"Hush, love. I’ve got you." Fingers gently combing through her tangled locks and an arm wrapped firmly around her waist kept panic at bay as she whimpered into his neck.
He was familiar with all their usual hiding places, so basement, laundry room, in wardrobes or under beds no longer promised sanctuary. So, as increasing sounds of violence rose from the drawing room, William grabbed Drusilla’s hand and fled.
Up the main staircase, past the entrance to Angelus’ private rooms. In through the door of the mistress’ suite, through the drawing room. More stairs, this time narrow and steep, and Dru tripping over the top step, grazing her knee, when William yanked her round to the right.
She was heading left. Back to the nursery, her retreat into childhood when things got too bad for her addled mind to cope.
Not good enough. Not this time.
Stairs again. Wooden and bare, worn to a dip from countless servants’ feet.
The housekeeper’s room and the foul smell of mothballs filled the air. Finally, this was what he was searching for.
"Stay."
He pushed her up against the wall and dragged open the door. Piles of spare linens overflowed from the laden shelves, and he grabbed and pulled, stuffed and crammed until there was space enough... he hoped.
Him first. Then he caught her hand, easing her in onto his lap. Pressed together so tightly that there was hardly space to breathe. He hauled the door closed behind them; fingers trapped when the warped wood refused to play.
A curse was ground out from between clenched teeth - don’t lose it. She needs you, you nonce.
Finally, the last scrap of light vanished and they were alone in the pitch-blackness, surrounded by cotton and the stench of camphor that he prayed would be enough to stop him finding them.
They waited.
She whimpered. He brushed his fingers through her hair, willing her to quietness. "Hush, love. I’ve got you."
He’s coming.
Heavy footsteps, staggered from excessive alcohol.
Closer.
Closer.
Silence.
He’s just outside. They could feel him, and please God let him be too drunk to sense them.
The footsteps moved on and the tiniest sigh fluttered from Dru’s lips.
They’ve escaped. For now.
...
Bright light flooded the closet, shadowed by a hulking body… "Hello kiddies." …obsidian needle eyes boring into them… "Daddy’s home."…and the smell of good whisky turned sour.
He’s here. Angelus is here.
***
West Norwood Cemetery, Three Months Earlier
"My brave knight."
Mesmerised by the exquisite woman on her knees in front of him, delicately cleaning the blood from his torn knuckles with her tongue, William tried to make sense of what was happening. The last thing he remembered was the deserted cabmen’s shelter and this self-same woman approaching him. At first he’d thought she was a streetwalker, then a pickpocket and finally insane. The latter seemed most likely as he vaguely remembered her biting him.
Then he woke up.
Here.
Shut in a coffin and face to face with a skeleton.
He cast a quick glance over his shoulder to reassure himself that no, he hadn’t been mistaken. The casket was still there, its splintered lid visible through the open top of the stone sarcophagus, the empty eyed skull staring back at him. He shuddered, his eyes closing at the intensity of the feelings that were sweeping through him and realised that hunger was fast out weighing everything else.
"He hurts me yer see."
That brought him a semblance of control, a clarion call on William’s innate sense of honour as an English gentleman. The girl was looking at him, her head cocked birdlike to one side, her chameleon eyes swirling with something that looked like hope, and William felt himself fall the moment their gazes met. Cecily’s rejection was as nothing in the face of this beauty.
"My mummy and my sisters. Sucked their insides out until there was nothing left for me."
He sighed, content to play along as long as she would let him, and brought her hand to his mouth, brushing a gentle kiss across her fingertips.
"You will be my knight, won’t you sweet Willie?"
"And what terrible man would threaten such a beautiful princess?"
She smiled, her eyes widening in childlike innocence. "Why Daddy, of course, you silly thing."
*
William squinted out through the mausoleum door into the gravestone littered darkness beyond, before realising that his lack of glasses was no longer the handicap it used to be. In fact, his eyesight seemed to be remarkably good.
"Ah… my dear?" He really needed to discover the name of this siren that had won his heart, he thought rather distractedly. "Where are we?"
