Chanita arrived, bringing a hospital porter with her. The new arrival grappled with the patient, while Chanita struggled to administer an injection, presumably a sedative to calm him down.
As Doctor Kapoor watched, Mr Clarke threw out an arm and knocked the syringe out of Chanita’s hands. With an inhuman shriek, he broke his other arm free from the porter’s grip and lashed out, raking the man’s face with his sharp, long fingernails.
The porter cried out and staggered back, a red slash drawn from his chin to his ear. His right ear flapped loose where it had been partially severed.
Chanita searched for the dropped syringe, but it had vanished from view. ‘I’ll get more help,’ she cried.
‘Mr Clarke, please calm down,’ Doctor Kapoor told the patient. ‘You’re safe here. No one is trying to hurt you. You’re in hospital. But you are very ill. You must calm down.’
The man seemed not to understand the words. He turned his gaze on Doctor Kapoor, fixing him with a yellow stare that was more animal than human. A deep growl emerged from his mouth, growing louder and turning into a roar of rage.
Doctor Kapoor backed away from the man, trying to draw him away from the other patients on the ward. The man followed him.
The doctor scanned the floor, searching for the syringe that Chanita had dropped. It lay about ten feet to his left.
He edged slowly toward the dropped syringe, circling the man until the syringe was just a foot away from him. The man continued to snarl and growl, no human words in those sounds.
The doctor stepped left again and crouched down warily, watching for any sudden movement. The patient clawed the air between them with his bloody fingers, but did not come closer.
Doctor Kapoor reached for the syringe and grasped it with his right hand. He rose steadily to his full height. ‘Okay, calm now,’ said the doctor in measured tones. ‘Stay calm and everything will be all right.’ He held the syringe tightly, waiting for his chance.
Chanita returned with three more porters in her wake and Mr Clarke turned to face them.
Doctor Kapoor rushed forward and grabbed the man’s arm. He managed to get the needle into his arm and pushed the plunger down hard, watching as the clear liquid disappeared down the barrel of the syringe and into the man’s bloodstream.
He stepped back from the patient, waiting for the sedative to take effect, but as he did so the man seemed to find a final surge of strength. He crossed the few feet that separated them and lunged at the doctor, clawing him with his deadly fingernails. The doctor felt pain as the nails ripped into his right arm, drawing out a fountain of blood.
The man came on relentlessly, punching and kicking like a cornered beast. But it was the doctor who was cornered. He pressed himself up against the nearest bed, fending off blows from the madman before him. The sedative should surely have calmed him by now, but the punches and kicks seemed to be getting faster and more furious.
The porters rushed forward to grab him, but as they did so, Mr Clarke lunged forward one last time and sank his teeth deep into the doctor’s neck.
The pain was intense, but it lasted just briefly. The man withdrew his jaws from the doctor’s neck, taking a chunk of flesh in his bloody teeth. The doctor watched in a dreamlike state as blood splashed from the open wound, soaking the patient’s clothes in crimson stains. A smile spread across the young man’s face as he chewed the flesh. All the fight had gone out of him now and he seemed satisfied at last. He didn’t struggle when the porters dragged him to the floor and Chanita administered more sedative.
Doctor Kapoor didn’t struggle either as his legs gave way beneath him. A feeling of tranquillity had descended over him like a shroud. The rapid blood loss from the severed jugular was like a drug, numbing the pain, quenching any fear. He allowed gravity to do its work, sliding him to the floor, just like his patient. At least he had done his duty to the last, giving himself to his patients. No one would ever be able to take that from him. A smile came to his face then, his last one, and he gave it to Chanita.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Clapham Common, South London, full moon
The leader of the Wolf Brothers went by the name of Warg Daddy. Leader of the Pack, they called him. That had been his idea. He’d always been obsessed with werewolves, so the possibility of becoming one was beyond awesome. Trouble was, it was proving to be harder than he’d expected.
First you had to catch yourself a real live werewolf. Then you had to make it bite you without letting the goddamn motherfucker kill you. Neither step was easy. Kidnapping those dogs from the kennels had been a dummy run. Pretty stupid idea, now he came to think of it. What use was it getting a goddamn dog to bite you? All you got was a nasty flesh wound and a risk of catching some horrible disease. They’d had to get rid of the dogs in the end. That idea was going nowhere.
