The car sped away from the traffic lights with a shriek of rubber on asphalt and I pressed my feet down instinctively, bracing myself by clutching the door with one hand and the other curled tightly around the edge of the seat.

As we had sensed the Varúlfur scouts, they had clearly detected us also and when our car fled the lights, they followed in close pursuit, almost bumper to bumper with us.

Shop fronts, neon lights, bars and restaurants whirled past in a blur as Harper hit the accelerator, the road ahead suddenly rushing towards us as if we were in some first-person racing car video game. Only there was no pulling the plug on this game, we couldn't even hit the pause button and no matter what Grand Theft Auto might have you believe, the streets of London were not built for car chases.

I hissed as Harper took a corner sharply, the tyres screaming as we turned into the next road, causing the late-night pedestrians to stop and stare as we careered along the road with the Varúlfur's car shadowing our every move.

"Surely they can't keep this up?" I looked over at Harper in panicked desperation. "Not here? We're attracting too much attention. Pretty soon the police are going to spot us."

Harper glanced in the rear view mirror. "They'll keep it up alright. And you can bet your ass they've called in reinforcements. They'll keep it up until they've driven us off the road or cut us off down some dead end."

I turned back to look at the road ahead, staring wide-eyed through the windscreen and feeling my chest tighten painfully as I desperately tried to control my breathing. The Varúlfur might have been able to keep this up but I wasn't sure we would be able to. Their 2014 four-wheel drive Mercedes compared to our battered 2005 BMW was like pitting ten Goliath's against one David. It was going to take more than one stone-throw to get us out of this.

Another set of lights guarded the junction up ahead and I gasped out loud when I saw the green change to amber and Harper slid the gears into fifth, pressing down harder on the gas as he risked the wrath of the red stop light. We hit the junction doing fifty in a thirty zone and I let out a horrified shriek as I saw the cars waiting on either side of the crossroads start to make their way across the intersection, car horns resounding loud and shrill when they realised we'd jumped the lights and weren't going to stop. I screwed my eyes shut and waited for the crunch of steel and the bone-breaking impact, only to hear the screech of brakes and the choir of horns fade as we cleared the junction, leaving mayhem and panic behind us.

My hope was short-lived however when I realised we hadn't left everything behind us.

Still in persistent chase, the Varúlfur remained doggedly on our tail, having managed to escape unscathed from the chaos we had left in our wake. They were so close. I could see them, the two scouts, looking to anyone who might see them like perfectly normal people, they probably even looked like police considering they were in the shiny new car and we were in the beat-up wreck being chased. But I could see their grins from here, just a little too wide for their faces and the occasional glint of amber sparking in their eyes as they enjoyed the thrill of the chase. I could only imagine the smell in their car, that awful gut-churning odour of Varúlfur sweat created by their excitement and eagerness to catch their prey. Flashes of Brandon's torture room scarred my mind with unwanted memories; where the stench of the beasts was so strong I could almost taste it on my tongue, the rabid fevered look in their eyes, the saliva that coated their mouths in a slick, nauseating sheen.

I was flung back into the present with a shudder-shock to the heart, when I saw the two women stepping out into the road ahead, their arms linked as they staggered off the kerb, clearly drunk and too lost in their own laughter to spot the cars hurtling directly towards them.

"Oh my god," I whispered in terror.

"I know, I know," muttered Harper, hammering on the horn to catch their attention and I watched in relief as they stumbled backwards, pulling each other down into the gutter. As we passed, I stared out the passenger-side window, noting the blood pouring from the head of one of the girl's who'd hit the concrete hard and how the other girl was screaming; screeching hysterical curses and gesturing wildly at us as we continued regardless. Still, rather a bloodied forehead and a thunderous headache in the morning, than in pieces under the wheels of our car.

We took another corner and another, twisting through the streets until I felt nauseous from the speed and dizzy from panic. It reminded me of the first time I had discovered the Varúlfur existed, these creatures that had come to fit so seamlessly into the human world, so much so that I had never even realised that I was living amongst them. I recalled when they had chased Harper and me away from my old home and I had first experienced what it was like to be hunted by the stuff of nightmares, dragging my exhausted body through boot-sucking mud and the cruel, grasping hands of the forest. I remembered that instinctive fear that had almost crippled me, when I had almost given in to it.

You never stop. Do you understand? You never, ever stop.

Harper had said it then and it had stuck with me ever since. You don't stop. Ever. Not unless, of course, Fate decides to grant you some mercy and throw you a curve ball.

Our curve ball appeared in the shape of a London bus.