She slipped under his arm and wrapped it around her, pressing her slim frame into his side and hiding her face in his neck.
"My dear?" He jostled her shoulder gently, then harder as he felt her start to quiver.
"So this be where yer hid him." A man’s voice came from nearby and William’s head whipped round. From the deep shadows beyond the mausoleum stepped an enormous brute of a fellow; easily over six feet tall and broad enough to suggest his roots lay in the labouring classes. His accent did nothing to belie that possibility boasting an Irish lilt overlain by time’s influence. "I see you’ve met me Drusilla."
William tightened his arm around the girl in an attempt to still her shaking and fell back on his carefully cultivated `master of the house’ attitude. "And you, sir, would be?"
The fellow sauntered forward; thumbs tucked into the tops of his dark trousers, pushing back his long coat that swayed heavily behind him. His bearing screaming insolence at everything good and noble. Truly one of life’s bullies.
He stopped only when they were face to face, far closer than propriety dictated. "Angelus," he stated casually, staring down at William, a position William found neither familiar nor comfortable. Instinctively he took several steps back, opening up the distance between them. In response a slow smile spread over the other man’s face. "And you’d be Drusilla’s idiot," he sneered contemptuously, "I’m glad to see her taste hasn’t improved."
"Drusilla?" The girl snuggled closer into his neck and William had to assume that that was, indeed, her name. "Is this the man that hurt you, my love?" She nodded, still not raising her head.
He gripped her by the shoulders and pulled her away from him slightly, peering at her face. "Drusilla? I want you to listen to me." She avoided his eyes and he shook her gently, trying to get her to hear him. When he spoke again it was very quietly so that the other man, Angelus, would not hear. "When I tell you, I want you to run. Promise me, Drusilla, that whatever you may hear you won’t come back. I won’t let him hurt you. Do you understand?"
She gazed at him now; comprehension lingering in her eyes and one long nailed finger came up to caress the left side of his face from brow to chin. "Perfect now," she murmured, "but beware the snicker-snack, my love."
"Love?" William garnered his courage and did something he’d never entertained before he met this glorious creature. He leaned forward and kissed her firmly on the lips.
Gasping, she pulled back, her eyes darkening with desire and he whispered, "Run," before pushing her gently towards the entrance to the cemetery. Drusilla did as she was told, disappearing into the night as he watched. Only when she had completely vanished did he turn back to Angelus.
"Right, sir." William slipped off his jacket, pushed up his shirtsleeves and adopted the correct stance, one foot braced behind the other, with his fists balled in front of him. "I believe I have a young lady’s honour to defend."
Angelus chortled at the sight of the newly risen vampire up on his okkers and posing like a puffed-up bantam cock. This was turning out to be infinitely more fun than he’d feared.
"Laugh, would you, sir. I’ll have you know I was a strict adherent to the Marquis’ Rules at school."
Shaking his head, Angelus turned and started to walk away. "You know, I came here tonight to stake you, boy, but after this I think I’ll let her keep you." He glanced back to see William still standing where he was left. "Come with me, we’ll talk about it on the way home."
He got three more paces before a weight landed on his back and he reached up one hand, seized the fledgling by the scruff and dragged him off, dropping him to the ground. William immediately bounced back to his feet, unaware his face had changed to its demonic countenance, his body nearly vibrating with anger.
"Sir, I request you give me satisfaction. Nay, I demand it."
"You want me to fight you." It wasn’t a question; the other’s body language was such that nothing else would fit the bill.
Chin jutting defiantly, William nodded and again raised his fists, rocking on the balls of his feet. Angelus shrugged, made as if to turn away again, then swung back and punched William hard on the temple. The young vampire’s eyes rolled back in his head, his knees buckled and he tumbled face forward to the ground without so much as a whimper. Sighing, Angelus hauled him up and threw William over his shoulder, calling out to the vampire lurking just beyond the trees lining the central avenue.
"Dawn’s coming in an hour, Dru. For god’s sake go find your boy something to eat."
