sadness to know our presence here had created such anxiety in the once warm and chatty nun.

Inching open the door, Harper peered out of the gate before giving us the nod to follow. Trailing Fenton through the gap, I stopped briefly to glance back at the nun who had stepped well back to let us pass.

"Mother Hildegarde? I said, in a hushed whisper. "I'm so sorry. Thank you."

She nodded, her mouth set into a thin grim line. "Yes, yes," she squeaked, ushering me out with a frantic wave of her hands. "Now please, go, go."

With a heart weighed down with a heavy sadness, I did as she said and followed Harper and Fenton out into the street beyond, hearing the gate slam so hard that the vibrations rippled down my back. The entrance to the garden was shrouded by a number of trees that lined an alleyway that ran half the length of the convent grounds.

"Great," I mumbled, stopping to glance furtively up and down the narrow space. "Now what? Do we wait here until Edward comes back?"

"Sure," said Fenton, turning right down the alley. "You can wait here and get bottlenecked in by a pack of Varúlfur scum. Maybe she'll let you back in when they start ripping you to pieces and you still have one arm left attached to your body to pummel against the door. Personally, I'm going to take my chances out there and find Edward."

"I see you've recovered from your previous nun-induced meltdown," I remarked dryly, hearing Harper snort beside me.

Shooting me a dangerous glare, Fenton slowed partway down before his head disappeared through a gap in the fence, and with one hand raised, he crooked his finger, gesturing for us to follow. The small gap he'd discovered in the wire fence, opened up to reveal the end of a cul-de-sac but no sooner had I pushed on the fence to follow Fenton through, than I heard a shout coming from further down the alleyway. Turning in alarm, I was alarmed to see two Varúlfur at the far end, breaking into a run as they spotted us.

"Fuck," hissed Harper, pushing me through the gap, so the cut ends of the wire snagged on the arms of Garrick's jacket. "Go!"

The fabric resisted for a second before I managed to wriggle through, hearing the distinctive rip of material and feeling a tickle of cold air on my arm underneath. Cursing, I tumbled through to the other side with Harper close behind me and we set off after Fenton, who was already racing up the street, with his mobile phone held close to his ear.

"Stoutcliffe Street," Fenton shouted back. "Just off Edgware Road, it's not far."

From behind us, I could hear the raised voices of the Varúlfur scouts and the static of radios and my heart sank like a stone when I realised it wouldn't be long before the others converged on the convent. The idea of being surrounded by Varúlfur in this rabbit warren of alleys and backstreets filled me with panic and yet spurred me on, giving me that kick of speed that I needed until I was side by side with Fenton and with Harper close behind, as we turned into the next street.

It was a busier road than the last, stretching back towards Hyde Park and north towards Connaught Square and I took heart in the faces and bodies that we passed, knowing that it would take a whole heap of bravado for the Varúlfur to continue their hunt here.

That shaky sense of assurance was fleeting however when I picked up the sound of running footsteps from a number of directions and glanced back to realise that not only were the two Varúlfur still following us, but with a grim determination dogging their faces, I saw some of the others who I'd seen outside the convent and in amongst them, Brandon himself. All the while, as he dodged and side-stepped those in his path, his dark eyes remained fixed upon me.

Even when I quickly looked away to concentrate on the route ahead, I could still feel his stare and my mind crowded with images of another hunt – the very first of them all, when Harper and I had fled my old home, with Brandon, Daniel and the others on our heels. I could still taste the fear that I had felt then, that unexplainable terror that had coursed through my veins. That terror had crushed, squeezed and pummeled at me as I'd ran, feeling like the Devil was at my back, yet seeing my husband's face and confused as to why I feared him so much.

I knew why I feared him now and hated myself for it; hated that the knowledge of what he really was spiked so much panic into my gut, hated that his last words to me had the power to hold that fear in place. I didn't want to believe that he would carry out his promise, but seeing him push his way past pedestrians, running ahead of the rest of his clan, I realised just how much things had changed and not just with him, but with them and us.

This is what it had come to: being pursued through the streets of London in full view of anyone. This was how the dynamics had altered very much in their favour, how the beasts had become so sure of themselves and their power that they no longer seemed to care how it looked to chase people through the streets in their human form. Or maybe they just knew that others wouldn't care. I could imagine to anyone watching it probably looked like a police chase, something which seemed momentarily surprising, but that would then morph into something exciting, a tale to tell their friends down the pub, a laugh at the bar in between rounds of tequila slammers and vodka shots.

