I was falling. 

Tumbling. Flailing. Hurtling towards the ground so fast, watching the world grow and swell beneath me, seeing every terrible minute detail coming into focus with each agonising second.

Lucius' face, usually so devoid of fear, always accepting of every nightmare that crossed his path, yet now with wide terror-filled eyes, as if suddenly, at the end of it all, he had finally realised what his fate really entailed. Drachmann, his twisted wrinkled face, looking so utterly inhuman that I wondered how he could ever pass for anything but the monster he really was. And Brandon, whose rage seemed so palpable, it was as if Vánagandr had already burst free from the human flesh that bound it and was now filling every inch of space with malevolent intent.

Awareness had come too late. I'd been so lost. So consumed by a power I couldn't control that not once did I realise just how much that power was in control of me. I'd blindly followed a path rooted in my need to protect Lucius at all costs and that path had taken me so far away that by the time I saw I'd strayed off course, it was too late to turn back. Too late to do anything but stare into the faces of those around me as I fell, knowing that this time, there was no parachute, no safety net, nothing but the cold, unforgiving truth to break my fall.

"Give me the boy." Drachmann beckoned to Brandon with long, bony fingers. Flecks of my blood stained his long, yellowing nails and he made a grasping motion as Brandon dragged Lucius towards him, slicking his tongue across dry, cracked lips as if being served the tastiest of morsels.

He clutched Lucius to his chest. Seeing Lucius in his arms made me want to vomit. I could feel the bile forcing its way up into my throat and I fought to suppress it, instead locking eyes with the boy, wishing with everything I had that I could be the one to hold him now, wishing that I could stroke his hair back from his forehead and tell him that I was sorry, that I was so very sorry.

"I'll take the child now." Drachmann sneered as he looked at Brandon. "Can I trust you to bring the vampire when it's time or do you need assistance with that too, Vánagandr?"

He'd insulted us both in one sentence; but whereas I could more than cope with being referred to as just a vampire, I knew his rebuking of Brandon in front of his own clan cut far deeper than any knife could. Brandon's already amber-brimmed eyes flashed dangerously and a low warning growl emanated from his throat, but the demon just laughed shrilly, unfazed by the imminent threat.

"You'd do better to unleash your disappointment in yourself upon one whose bite isn't quite so poisonous, Varúlfur. Judge not a man by his size, but by his soul. You'll find mine more than a match for the mere tooth and claw of the Great Wolf. A vampire in chains, on the other hand ..."

And with one last triumphant look at me, he swept out of the cell, dragging Lucius alongside him by the collar.

"No," I gasped as I watched them leave, struggling to roll over onto my side, so that I could try to push myself up into a sitting position.

I hadn't got far in my efforts, however, when a howl of rage echoed around the cell and Brandon flew at me, the rush of air hitting me before he did and he picked me up like I was nothing, slamming my back against the wall. I cried out as the chains jarred against my spine, but my voice was cut away as his hand found my already injured throat, his grasp tightening, constricting. My feet, which were a couple of inches off the floor, kicked out frantically but had little effect as he pushed his lower body against mine, pinning me there.

The anger radiated off him in forceful waves, so much wild, untameable fury that if he wasn't already crushing the air out of me, I might have choked to see it. And there, feeding it all – the humiliation, the burning shame, the rage – was a world of hurt in his eyes as he glared at me.

I'd hurt him. Wounded him with my lies and betrayal. Damaged him with words and fantasy. And it was all there, behind the venomous amber that now flooded his irises completely, behind the way his mouth quivered into a pained grimace.

There was a momentary stab of guilt, but I swallowed it down, burying it deep in the pit of my stomach as I remembered the way he'd ripped Lucius from my hands. Remembered everything he had done. Clara. The compound. Philippe. Harper.

"I should squeeze the life out of you," he said, his voice low and hoarse.

"P-please, Bran," I spluttered. My chest was tightening, my lungs screaming.

