by Helen Harper
‘You’re lucky I’m here,’ she said, panting slightly. She extricated herself from underneath his furry form and managed a smile. ‘Now the monsters are truly on Monster.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They walked the length of the deck, Scarlett on two legs and Devereau on four. She had to brace herself against the wind several times but Devereau discovered that his lower centre of gravity and four legs were more than enough to keep his balance despite the storm that continued to rage around them.
The ship swung violently from side to side, tipping first one way then another. This was definitely not a night to be on the open sea, much as Dominic Phillips might wish otherwise.
‘Okay,’ Scarlett said, once they’d analysed the scene. ‘We have four possible entrances.’ She pointed at the door nearest them. ‘I reckon this one is our best bet. We’re going to want to take out as many of Phillips’ slimy, gun-toting bastards as we can before we confront him. The last thing we need is to kill him and find ourselves facing fifty more fuckers carrying guns. I’d like to leave this damned boat while I’m still breathing.’
Devereau nodded his heavy head. He didn’t particularly care which entrance they used; his need for bloodthirsty justice was growing by the second. Every single person on board this ship would pay for what they’d done. He’d make sure of it.
Scarlett opened the door. ‘Fur before fangs,’ she murmured, her voice low. He widened his mouth in a wolfish grin and padded through ahead of her.
The first corridor was wider than Devereau had expected but his wolf form was so large that his fur still brushed against the walls on both sides. The salty sea scent was all-pervasive, though he caught an odd whiff of other smells such as old sweat and over-cooked cabbage. When he was about halfway down the corridor and passing a closed door, he caught the deeper aroma of coffee.
He paused then lifted a paw to indicate it to Scarlett. She grinned and nudged him forward so he was out of sight before moving in front of the door and smoothing back her wet, windswept hair. A moment later, she raised her fist and knocked.
‘Yeah?’ called out a bored voice. ‘Is that you, Daz? Has the poker game started?’
Scarlett didn’t answer. Instead, she adopted a seductive pose, jutting out one hip and tilting her head. The door finally opened and a ruddy-faced bloke peered out. When he caught sight of her, his jaw dropped.
‘Hello,’ she purred.
His cheeks, which were already red from his natural high colour, flushed even darker. ‘H – hi,’ he stammered.
Scarlett’s tongue darted out tantalisingly, then she opened her lips and smiled. That was when the sailor clocked her fang. In an instant, he went from bright red to pure white.
He leapt back and tried to slam the door shut but he was too slow. Scarlett was already stepping into his room. Before Devereau could slide back to get a better view of what was happening, she’d taken hold of the man, her hands clamping him in a steel grip. ‘You’ll regret it if you scream,’ she murmured.
All the man could manage was a squeak. When Devereau swung his shaggy head into the room and the man saw him, a tell-tale wet patch appeared at his groin, followed almost immediately by the rancid smell of urine.
‘Dear me,’ Scarlett tutted. She pressed the man’s body against hers and slowly ran the fingers of her right hand through his hair.
‘Are you from downstairs?’ he quaked.
She smiled. ‘No.’ She stroked the side of his neck. He shuddered. ‘How many of you on this ship work for Matelot?’
His bottom lip quivered. ‘Don’t hurt me.’
Devereau growled.
‘Twenty-seven!’ he answered quickly. ‘There’s twenty-seven!’
‘How many are armed?’
He shook his head, panic making it hard for him to form coherent thoughts. ‘About half, I think.’
‘You think?’ Scarlett prodded softly.
‘I know! About half! I’m not one of them! I’m just an engineer! I’m…’
Scarlett dropped her head. Her fang pierced his skin just enough to draw blood. The man whimpered.
‘How many slaves?’ she asked.
‘S-slaves?’
‘Vampires. Werewolves. People in cages. Supernatural beings who’ve been forcibly imprisoned. How many people are on this ship who are like me?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t been down there. I don’t know!’
