A/N: Greetings dear Chapelites and welcome to the penultimate chapter of The Lost. The final chapter will be posted tomorrow, however please please do vote and comment on this chapter, I still need all your support! Thank you to the many of you who commented on last night’s installment, it’s very much appreciated.

With love,

Cinnamon xxxxx

PS. Are you ready?

********

As Barton's body fell to the ground; shots began to ring out, bullets cutting into flesh, the Varúlfur, at first, appeared disorientated, shaken by the unexpected murder of one of their own from an unseen foe hidden out in the woods. But soon they re-grouped, their senses pricked and they were alerted to the army that descended upon them from the traitorous trees that had concealed its presence so well.

Fenton's cell picked off the first line of Varúlfur that charged towards the trees and I had to admit, I saw some sense now in his insistence that guns were a necessary evil in our war against the beasts and was certainly grateful for his people's expert marksmanship as one after another fell to the ground. Those that didn't fall were mortally injured and would be easy for the rest of the army to finish off up close.

Harper, Garrick and I burst into the clearing, blades at the ready as the closest Varúlfur lunged at us, jaws snapping and claws slicing through the air. Ducking under its reach, I spun and caught it across the side, prising open its flesh with one clean swipe of my weapon. Encircling it, Harper and Garrick did the same, catching it as it turned to lash out at the nearest assailant, only to realise it had another one to contend with and whirl back round to face them instead. Blow by blow, the beast, dripping blood from countless slashes to its foul body, was soon brought to its knees, where I plunged my blade deep into its throat, right up to the hilt.

Hearing a thunderous howl, my head shot up to see Vánagandr disappearing into the trees on the far side of the clearing, with Paul and the rest of the Noble clan spread out behind, blocking it off from any assault.

"He's leaving," I cried out. "Vánagandr is fleeing!"

"They're protecting their leader," called back Garrick, through gritted teeth, slicing the throat of one of the bullet-wounded fallen Varúlfur. "They can't risk Vánagandr getting shot."

Another beast charged at us and I winced as one of its deadly claws caught me on the shoulder, shoving me into the path of Harper, who snaked an arm around my waist, plucking me out of harm's way just in time as the Varúlfur attempted to reach me. Noting the blood that had quickly seeped through my shirt, Harper snarled with a boiling fury and threw himself at the animal, expertly avoiding its flailing arms and whipping around behind it. From the front, Garrick and I kept the beast busy, but all the while it knew Harper was closing in from the rear and its eyes took on a fevered, panicked glaze as it realised it was surrounded. Garrick's gaze flitted to Harper's and they nodded to each other in silent agreement. Making the first move Garrick leapt forward, catching the creature's attention and giving Harper the perfect opportunity to strike. With tremendous force, he thrust his blade into the Varúlfur's back, almost severing the spine at the base and causing the beast to crumble to the ground, its legs now useless. Howling pitifully, the Varúlfur tried to drag its crippled body away, but Harper kicked it onto its back and without a shred of mercy, he plunged the vicious blade directly into its throat.

Standing up, he sniffed derisively and spat on the ground next to where the beast lay. When he looked up again, we locked eyes for a split second and I felt the heat like a bittersweet sucker punch to the gut. He wiped the side of blade across his filth-caked jeans and on we went, throwing ourselves back into the battle that raged all around us.

In my field of vision, I could see Edward's cell sweeping through the clearing and Fenton's people, all mercenary to the core, firing off shots; when the bullets ran dry, their skills with the blade were no less than that with the gun. The vampire army fought beside us. The ground churned under the pounding of many feet and the mud mixed with the spilling of Varúlfur and vampire blood alike. There were casualties on our side, of course, but I urged myself not to think of it because I had another mission to fulfill, a personal mission if you like and one that kept me fired up despite the horror that now raged in Oxleas.

Not all the Noble clan had followed Vánagandr in his escape.

They couldn't of course, for there was a battle to win, an age-old fight against an age-old enemy and it just wouldn't have been right for them to flee with their tails between their legs. It wouldn't have been befitting of a superior race such as theirs.

And it was with sheer delight and elation when I realised just who had remained behind. I had a score to settle after all. A huge, gigantic bloody score for that matter and by God, was I going to take what I was owed.

