Savage Wings: Book Three of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 24

"Fuck you, Fenton!"

I shoved my hands hard against his chest, making him rock back on his heels, but Fenton's face remained like stone, reverting to that stoic military-mask he wore whenever he was trying to stay in control of a situation that had clearly gone tits-up.

"What do you want me to say, Megan? Harper made the decision to go, what the hell we were meant to do?"

The rage was building with every second. I could feel it, under my skin, inside my skull, surging through my veins.

"We could have stopped him," I groaned in enraged frustration. "We could have done it together."

He sighed like he was facing the tirade of some tiresome child and not someone whose hands were itching to grab his throat and squeeze until his eyes popped out of their sockets.

"Megan, we were on the other side of the damn fence. By the time we'd have climbed back over he would have already gone and we'd have run straight into Brandon. We did the only thing we could have, considering the circumstances."

"No, you did what you wanted to do. I had no bloody choice!"

He cocked his head to one side, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Would you rather I'd let you go? Make Harper's decision to draw them away so you would be safe a completely pointless gesture?"

Pointless. That word whirled round and round inside my head as if Brandon was standing right by my shoulder, whispering it into my ear over and over again. I shuddered as I recalled the way he had killed the boy - one of his own kin – with such nonchalant ease. I'd seen him fret more on whether to wear a Hugo Boss or Armani shirt to work, than he had when he'd smothered the Varúlfur youngling.

You're....pointless.

I backed off from Fenton, but that didn't mean my anger had eased. It almost felt easier to be angry, whirling around like a spinning top, hitting every surface and rebounding violently again and again, because without the rage there was only pure free-falling panic. It was eating away at me and the only thing holding it at bay was my anger. All I could think about what Harper with them, with Brandon, and the thought of that made me just want to scream. I'd been the guest of honour at one of their sick parties before. I'd had first-hand experience of what they were capable of and didn't want to think about what they would do to him, yet my mind just kept bombarding me with cruel images that made me veer between wanting to curl up into a ball or punch my fist into a wall until the bones shattered into dust.

Just when I thought I couldn't hold back any longer, a small gloved hand slipped into mine and I flinched, looking down into the bluest of eyes. Lucius stared up at me, his face full of solemn calm and all at once the rage seemed to dissipate, replaced with such an overwhelming sadness that it bordered on a deep sense of grief. I felt bereft, lost and utterly adrift as if a black hole had just opened up beneath me and I was plunging into the dark with that sick falling sensation in the pit of my stomach. My throat tightened and the heat ballooned behind my eyes, tears stinging my vision.

Glancing up, I looked around at those that had gathered to find out what had happened in Mayfair and it almost broke me to see the pain echoed in their faces. I could feel it enveloping each and every one of them like a relentless tide and I realised then that I hadn't given much thought to how they would feel to discover that Benjamin's first-made son had been taken by the enemy.

To lose Garrick had been like a fist crushing their hearts. To lose Harper was like having their hearts ripped from their chests and dashed to floor at their feet. However they regarded me or Fenton, Harper was the one they all looked to lead us, even if they didn't want to admit it. I always felt their admiration for him whenever he was in the room. They might not all have particularly liked him – after all, he wasn't always very likeable – but they did respect him and they knew Benjamin had been right about him. Harper just had that commanding manner about him, something that told people to sit up, take notice - and watch your damn step while you're at it.