Devereau opened his jaws and stared at him.
‘Guess,’ Scarlett said.
His shoulders slumped. ‘Thirteen,’ he whispered.
She smiled again. ‘Good boy.’ She dropped her head again and her fang slid into his flesh. The man’s body juddered. Within seconds, his eyes rolled back and he went limp. She let him fall to the floor.
Scarlett reached for a tissue on a cupboard nearby and dabbed the corner of her mouth. ‘We’re going to have to come up with another technique,’ she commented. ‘If I drink from every damn Matelot fucker on board this ship, I’ll spend the next three days throwing up. I’ve already had double the blood this month that I usually take.’
Devereau licked his lips.
‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘The next one is yours.’
They continued along the corridor. The sea was still rocking the ship from side to side, making it difficult to move quickly. At the far end there was a staircase that seemed to lead down to the hold.
Devereau and Scarlett were still several metres away when they heard the clatter of ascending footsteps. A head appeared at the top of the stairs, followed by a lanky body. Perhaps this was Daz. He wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings; he took several steps before he raised his head and finally noticed the gigantic werewolf and fanged vampire blocking his path. He froze and stared at them, then threw back his head and prepared to bellow.
Devereau launched himself forward, his front paws slamming into the sailor’s chest and winding him so he couldn’t shout for help. The man fell backwards and Devereau straddled his body before raising his head and smashing it into the man’s forehead.
‘Mmm,’ Scarlett said. ‘A Glasgow kiss from a London wolf. How very incongruous.’ She grabbed the man’s feet and dragged his unconscious body into the nearest cabin before shutting the door. ‘We’re not always going to be this lucky, you know,’ she said seriously. ‘They’re not all going to come at us one by one – and sooner or later one of them will be armed. One loose shot and, storm or not, everyone on the ship will come running.’
Devereau blinked in agreement. From the vague sounds of tinny music and the odd raucous shout he could hear from below, the aforementioned poker game was probably taking place while the crew waited to leave the ship. That meant several of these bastards were grouped together in one area. The trouble was that neither he nor Scarlett knew the ship’s layout or what might be waiting for them down the stairs.
He transformed, allowing his fur-covered wolf to become a smooth-skinned man. He straightened up while Scarlett looked him up and down, her eyes lingering on his groin.
‘Don’t,’ he said, the hot glint in her expression more than he could cope with. She smiled slightly but at least she looked up and gazed at his face. ‘I’m a big fan of chemistry,’ he told her.
She winked. ‘So am I. I love biology, too.’
‘I’m not talking solely about sexual chemistry.’
Scarlett smirked. ‘Go on.’
‘Back in the beginnings of my … career, I toyed with the idea of breaking into houses at night time while the people inside were asleep. I was always worried that I might come across the odd insomniac or light sleeper. Or,’ he grinned ruefully, ‘dog. I looked into ways of getting around such problems.’
Scarlett raised an eyebrow.
‘I didn’t want to hurt anyone,’ he said.
‘But?’
‘But,’ he murmured, ‘if you mix rubbing alcohol with bleach, and you’re prepared to risk killing yourself in the process, you might be able to create ch
loroform.’
Scarlett’s expression didn’t alter. ‘You are a scary, scary man, Devereau Webb.’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t do it. The potential to cause lethal harm to myself and anyone I used it on put me off.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘If we look around, I’m sure we can find some useful chemicals that might produce enough toxic fumes to serve our purpose.’
‘I don’t think an indiscriminate attack, which might kill us before it harms the fuckers we’re trying to stop, is a good idea.’
He met her eyes. ‘You’re right.’ He shrugged. ‘So let’s cut to the chase.’ He grinned at her then raised his elbow and smashed it into the glass-covered fire alarm set into the wall beside him. Almost instantly, the loud wail of siren rent the air.
‘So much for stealth, you fucker,’ she muttered.