Paul and the blonde-haired bony-nosed one were still present, albeit now fully transformed, but I could still see them, I could still see their faces under the animal mask and could still remember the way they had attacked me, abused me, and tortured me to the point where I had felt like the animal. I had wished for death that day and I wished for it again now, only for them instead, a horrible lingering death that would make them rue the time they had spent with me in Brandon's compound.

With them clearly in my sights, I made my way across the clearing, cutting a path through the frenzied melee with Harper and Garrick close by my side, until somehow there they were, directly in front of me and I felt the adrenalin buzzing under my skin like I had been plugged into the mains supply.

As if detecting my presence, maybe from some faint speck of a familiar scent, the creature that had been the blonde one whirled around, its eyes widening when it recognised me.

"Biiiiiiiiitch," it snarled, spitting drool from the corners of its mouth as it struggled to form the word.

With a grin, I circled it slowly, placing one foot in front of the other, repulsed and yet full of desire to feel it underneath me as I carved at its putrid flesh. Harper and Garrick sensed immediately that this was no random Varúlfur and I noticed the determined look which cemented their features into grim visages full of hate and loathing for a creature they realised had done me great harm.

Separated from its kin, the beast was no match for us three and soon, I got my wish as I straddled its misshapen chest, with Harper and Garrick pinning its thrashing limbs to the ground and I sunk my blade into its throat and watched, mesmerised as it struggled to breathe, the blood bubbling from the deep open wound.

It was only a plaintive howl that brought me back to my senses and I stood up quickly to find the Varúlfur Paul, its eyes full of anguish and fury, standing within a nearby copse.

"Hello, Paul," I said, cocking my head to one side with a smirk.

I hated the beast at my feet, that was certain, but I had reserved a special brand of hatred for Paul because I had known him in my human life. I had met him when I had been Megan Walden, I had held conversations with him, I had known him as Brandon's friend and yet, despite all that, he had gone to great lengths to defile me, to humiliate me, to hurt me. I had to have him. He belonged to me.

Racked with an all-consuming anger, the beast charged, dropping to all fours in order to gain that necessary speed advantage and I was almost knocked to the floor by the force of its attack, just managing to jump clear at the last minute, twisting my body in the nick of time to see it turn and double back towards me. I raised my blades, relishing the sensation of the hard steel against my palms and focused on the beast as it advanced, noting the way it moved, drinking in every possible weak point, every place where I could do it the most harm. Saliva pooled into my mouth in the same way it did whenever I hunted my prey and I saw Garrick and Harper moving in, perfectly flanking the beast from either side.

"Come on, you fucker," I muttered.

I was so focused on Paul that I didn't see the other one until it was too late and it came crashing into the fight, cutting Paul and me off from Harper and Garrick. Paul met my alarm with a too-wide grin, its mouth stretching grotesquely across its hybrid face and its tongue sweeping its entire bottom lip from one side to the other, leaving a sickly trail of drool seeping down its lower jaw. It was one on one and I knew there was only one thing I could do and that was run.

Turning on my heels and slipping on the waterlogged ground, I threw myself across the clearing, hearing the excitable whoops of the creature close behind, its feet finding more hold in the sodden earth than my soaking wet pumps could. I pelted through the grappling bodies, shoving aside anyone that stepped into my path and somehow managing to avoid any Varúlfur claws that reached for me. At the edge of the circle, I rounded one of the cars and threw myself into the waiting trees, their spindly arms outstretched and welcoming me back into their cruel embrace. Panic took hold when I heard the beast come careering through the wood behind me and I ran blindly into the open arms of someone else, someone who looked down at me with a glint of amusement, before calmly moving me to one side and taking steady aim at close range.

The bullet hit Paul square in the chest, exploding its rib cage apart and throwing it backwards where it crumbled to the ground, its body twisted and broken.

Fenton lowered the gun and fixed me with a steady gaze. I felt his eyes travel over my sweat-glistened features and take in my breathless state as I fought to regain my composure.

"Thank you," I said, hating the tremor in my voice. "You didn't have to do that."