"Please? Please?" His lips peeled back from his gums as he bared his teeth at me in a snarl. "You do this, you betray me and then have the audacity to say please?"

Faint growls rippled from the watching Varúlfur guards and Brandon's head whipped around sharply, as if suddenly remembering that we had an audience.

"Get away," he ordered. "Leave us."

The guards hesitated, glancing at each other anxiously. Their reluctance only enraged him more and he dropped me to the floor, leaving me to gulp in some much needed air as he strode towards them. With every step, he seeming to grow in stature, the maelstrom of rage that spun around him like a hurricane making him appear larger than he actually was.

"I said go! Now!" he roared and they collectively shrank back, heads bowed, yellow-flecked eyes averted in deference as they began to retreat down the corridor until they were out of sight. I knew they hadn't gone far though, I could hear them, smell them.

I barely had time to compose myself – as much as anyone could after they'd been throttled twice in a matter of minutes – before Brandon was upon me again, dragging me across the floor and throwing me halfway across the cell. Winded, I lay wheezing on my side, only for him to grab me by my ankles and flip me onto my back, straddling my thighs. Leaning down, he slammed his hands on the floor either side of my head. His dark curls tumbled over his face, perspiration glistening on his forehead.

"I trusted you, Megan."

Megan. He was calling me Megan and that was reserved only for when I'd really disappointed him, except this had gone way further than mere disappointment.

"I trusted you for once to do the right thing. Why couldn't you have just done the right thing for a change? Was it really too much to ask for you to be a good wife? To be a faithful wife? I stuck my neck out for you. I put my trust in you and what did you do? You looked me in the eye and you lied, just like you've always lied."

He was teetering on a knife's edge. His breath was coming in short, shallow gasps; hot and heavy on my face and his chest heaved violently. His whole body reeked of sweat and agitation and danger and I was completely at his mercy, unable to do anything but lay there underneath him and desperately hope that the beast wouldn't suddenly tear free from his flesh. If it did, that would be it. There was too much rage, too much hunger, too much hurt and there'd be no controlling it this time. A small patch of skin close to his hairline rippled as if some small bug had buried itself under his skin and was now frantically trying to break out.

He pressed his forehead hard down on mine and I screwed my eyes tight shut and tried to turn my head, not wanting to think about that skin on mine. The growl came again, thicker this time, as if it was bubbling up in his throat, building into something ear-splitting and violent and I couldn't help but flinch when I heard it. It seemed to vibrate for the longest time and my mind bombarded me with cruel images; of his face morphed somewhere between human and beast, of his back hunched, spine exposed, arms and legs elongating, stretching, growing monstrously.

I wasn't expecting the half-groan, half-whine near my ear.

"Why?" he whispered. "Why did you have to make me believe you?"

My eyes flew open.

It was still him, still Brandon. There was no hint of the warm hazel beneath the amber in his eyes, but it was still him.

"You were never coming back to me were you? You never had any intention of being mine again."

I took a deep breath but it wheezed shakily through my lips as I exhaled it out.

"What did you expect? I told you what Lucius meant to me. I told you, but you didn't listen. You never did. Always telling me what to wear. Buying my clothes. Deciding where we'd eat, when I'd get to spend time with you. You never wanted a wife, Bran, you wanted a trophy, something to dangle in front of your family to show them you were the one in control. And then you got rid of me to save yourself, like I was nothing, like I was dispensable. You don't even really want a wife now; you just can't stand the thought of anyone else having what you gave up."

He pulled back, his face contorting into a sneer.

"Is that why?" he said. "You were angry at me for giving you up and thought you'd get your own back? You know I never wanted to do that! I had no choice. They gave me no choice. I thought you understood that? You can't punish me forever."

"Me? Punish you? You're not the one who was abducted and beaten. You're not the one in chains. You're not the one who has had their soul ripped away from them by a child-killer. You haven't stopped punishing me since you found out about Harper and you know what? You never will."