He gazed at her. ‘I won’t disagree with that moniker. I’m no saint,’ he said. ‘And, as I’ve already told you, I’m not much of a hero either. ‘ He turned to the staircase, closed his eyes and allowed the wolf inside him to take over once again. Then he waited until he saw the whites of the eyes of the first man to come up the stairs before he attacked.
The Matelot men were expecting fire; they certainly weren’t expecting a massive werewolf. With the element of surprise on his side, not to mention a set of gorgeously sharp claws, powerful teeth and a body with more strength behind its muscles than even most supes could ever dream of, Devereau was a whirling dervish of fur and fear.
He smacked into the body of the first man, sending him flying backwards and causing three men behind him to topple as well. The next man reached into the holster at his hip preparing to pull out the gun that was nestled there, but this wasn’t the Wild West and he wasn’t quick enough on the draw. Before his fingers could curl around the handle, Devereau’s teeth were sinking into his arm. The man screamed, clutching at his arm as blood sprayed from the wound.
There were shouts from below and the sound of running feet. More men appeared at the foot of the stairs but Devereau had the higher ground and therefore the advantage. He threw himself down, using the height of the stairs as a springboard to launch himself into the panicked group. From their reactions, not all these men were trained killers but he was in no doubt that they all knew exactly what Matelot was up to. And that meant he owed them no mercy.
The siren continued to scream. One man, with more ill-conceived bravery than others, roared and threw himself from the right-hand side while Devereau was occupied with the others on the left. He landed on Devereau’s back, his hands clutching at his fur. A second later, Devereau felt the tip of a knife slide into his skin, but his lupine hide was tougher than the man had reckoned. Before he achieved any real damage, Devereau shook him off with such force that he slammed into the wall, his skull crunching against the hard surface. He slumped to the floor.
Devereau snarled, dipping his head and biting hard into the thigh of a terrified-looking man holding a fire extinguisher. He swung round and threw himself at another man who’d lifted up a chair but, because the guy couldn’t decide whether to use the chair to attack or defend himself, Devereau had time to rip it from him with his teeth. The man tripped over his own feet and fell backwards onto a table strewn with coins, notes and playing cards.
Something hit Devereau’s side. He couldn’t tell what it was, but it was flung with considerable force and made him howl with pain. He turned towards the source and spotted Scarlett out of the corner of his eye. She was tripping down the stairs looking calm and unconcerned. She raised a hand towards him in acknowledgment and spun round to the next set of stairs that led further down into the ship.
A half-empty bottle of vodka smacked Devereau on the head and bounced off his thick skull. He leapt at the man who’d thrown it and cuffed him with one massive paw. It was enough: the man collapsed to the floor and his eyes rolled back.
There was a loud crack. Devereau turned his head just in time to see a dark-haired fellow pointing a gun in his direction. If you’re going to shoot me, Devereau thought, you’d better make damned sure you hit me first time. The man fired again but Devereau was ready for the shot. He threw himself to the side as the bullet ripped through the edge of one of his ears. He clenched his jaw against the pain and attacked the gunman, his claws raking across his face. The man dropped the gun immediately. His hands automatically lifted to protect himself so Devereau bit down on them, instantly turning the squat fingers from dexterous instruments of biological wonder to little more than bloody minced meat. The man screamed before passing out.
Devereau moved to meet his next opponent. This time nobody came. He shook himself, his golden-tipped fur bristling as he surveyed the scene. Satisfaction settled deep in his chest.
A sweaty-looking bloke with terrified eyes made a run for the stairs and Devereau watched him escape. Let him run; he wouldn’t be stupid enough to come back.
Devereau gazed at the bloodied mess around him and listened to groans of the fallen men who were conscious enough to be aware of their pain. Near his paw was a blood-smeared playing card. With an outstretched claw, he flipped it over. The ace of spades. He grinned. That figured.