He raised an eyebrow which was smudged with dirt. "Of course I did," he replied curtly. "You led that thing right to me. What else was I meant to do? Lay back and think of England while it fucked me too?" He gave a brief smile, with almost a hint of warmth behind it. "Of course," he said, inclining his head closer to mine. "You could re-think your opinion of me. It wouldn't hurt too much to admit the possibility you might have been wrong, would it?"

Before I could answer, the wood was filled with the most terrible noise, an almost earth-cracking roar of rage that was so petrifying; I had to fight the urge to clap my hands over my ears in fear that I would never stop hearing that sound vibrating inside my skull. Instinctively, both Fenton and I turned in the direction of the noise although we both knew what it meant.

Vánagandr had not fled the battle after all.

Gripping my blades I started to run back towards the clearing, with Fenton chasing after me, frantically calling my name but I couldn't stop. Flying into the middle of the arena, I searched desperately for Harper and Garrick, my eyes finally finding the latter, fighting side by side with Edward, but where Harper was, I had no idea. My stomach flipped with fear as I scanned the battleground until eventually I spotted a familiar figure amongst the trees on the far side, not far from where I had fled with Paul close behind.

That awful howl filled the air once more and my eyes caught movement as something huge crashed through the oaks, tearing branches from trunks and shaking the ground as it hurtled through the forest. With a sinking feeling that threatened to pull me down into the sludge, I gaped in horror as the Great Wolf appeared in a gap between the trees, its acidic gaze fixed upon Harper and Harper alone.

I cried out as it began to charge, my voice weakened by the tumult of noise that filled the air, preventing it from penetrating the copse where Harper now stood, buried in the battle, his blades slicing through Varúlfur flesh with ease. The beast under attack fell, its great lumbering body stumbling before slumping in a bloodied heap not far from Harper's feet and in his triumph, Harper had no idea that he himself was under attack until it was too late.

As if on instinct, he turned, his blades already raised and poised to strike, but Vánagandr's reach was far longer and with one almighty sweep of its arm, it raked its claws across Harper's face, spraying blood into the air in a wide arc and splitting open the flesh on Harper's cheek. With a cry, Harper stumbled backwards, tripping over the body of the fallen Varúlfur and landing on the other side. He scrambled to get up, his feet slipping in the sodden earth, his clothes now caked and heavy with mud and as he struggled to gain a footing, it was then I noticed he had lost one of his knives.

I began moving towards them, zigzagging across the open space as I tried to avoid those caught up in the fight, hearing the gnash of Varúlfur teeth too close to my ear and their spittle landing on my face as I tried to dodge them. All the time, I kept my eyes on Harper and Vánagandr, feeling as if time was running in an awful slow motion and all the while just desperate to go faster.

The Great Wolf whipped out its arm again, this time gouging the flesh on Harper's arm, making him drop the other blade which was quickly lost to the mud and Harper, alone in the copse with the beast bearing down on him, was helpless against the inevitable onslaught. I screamed as Vánagandr grabbed him, just as it had Sullivan, lifting him high off the floor. Harper's eyes bulged and his legs frantically flailed in the air, fighting for breath as the beast tightened its grip around his throat. When it brought Harper close to its powerful jaws, calmly studying him as he struggled to breathe, I feared the worst. Then, to my surprise, instead of ripping off his head as I thought it would do, the Great Wolf tossed him to one side, just as he had done with the clan leader who had dared to oppose him. Harper flew through the air, hitting the base of a large oak with a sickening crunch.

"No," I whispered when I saw Harper's still body slumped on the ground. "No, no."

With a peel of nauseating laughter that sounded unnatural coming from the mouth of such a beast, Vánagandr began to advance upon Harper, clearly intending to finish the job when into my line of sight, a figure shot across the edge of the clearing, darting between the trees and throwing himself in between Harper and the Varúlfur.

My eyes widened and my body shook when I realised who now stood between the Great Wolf and its prey.

Garrick stood facing the beast, a manic grin on his face as he raised his head to look up at the animal which now towered over him in the copse. He held his blades in his outstretched arms, gripping the hilts tightly and held his ground despite the threat that now faced him. He lashed out, once, twice, the second swipe of his blade catching Vánagandr's hand and the beast howled in response and retreated, dropping to all fours and stalking back and forth a short distance away, its eyes never leaving Garrick for one second.