In fact, it came in the shape of two London buses and I was all of a sudden wholly grateful for that old adage: you wait ages for a bus and then two come along at once. I'd hated those damn things in my old life. Hated the smell of them. Hated how dirty they were. Hated the noise of the engines and how they used to rule the road, their drivers ruthless and cocky as they barged through the traffic.

This time, however, I could have kissed the bastard driver who asserted his ownership of the road and despite not having right of way; decided he was just going to pull the bus out regardless. Harper expertly manoeuvred the car around the turning bus, swerving and almost hitting the barrier before clearing the junction just in time for the bus to make the turn and cutting off the Mercedes. The howl of brakes and the crashing crescendo of horns had me spinning in my seat, twisting around to stare through the back window as not one, but two buses had stopped partway across the intersection, with one of the drivers gesturing wildly out of his window, clearly raging at the occupants in the car.

Clutching the back of the chair, I whirled round to grin giddily at Harper. "You did it. You actually did it."

He didn't take his eyes off the road, nor did he ease up on the pedal. "No. I didn't. I just bought us some time." He glanced up at the mirror, his lips curled into a grimace. "We've got to get off these roads. We've got to ditch this car because you can guarantee that every Varúlfur scout from here to Southwark is going to be hunting for us right now."

"But how....?" I began.

"There." He cut me off, pointing to a twenty-four hour underground NCP up ahead. "We'll dump the car there."

Before I could answer, Harper switched to the left hand lane and pulled into the entrance, winding down the window and reaching out to snatch the ticket from the machine. The barrier seemed to take forever to go up, juddering on its way as if it might suddenly stop and bar our way into its subterranean lair. Finally the way was clear and Harper eased the car through the narrow gap into the ground level of the car park. Despite the time of night, the small bays were packed tight with all manner of cars, most of them expensive models which was hardly surprising considering the amount it cost to park in an NCP these days. Passing them all, Harper followed the route round to the right, heading directly for the lower level.

Water trickled down the slope, forming pools at the bottom and with the driver's side window still open, I could hear the sound of the tyres splash through the oil-slicked puddles, the noise echoing off the walls. Down here, the car park was grimy and the paintwork was cracked and peeling and the stench of foul acrid damp pervaded the air, making me wrinkle my noise in disgust. The lights seemed dimmer and a couple of them had been smashed, attracting huge moths that crowded around the light source, trying to push their fat hairy bodies closer to the naked bulb.

Harper reversed the car into a space between a Lotus and an Audi A3, despite there being tons of empty spaces elsewhere and I could only imagine the disgruntled faces of the car owners when they returned to find Garrick's filthy rust-bucket parked in between their shiny, polished chrome beauties.

"So what now?" I asked when he switched off the engine and the lower level was plunged back into eerie silence.

He shot me a grim half-smile. "We walk."

My eyes widened, but I laughed nervously. "You're kidding me, right?"

Raising an eyebrow, he unbuckled his seat belt and opened the car door. "Well, we're not going to get anywhere by sitting here, that's for sure."

I was left staring at him as he got out. Stepping in front of the car, he glanced warily around before looking back at me and banging twice on the bonnet with his palm to rouse me from my stunned gaze. The sharp noise made me flinch. Crooking a finger, he gestured for me to get out and I did so, feeling like every limb was moving in slow motion.

"You're serious?" I said, astounded, loitering by the open car door. I didn't want to get out of the safe confines of the car; I didn't want to breathe in the damp air that clogged my mouth with its mouldy taste. "You're actually serious about this? We're just going to walk out of here, with no car, no means to get away if they spot us?"

Harper rolled his eyes in frustration. "What the Hell do you expect us to do? Carry on in a car that's probably now marked as every scout's number one target? Steal one of these ones?" He gestured to the two cars that sat either side of me.

I studied the Audi on my left, noting the tiny red alarm light that blinkered furiously at me as if in warning. "Sure, why not?"

"Megan, I'm a vampire and a trained assassin. I'm quite skilled at killing people but I wouldn’t know the first thing about hot-wiring a car. In case, you hadn't noticed, this isn't the movies." He sighed a long exasperated sigh, raking his fingers through his unkempt, lank hair. "Come on, Fenton's place isn't far from here."

He began walking towards a green exit sign, but soon stopped when he realised I hadn't moved an inch. I couldn't. My feet remained as immovable as stone, as if they had melded with the very concrete underneath my shoes.

With an irritated hiss, Harper stalked back over to where I stood and my breath caught in my throat when I saw that he was coming at me too fast. I fell back against the car as his hands curled into the hair at the nape of my neck and he pushed himself against me. Pressing his open mouth firmly against mine, he kissed me hard and deep and I was overwhelmed but the sudden force of his actions. My fingers scratched weakly at his chest, too dazed to do anything apart from concentrate on not letting my legs buckle.