So now they were trying to catch themselves an actual werewolf, which was turning out to be difficult. He suspected that half of the Brothers didn’t even believe in werewolves. Perhaps more than half. Maybe most of them. But that didn’t matter. Warg Daddy was their Leader and they would do what he said. The biggest problem was that the moon was full only one goddamn day a month. How could you work with that? But Warg Daddy was no quitter. The Pack depended on him. He had come up with a plan that seemed workable.
You wanted to catch a fish, you needed bait. Same thing with a werewolf.
Bait.
The trouble was, who? Most of the Pack looked pretty unappetizing to Warg Daddy. Too much facial hair, not enough baths. He wouldn’t fancy sinking his teeth into any of them unless he’d downed a good few pints to warm himself up. No self-respecting werewolf would want to gobble one of the Wolf Brothers in a hurry. They needed a more attractive morsel. That’s what they were doing now, trying to find one.
With hindsight, the girl who had been looking after the dogs would have been just perfect for the job. A cute redhead, barely sixteen by Warg Daddy’s reckoning. He’d happily have nibbled her himself but the chance was gone. Hindsight was a good thing for sure, but not as helpful as foresight. They’d just have to locate another suitable girl.
In fact, Warg Daddy couldn’t believe his luck. One was coming their way right now.
They’d stationed themselves up on Clapham Common in the hope of picking up a tasty late-night jogger. The Common was a good place to hang, big enough to hide in, popular enough to find some innocent passer-by to accost. And it had been where the Beast had first been spotted, exactly one month previously. A Ripper murder had taken place here recently too. Half a naked torso discovered next to a muddy track. The police were still searching for the other half. Good luck with that.
The sky had been clear earlier, but a cold drizzly rain had begun to fall as they left their bikes by the roadside and set out across the Common, the mud sucking noisily at their boots. Warg Daddy worried about Pack morale. The moon was full tonight, but thick cloud covered the London sky and completely hid it from view. He hoped that wouldn’t be a problem.
Anyway they’d been here less than half an hour and the perfect bait had already made her appearance. Tall and slim with long blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, she looked like a cheerleader or something. The girl wore shorts, more like hotpants, and a sports vest, and came running right toward them, her long, long legs stretching and flexing as she ran. Droplets of rain sparkled on her hair and face like jewels, but the girl seemed not to care about the cold or the wet.
The Pack watched intently, almost hypnotized by the girl’s graceful movements.
Snakebite whistled loudly. ‘Now that is serious wolf bait,’ he said appreciatively, stroking his long red beard.
Wombat shook his head. ‘Too good to waste on a frigging wolf, I say.’
Warg Daddy said nothing, just rubbed the skin on his bald head and watched. He narrowed his eyes as the girl ran right up to the Pack and stopped in front of them. His eyes flicked between her pink shorts and her blue eyes. ‘Hey,’ he said, trying to keep his cool. This gi
rl was totally hot.
The girl looked him up and down, her face expressionless, like she was X-raying him with her gaze. He shifted uncomfortably under those clear blue eyes, making his leather jacket squeak. He rubbed the smooth skin on his head more firmly the longer she looked. He relaxed as she shifted her attention to each of the other guys in turn. They shuffled their feet or cleared their throats nervously as she made her round of the Pack.
After she’d given them all the low-down, her red lips broke into a wide smile, although the blue eyes stayed cold. ‘Hello boys,’ she said. ‘Looking for trouble?’
‘No,’ said Warg Daddy. ‘We were looking for you.’
The girl laughed. ‘So you found me. Now what?’
‘Now we have some fun.’
‘I like fun.’
The girl’s manner made Warg Daddy nervous. Either she was one dumb-ass chick, or else she knew something he didn’t. She didn’t look dumb to him. He rubbed his head harder than ever.
Snakebite had something he wanted to say. ‘Dude, this chick is hot. Why don’t we … you know … before we … you know …’ He trailed off under Warg Daddy’s stern gaze.
‘No,’ said Warg Daddy firmly. If anyone round here was a dumb-ass, it was Snakebite. ‘Tonight’s our best chance. This chick’s a gift. We stay on plan.’
