I felt Harper's hand squeeze mine hard.

"Stand your ground. He isn't going to do anything here, they wouldn't risk it," he said, glaring defiantly at the Varúlfur.

As the young beast got closer, I saw that he was carrying something in his right hand. It was a file, similar to the type of official court file that you would see in a law firm, garnished with red ribbon. I'd seen enough of them from my time with Brandon to know what it was.

And what's more, the boy was scared. Oh, he was doing his best to keep it under check as he tried to portray an air of arrogant confidence but I could detect the fear. His heart beat loud and hard with every step forward. The closer he got, the more I could smell the stench of anxious sweat mixed together with that foul Varúlfur odour and I couldn't help but wrinkle my nose in disgust.  A sheen of perspiration slicked across his forehead and nose and I noticed how his eyes darted around as if it were him that was expecting an ambush and not us.

He reached our side of the street and mounted the pavement, careful to stand a few metres away as we faced each other. For a moment, nobody spoke, we just stood there in some surreal frozen stand-off and the world moved around us as if we weren't even there. The snow drifted down, harder now, settling on the shoulders of his black coat and dampening his hair. He was young, maybe even younger than I had first thought and his skin was smooth and flawless. I didn't recognise him at all from the Walter and Noble social engagements I had attended so assumed he was a new recruit; one of the younglings ready to start his career in the bosom of the family business.

"I b-bring you this," he stuttered, his voice high-pitched and shaky. He held the file out in front of him but made no move to step closer. I noticed how his hand shook and how he swallowed hard as if trying to ease an arid throat.

Harper stared at the file but didn't take it. Instead his gaze drifted back up to the Varúlfur's face and his eyes narrowed to dark slits.

"What is it?"

"You have to t-take it," the boy insisted, shaking the file. His panic levels were increasing by the second although what he thought we were going to do in full view of a packed London street, I had no idea.

"I will take it when I know what it contains." Harper was unflustered.

The Varúlfur's cheek muscles tensed and he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, his immaculately polished brogues smudging patterns in the light layer of snow that had already settled on the ground.

"I don't know what's in it," he squeaked. "I was just told to bring it to you."

"And you found us, how?"

"We know your places, assassin." A smug tone crept into the boy's voice, clearly feeling this was his crutch to gain some semblance of power.

"And you expect me to believe that the Varúlfur would send you? A whelp? Well, they're either particularly fucking stupid or you're just very dispensable."

The boy's face dropped and his eyes widened for a moment, realisation sweeping through him. Harper snorted and shook his head in disgust.

"Give me the file, boy." He held out his hand but made no move to take it from the Varúlfur. The boy knew he was going to have to step closer and he did, but only to the point where he could lean forward and place the file within Harper's reach and as soon as he had done so, he stepped back, seeking sanctuary in distance.

Harper untied the loose ribbon and opened the file. Quickly he scanned the documents inside and looked back up at the Varúlfur, with one eyebrow raised.

The boy, standing stiff as a board with his hands clenched by his sides, withered under Harper's stare, his chest pumping in and out with fear. A slight waft of urine drifted over on the breeze and I knew he was doing all he could not to piss himself in the middle of the street.

"You can go now," Harper dismissed him and the boy's face twisted in anguish.

"B-but they said I had to get an answer."

Harper closed the file and stepped closer to the Varúlfur pup, whose skin began to bubble under the surface, the beast within him trying to surface like a natural defence mechanism.

"Tut, tut," Harper scolded, with a cruel smile. "We don't want to make a scene, do we? They want an answer? Here's my answer: tell them not to send a boy to do a man's job. You come looking for me again and I'll send you back in a fucking doggy bag."

The boy stepped back, slipped on the kerb and went sprawling on his backside into the wet gutter. With a cry he scrambled up and stumbled across the road, pushing his way through pedestrians on the other side and was quickly swallowed up by the crowd.

I scanned the street again, no longer feeling that cold stream of fear running through my veins, but nevertheless deeply unsettled at how easy we had been found and at whatever lay inside that file.

The shrill tone of Harper's mobile made me flinch.

"Yeah, we're fine," he said after hitting the call-accept button. "But it's not safe here; we'll meet you down by the canal."

With that, he ended the call and grabbed my hand once more. "Come on," he said gruffly, his eyes darting around us. "Stay alert. This whole thing fucking stinks to high heaven."