A jolt to the shoulder as I clipped a passer-by almost had me stumbling, but Harper caught hold and steadied me as we ran, zig-zagging along the pavement. The high, plush Georgian townhouses of Connaught Square rose in front of us and we hurtled past the black iron railings lining the park, past the rows of gleaming Mercs and Maserati's.

When the Varúlfur shot out from a side gate on the park, I barely saw him coming until the last second, my attention had been so fixed on where we were going and trying to flee from what pursued us. A hand grabbed at my arm, tugging me sharply sideways and I did fall then, tumbling to the ground and rolling off the kerb, somehow managing to jump nimbly to my feet and shaking off the Varúlfur at the same time. In a flash, Harper struck out with his blade, sweeping it in an arc across the man's throat, slicing open his flesh with ease. The Varúlfur fell against a nearby Merc, blood spilling onto the pristine bonnet as he clutched at the wound.

No sooner had he fallen, than another appeared – one I recognised from the alley behind the convent –and he smiled, his eyes glinting a malevolent amber as he too reached for me and I gasped at the sight of the small black stun gun in his hand, crackling with blue pulses of electricity as it drew closer and closer. Dodging out of reach just in time, I gasped as Harper came at him with the knife, this time plunging it up to its hilt in his side and bringing him to his knees.

Looking up, Harper's eyes widened and I turned to see Brandon and his clan had reached the edges of the park. With a mad grin, Harper ripped the knife from the dead Varulfur's body and ran his tongue along the flat side of the steel, before spitting the blood onto the ground in disgust and raising his arms aloft as he stared straight at Brandon. In response, the Great Beast growled with pure rage.

"That's it, you freak," Harper muttered, as the blood ran down his wrist. "Why don't you do us all a favour and turn, so London knows just what monsters you really are?"

"What the hell are you doing?" cried Fenton, bending down to pick up the discarded stun gun before grabbing hold of Harper's collar and dragging him away. "We have to go now!"

Grasping Harper's other arm, I urged him to move and we began to run again, leaving behind nothing but blood and death on the doorsteps of the rich and famous Connaught residents and a pack of angry human-beasts charging after us.

"Oh shit," I hissed as we reached the top of the park. At the end of the street, I could see the chaotic Edgware Road in the distance and hear the blare of cars and buses and there, directly blocking our path, were two more Varúlfur heading straight for us.

"This way," called Fenton and we raced across the road. Cars sped by, some sounding their horns as we cut across to the other side, with barely inches between us and their wheels. We ran until I thought my chest would burst open and my legs would seize up from the pain and still the Varúlfur followed, their faces gleaming with the thrill of the hunt. It didn't matter that the tall trees and thick undergrowth of their usual haunts had been replaced by grey concrete structures and unforgiving asphalt, this was when they were most alive – chasing their prey. And it didn't matter that this was the city, if they caught us our fate would be the same, although they'd do that somewhere they could take their time. They'd enjoy it, maybe more than they'd enjoyed any hunt and who knows, maybe we might become the stars of one of their infamous snuff films. I had a feeling that Drachmann would make sure of that.

"Quick," Fenton said, diverting down a narrow alley behind a Moroccan restaurant. Leaping over bags of rubbish strewn against an already-overflowing bin, I groaned when I saw a metal fence barring our way through.

"I never thought I'd see the day I wish you'd brought your gun," I said through gritted teeth, as Fenton shoved me towards the fence first.

"Guns in Mayfair?" he grunted. "We'd have the anti-terrorist squad down here quicker than you could say chargrilled dog."

Scrambling up the fence, I heard shouts followed by the popping buzz of the stun gun and I turned back to see Fenton restraining a young Varúlfur against the wall of the alley and pressing the stolen stun gun against his crotch. The Varúlfur quickly went limp, dropping hard to the ground when Fenton released the hold on his throat.

Behind him, Harper had managed to fend off another, brandishing his blade. Despite the threat of the blade, I saw the Varúlfur's fevered venomous eyes seek me out and the desperation I saw there sent a ripple of fear through me. Harper caught the direction of his gaze and his face blanched with alarm that seemed to freeze him for a split second, before a territorial heat radiated from him that reminded me of when we had first met. With a spitting snarl, the Varúlfur threw himself blindly forwards and Harper thrust at him with the knife, plunging it into his gut, withdrawing and then stabbing him again and again.

By now I had reached the top of the fence and was climbing over, but I stopped, watching in horror as the Varúlfur thrashed and struggled even as Harper opened up his stomach. The skin on his face began to ripple and pulse, his lips already peeled back from his gums began to stretch and widen as the bone cracked and moved underneath. With a cry of triumph, Harper drew back, but the beast was done before he could transform, his intestines slipping from the gaping wound and landing with a sick splat onto his polished boots. He fell to the ground, his hybrid face caught partway between his true animal self and his human mask, staring blankly with dead yellow eyes.

