The studio apartment is tiny, with barely enough room to turn around. It's not filthy, but it's not been painted in several years from the looks of it. The bed is a futon that doubles as a lounger in the daytime. There's an under-the-counter refrigerator with a microwave and electric kettle on top, a two-ring gas hob on top of a small oven that doubles as a grill, and a tiny sink over a cupboard. There's a coffee table, but it's wedged against the wall at the end of the futon. The corner of the room has been boxed off, with a door. When I open the door I find a toilet, a shower and a narrow floor-to-ceiling cupboard. That's already more cupboard space than I have stuff to fill it with. The ceiling slopes, and the single window is set into it. Through the clouded, algae-edged glass I can see a pale sky crisscrossed with aircraft con trails.
Mr Shouty, who is indeed the Mr Patel I was hopi
The second date, as promised, is to the pub up the road which had paintings for sale. It comes a little too soon for my tastes, but when you work the hours we do you learn to grab opportunities when they come. Holly has really made an effort, with a peacock blue trouser suit that makes his rear view look amazing. Apparently he doesn't do casual. He's managed to find nail varnish that matches exactly. The man must spend half his life shopping for nail polish!I feel a little underdressed beside him, although I know my dark green shawl top complements my skin. I've gone for matching wedge hightops instead of more formal shoes. I've left my hair loose as well and it is bouncing in a glossy, crinkly cloud around my head. Holly stares. Maybe he's never seen me without my hair up.He gallantly holds the door open for me, which could start t
I realise within moments that I have taken on too much. This is no fledgling. He's brutal, merciless and well trained. We're both moving faster than a human eye could follow as we trade attacks. In only a few seconds he's knocked me flat among the garbage littering the alley, leaping forwards after me, lunging for my neck with his fangs. As his weight knocks the breath from me, he recoils.There really was a lot of garlic in those kebabs.It gives me a fraction of a chance to get away and in desperation I roll away from him. My scrabbling hands find a broken wooden chair. My first swing misses, and more attacks from my foe have me reeling until I finally connect. The chair smashes. I know exactly what to do with the broken leg that I am left clutching in my claws, and the vamp
I'm home, the rest of the journey having passed in a blur. The flat looks perfectly normal, although I switch on all the lights to help dispel my mental shadows. There's no Bellmouth, which comes as a comfort because it means the danger really is over.The phone calls begin as soon as I remember to switch my mobile back on, because everyone in the family hears Bellmouth when he bays a warning. Rupert too, and even a few of his bodyguard, the ones who have been there since Blackmarsh decided that Rupert was One Of Us and have seen and accepted all the associated weirdness.
Paul and I take only a few steps before Mark stops us and sends one of his companions to get a car. I am embarrassed at how pathetically grateful I am not to having to walk. It's only a short trip, no more than a couple of minutes. Goldhawk territory looks no different to the streets we have been driving through. That has to be intentional. It's sensible to blend in. Mark points out the pack tags spray-painted onto walls along with other random graffiti, marking the territory boundaries, which is helpful. Rather than being shown straight to the Alpha, I'm given the chance to shower and patch up my injuries. Mark has someone find me a change of clothes. Goldhawk hospitality is getting a five star rati
It is both reassuring and disconcerting to return to the normality of rehearsal and performance. I even find David's casual
There's dead silence in the wake of my question. After a long moment, Russel clears his throat in surprise, but it's Christy who finds her voice first. “Perhaps you should give us a better idea of what you have in mind?” I marshal my thoughts. My request had been an impulse, but it does make sense. “Back… where
I find the best way for me to cope with stress is to do what I can, rather than dwelling on what I cannot. In my case, what I can do is to find out more about Mr Cavendish. I have rather an unfair advantage when it comes to investigating people. Your average member of the public, when they want to learn more about the CEO of a little-known company, is limited in their sources to the company website, Companies House and maybe Wikipedia, if the company has a high enough profile. I have MI5 on speed dial.I don’t call the emergency number. MI5 is there to protect the country, the Queen, and by extension the future King. It is not there to act as my personal assistant. However I have been assigned a dedicated contact within the organisation. After forcing myself to go to bed and at least attempt to sleep, I wait until she will be in the office and call her.The reputation of Blackmarsh is such that, in a few select but important places, you don&r
I stand motionless as I try to persuade myself of what I just heard. A vampire, a senior vampire, a very senior vampire, owes me a favour. For having got lucky when jumping into a fight that hadn’t been mine. Not only that but, from the sounds of it, I have immunity from his… family? Faction? His people, until I claim that favour. Perhaps I should never cash in. That sort of immunity sounds useful.The nondescript woman is waiting, holding out her hand with a chunky signet ring nestled in her palm. “He sends you this token, to present at the Club as your identification.”I draw on my training and give a polite dip of my head. “Please convey my acknowledgement to Aloysius Cavendish and inform him that I appreciate his honourable conduct. You may place the token here.” I point to the cleanest-looking patch of ground I can see, and step back. The woman- the vampire, I suppose- crouches to place the ring where I indicated, and