***
Drusilla was torn from his arms and William sprang out of the linen cupboard in pursuit. He had the presence of mind to yell, "Dru, fight him!" before laying in to Angelus himself. Surely between them they could take the older vampire down.
A bellow of rage erupted from Angelus as William’s fist connected with his nose and he staggered back, Drusilla’s arm still clutched in one huge hand. She wasn’t fighting. It had drained out of her the moment he touched her, just like it always did. On his own now, William refused to give up. Adrenaline surged through him as another of his punches hit home - the alcohol Angelus had consumed slowing his reaction times - and Drusilla dropped to the floor, covering her head with her arms as the two males started to fight in earnest.
William didn’t even try to restrain his holler of glee when Angelus tumbled backwards down the servant’s stairs. This time he had him for sure. Not waiting for his elder to rise, he leapt down after him and hauled him to his feet, landing more well placed punches. Driving him back, past the nursery, past the governess’ room. Angelus staggered, shaking his head like a stunned bear, trying to collect his senses in the face of alcohol and this unexpected barrage of fists.
The main staircase loomed behind them, with a two-storey drop to the tiled entrance hall below. William surged forwards determined to end it now. This time the old man was going down. No more days listening to her screams of agony intermixed with cries of ecstasy. This time he would protect her, from Angelus and from herself.
Angelus registered William’s sudden charge and dropped at the last second, twisting to rise when the young vampire was above him and tossing him high into the air and over the banister. Eschewing the stairs Angelus followed him down, using the balusters to slow his drop to the entrance hall. He touched down lightly yards from where William had landed and strolled over to where the youngster was trying, without much success, to push himself to his feet.
Placing a leather booted foot heavily on the back of William’s neck, Angelus gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, savouring the sensation of having his prey pinned and then stated calmly, "You can either stay down or I’ll beat you down. Your choice."
"Never." William spat, along with a goodly mouthful of blood. "I’d rather die than let you have her again."
The boy was a marvel. He persisted in pursuing this ridiculous campaign of his and all it brought him was failure.
"For the last time, William, Drusilla is mine. Neither you, nor Darla can tell me when or whether I shall have her. Do you hear me?"
There was silence from the floor and Angelus increased the pressure until he felt tendons begin tear. Still there was no acknowledgement or submission.
Grinding his teeth together in frustration, Angelus decided to try another tack. Lifting his foot from William’s neck, he stamped down hard on the back of the boy’s knee, thrilled by the yowl of pain the blow elicited and the feel of bones shattering. He followed it up with well placed kicks to ribcage and pelvis until William was curled up trying to protect his body.
Dropping into a squat, Angelus grabbed a handful of darkly bloodied blond hair and yanked William’s head back until their eyes met. "Be grateful, boy, next time I will kill you," he promised, registering the defiance still lingering behind that stormy gaze, before slamming the fledgling’s head into the tiles.
When he was sure the boy was unconscious, he dragged him down to the sub-basement, opened the door and threw him down the stairs, pausing to bolt the door behind him before he went in search of Dru. It would be dawn soon so he had a limited amount of time to spend with his girl before Darla returned home.
***
Drenched coat slipping from her hand the second she crossed the threshold, Darla glared around the apparently deserted house. Even a truly vile kill had not been enough to salve her nerves; in fact the mother’s screams had shredded her last nerve - before she’d shredded the mother.
"Angelus!"
No answer, only tell tale muted wails from the master suite upstairs.
God damn the boy, why couldn’t he leave Drusilla alone now she had a childe of her own to play with. Speaking of which… Darla stalked through to the dining room, expecting to find William drowning his sorrows in the stock of liquor as he normally did when Angelus took his Drusilla away, only to find it empty. She frowned, surprised, then tasted the air, reaching beneath the flavour of the newborn still lingering in her mouth, and caught the scent of the fledge’s blood.
Back in the entrance hall, she belatedly noticed the pool of gore drying on the tile and followed the drag marks that led away and down towards the kitchen. The trail ended outside the cellar door and a large red handprint confirmed that this was where Angelus had stashed the young vampire. Darla unlocked the door and peered down into the dank hole with its green slime-covered walls and foetid stench. There, floating face down in stagnant river water, was William.
