Every one of the tanned men was dead, or dying, their necks broken or bleeding; several had sunken to the bottom of the fountains, staining the water a grim red. One man near me lay on his back, his head so contorted his ear rested on his shoulder.
Six teenagers had just slaughtered thirty men.
I whimpered on the bench, drawn as far into the shadows as I could possibly get, praying to every deity alive that they wouldn’t see me.
‘Kaspar, are we going to clean this one up or just leave it?’ said the one who stood nearest the fountain, even his fiery red hair dull compared to the water he swirled his fingers through.
‘We’ll leave it as a little message for any other hunters who think they can cross us,’ he replied. ‘Scum,’ he added, spitting on the nearest limp body.
His voice had lost its cool and had been replaced with a deep, satisfied sneer, and anger began to override the fear as I watched him carelessly kick the arm of another dying man out of his way, causing him to let out one last meagre moan.
‘Jerk,’ I breathed.
He froze.
So did I. I held my breath, stomach knotted. He can’t possibly have heard me from across the square. That’s just not possible. But slowly, almost leisurely, he turned so that he faced me.
‘Well, what do we have here?’ He chuckled darkly, voice carrying, his lips curling into that same cruel smirk.
Instinct worked faster than my mind and before I knew it I had jumped up, sprinting my way across the square. Leaving my heels far behind, my feet thudded against the cold stone as I ran, literally, for my life. The nearest police station wasn’t too far, and I would bet on the fact I knew London better than them.
‘And where do you think you’re going, Girly?’
I inhaled sharply as I crashed into something hard and cold, so cold I sprung back from it instantly. Standing right in front of me was the dark-haired man. I recoiled, eyes darting from the spot he had been stood in before to where he stood now. That really isn’t possible. I backed away, my hands grabbing at the air behind me as though they expected some magical saviour to appear. He didn’t even flinch, as though a girl running into his chest was an everyday occurrence.
‘N-nothing. I was just going to … err …’ I stuttered, my eyes cycling between the bodies, the man and the road: my only possible escape route.
‘Going to report us?’ he questioned. He already knew the answer, but my eyes widened guiltily and he leaned in so close that I could see that his eyes were a vivid shade of emerald. His voice lowered to a whisper. ‘I’m afraid you can’t do that.’
Close up, I could not help but notice how staggeringly handsome he was. Something deep in the pit of my stomach stirred. I recoiled again, repulsed.
‘Like hell, I can’t!’ I yelled, ducking around him and making another frantic getaway. Running, I glanced behind me. To my astonishment, none of them pursued me. Spurred on I kept going, the tiniest spark of hope striking into life in my heart. I was just metres away from the road when I stole another look over my shoulder.
This time he seemed to give an exasperated sigh and I didn’t allow myself to watch any longer, not wanting to slow down. My feet were just about to step out onto the road when I was yanked back, a hand clutching at the collar of my coat. I teetered, fighting for balance whilst also fighting the hand that restrained me. I wrestled, kicking and screaming, but it was no use – he held me with ease.
Turning around with my eyes ablaze and sounding a lot braver than I felt, I screeched out a threat: ‘You have ten seconds to get off me, freak, before I kick you so hard in the bollocks that you’ll wish you were never born!’
He chuckled again. ‘You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?’
As he laughed, I caught sight of his upper canines, both perfectly white. Perfectly white, and tapered to an unnatural point.
Hunting. Hunters.
Something in my brain registered that this was not normal. Not even close to normal, but just as quickly, rational thought dismissed the conclusion my mind was rapidly forming.
Struggling again, I tried to get close enough to kick him, but his grip tightened on my collar, holding me firmly away.
‘You saw all of that.’ His words were chillingly cold. It was a statement, not a question, but I answered it anyway.
‘What do you think?’ I retorted, pouring as much sarcasm into my voice as I could muster.
‘I think you’re going to have to come with us,’ he growled, taking my elbow and beginning to drag me away. I opened my mouth, but he was quicker. He clamped a hand down on my lips. ‘Scream and I swear I will kill you.’
And, thrashing and biting, I was dragged away; dragged away from the gruesome bloodbath these pale monsters had created.
TWO
Violet
We flew through the streets, speeding to a sprint as we left the square. Kaspar had a firm grip on my wrist, tugging me along in his wake. His fingernails cut deep into my arm and I felt them tearing open my skin, gouging out considerable amounts of flesh. I winced – it was like falling over and scraping my arm in slow motion – but did not say anything: I would not give him the satisfaction. We weaved from alley to alley, Kaspar at the front, leading us down roads I never knew existed. Already, I could hear the whining sirens of police cars and the side streets were awash with flashing blue lights.