The girl walked right up to him and ran her fingers down his arm, rubbing the black leather of his jacket. ‘I like hairy bikers. Is that a tattoo on your neck?’
Warg Daddy showed it to her. ‘It’s a wolf. A warg in fact. Know what a warg is?’
The girl shook her head innocently, her blonde ponytail swaying.
‘Wargs come from Norse mythology,’ he told her. ‘They were giant wolves with the power of speech.’
Wombat stepped forward and showed her a similar tattoo on his own neck. ‘The wargs will kill the old gods in the End Days, the time of Ragnarök,’ he intoned.
Warg Daddy glared at him. Wombat was always spouting some shite.
‘So the stories say,’ added Wombat.
The girl approached him, touching the tattoo on his neck. ‘The End Days,’ she mused, almost to herself. ‘I have a tattoo as well,’ she said, showing Wombat a flower on her shoulder. ‘And I like wolves too,’ she said. ‘Do you know why?’
‘No,’ said Wombat. He tried to draw away, but the girl shot out her hand and grasped his scrawny neck, squeezing it hard and pulling him closer. She seemed surprisingly strong for a girl. Wombat whimpered quietly.
‘Some of my best friends are wolves,’ she whispered to him. ‘In fact, do you want to hear a secret?’
Wombat nodded nervously. The girl parted her lips and drew his head down so that she could whisper in his ear. ‘I am a werewolf,’ she said. Then she bit him hard, sinking her teeth deep into the side of his neck, severing the carotid artery in a single bite. She released her grip and stepped back to watch.
A fountain of blood gushed from Wombat’s neck, spraying fine red drops over the entire Pack. He screamed and clutched at the wound, his eyes turning wildly in search of help. Nobody moved. The blood rushed out in waves, each one less powerful than the one preceding, until finally just a dribble flowed. Wombat shrieked again and fell to the muddy ground. He thrashed his legs and arms for half a minute before settling down to a gentle twitching. Still nobody had moved.
The girl licked her red lips. ‘My, that was fun. You guys weren’t kidding me. Anyone else like to play?’
Snakebite stepped forward over Wombat’s body, pulling a switch blade from his jacket. ‘Bitch. You’ll die for that.’
Warg Daddy hauled him back. ‘You moron. She’s a fucking werewolf.’
‘I know that,’ said Snakebite. ‘She just killed Wombat.’
‘Never mind that now,’ said Warg Daddy. ‘Don’t you get it? We don’t need to use her as bait to catch a werewolf because she is one.’
Comprehension dawned on Snakebite. ‘How can we trust her, though? Look what she did.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ said Warg Daddy, glancing at the dead man at his feet. Wombat’s body lay still now, and he was glad of that. ‘But that’s because she had surprise. She can’t take us all, can she?’ He glanced around at the Pack for reassurance. He didn’t get much.
Warg Daddy sighed. It was time for him to demonstrate once again why he was Leader of the Pack.
He risked a look up at the night sky. The rain had stopped. Thin clouds scudded quickly above the Common, driven by the winter wind. The moon glowed faintly now behind a thin haze, but it was still covered. If the girl transformed into wolf form under full moonlight, then judging from her performance so far, they would all end up as wolf food. But if he could persuade her to help them, then they still stood a chance.
He would play it carefully though. If he wanted to walk away from here in one piece, he would need to use wolf cunning himself.
He spoke to the girl. ‘You’ve been a lot of fun already, but we’re tired of that game now. I’ve got a better idea.’
The girl smiled her red smile. ‘Go on.’
‘I’m going to offer you a choice. Either we can cut your throat’ – he nodded at Snakebite, who obliged by flicking his knife open – ‘or you can bite each one of us on the arm and turn us into werewolves too.’
The girl considered his offer. ‘What makes you think I would do that?’
‘We’re the Wolf Brothers,’ said Warg Daddy, hoping that was reason enough. ‘We could be good together, you and us.’
The girl paced back and forth, studying the Pack closely. Snakebite snarled as she inspected him. The other guys pulled out their knives and did their best to look mean. Warg Daddy stood back, playing it cool. Eventually she said, ‘Well, like I said, I am very fond of hairy bikers.’