A moment later, he turned and padded after Scarlett while the siren continued to bellow out its empty scream.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It wasn’t hard to locate her – all he had to do was follow the trail of bodies. There were several of them, some slumped with puncture wounds in their necks, others with bones broken at unnatural angles. Humans, Devereau decided, were very fragile indeed.
How little time it had taken for him to separate himself from his life as a human. For the first time he no longer felt any regret for the actions he’d taken to turn into a wolf. This was what he was meant to be all along. He padded deeper into the bowels of the rolling ship, grim, predatory satisfaction filling his core.
Scarlett was standing at the entrance to another narrow corridor, frowning into the large room beyond. She didn’t turn when he approached. ‘Wolves,’ she muttered. ‘Setting off the alarm was a dick move, Devereau. If Dominic Phillips escapes because he knows we’re coming for him, the only person to blame will be you.’
Devereau had never spoken to Dominic Phillips but he had seen his turn on the slave-auction stage. He’d learned enough to know that Dom was the kind of man who thought he was invincible. Yes, he’d been trying to flee the dangers posed by the London’s supes by coming to this ship and trying to sail away, but Devereau reckoned that Dom didn’t really believe that anything untoward would happen. Dominic Phillips thought he was smart, powerful and in control of his own small army of supernatural beings; he wasn’t going anywhere.
He lowered his head and nudged Scarlett’s hand with his nose as if to say the same to her – and that was when he heard a tiny whine.
Scarlett registered the hackles rising on the back of Devereau’s neck and nodded. ‘They’re in there. Vampires and werewolves. I can’t tell how many yet, and I don’t know what sort of state they’re in.’
Devereau let out a low growl.
Scarlett sighed. ‘Go on, then.’
He brushed past her. As soon as he stepped into the room, he saw the cages. They were small and cramped, offering the sort of conditions even an animal shouldn’t have to deal with. The scents of blood and faeces combined with anguish and despair were so strong that he felt sick. Nobody should be made to live like this. Nobody.
Padding up to the first cage, he peered inside. A man sat huddled in the corner, the very picture of misery. Devereau couldn’t see his face but he knew without asking that this was another wolf. The man looked up and Devereau’s breath caught; it was Morty, the gunman he’d captured near Lisson Grove and whom he’d interrogated at the playing fields. So he’d found his way back to Dominic Phillips. Unfortunately, he’d been turned into a werewolf for his efforts. No doubt it was some sort of twisted punishment.
Devereau thought of the way M
orty had spoken about Martina and his derision for all things supernatural. Perhaps this was poetic justice. Morty whined and dropped his gaze, more terrified of Devereau now than he had been before.
‘Isn’t that—?’ Scarlett came up beside him and stared.
Devereau nodded and looked away. He moved onto the next cage where there was a young male vampire. Thankfully, his fangs appeared to be intact. After that there were two more werewolves, then several more vamps followed by more wolves.
Almost none of the caged supes seemed able to look directly at him. At least four of them were under the influence of heavy drugs and even more displayed evidence of torture. Devereau couldn’t prevent the growls deep in his chest. These people had suffered. All these people had suffered.
The final cage puzzled him at first because the occupant appeared to be neither wolf nor vampire; he was simply a middle-aged human man wearing a grubby suit and with yellowing bruises on his face. The man groaned and shuddered, then he looked at Devereau. ‘Are you here to kill me now?’ he asked.
Devereau watched him for one long moment before allowing himself to transform so he could speak. He stood in front of the cage and gazed at the man’s familiar face. ‘You’re Angelica’s father,’ he said quietly.
There was a sudden flash of stark fear. ‘Where is she? Where’s my daughter? If you’ve hurt her…’
Devereau clenched his jaw. ‘You worked for Dominic Phillips and Matelot when you must have been aware of what they were doing.’ He waved a hand around the room. ‘Of this.’ He glared at the man. ‘Your actions led to your own daughter being turned into a wolf. And instead of helping her when she lost control, you ran away.’