It took me a moment to recognise the motive in its retreat. It took me a moment to realise it wasn't a retreat at all. On all fours it could call upon its natural state to grant it the power and strength it needed to carry out the next stage in its plan and I realised too late that nothing the Great Wolf did in battle was done without a clear strategy. Inside the animal lurked a warrior's cunning mind.

I screamed out a warning to Garrick but as his eyes flickered towards me, seeing me running in his direction, he shot me a small smile and shook his head and it was then I realised that he had thrown himself in front of Vánagandr never expecting to win the fight. He had merely been trying to buy his brother some time in the hope it might save him. 

The Great Wolf charged, covering the ground in mere seconds and as it reached Garrick, its huge mouth opened wide and clamped hard around his waist, lifting him off the ground and shaking him violently like he was nothing but a toy. Then, dragging Garrick's body through the mud before, it finally dropped him not far from where the dead Varúlfur now lay. The creature retreated once more, surveying him with disdain and raising itself up onto its hind legs, full of triumph as it arched its back and bayed at the night sky, the sound spiraling up through the treetops.

I knew it would attack again. I knew it would finish them both. I knew they were doomed and that there was little I could do to help them now but I couldn't stop running. I didn't care that it was folly, I didn't care that it was pointless, I had to do it. I just couldn't stop and soon I was there, standing where Garrick had been just moments before he was cut down, staring up into the awful face of the Great Wolf, dwarfed by its sheer size and knowing, maybe as Garrick had known, that there was no fighting this beast. Its terrifying power seemed to emanate from every honed muscle like steam, hissing as it touched the cold night air and creating this terrible aura of all-consuming malevolence.

Vánagandr snorted, the breath from its mouth and nostrils creating clouds in the air, like the smoke that spewed forth from a dragon before it was about to engulf you in its fiery breath. Its chest heaved in and out, the muscles stretching wide across its mighty pectorals. The fur was thinner there, but it was still even across the surface of its chest down to its stomach, unlike the patchy expanses of pulsating skin you would see on the other Varúlfur. Everywhere else, the fur was thick and pure black, with an almost glossy shine to it; that is if it wasn't for the blood that matted the hair in many places. Its long limbs were thick with muscle and all ending in the longest, most-vicious talons. I noticed, all too clearly, how blood dripped from the claws on its hands and was smeared halfway up its forearms and couldn't help but think how some of that blood belonged to Harper and Garrick and how very soon mine would mix with theirs. Blood and saliva stained its snout. The fur on its jaw was slick and glistened with an awful sheen and all the while as I stared into its terrifying face, I searched for him; I searched for one sign of the man I had known and found nothing.

It was as if Brandon did not exist inside the body of the beast. It was as if every last vestige of whatever had once been human had been destroyed by this thing he had now become, Vánagandr, the Great Wolf, the God-Slayer. There was nothing but animal now and I was decimated by it. I was wiped out by the thought that he wasn't still in there somewhere.

"Please," I implored and the beast roared in response, its huge mouth opening wide and issuing forth a sound that almost brought me to my knees. It lumbered towards me and with a whimper; I shrank back, slipping in the mud that sucked at my feet and dropped my blades, raising my arms over my face. Screwing my eyes shut, I braced myself for the final attack, for the raging agony of its teeth as it clamped its jaws around my head.

When nothing happened, I opened my eyes to see it had stopped about a metre in front of me. It was so close now; I could feel its breath on my skin and the foul fetid stench that emanated from its mouth, covering me in waves of gut-churning odour. It did not move, apart from its elongated fingers that twitched by its sides, looking dangerously close to reaching out and ripping me apart.

A tear slipped freely down my cheek.

I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to stand here and weep before my inevitable death. There seemed something so horribly weak about that, something she would have done, the old Megan. She would have sobbed. She would have wailed. She would have crumbled to her knees. And I didn't want to die like that. I wanted to remain standing until the last second, until it cut me down, whether by tooth or claw. But I couldn't stop the tear from falling. It trickled slowly down my face, soon followed by another.

And it was then I saw it. A flicker. A split-second glimpse of him. Brandon.

"Bran?" I whispered, slowly lowering my arms. "Bran?"