We took off in the direction of the canal and for the whole journey, I remained vigilant but not once did I detect the scent of any Varúlfur who might be following us. And the strange thing was that it made me more anxious to know we were not being tracked than if we had a whole pack of them on our trail. And I knew that Harper felt the same. His grip on my hand was almost painful and it didn't ease for a second as we made our way through the back streets until I could smell the sludgy, stinking waters of the canal.

Waiting for us in a narrow side street, close to the black stream that oozed through the locks, were two of Garrick's cars, both with the engines running but the headlights off. Garrick and Kale sat in the first car and through the windscreen; I could see Garrick's face glowering at us as we approached. In the car behind were Blaine and Sergio.

Climbing into the back of Garrick's car, he didn't turn but instead his eyes remained fixed on the street in front of us.

"Is it safe?" he asked, his voice was clipped and abrupt and I felt the anger reeling off him in great waves that threatened to consume us.

"We weren't followed," Harper replied.

"Well that makes me feel so much better considering you clearly didn't know you were being followed last night," Garrick sneered.

"They didn't follow us. They already knew the Lion was my place."

This time, Garrick did whip round to face us and his fury seemed to reach out and fill every space, crushing everything and sucking the air out of the car. "Oh really? That's just fucking wonderful, Harper. And how in the hell would they know where to find you?"

"I worked for them, remember?" Harper snapped back. "I double-crossed them. They've probably been searching for me ever since I took Megan."

"What did I tell you? I said that this obsession of yours would kill us. How many years have I worked to keep us underground? How much have we had to sacrifice to stay hidden? And you lead them straight to us because of your twisted games with the alpha."

"I led them to me!" Harper growled. "Until recently, there was no us, only you. You and your band of merry fuck-wits. They know my places, not yours."

"Oh and you can say that with absolute certainty can you?"

Harper didn't reply, instead he slumped back in the seat and fixed his brother with an arrogant, obstinate glare.

"Let's get back," Garrick sighed irritated. "We need to do a ten mile perimeter sweep of the base. I need to know that you haven't brought a whole army down upon us."

With that he turned back to face the road and motioned for Kale to drive away but I heard him curse under his breath.

"Merry fuck-wits," he hissed.  

*******

Employing vampires from the Gravestock battle, Garrick did just as he had promised and swept the streets of Whitechapel searching for signs of the Varúlfur getting closer to the old asylum. Apart from the recent Shoreditch attack and catching their scent around the Old Red Lion, the area was clear of our enemy which should have eased the cold feeling that constantly seemed to creep across my shoulder blades. But even inside the safe confines of the asylum walls, I couldn't shake the idea that I was being watched and had to fight to stop looking over my shoulder, sure that I would turn around and find Brandon there. The Varúlfur's absence only seemed to make the ghost of my husband grow stronger until I would rather have listened to the insane ramblings of the asylum spirits than hear his voice in my head.

You're mine. You'll always be mine.

As it turned out, I was right to be anxious.

The file sat opened on Benjamin's old desk, the ribbon discarded in a coiled heap by its side. Garrick stood leaning over the desk, with his palms pressed flat either side of the file and run his tongue over the tip of one of his incisors, deep in thought. His long Mohawk was loose and hung down one side of his face, skimming his strong jaw line.

"So? What do you think?" said Harper, who was leaning against a nearby bookcase, his legs crossed at the ankles and arms folded across his chest.

"I think that they're desperate, that's what I think."

"That's not necessarily a good thing," Harper frowned at his brother. "If they're desperate it means they're capable of anything. Everything they're doing is completely at odds with how they operate. It's too quiet, too fucking civilised and I don't like it."

"Well I don't like it very much either, but they wouldn't be doing this if we didn't have something they want very badly."

"Someone want to tell me what's going on?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

Both looked at me and I could clearly see the apprehension etched on Harper's face.

Garrick let a long drawn-out sigh and stood up straight, motioning for me to come closer and look at the file on the desk. I did so, my eyes widening as I digested the words on the page.

"They still want Lucius," I said, feeling a strange knot of tension balling inside of me.

"Yes. Just as they always did. And now they want to meet again to resume negotiations. The question is who wants him? The Varúlfur or their client?"

"Who is their client?" I asked.

"I don't know. I never met him. All my dealings were with Brandon."

"So how do you know that there even was a client? Maybe it was just Walter and Noble all along?"

"Doing deals with vampires is not the Varúlfur way. And besides, the Varúlfur are wealthy but not wealthy enough to justify the kind of money I was being offered to give Lucius up."

"And how much was that?"

Garrick's eyes glistened with a cold zeal. "Eight million."