Fenton jumped at the fence, making it to the top with ease and urged me to drop to the other side, which I did, landing hard and feeling the jarring ache of my old ankle injury.

Through the wire fence, I watched as Harper bent down with his back to me, to wipe the blade against the torso of the mutilated Varúlfur. In a move that seemed agonisingly slow, he turned his head to look back at me and it was then I saw it – that firm resolution in his eyes. That look that told me he had made a decision and it wasn't going to be one that I liked. When it dawned on me what he was about to do, it felt like a stab to the heart. He might as well have plunged the knife right into my body himself and twisted the serrated blade right into the core of my chest.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head furiously.

He backed up, edging towards the opening of the alley. "Go," he instructed. "I'll draw them off. Go, Megan!"

I charged at the fence, feeling the cruel cut of the wires digging into my palms as I frantically tried to climb. Strong hands grabbed at me, pulling me away and I kicked and flailed pushing against the fence with my feet and catapulting Fenton and I backwards until we hit the wall. The back of my head connected with his jaw and he grunted in pain, but still he held me tight and I could do nothing but watch helplessly as Harper shot me one last look before disappearing from view. I bucked against Fenton but to no avail.

"Let him go," he hissed in my ear. "He knows what he's doing. We have to go now, Megan."

"It's fucking suicide," I growled. "I won't let this happen, I won't."

With one sharp jab of my elbow to his ribs, he sucked in a harsh breath and relaxed his hold instinctively and I fell to my knees. Before managing to climb to my feet, I heard the sound of many heavy footsteps and shouts of alarm. Dark shapes teemed past the entrance to the alley and a car sped up the road, its engine roaring like some heinous beast. Fenton's arm snaked around me again, pulling me behind a stack of wooden pallets, piled high next to a doorway and I fought against him, accidentally kicking out and hitting one of the pallets, causing them to rock unsteadily.

A shadow crowded the end of the alley and Fenton clapped a hand over my mouth, pulling me in tight against him. My eyes bulged as I peered through the gaps in the load of pallets and I saw the distinctive figure of Brandon enter the narrow space. Walking slowly to where the dead Varúlfur lay, he surveyed his fallen soldier before a groan from the zapped boy caught his attention and Brandon walked over to where he was slumped on the ground. Grabbing the lapels of the boy's coat, he tugged him into a sitting position, resting him against the wall and began to smooth back the boy's hair from his forehead.

The young Varúlfur, who looked barely out of his teens, groaned again, his eyes flickering open and widening when he saw who had come to his rescue.

"Master, I......"

Brandon pressed a finger against the boy's lips. "There, there, don't move. There's no point really," he said, the backs of his knuckles softly brushing the Varulfur's cheek. Then his nose crinkled in revulsion and anger. "You're.....pointless." Pressing one hand down hard over the boy's mouth, he clamped his nostrils shut with the other, holding him there as he weakly struggled under the force of his own Master's hands. I could smell his panic from where I stood in the shadows and although he was a Varúlfur, I felt sick watching the man I had once shared a bed with, snuff the life out of the boy so very easily.

It didn't take long. Soon the boy went limp for the second time, only this slumber was not one from which he would ever awaken.

Looking distastefully at his hands, Brandon wiped them on the boy's coat before standing and raking his fingers through his tousled locks and straightening his own shirt and jacket, patting himself down to ensure everything was as perfect as it should be.

Another Varúlfur appeared at the end of the alley, practically skidding to a halt, clearly enraged to see two of his compadres dead.

Brandon gestured to the bodies. "Clean this shit up," he snapped, walking towards the street before stopping and looking back, he eyes drifting over the dead Varúlfur, towards the fence, piercing the shadows that lurked beyond.

I froze and felt Fenton stiffen behind me also, his arms tensing as he held me still. Too many awful, painful seconds ticked during which every hair stood on end as Brandon's eyes swept over the darkness. Lifting up his chin, he sniffed at the air. A small smile tugged briefly on the corners of his mouth.

Even when he chuckled softly, turned on his heels and walked away, even after the other Varúlfur and the dead soldiers had gone, and even when Fenton finally removed his hand from my mouth, I still could barely allow myself to breathe. Every gasp of air ripped through my chest but it was the pain in my heart that brought me to my knees.

He had known I was here.

He had known I was here and he hadn't come for me. He didn't need to after all. He had Harper and he knew full well that I would come for him.

He'd won. As far as Brandon was concerned, I was already dead.