The beast snarled, a low rumbling sound that made my bladder want to give up completely as its lips curled back from its vicious blood-stained teeth. I gasped out loud and it growled, the way a dog growls in warning just before it attacks. It advanced upon me and I cried out, my legs finally giving way and sending me sprawling into the mud. Desperately I tried to drag myself away, pushing my feet into the earth in an effort to propel my body backwards but it was no use. The beast was already upon me.

Dropping to all fours, it moved over me until I was pinned to the ground beneath its great bulk with its huge feet either side of my body and I was staring up into its snarling face. Great globules of saliva and blood dripped down from its mouth, landing in my hair, on my cheek. I shrieked and clutched at its neck, plunging my hands into the thick fur until I could feel its skin underneath, pushing against it as if I could somehow hold it at bay. Its venomous amber eyes blazed in fury, its body bristled with rage and I could do nothing to stop it. As it lowered its head towards mine, I stopped fighting. Instead, I let go and lay helpless beneath it.

"I loved you, damn it. I loved you," I said, the tears stinging my eyes.

When I felt its snout on my face, drool dampening my already-wet skin, I whimpered. I whimpered again as it travelled over my forehead, down my cheekbone, over my lips, along my jaw line. I whimpered as it buried its head into the crook of my neck, when its teeth scraped against my throat. I whimpered as its snarl reverberated in my ear and down into my chest cavity. Everywhere it went it left a trail of saliva and blood and at every probing push of its nose against my body, I whimpered and wondered when it would finally strike. I closed my eyes.

"Me-heg...."

The sound was like a thick, bubble of noise, muffled and deep. My eyes shot open.

The beast was above me still, its face just inches from mine and it was still Vánagandr, still the Great Wolf, but the sound emanated from its throat nevertheless.

"Me-heg-aaaaaan." It wrinkled up its snout as if it was disgusted by the sound.

"B-Bran?" I gasped.

That flicker appeared again. I wasn't mistaken. He was there. He was there.

With a strange keening noise, the beast backed up, moving off me and I could see the alarm in its eyes. Struggling to sit up, I stared at it in stunned amazement.

"Brandon?" I said again, reaching out a trembling hand towards it. 

The Great Wolf visibly recoiled, stumbling backwards. Raising itself onto its hind legs, it towered above me once again and with its head in the air, it opened its terrible mouth and howled with such fury and anguish it was as if the whole world fell silent in terrified anticipation. And then, with one last look at me, it turned and fled into the wood, its huge bulk casting shadows between the trees and leaving me prostrate on the ground, quivering in the mud.

**********

"Megan."

I was frozen, so engulfed by the stench of Vánagandr that it was as if he was still here and for a moment, I was too petrified to move, terrified that if I did, he would fall upon me and finally end it.

"Megan." The voice was like a thin, reedy whisper, reaching out and tugging on my senses and forcing me back to reality. I blinked, then again, before the realisation finally hit me.

"Oh my God, Garrick!" I scrambled to my knees and crawled through the churned-up earth to where he lay flat on his back, staring up at the sky through the skeletal tree canopy above.

His skin had taken on a grey-ish hue underneath the splatters of blood and mud that smeared his body and his famous long Mohawk hair had come loose and lay fanned out by his head. When I appeared at his side, he smiled weakly.

"Thank goodness," I cried with relief. "Oh Garrick, thank goodness." I smoothed away a stray lock of hair that was plastered to the side of his face. "I thought you were dead, I really did. When I saw what he did to you...." My eyes trailed downwards where one of his hands gripped his jacket, holding it over his stomach. "We'll get this fixed up," I insisted. "I'll find something to wrap round it, stem the blood flow for now until we get back to Fenton's."

I reached for him but he grabbed at my wrist, his fingers weakly wrapping around bone.

"No, Megan, don't ....don't look."

"What?" My smile wavered. "Don't be ridiculous. It'll be fine, really...." I frowned as I gently pushed his coat back off his abdomen, ignoring his weak protests, noting the dark spread of blood that saturated his midriff and the dark slashes torn in his t-shirt. Gingerly, I lifted the fabric and peeled it back, hearing him hiss as I did so. "Oh God," I whispered when I saw the ragged, vicious tears in his flesh. They were deep, so very deep.