"That's not true," he insisted, but I could see the hot anger in his eyes and it wasn't because I'd got it wrong, but because the mere mention of Harper's name made the rage boil over. "I promised you the world. I promised you everything. A new life. Us. A baby. Why isn't that enough for you?"

"Did you actually think I would just forget about Lucius and Harper and everyone else just because you promised me a baby? Do you think I'm that desperately shallow? She'd have said yes, the old me, the one that was impressed by all the money you threw at her. Your Megs."

Confusion wrinkled his sweat-glistened brow. "You are my Megs. You will be my Megs."

"Bran, you're not listening..."

He growled again, pushing himself up onto his knees and dragging me with him, one hand grasping a handful of my shirt, the other clutching the back of my neck.

"You're the one who's not listening. You are my Megs. Mine. Whether you like it or not. Whether you want it or not. But you will want it in time. And you will learn to like it again. The longer it takes you to accept this, the harder it will be. We are doing this and you will bear me a child and if you fight me, I'll make sure once the baby is born, you'll never see it again until you learn how to be a good wife."

I laughed coldly. "Oh and you think you'll have a say in that, do you?"

He frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Wake up, Bran! You're so deluded that you can't even see that what Lucifer offered you was nothing but a lie. He has no intention of giving me to you, just as he has no intention of giving you your half-breed baby. It will be half-breed though, just not part-Varúlfur. It will be part-Fallen. Part-demon. Part-him."

He flinched. "You're lying."

"Am I?" I smiled. "They don't trust you, Bran. They don't think you're up to the job. I saw Drachmann, I heard what he said to you. You fucked up."

"Th-that was your fault," he stammered. "You screwed things up for me, but not again. You will do as you're told. I will keep you in line."

"Come on, they're playing you and you know it too! Lucifer's not going to give you what you want. Asbeel told me. Drachmann's little demon friend, right before I killed him. He said I belonged to Lucifer, that he had big plans for me."

His grip tightened on the back of my neck, squeezing painfully. "You belong to me. He said you'd be mine. He promised me."

"And you believed him? Lying is what he does best, Bran. He is the Devil after all. The Father of Lies."

"Stop it."

"He wants me for himself. The baby won't be yours. Do you know what Sister Agnes called the Varúlfur, Bran? The Devil's hounds. That's all you are to him. Dogs. Nothing but dogs."

"I said stop!" he roared, throwing me back down as he jumped up, towering over me.

His skin was slick with sweat that was seeping through his shirt, creating large damp patches across his chest and under his arms. He clenched his fists, white bone protruding dangerously under thin skin that was stretching out over his enlarged knuckles. With a guttural snarl, he staggered backwards a few steps, clutching at his temples. Whirling around, he doubled over, using the wall behind him for support.

For a moment, all was still, apart from the sound of his struggled gasps and the faint pained mewling of his clan waiting just down the corridor.

The crack of bone snapped through the room and he flung himself forward, pushing his face into the blood-stained cell wall, fingers clawing at the flaking paintwork. He groaned, a deep agonising groan that quickly became an animalistic rumble from deep within his chest. His breath was coming out now in short staccato gasps, rasping out from a mouth that no longer looked like his mouth, full lips thinning out, stretching, widening. Another crack. A spasm.

I pressed down with my feet, trying desperately to push myself backwards, away from him, away from the horror that was coming.

With a howl of rage, he dashed his forehead against the wall, splitting the skin instantly. The blood trickled down the side of his face and I stared wildly at him as he did it again, and again, before throwing his head back and howling, a long, pitiful sound that was met by the plaintive cries of the waiting guards down the hallway. I could hear them out there, moving around, a violent crashing of bodies, punctuated by the sound of snapping bone and agonised wails.

Brandon fell back, stumbling across the cell and landed on his hands and knees close to me, damp dark curls hanging over his face, back arched.

"Bran," I whispered.