Warg Daddy nodded. ‘Snakebite,’ he said to the man next to him. ‘Kneel down.’
‘What the fuck, man?’ said Snakebite.
‘You heard. Get on your knees.’
Snakebite shot daggers at him, but after a moment he did as he was told.
‘Do him first,’ said Warg Daddy to the girl. ‘Then we’ll know if you’re just shitting us.’
The girl sidled up to Snakebite and grabbed him by his long dirty hair. She dropped to her knees and drew his head close to hers.
‘Not my neck, man,’ begged Snakebite. ‘Bite my arm. That’s how it works, yeah? A little bite on the arm won’t kill me, will it?’
The girl drew her lips across the ginger hairs on his cheek. ‘You’d better take off your jacket, then,’ she told him.
Snakebite didn’t waste any time doing it. He rolled up his shirt sleeve, revealing a meaty arm brushed with red hair. ‘Do it,’ he said. ‘Do it quick.’
The girl opened her lips wide, rolling them back from her teeth. Her teeth were sharp, like a dog’s. She placed them against Snakebite’s skin and bit gently, just enough to draw blood. She licked and sucked at the blood for a moment until it ceased to flow. Snakebite watched with a look of horrified fascination. ‘There,’ said the girl. ‘That didn’t hurt, did it?’
The man shook his head and stood up. He put his jacket back on. ‘Am I a werewolf now?’ he asked, a dazed look on his face.
‘Soon you will be,’ said the girl. ‘If you’re strong enough to survive the transformation.’
Warg Daddy unzipped his own jacket and dropped it to the ground. ‘My turn now.’ He kneeled down, rolling up his shirt sleeve as Snakebite had done.
The girl bit into his arm as before, sucking hard to draw out the blood. Warg Daddy shuddered. The girl’s bite felt tender, almost like a caress. He wanted it to last, and felt regret the instant she pulled her lips away. When it was done he looked deep into her eyes, feeling moved in a way he’d never expected. ‘You are a Wolf Brother now,’ he said with awe. ‘You are one of us.’
‘No,’ said the girl, shaking her head. ‘Now you are one of us.’
The moon’s rays crept from behind the thin cloud then, and he watched in stunned silence a
s she transformed into wolf. Her thin clothing ripped to rags as muscles rippled beneath her skin, and golden fur grew to cover her new body from snout to tail. What power she had concealed within her fragile human form. No wonder she had killed Wombat with such ease. The girl had gone, and a monstrous beast paced the ground now, pawing roughly at the grass, snorting thick breath in the cold air. It rose onto its hind legs and howled at the moon, a wailing sound filled with a sadness that Warg Daddy felt as much as heard.
When the creature had finished it dropped back to all fours. ‘Who’s next?’ growled the wolf.
Chapter Forty
Department of Genetics, Imperial College, Kensington, London
Doctor Helen Eastgate looked gloomily out of her office window toward the Imperial College Business School on Exhibition Road, just opposite. The Business School was a recent addition to the Kensington campus, and had an outer wall of sheer glass that allowed her to peer inside and watch the building’s occupants go about their business. They scurried along its well-lit corridors, past the giant Christmas tree that had been placed near the building’s entrance, climbed its open staircases and sat in its bright lecture theatres like hard-working and attentive insects.
Helen’s latest post-grad student, Leanna Lloyd, also applied herself diligently to her studies like a bee or an ant. But in contrast to the transparency of the glass building opposite, Leanna wore an opaque shell of icy professionalism that prevented Helen catching even a glimpse of her interior thoughts or motives.
Leanna refused resolutely to let Helen into her world. She had tried to connect with the girl, but Leanna seemed unable or unwilling to form any kind of emotional attachment. Perhaps she had no emotions. Her steely blue eyes were as cold as ice. If the eyes were a window to the human soul, then Leanna must be soulless.
Helen sighed. Usually her young students had too many emotions on display, all bubbling to the surface and pulling in different directions at once. Helen despaired at some of them. But at least she felt she understood them. Leanna offered no clues to what she was thinking.
Lycanthropic (Book 1): Wolf Blood Page 18