"I told you not to look," he chided softly.

Swallowing, I mustered a reassuring smile, but the traitorous tears pricked my eyes. "And I told you it will be fine. It will, Garrick, we can fix this. I can fix this."

I looked around desperately for something to press against the ravaged wound. There was nothing here, nothing but rotting trees and the stench of death. Frantically I began to unbutton my shirt - one he had lent me - but he grasped at my hand which was now slick with his blood.

"Megan, stop." And when I didn't answer, he raised his own hand to touch my face, lightly wiping at the tears that now flowed freely down my cheek. "Megan, listen to me. Please."

"I always listen to you, but not this time." I shook my head vehemently.

"You have to, it's important."

"And have you tell me to give up? Because that's what you're going to do, isn't it? And I won't, Garrick, I won't, do you hear? You're going to get up and we're going to get Harper and get the Hell out of here."

"Megan, I'm not getting up. I can't."

"You can and you will. You just need ....you need to drink." I grinned in spite of everything, in spite of his injuries because I could save him. I knew I could. He just needed to drink, he needed blood. He needed me. Frantically rolling up my sleeve, I raised my wrist to my mouth and bit down hard on the thin skin there, feeling the sharp sting of my own teeth and the hot rush that bubbled quickly to the surface. I pressed the wound against his lips, squeezing the flesh to encourage the flow. "Drink, Garrick," I urged when he did not respond. "Please, just drink damn it."

I felt his mouth move sluggishly against my wrist, sucking weakly at the skin, then with more insistence, his tongue lapping softly at the puncture holes. Too soon, he pushed my wrist away and closed his eyes, a small satisfied smile on his bloodied lips.

When he opened them again, he fixed me with a dark stare, that familiar Garrick glint dancing across his eyes. "Oh Megan, you would give me a taste right at the very end? You might just be the cruelest vampire that ever lived."

"Don't..." I said, aghast. "Please, don't say that."

He chuckled, which soon turned into a thick, gargling cough that made him gasp for air.  After a while, he was calm again but I noticed how his chest heaved with every laboured breath,

I slumped beside him in the dirt, angry and defeated. "Why did you do it? It was suicide, you know that right? Of all the stupid things...."

"He is my brother, Megan. I would throw myself to the wolves every time if I thought I could save him." He winced, the pain etched clearly on his handsome features, before smiling sadly and tracing his thumb softly over my lips. "And because there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you."

"Dickens?" I whispered. "When will you ever not quote Dickens?"

"Soon, I think." He gave a wistful grin.

"Please Garrick." I was sobbing now. "Please, don't give up. Not now when I need you more than ever."

"Oh Megan, you don't need me. But you need him. And he needs you." His hand snaked around my neck, pulling me closer. "Listen to me now. Get Harper and get out of here. And no matter what he says, you don't leave him, do you understand? He won't survive without you; he needs you more than you could ever know. Promise me?" His grip tightened. "You have to promise me."

I nodded, the sobs racking my body. "Okay. But I can't leave you. I won't."

"By the morning, I will be nothing but dust and a memory. And by morning, you will be safe and that is all that matters now. Protect them. Protect Harper and Lucius. You will do that for me, yes?"

"I can't," I cried. "Not without you.."

"Well you must. And you will. I have every faith in you, Megan Garrick. I always have."

Pulling me down until our foreheads were touching, he whispered against my lips. "The book....Lucius has the book. It's yours now. Read it. You must find him, Megan."

"Find who? I don't understand..."

"Michael...f-find Michael..." His voice trailed off, his eyelids fluttering.

"Garrick?" My hands found his face, fingertips desperately trying to rouse him. "Garrick?"

His hand tightened around the back of my neck again and he tugged me down, pressing my lips onto his until finally, his hand dropped away and I was left there, my mouth still on his mouth, forehead against his forehead. I moaned in anguish.

"Don't you leave me, Bartholomew. I'm not ready....I can't.....please."

I buried my face into his neck and clutched at him as if holding onto his body would stop him from leaving. But it was too late.

 Bartholomew Garrick, son of Benjamin, brother of Harper, was gone.