Hellfire

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I stood rigidly, arms folded and my attention utterly fixed on the dead manor in front of me beneath the shadowing brim of my cap. Moonlight shifted over it, sweeping in blue-silver beams to highlight how derelict it was. The eastern roof had collapsed, the walls bulging from rain and wilderness, windows shattered or boarded up. The central and west side were clearly still used and lived in. Yellow lights glimmered within grubby windows covered in torn curtains, and shadows shifted about. I wiggled my nose, not liking I didn't have access to my hellfire to really tell what those shadows were.

Alistair stood beside me, tense as a springboard but holding himself obediently in place. I glanced at him, eyeing the sheer need to be in there. Ella was close by. Within his grasp. He was desperate to have her back.

My attention shifted to the howl echoing within the clustered bodies of aspens, firs and oaks. Eyes glittered in the dark, watching. The moonlight baring the strange, twisted bodies of human and wolf loping through the trees.

Lucius came to my side, his arms full of Cynthia, hair cascading from her scalp in elegant waves and her body limp as if she were dead. His teeth were unsheathed, his eyes glittering dangerously as he stared at the house.

'Alistair, do not move or do or say a thing. You stay put until I tell you otherwise.'

He flexed beside me. 'Fine.'

'Take the lead.' He instructed authoritatively, and he glanced at me, a flicker of intense heat dancing beneath the ice. 'Stay close.'

He set off and I did as he asked and shadowed him. While he focused on the house, I glanced about, spying Lucius' bats beginning to descend, screaming with his fury like a storm. Others were amongst them - Oliver's, Alistair's, Sam's.

Within the trees, shadowy movements flickered, but I spied my family amongst them. Arnold's big cat body was prowling lazily, his tail twitching irritably and his hot breath rushing out. Oliver and Sam shadowed him quietly, watching us intently and waiting for the moment they were called. They didn't hide. Lucius had ordered them not to. Let the werewolves know they were there. Let Whelan know Lucius hadn't come alone. It may make him think twice about demanding blood.

Alistair strode to the front door and flexed his hands, fingers tearing open and forming blood into rigid claws. He nudged the door open with the tip of his boot, finding it swinging sadly, its hinges whining loudly. He looked to Lucius, obediently seeking guidance. No matter how upset Alistair was with Lucius, he knew not to disobey in an event like this. It could cost someone their life.

'Go. He'll be waiting.'

Alistair slipped inside without hesitation, carefully diving into the dark. Lucius followed next, ducking the limp Cynthia into the threshold smoothly, his big body taking up the hallway easily. I went next, leaving the doorway open for an easy exit.

I couldn't see much ahead. Lucius took up most of my vision, his broad black enveloped by the dark coat draped over him, so I kept my focus on either side and behind. Peeling wallpaper met me, but there had been some attempts here and there to keep the place tidy. I saw a small sitting room to the left, full of a roaring fire and little flora sofas and armchairs. A doorway led into a massive kitchen that looked like it hadn't been updated since the Second World War, a wrought iron stove looming in the dim light and old brown and sand tiling. I noted the number of chairs around the table, the plates abandoned. Some small. Children. I wiggled my nose, glancing at the back of Lucius' head. I didn't blame him for being determined to not shed any blood. While Whelan may be a mad bastard, he had children and Lucius valued their safety above all else.

We slipped into a larger room beyond the stairs and near the back of the house. It was bright, the lights on at full, and the chairs in here more numerous; toys piled in the corners; books flowing from shelves. Clearly, this was the main space the pack gathered.