He pulled back for a moment, his face still so close that our noses were almost touching and he slicked a tongue across lips as if savouring the taste I had left there. Our eyes met and with an almost inaudible moan of approval, he kissed me again, deeper still and with a hunger that ensnared me completely. It seemed so long since I had felt his desire and I wondered how I had ever lived without it. I drank him in. I drank in the smell of his skin, I drank in the delicious way his hips moved against me, I drank in his heat. 

My fingers came to life, one hand clutching at his back and the other moving between us, reaching down and sliding over the waistband of his jeans, seeking out his hardness and revelling in his grown of pleasure. When I grabbed for his zipper, he grinned but captured my hand in his and raised it to his lips, planting a small soft kiss on the centre of my palm.

"What are you doing?" I whispered. I was confused, dismayed and felt the sharp sting of rejection. I couldn't bear it.

"We can't stay here. We've got to get to Fenton's before sunrise." He backed away, a smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth.

"What?" I said, shrilly. The anger flared inside me, making my cheeks redden. "Then what the heck was that all about?"

He flashed me an arrogant smile. "That was me telling you that I owe you. Now hurry the fuck up, angel. I'd rather not risk a sun tan all because you want to get it on in a dirty NCP."

He walked away and I could hear him sniggering as he sauntered cockily towards the exit, his hands hooked casually into the pockets of his jeans. I, on the either hand, stumbled away from the car, struggling to get the words out and still blushing madly.

Pushing open the door, he stood against the frame, using his hand to hold open the exit and forcing me to duck underneath his outstretched arm. I scowled as I passed him.

"I thought car parks were your thing," I muttered angrily, stalking up the narrow dimly lit corridor that sloped upwards.

Behind me, Harper chortled loudly and the sound ballooned up the tunnel, infuriating me even more. "Is that all you've got? Oh Megan."

"Fuck you," I growled, but that only made him laugh harder. He was still laughing as we left the car park, but I didn't pull away when he slipped his hand into mine and squeezed.

The icy night breeze cooled the heat that radiated from my cheeks and I sucked in a breath, feeling exposed under the silver shine of the moon above. Buildings loomed over us and I suddenly felt very small; like a rat in a maze.

"It's not far," Harper said reassuringly. "Come on."

I gripped his hand tighter.

***********

London. City of chaos and mayhem. City of noise and confusion. Everywhere you go, another car, another bus, another bike, another taxi, another pedestrian. Always moving, never asleep. Always shouting, never silent. And parts of London were screaming now, not that anyone would ever notice. Not down in the underbelly. The hidden places. Under ground and in the shadows. Oh, down there it was screaming, alright. And yet here, on the backstreets of Greenwich, I had never known London to be so quiet.

As I walked hand in hand with Harper, dodging the light cast by the street lamps and flitting from shadow to shadow, it was as if someone had clapped their hands firmly over my ears, muting the din of the city and plunging me into a graveyard-silence that raised goose bumps all over my skin. The silence felt unnatural. I expected to find monsters around every corner. Every face I saw looked distorted; every smile looked a little too wide, stretching skin taut across cheekbones.

We had covered four blocks like this, walking at pace, but not so fast to arouse suspicion and with each minute that passed I wondered whether we were lost, trapped in the labyrinth and destined forever to wander with fear raging through our veins. Harper dragged us from street to street and I was starting to think he'd been wrong about the scouts, wrong about ditching the car and wrong about continuing the rest of our journey on foot, when all of a sudden he tugged me behind a column that stood in the entrance of a small shopping arcade.

The shadows swallowed us whole and it stunk of piss and stale smoke. Darkened stains and discarded cigarette butts decorated the ground under our feet and behind Harper in a shop window display, the blank stares of the mannequins bored into me, as if they knew who we were, as if they knew what we were.

A car passed slowly by the arcade, too slow. After all, who ever drives slowly in London? Holding me against him, Harper's hand drifted inside his jacket gripping his blade and his short, sharp breaths grazed my forehead as we waited torturous seconds. When the engine purred louder and the car rolled smoothly on, I closed my eyes and leaned into Harper's chest, releasing a small sigh of relief.

"Let's get the hell off these streets," he murmured.

Stepping out from the dark confines of the arcade entrance, I checked all around as we carried on, half-jogging across the black and once-white stripes of a zebra crossing and cutting down an alley at the side of a Polish mini-mart. When we reached the end of the narrow passage, Harper motioned for me to stop and nodded in the direction of a boarded-up entrance to an old garage. A hand-painted sign hung precariously above the gate, advertising cheap MOT's, tyres and servicing.