She hesitated, tempted to leave the youngster there, before an interesting idea suggested itself to her. Springing into action, she grabbed the window pole and used its hooked end to snag William’s shirt and haul him towards her. Once within reach she regarded him distastefully, wondering if there was any way to get him up the steps without having to touch him. Frankly, he stank and it would take a miracle to get the smell out of her dress.
Sighing, Darla resigned herself to loosing yet another outfit, caught the back of his braces in one hand and pulled him up the stairs behind her.
***
William woke to a nasty headache and an excruciating ball of agony that was masquerading as his left knee. Only when he moved did the pain from several broken ribs kick in and he dropped back onto the pillow with a stifled groan.
Hang on? Pillow?
Prying his eyes open again and deliberately ignoring the swimming sensation this caused, he looked curiously around the bedroom. Large marble fireplace, complete with roaring fire. A good quality Kidderminster carpet covering the floor, its swirls of deep reds perfect for hiding the occasional blood spill. Against the far wall stood a heavy mahogany dressing table – sans mirror – its surface littered with combs, brushes, pots and bottles. The generalised clutter associated with most women’s bedrooms.
He was in the mistress’ suite!
What the hell was he doing in Darla’s bed - William peered under the sheets - naked, when the last thing he remembered was Angelus beating him to a bloody pulp?
He wasn’t left to ponder for long. The door pushed open and Darla entered dressed in one of her exquisitely embroidered tea gowns, propelling a young grocer’s boy before her. Seeing William was awake, she graced him with a smile and nodded at the human. "Dinner. I presume you had no chance to feed before Angelus rendered you unconscious?"
William stared at her suspiciously. Up until now their relationship had consisted of her studiously ignoring him unless he got in her way, at which point he was treated to the sharp side of her tongue. And now she was offering him dinner in bed and being almost friendly? He shivered. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good.
"Hurry up then," she urged, giving the lad a shove, "or do I have to bite him for you as well."
The human staggered into the side of the bed and, hunger overcoming his aches and pains, William reached out for him, pulling him forwards, and sinking his fangs into the boy's grubby neck. Not stopping to savour the taste, which was rather onion-y in all honesty, he drank greedily, shaking his head to drive his fangs deeper and open the wounds. Blood spilled liberally from his mouth and down his chin, dripping messily onto his chest as he fed.
Drained, the corpse slid to the floor and landed with a lax thump, staring up with lifeless eyes. On the bed, William blinked and panted heavily, feeling his damaged tissues knitting together as the fresh young blood gave his accelerated healing powers a much-needed boost.
Finally the rush subsided. With a shudder he raised his head to stare again at his grandsire’s sire, who still watched him with calculating blue eyes from the foot of the bed. In the privacy of his or Dru’s rooms he called her the ice-queen, but with a demon’s perception he saw beyond the aloof and disdainful demeanour to the underlying beauty that resided in her petite form.
Face pulled into a disapproving moue, Darla advanced towards him, gesturing at his gory torso. "Don’t allow that on the sheets. I have no desire to sleep in blood stained rags."
He glanced down, her strict words at the evidence of his carelessness confounding his features back into human form.
Cloth. Water. He needed something to clear the mess up. What could Darla be thinking, him feeding with all the finesse of a week old baby? There, on the wash stand. The water and a flannel cloth he had brought to her quarters the day before. With a pained groan he stood, pulling the sheet off the bed and tucking it around his waist to maintain a semblance of decency. Then limped across the room, poured a generous amount of water from jug to basin and started cleaning the blood from his chest and face.
Darla regarded the bathing fledgling in silence, considering her plan. William was smaller than Angelus, obviously, but there was a well-muscled leanness about him that she couldn’t deny was attractive. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so difficult after all.
He jumped when she touched his shoulder and then grinned at her sheepishly, seemingly embarrassed by his skittishness, which Darla actually found quite endearing compared to her regular lover’s brash enthusiasm.