‘Bloody police,’ Kaspar snarled. ‘Wait here,’ he ordered. He thrust me forward, straight into the chest of one of the other men. ‘Fabian, look after Girly here.’
For the second time that night I hit something rigid. He too was cold and I sprung back like I had been stung, toppling over into the gutter beside the pavement. But I never reached the ground. I looked down at my arm, caught in midair by a hand almost as pale as my own.
‘Don’t fall,’ a soft voice said. I followed the arm up, dazed, to find the smiling face of the boy who had jumped over me in Trafalgar Square, sky-blue eyes twinkling down at me with some sort of amusement. For a brief, ludicrous moment I admired his fair, untidy hair and muscled chest, just visible beneath the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, before my mind caught up and I pulled my hand away, horrified at my thoughts. Unperturbed, however, he carried on.
‘I’m Fabian,’ he said, holding the same hand back out.
I shrunk away, rubbing my hands and wrists on my coat where his blood-tainted hands had touched me. He frowned, eyeing me as I backed away, his hand left hanging in the air.
‘We won’t hurt you, you know.’
Four other pairs of eyes watched, tensed and waiting for me to run. But I had given up hope of that. Instead, I was relying on the fact that this Kaspar would be gone long enough for a passing police car to spot us.
‘That back there’ – he gestured along the street – ‘was necessary. I know it doesn’t look that way but you have to believe me when I say it needed to be done.’
I stopped. ‘Necessary? It’s not necessary, it’s wrong. Don’t patronize me, I’m not a child.’
The words were out of my mouth before I had time to think about anything beyond wanting to buy myself time. My hands tightened around my wrists and I stopped rubbing. They seemed shocked that I had found my voice and Fabian’s eyes darted behind me every now and then.
‘Then how old are you, one who knows so much about morality?’ He cocked his head to one side and I closed my mouth, hesitant about whether to tell them but glad they had ignored the rest of my outburst. ‘Well?’
I bit on my lip. ‘Seventeen,’ I murmured.
‘I didn’t know seventeen-year old girls wore such short dresses these days.’
Jumping at the sound of a conceited voice behind me, I spun around, my dark hair whipping behind me, heavy fringe settling over my eyes. Kaspar was leaning against a lamppost with his fingers in his pockets and his thumbs sticking out, a grotesque smirk tugging at his lips again. His eyes raked my form and I wrapped the coat tightly around myself to try to cover the flimsy dress.
His smirk w
idened. ‘Blushing really clashes with those purple eyes of yours, Girly.’
I flinched at his reference to my eyes – an odd shade of blue and the reason behind my name. I should have been used to the mockery. Between having freak eyes, a matching name and being a devout vegetarian, I had my work cut out dodging jokes. I opened and closed my mouth several times. But as my eyes naturally averted, his smirk vanished.
‘Go!’
The others had already disappeared, swallowed by the darkness of an alley, whilst I was thrown violently sideways, landing behind a line of bins. I looked around, dazed. The only light came from a seedy bar further down the alleyway, tucked between a fire escape and an overflowing skip. Heaving for breath, winded, I began to clamber to my feet, but a hand clamped down on my mouth, the other yanking me fully up as I was half-dragged, half-carried along the alleyway, feet coated in grime from the paving.
Just as we rounded the corner at the end of the alley, blue lights illuminated the brick walls. A drunkard, slumped against the skip, shirked away, moaning loudly and muttering curses even I reddened at. But his groans could not drown out the growing sound of sirens, rising to a crescendo just a few streets away.
‘You have to run faster,’ Kaspar told me. The panic was absent from his voice but it was written in every other feature of his face. Every face was the same. I recoiled.
‘Are you fucking crazy? Why should I run faster for you? You murderer!’ The words were pouring from my mouth, unchecked – the adrenalin was back and it was banishing the fear.
His eyes flashed dangerously and for a moment I thought they lost their emerald gleam. ‘We’re not murderers.’ Though he did not raise his voice nor change his tone it still sent shivers running up my spine, making my hairs stand on end.
‘Then what are you and why did you kill those men?’
The question hung in the air; nobody offered a reply. Instead, I was pushed onwards, tugged from alley to alley, changing direction as the police cordoned off more and more of the city, working just a road behind us as we fled the centre.
London was coming alive. Every window reflected cyan blue as the protective ring sprawled outwards.