The rest of the narrow back street was crowded with what looked like small warehouses and lock-ups, many decorated with crude signs warning people not to park there. Some looked derelict, some still in use. At the end of the road, someone had dumped a pile of newspapers on the corner and the wind had blown some of them up the street, scattering damp pages over the pavement and clogging the gutters.

Harper waited with his back pressed against the alley wall, his eyes moving carefully over every inch of the road, studying every building, scanning the darkest corners until he was finally satisfied that the coast was clear. Interlocking his fingers with mine, he pulled me out of the alley and we snuck stealthily across the road until we were stood in front of the garage gate. With one final scan of the street, he slipped his fingers under one damp board and  prised it open, leaving a big enough gap for me to slip through before following close behind.

From the outside, this place looked discarded and empty, just another rotted remnant from recession-hit London, long since abandoned and chalked up as just another failed dream. Beyond the boarded-up gate, however, the yard was almost full, cars and lorries packed in together and some, I was relieved to see, had been part of the disjointed convoy that had left the Mills earlier that night. At the rear of the dirt yard, a large garage stood with its shutters firmly down, brightly coloured graffiti emblazoned across the corrugated iron and underneath it in giant red letters, the word CLOSED had been roughly painted from one side to the other. Piles of old worn tyres were stacked up on one side. Harper stepped forward and I grabbed his wrist and nodded up to a small grey CCTV camera positioned close to the roof at the corner of the building. Grinning, he flipped the bird at the camera as it followed our path across the yard until we turned the corner only to be momentarily blinded by a security lamp that clicked on, bathing everything in a hot white light.

As my eyes adjusted to the glare, a door opened at the side of the building and a dark figure slowly came into focus standing in the doorway. Blinking away the glazed blur, I gasped when I saw the gun in the vampire's hand, held casually by his side. I'd never seen a gun before apart from on television and in the movies and I felt a cold weight lay heavy in the pit of my stomach to see one up close. It felt ominous somehow, like treading a dark path of no return.

The vampire himself reminded me of the type of bouncer you'd see standing on the door of clubs on a Saturday night. He was a huge, muscular beast of a man with a thick neck and one ear gnarled and puckered as if he'd spent time in boxing bouts. His nose had clearly been broken a number of times and his blonde hair was shaved close to his skull almost giving the impression he was practically bald. He sniffed, running his eyes over us with open derision.

"Clayton," Harper said coldly. "Are you just going to stand there all night making eyes at us or are you going to let us in?"

"Still an arsehole, assassin," rumbled Clayton, with a sneer.

"Still chowing down on those steroids?"

"Funny fucker, ain't you? Come on, get in here. Fenton's been waiting for you. You're late."

He stood back, pushing the door open wide and Harper swept passed him with a smirk and I trailed after him, glancing nervously at the gun which Clayton tucked into the side of his belt.

Inside the garage, there were two mechanic pits on one side, long rectangular holes in the floor, edges blackened by grease. Apart from the pits and the smell of oil, there was nothing else inside to connect the building to its former business, it had been stripped bare and instead of tools and car parts, it now housed vampires. Vampires with guns.

At the back of the garage, I saw Blaine and Maggie directing some of the northern refugees through another doorway and I wondered whether there was another building that backed onto this that I hadn't seen from the front. Close to them and in deep consultation, Edward and Charlie were talking to a tall, lithe vampire, dressed head to toe in black with short, dark hair, parted on one side and slicked back into a quiff on top. As we approached, the group looked over and when the vampire turned to face us, I saw one side of his head was shaved and covered in a swirling red and black rose tattoo, the stem and leaves of the rose curling behind his ear and down onto his neck. He was striking, with bright blue eyes, a thin strong nose, prominent cheekbones and shaped thick brows.

"Fenton," Harper called out in greeting as he walked to meet them in the centre of the room. Fenton's gaze darted over our shoulders and I whipped round to see who he was looking at but saw no one there apart from Clayton who still hovered by the door. It was then I noticed that Edward and Charlie had done the exact same thing, both looking behind us, both wearing expectant expressions that quickly twisted with tension.

"Are you on your own?" Fenton replied, his eyes narrowing.

I felt it then. A tension in the air that had nothing to do with the tide of bloodied and torn refugees that had filed through these doors. A tension in the room that centred around us, around our arrival as if they had expected something more. Or maybe someone else.

"What?" Harper said immediately, his eyes wary and sharp. "What's wrong?"

Edward stepped forward. "Garrick hasn't arrived yet. When you hadn't come in either, we figured that maybe you were together and had run into a spot of bother along the way."

Harper shook his head. "We were followed by some scouts and had to divert. We ditched the car and came the rest if the way on foot." I heard the alarm in his voice. "He left before us. He should have been here by now."

Edward nodded grimly. "Aye, I know, lad. I know."