"We have a problem, you and I," she murmured, running one finger down his back, smiling slightly at the way his skin quivered under her touch. Like a prize thoroughbred, she thought, a delicate Arab rather than the stalwart hunter she had kept all these years.
"A problem?" He stepped back, towelling himself off, a frown lines creasing his face. She spun away from him, striding across the room to the fireplace and leaning one hand on the mantle shelf.
"Yes, a problem. You want Drusilla, yes? You resent Angelus’ interest in her?"
"What of it?"
"I want Angelus back. I had hoped that your presence would have curtailed his interest in the girl but in many ways it has simply encouraged him." Darla glanced back at the bed and noted with satisfaction that she now had William’s full attention. He was sitting with his head bowed; the towel gripped tightly between his fists, but the tension in his shoulders belied his apparent lack of interest.
When he made no move to answer her, she made her way back towards him again, stopping just short of where he was sat and said, "I suggest we declare a truce, of sorts. And use Angelus’ nature against him."
His eyes came up to meet hers; stormy meeting ice blue and he cocked his head quizzically. "Yeah? And how do you plan on doing that exactly." His voice was sliding into that roughened accent he’d adopted in recent weeks. Such a pity, although it leant a roughened allure when combined with his deep voice.
"Like this," she said and leaned down kissing him delicately on the lips, not wanting to scare him off.
He pulled away suddenly as if she’d burned him. "Darla…?"
She shook her head, putting a finger against his mouth to silence him and moved forwards, lifting her skirts so she could straddle his lap. Well-placed pressure on his shoulders had him falling backwards and Darla followed him down, adjusting her position so that his damaged ribs were saved from the majority of her weight.
Their lips met again and Darla took the lead, encouraging his gentle caresses to her sides and back by wriggling her body suggestively against his groin, which swelled in answer to the pressure. When he opened his mouth to groan, her tongue assumed its attack, darting into his mouth and scattering touches on his palate and teeth. William’s enthusiastic response surprised her. He deepened the kiss, pursuing her tongue back into her mouth and then stopping, only to nibble on her lower lip, eliciting a moan she hadn’t even noticed was trying to escape.
Deciding it was time to regain the initiative, Darla insinuated her hand between them ripped the sheet away and grasped his erection tightly. He bucked up against her seeking friction and she went with him, denying what he needed. If this was going to happen it was going to be on her terms, not his.
He stilled, as if sensing what she had in mind and she started to pump him slowly and evenly, brushing her thumb over the head of his cock on every upstroke. Smiling as she watched his hands fist into the discarded sheet in an effort to control his actions, Darla lowered her head and laved her tongue harshly over his right nipple.
"Oh god."
She glanced up just in time to see his eyes roll back as the lids fluttered closed. He was so responsive, reacting to the slightest touch and change in pace, and she took the time to experiment a little until he was thrashing beneath her, his eyes screwed shut and his breath coming in frantic pants.
At the first touch of Darla’s hand, William thought he had died again. This woman couldn’t be more different from his Dru, her directness and experience an absolute contrast to the passivity his dark princess displayed when he took her. The dire implications of exactly who was touching him were forgotten as his body reacted instinctively, his hips thrusting up into her hand. But she’d read him well, her body riding his like a professional, and the only contact he garnered was the brush of her silk gown over the tip of his cock.
He fought to relax; quickly realising Darla was as bossy in bed as she was out of it. Though when her lips and tongue closed over his nipple, there was no way for him to bite back a curse. He hadn’t realised his body could be so sensitive and Darla was playing him like a fine instrument, her fingertips and mouth skimming over his nipples and chest, shoulders and arms. All the while her small hand working his cock till he was squirming and biting his lip to stop from coming too soon and humiliating himself.
Then, all of a sudden, she was gone and he groaned from the loss of contact and again when he heard the sound of silk over skin. Propping himself up on his elbows, he opened his eyes and whimpered. Darla was stood before him in all her nude glory, the blue gown pooled at her feet, its pearl buttons torn from their moorings in her haste to disrobe. Pert breasts, fuller than Dru’s, topped by perfect pale-rose nipples, the delicious dip of her waist that needed no corset to accentuate its narrowness and corresponding flair of her hips. And the neatly trimmed down nestled between her thighs proved conclusively she was a natural blonde. Legs, long and beautifully proportioned. And all of her covered in smooth, unblemished alabaster skin.