*** Some Time Later...*** “/Aiden? Can you hear me? Aiden? Please?/” “/Huh? Who? Imogen? That you?/” I really wasn't expecting to hear from my sister. Not this way. A text, sure. I’ve been bad at texting her, despite my promises. A message from her complaining about it wouldn’t surprise me. “/Aiden, thank the Goddess!/” Is she crying? My little sister? “/Imogen, what’s wrong
Everything is downhill now. Goldhawk’s mission is over pretty much as soon as they arrive. Everything else for them is just meeting people, and that doesn’t need much organisation. It’ll happen, with Badger’s Den giving them somewhere to stay for the night. The two new Mates are going to want the visit to go on longer, but Mark will need to get back. Either Paul will stay behind, or Caroline will visit London, probably. I hope it forces Ian into doing something. Join, Challenge, I don’t care as long as it becomes his job to keep the kids out of trouble until they’re a couple of years older. I finally get a bit of time without someone wanting me to do something,or decide something, or explain something. I prop myself against the wall of the building, and stuff my hands in my pockets. There’s a papery crinkle. I pull out the folded sheet, and remember why I put
“Never rains but pours,” I sigh, linking my arm through Aiden and kissing his cheek with sympathy. “Or is it no rest for the wicked? My poor sweet Mate, pour yourself onto the quadbike, Reese can drive you to meet them, and I’ll come on one of the horses. Timothy’s perfectly capable of seeing our unwanted guests off, we can leave Shelley, Mary and Tom with him. Baxter too, unless he’s already seen more of Black than he wants to.”Aiden leans into me. I can fee him collecting himself before he speaks. “Goldhawk are here to talk to Badger’s Den anyway. I’ll talk to Caroline, or that other one, the one they had as spokesman. Let them know to expect guests and see if they can put the visitors up somewhere.”I elect myself to update Timothy and put him in charge of things in the village, and to give T
“Fly?” I swap a puzzled look with Sarah. “That’s not one I know about. Command any werewolf, speak to any werewolf like a Pack link. And immunity to silver. Sort of. Still hurts like a… still hurts, but it’ll heal up as fast as any other wound, won’t knock me out. Been like that since forever.”Ian harrumphs. First time I’ve heard someone actually do that. “How long is forever?”“Few thousand years at least. Far back as I can remember any lives. Not that I’ve remembered all of them, there's way too many.”“That’s not a problem most werewolves have,” Ian says quietly, frowning. “What’s your… plan? Your intentions. Your Majesty.”I can feel my sho
The earth is cool under my butocks and Aiden is a furnace above me. I’m pinned on the ground with my jeans around my ankles and I can’t quite remember how I got there. Rough bark tugs at my hair and prints itself into the back of my wrists. Urgent, demanding hands ruck my shirt and bra up and free my breasts.“Please. I need you.” Aiden’s voice is soft and pleading. His hands, his body, they are anything but. They don’t plead. They demand, they take. One hand tangles with my hair and wrists, yanking stray hairs, splitting fragments of bark from the tree bole beneath and behind us. The tang of sap fights against the musk of sweat and desire. Aiden’s hips thrust between my legs and my back scrapes against the dirt and leaves and brown pine needles beneath us.He’s inside me already, driving hard and fast. His sweat
An angry opponent makes mistakes.That’s what my father and Caleb never understood. Anger is a weapon to their thinking, not a liability. Black is cast from the same mould. I’ve wound him up by staying calm, by being polite, and most of all by humiliating him, and he can’t see clearly through the red mist of fury. He’s three hundred pounds of muscle and rage, as unstoppable, dangerous and terrifying as a runaway locomotive, charging down on me. His free hand is out with claws ready, blocking any escape. Blinding sunlight flashes from the silver of his blade as it sweeps down.Now, Frost whispers, lending me his speed. I slip beneath Black’s raised elbow, drawing a line of fire across his exposed stomach with my sword. I spin and dance backwards as Black skids and stumbles before he crosses the outside edge of the duelling square. &
Black’s arrogance wins out over any caution he might have. He signals to one of the werewolves with him, announcing his Second.“What’s he playing at?” Baxter mutters when he realises that Aiden isn’t just buying time with Black’s Challenge, but is actively looking to fight that way.Baxter isn’t Pack, not yet, not officially. I doubt I can speak to him with the Pack link. It’s Aiden himself who can do that. I don’t even want to risk whispering. Werewolves have good hearing. I nudge his arm, to get his attention, and take my phone out.Aiden is considering Baxter as a Packmate. Blackmarsh trusts him. I don’t think Aiden will mind. “immune 2 silver” I type. “knows sword”. I turn the screen so Baxter can see it but, hopefully, nobody e
Nothing’s ever simple. Now I’ve got Caroline to look after. It’s irresponsible to bring her along, but it’d be worse telling her to stay out of it and expecting her to obey. There’s Alphas that nobody would dare disobey. My father, for example. I’m not him. “/Am I a bad Alpha?/” I make sure it’s just my Pack hearing that. The Peace Seekers. They’re not the right people to ask though. None of them are werewolves. “/You think we’d let you stick around if you were, boss?/” Sarah reaches over to give my hand a squeeze. “/If this is about Caroline, you said it yourself, if you tried sending her away
I’ve never really watched war films. I’ve never really been that interested. It feels as if I’m in one now, although I have no idea how accurate that thought is. We’ve crossed the nature reserve as if it’s enemy territory, constantly on the alert even though we’re keeping to the public paths, so we’re not, technically, on Badger’s Den territory. “If we’re talking technicalities, that would be Aiden’s territory anyway,” Reese points out when I mention it. We see neither hide nor hair of the Pack that claims the surrounding land, and veer out of the reserve into farmland where we are coming up on the small coastal village where Baxter says he’s being held. It looks like one of those lost-in-time places where cosy TV murders are set, except half the houses are holiday cottages now and empty for most of the year. It’s ever so slightly spooky, riding past bl