"Excuse me?" I gawped at him. "They were going to pay you eight million pounds for the boy?"

"Their bid started at two," he smiled thinly. "And your husband tried to take it to nine."

"Brandon tried to make a million out of the deal?" I was stunned.

"Hmmm yes," mused Garrick. "He tried to cheat me out of a million and make off the back of his client's deal and so he had to pay the price. Who'd have thought that you would be worth quite so much, Megan?" He leaned forward onto the desk again and let his eyes wander over my face and down to my throat. "Then again...."

"Cute, Garrick," I said narrowing my eyes at him. "So they were really going to pay eight million?"

"Oh I don't know what they were going to pay me. That's just where the bidding stopped because they found out that Brandon was planning to cheat them. And we had only just gotten started. Lucius is a very, very valuable commodity, trust me."

"But he's just a boy, for god's sake!" I cried.

"No Megan," Garrick said, his face darkening. "He is not just a boy. He is one of The Lost. He is a descendent of the nephilim and he is probably the most powerful being on this planet. And whoever possesses him, owns that power."

"Which means right now, that's you," I sneered. Something about this was leaving a very sour taste in my mouth.

Garrick shrugged. "And so why should I give him up for a paltry eight million when he is clearly worth so very much more?"

"Please tell me that you're not still thinking of negotiating with them?" I said, staring at him incredulously.

"They are willing to consider a substantial increase in their offer. It's all there in black and white," he smirked, gesturing to the file. "The deal is still on."

"Well, I see this power trip of yours has gone straight to your dick," I said, shaking my head in disgust. "Whatever he is supposedly worth, he is still a child. And you're going to sell him to some mystery buyer just to line your pockets? What the fuck is wrong with you?" I turned to Harper. "And you're really just going to stand back and let him do this?"

"The deal was none of my business. My business was...." Harper began.

"Oh yeah, your business was me. And Brandon. I forget, you actually couldn't give a fuck about anything else, could you? I'm starting to see the family resemblance. Both of you only give a shit about yourselves. How very noble of you both."

"Are you trying to say that you actually care about what happens to Lucius? The boy you cannot abide to be in the same room with?" Garrick smiled smugly.

"And I have good reason not to! But that doesn't mean I think you should sell him to the highest bidder. Besides, after everything you said about him, about what he is capable of, why the hell would you give him up? Because you're right. He's not just a boy. He's a weapon. So do you really want to be responsible for what comes next after you swap him for an obscene amount of money?"

"I shall be so rich; I don't know I will even care."

"And maybe you might be dead too. Did you think about that? What good is all that money when you're living in Hell? You cannot meet with these people, Garrick. Please, I'm begging you. All the money in the world is not worth what Lucius has shown me."

Garrick smiled and I knew the decision had already been made.

I looked at them both and shook my head, feeling the weight of the shadows as they danced around the walls and hearing the ghostly screams suddenly rise in a deafening crescendo.

"What happened to fighting? What was the point in Gravestock? All those vampires that died that night and all those that died before them. They died for nothing if you're prepared to do a deal with the ones who slaughtered them and who will continue to slaughter them because they know that they have the supposed great vampire leaders in their pockets? You have given every vampire hope and now you crush them by caring more about money and power."

Garrick slammed his fist down on the desk, sending piles of books falling to the floor, sending little clouds of dust drifting up into the air. "Megan, we do this for them! Don't you see? We can demand anything we want in return for Lucius. We can demand freedom forever. We can demand that the Varúlfur leave us in peace. We can demand an end to this war once and for all. No more hiding away in fear of our nemesis. No more living in the gutters and putrid holes of this city while they live in luxury. Lucius is worth so much more than eight million and I am going to make damned sure that we get what we are owed. We are going to meet with them and we are going to open up the negotiations. And what's more, you will be coming with us."

"What?" I cried. "No way. I am having nothing to do with this. You want to sell the boy, that's your business not mine."

Garrick reached out and grabbed my wrist, tugging me closer and forcing me to steady myself for fear he would drag me right over the table. Shoving the file towards me, he pointed towards the bottom of the page, stabbing his finger at the words printed there.

"Without you, there is no deal," he hissed, his dark eyes blazing. "See? Your presence has been specifically requested. It seems you are a necessity in the proceedings or they do not take place at all. You really are worth more than a million after all. In fact, right now, you're worth almost as much as Lucius himself."

I stared at the words and realised he spoke the truth. The Varúlfur wanted me to be there during the negotiations. In fact, they had demanded it.

You're mine. You'll always be mine.