William stared; his tongue stuck to the roof of his suddenly very dry mouth. This was Darla. Darla! Wanting him in her bed and, so yes, she probably did prefer Angelus, but William felt he had to be worth something if this creature was willing to entertain him in her boudoir.
She advanced towards him, every line of her body screaming predator, and he swallowed thickly, unsure of exactly what she wanted from him. Only when she stepped past him to climb onto the bed and his eyes followed her, did he notice the scars. The marks of a whip, silvery and multitudinous, stretching from her shoulders to the round of her buttocks. Some remainder of her human life, William supposed, but rather than detract from her beauty they seemed to add to it, adding a hint of mystery and danger.
Darla settled herself on the pillows and then crooked her finger for William to join her, suppressing her mirth at the expression of wide-eyed shock on the young vampire’s face. He scrambled up the bed to kneel next to her, obviously hesitant about what to do next. He seemed so innocent. Was it possible that he and Dru hadn’t? After all, the girl was as mad as May butter. She had to ask.
"Have you had her?"
Embarrassment flooded his eyes and Darla was fairly sure William would be blushing if it were still possible. His head dropped and he mumbled "Yes," into his chest.
Using a single finger she raised his head until he was looking her straight in the eye. "There is no reason to be ashamed, William. There is no propriety amongst demons. No one to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. Surely Drusilla has told you all this?"
This time the answer was no.
***
Two Months Earlier
"Damn it, Dru, I don’t have any money!" Grabbing her hand, William dragged Drusilla away from the window of the shop where a porcelain doll had entranced her for over half an hour.
The freezing March wind swept through them as they rounded the next corner and, when he was convinced he’d finally got her moving in the right direction, William let her hand drop and pulled his thin jacket around him. Their strange appearance attracted no small amount of attention. Though he’d tried to dress Dru appropriately for the weather, she was wearing one of her wool dresses and elegant coats from her wardrobe, he would have to persuade her to wear hat and gloves if she were to pass in human company. He, on the other hand, was reduced to some ratty clothing he’d managed to scavenge from one of his kills when his morning coat had finally succumbed to the rigours of his new life. Its worn material did nothing to stave off the cold, made worse by their inability to find a decent meal for the last two nights and he cast envious eyes after the one or two men sporting fur-collared greatcoats. Would it be so wrong to kill one of them simply for their clothes?
No, it was too risky. They all looked well to do and, inexperienced as he was, William realised that such prey would quickly be missed, and that would attract unwanted attention, a cardinal offence in Angelus’ book.
His reverie was soon broken when he realised Drusilla had vanished. Looking around frantically, he spotted the trailing edge of her distinctive green coat disappearing back round the corner they had just left.
"Dru?" Cursing quietly, he ran after her, only to see her vanish again down the side of a warehouse. Seriously concerned now, William sped up, hoping to catch her up before something happened. If she decided to have one of her visions while he was away from her, god only knew what she might do.
Somehow she managed to stay one step ahead of him. Initially and with relief, he thought she was heading home but then she veered off, leading them on a merry dance through streets that became increasingly unfamiliar. Only when he saw Clapham Junction looming ahead did he grasp that she was heading straight for the tracks that bordered their territory. His panic reached desperation point when he realised that the maze of stationary engines and carriages were the perfect place for her to get lost completely.
"Christ!" He muttered to himself, then called, "Dru!" a little louder, his voice bouncing back off the surrounding metal and wood, and he strained his ears to try and catch any trace of her.
Nothing.
It was too damned enclosed for him to see or hear anything!
A quick vault and scramble took William up the side of a Pullman and he paced the top silently, straining his senses again.
There! In the distance was the sound of a woman’s voice singing. It had to be her, no one else was mad enough to be entertaining the stars at three a.m. Then came other voices, male ones.