His head jerked robotically, tilting to one side as he studied me with his animal eyes, black pupils piercing the poisonous yellow. A faint sheen of saliva glistened around his mouth. He leant forwarded slightly and sniffed, curling his lips back from swollen gums in disgust.

I shrieked as his hand whipped out, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking my head towards his. He brought his twisted hybrid face close to mine, so close that I could see every pulsation of skin, every ripple of flesh.

"You. Are. Miiiiiiiine," he snarled.

Then in one deft movement, he jumped to his feet, yanking me to my own and dragging me towards the door of the cell.

Grasping me by the front of my shirt, he pushed me out into the corridor and I stumbled back, somehow managing to keep my balance. I stared at him, confusion and panic going into overdrive as he gripped the bars either side of the open cell door, just standing there, watching me, with an amused smirk.

The chorus of growls that followed reverberated deep into my skull, scraping down my spine, clawing deep into my gut.

I sucked in a breath and turned my head slowly.

They'd all changed. Every single one of them. And I was down here with them all. Down here with the beasts that now filled the end of the corridor, their great dark bulks crowding the hallway. Hideous, misshapen bodies, with long muscular arms and thick powerful thighs. Elongated snouts smeared with drool and snot. Broad, brawny chests revealing patches of putrid veiny flesh through their stinking, greasy fur.

And those venom-filled eyes, so full of hunger, all looking at me with a terrible yearning that made my skin crawl.

"You will learn to be a good wife," Brandon said, stepping towards me.

His horribly widened mouth stretched into an awful sharp-toothed grin.

The howling began.

******

It felt strange walking amongst them.

Their huge hairy bodies bristled with anticipation, sometimes brushing against me as we walked, earning them a low warning growl from their leader who followed just behind, his hand gripping the back of my neck. Brandon's warnings were always met with a collective pack whine, a horrible high-pitched mewling that grated on my ears and made me flinch to hear it.

Reaching the staircase, they fell to all fours to climb them, cramming into the narrow space and darkening the already dimly-lit stairwell as they moved like a sluggish black tide. Every now and then, one would jostle another, causing the other to snap at it with slavering jaws, bearing teeth I knew could tear off limbs and spill guts.

At the top of the stairwell, without instruction, the Varúlfur took the same path we had followed on the way here and turned instinctively towards the tunnel that connected the building with the hangar. Inside the tight corridor, their great bulks moved in closer, rubbing against me as we filed through the narrow walkway but all the time it was Brandon at my back that made me clench my fists with anxiety.

He remained locked partway in his transformation, still looking more human than beast, but there was something truly terrifying and disturbing about seeing the face of the man who had once shared my bed and my dreams looking so monstrous. His laboured breathing was hot against my skin and once or twice his thumb lightly brushed the hairline at the nape of my neck, making my flesh crawl to feel him touching me so gently when I knew he was behind me with that too-wide grin and blood running down his face.

Up ahead in the hangar, I could hear voices and a low rumbling, like the distant thrum of traffic.

"Drachmann is going to kill me, you know," I said, just before we reached the door. "I can hardly be yours if I'm dead."

It was one last, desperate bid to appeal to his possessive streak. One final shot that I hoped would worm its way into his head and burrow deep into whatever remnants of his conscience that remained. But it was also pathetic and I hated how pathetic I sounded saying it, like a whiny needy child.

He stopped abruptly, slipping his hand around to my throat. I gasped as his fingers squeezed and as the hard lines of his fevered body pressed against my back.

"I'd stop talking if I were you," he warned, close to my ear. "Your voice excites them. They can hear the fear in it."

As if on cue, the beasts surrounding us whined again in unison and the one closest to my shoulder sniffed at the air, its long tongue lolling out as it panted, dripping drool down its flank. It was Brandon's reaction, however, that made my spine stiffen when his lips grazed my skin and he nuzzled at the spot just behind my ear. His other hand clutched at my hip, subtlety pushing his groin against my lower back and holding me there just for a moment. I was repulsed by his urge to snatch a taste and yet strangely lifted by it at the same time, because as long as his sick territorial desire still existed, as long as he wanted me, I had a chance, however small that might be.