Jumping from one carriage to the next, William made his way towards them, finally dropping onto the tank of an engine, only to curse roundly and dash for the cabin roof when the residual heat burned through the thin soles of his boots. Cautiously, he peered down from the top of a stationary engine and his stomach flipped.
Surrounded by a small gang of three shunters, bathed in the light of their lanterns, and dancing as she had a wont to do, was Dru. The men seemed bemused by her antics, calling out to one another, wondering who this spellbound creature could be.
"Reckon she’s out of Bedlam, boys?"
"Nah. They never had anything so pretty in there. All drooling idiots and loonies. I’d wager this one’s a dasher."
William’s rage rose at hearing Dru referred to in such a disrespectful fashion and he was tempted to just attack the men with everything he had - fists and fangs - but a quiet voice inside him said the risk was too great and he should be reasonable. These weren’t the type of men to abide by the Queensbury Rules any more than Angelus, and he wouldn’t be able to take them down at odds of three to one. There had to be a way of evening things up or for him to gain an advantage.
Silently he dropped to the ground on the far side of the engine and searched around on the stone littered ground until he found what he was looking for. Then he returned to his perch.
"Fancy a bit of fun, little lady?"
One of the men was approaching Dru now and she merely stared at him, head to one side as if trying to understand some unfamiliar tongue. The others watched on, their lanterns resting forgotten on the ground.
In a blur of accuracy and movement, William sent three smooth, round stones skimming through the air and ping, ping, ping, everything went black as the glass shattered and the flames were extinguished.
Sharp cries rose from the men and William seized his advantage, launching himself down off the engine, amongst them before they knew what had hit them. One, the fool who had the temerity to proposition his princess, fell quickly and soundlessly, but he had underestimated the others. Even in the dark and hindered by their muted human senses, these fellows were good fighters, and, backs against the wall, they weren’t about to give up easily.
Driven stumbling backwards by a meaty punch to the jaw, William tripped over the tracks and measured his length on the ground. The humans were on him immediately, pounding into his back and head with heavy boots, and he felt a flash of fear before he remembered that pretty much anything barring a stake through his heart would heal in a couple of days.
His groping hand fastened around a slim piece of metal, and he grabbed it and thrust it up into the second man’s belly eliciting an agonised scream as it pierced his gut. It was music to William’s ears and he rose with a roar, his demon emerging with a force he had never previously experienced. Ignoring the man writhing on the ground he flew at the third, registering his expression of fear and horror, just as fangs sank into his neck, ripping his throat open down to the bone.
The blood sprayed out, coating William’s face and hands, surrounding him in the scent and texture of death. It was intoxicating. Better than the finest brandy and more exquisite on his tongue than any stealthy back-alley murder. This was power, strength, and achievement. This, was exactly what William had been searching for.
Letting the drained corpse slide to the ground, the vampire advanced on his final victim, uncaring of the gory picture he presented. The man had pulled the metal from his gut and staggered to his feet, pressing his fingers over the seeping wound. He brandished the weapon in front of him in a vain attempt to defend himself.
"G-get away from me. M-monster."
The vampire cocked his head and regarded the man through cold amber eyes. "Yes. A monster. That’s what I am."
Panicked, the shunter stumbled backwards and, like William before him, caught his foot in the tracks and fell, sprawling. The vampire was on him in a second, wresting the spike from his hand and plunging it down through his shoulder and into the earth beneath. Another scream ripped from the man’s throat, joined by more when moments later a second nail was driven through the other side, pinning him to the cold wet ground. The pain overwhelmed him, his sight blackening as blessed unconsciousness beckoned.
As the man went silent and still, the exhilaration William had been feeling drained away, leaving him shaking and gasping. He crawled away, head and ribs shrieking from the blows that had landed and slumped to the tracks, staring up at the sky.
Only then did he hear her, quiet scrunching over gravel as she approached.
"Oh, William. Spikes. What a pretty mess, you’ve made."
***
"Want. Take. Have. It’s a simple as that." Darla looked into the young vampire’s glazed eyes. "William?" And with a blink he was back with her.