When the door to the hangar opened, I couldn't prevent the small shocked intake of breath, nor could I stop my feet from forcing me to stop, rooted to the spot as if like stone.

I'd never seen so many transformed Varúlfur before as I did right then. Their numbers had grown considerably since I'd passed through here earlier and I would have guessed probably over two hundred beasts now crammed into every available space, stretching out in front of me like an impenetrable dark army.

The far-off rumble of traffic that I had heard, was of course, not traffic at all, but the gravelly reverberation of growls. The voices were from those who had not begun to transform, but the few that hadn't changed were already starting the laborious process, their bodies jerking with furious spasms as the beast inside them sought to take control. Soon their voices became muted, drowned out by their snarls and growls, just as their human side was drowned by the beast.

"Impressive, aren't they?" Brandon said from behind me, his voice full of pride and smug arrogance.

"I'm not sure it's the word I would choose," I muttered, feeling suddenly like a fox about to be flung into the middle of a hunt.

"Well, you're going to have to get used to it. This is the future that you're looking at and you're going to be a part of it whether you like it or not."

"If I'm going to be a part of it, any chance you could get them to turn the stench levels down a notch? I don't fancy a future quite so fragrant, thanks."

His fingers pinched my neck cruelly. "Another thing you'll get used to. Trust me, once this is done and I can take you home, it won't be long before you don't notice it at all."

I didn't want to think about that. I didn't want to think about what would happen after. Because whether that future involved him or Lucifer, both options made my stomach churn with panic and nausea. And neither included Lucius and Harper and the thought of that just made me want to crumble to the floor.

He urged me on through the doorway and as soon as we walked into the hangar, the Varúlfur all stopped as one, turning to look our way almost as if some unspoken command had passed between them.

If I had been unnerved by the reaction of the Varúlfur outside the cell, it was nothing compared to this. I'd never felt so tiny and insignificant as I did then, surrounded on all sides by the great hulking beasts that towered over me, their sheer size and numbers making me feel instantly claustrophobic. Fear ran deep in my blood and a rush of noise filled my ears, weakening my legs and numbing my feet, making every step feel like I had somehow been transported into somebody else's body and I couldn't control my limbs.

I didn't want to look at them, but my gaze scanned the hangar regardless, searching for a pair of blue eyes amongst the yellow, searching for a body even smaller than mine amongst the sea of bristling, stinking Varúlfur.

He wasn't here. Lucius and Drachmann weren't here.

"Where's Lucius?" I asked. "Where has he taken him?"

Brandon smiled as he stopped alongside me, the blood that ran down his face giving him a manic look. "Don't worry, darling," he said, taking my chin between thumb and forefinger. "You'll get to see him very soon and then you really can say your goodbyes."

He pressed his mouth against mine then with such sudden force, that I was rocked by the move, just as I was rocked by his decision to kiss me in front of his whole clan. It was a bold statement, one designed not only to leave me under no illusions that he wasn't about to relinquish his claim on me any time soon, but also to assert his power over the clan. He was Vánagandr and he would take whomever or whatever he desired for his own. Even if that person happened to be a vampire.

When he'd finished, he drew back and cast his eyes about the hangar, surveying them all as if in challenge.

Noise exploded all around me as they threw back their huge heads and howled with unexpected approval, their whooping cries carrying right up to the top of the arched ceiling, growing in intensity as if it would burst right through the roof. Even those who hadn't yet finished transforming were howling too and with my arms bound by the chains, I could do nothing to drown out the crushing sound of their triumphant voices.

"Come on," Brandon said and he marched me straight through the middle of the waiting throng of beasts, his guards opening up a path as they went on ahead until we reached the other side.

"There's still time," I said. "You can still stop this."

He closed his eyes for a second, rocking gently back on his heels. "No," he replied when he opened them again. "No, I can't. And I wouldn't now even if I could."