‘Come on!’ Kaspar hissed, tugging on my sleeve.
‘I can’t!’ I screeched. And I really couldn’t. A side stitch clutched at my ribs and my breaths were coming in short, sharp rasps.
‘Tough,’ he said coolly.
‘I can’t b-breathe,’ I gasped, trying to do exactly that. A few tears leaked from my eyes, which I hastily wiped away. ‘I’m going to pass out and die or something!’
‘Oh, and what a loss that would be,’ he muttered dryly, rolling his eyes.
‘I didn’t volunteer for this!’ I winced, dropping to my knees, wondering why he had gone to the effort of keeping me alive if my death didn’t bother him.
‘No, you didn’t. But you’re a part of it now and how I see it, Girly …’ He yanked me up by my collar. ‘You don’t have any choice. Now go.’
I did not move, still rubbing my chest. ‘My name is not “Girly”! It’s Violet!’
Like a shot he was just inches away from me, forcing me against the wall as his hand wrapped around my neck. A single finger was pressed against my vein, stroking it.
‘And I’m the fucking Prince!’ he snarled, grip tightening. My eyes widened and I struggled under him but his grip just tightened further. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see his face, so close to mine and reeking of blood. A single image flooded my mind behind my closed eyes: the lifeless body of Claude Pierre, crumpled and bleeding on the stone flag.
‘I could snap that pretty neck of yours in two with less effort than it would take for you to squeal,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘So I suggest that you do what we say, because you can’t outrun us and the police won’t stop us.’
I didn’t know what the hell he meant by ‘Prince’ but I believed the rest of it. The sincerity in his voice was equal to the malice. I bowed my head, beaten.
‘Better,’ he murmured. He grabbed my hand and tugged. As I whirled around to follow him, I saw a man sprinting into the end of the street. His dull beige suit looked odd when compared to the narrow streets and sordid bars of the back alleys. His feet slowed and he came to a stop, staring straight at us, his hand shooting up to his head, almost as if in defeat. I inhaled sharply. I knew him. He worked with my father. Or rather he worked for my father.
He took a few hesitant steps forward, his eyes resting on me. For a brief moment, I met his gaze, but he averted his eyes and backed away. With a raised hand, he gestured behind him as policemen and -women rounded the corner. Their steps slowed and they came to a halt, watching us with fear burning in their eyes as Kaspar turned, allowing his gaze to roam across the officers, almost daring them. He exhaled and squared his shoulders, pulling me close to his chest. I tried to fight him and yell out for help, but he twisted my arm behind my back, leaving me yelping as though daggers were being thrust into my side where the stitch was. Entwining his arm around my waist, he backed away a few paces, dragging me with him.
He bent down to my ear and snarled. ‘Too slow.’ Without another word, he swept me up in his arms and flung me over his shoulder. I started to protest, pummelling his back, but he didn’t seem to notice as everything became a blur. The buildings were flashing by and when I looked up, the crowd had gone. In fact, we were not even in the same street. My heart sunk. He had been right. They had not chased us. Why had they not tried to stop us?
In minutes, we had left the chaos behind. I did not want to know how fast we were moving – all I knew was that it was fast enough to make my head spin. I closed my eyes to keep my head and breathing in check, but just a few seconds later my feet made contact with the ground and I landed in a heap at Kaspar’s shoes beside two very expensive-looking cars.
I blinked, convinced I was seeing double. They were identical, from the perfectly polished black of the body to the heavily tinted windows. Even the number plates were similar, except for one letter.
Who the hell are these people? Handsome and brilliantly rich; their fatal flaw was murder. I swallowed as those thoughts faded. I knew enough of London to know the hallmarks of organized crime. Yet the police didn’t stop us.
The sound of distant sirens broke the quiet of the side-street and somebody behind me picked me up, bundling me into the backseat of the nearest car. He slammed the door and walked around, getting in the other side. I recognized him as the one who shared the same eye colour as Kaspar – emerald. Kaspar and Fabian got in the front of the same car, with Kaspar driving.
‘Put your seatbelt on,’ ordered the guy sitting next to me. I ignored him, sitting as rigid as a plank, with my arms folded across my chest. He gave an exasperated sigh and reached across, grabbing my belt.
‘Freak,’ I muttered. The boy chuckled.
‘The name is Cain, not ‘freak’. I’m his younger brother,’ he revealed, nodding in the direction of Kaspar, which explained the uncanny likeness. ‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Violet. Violet Lee,’ I muttered and with that went silent. Gazing out the window I could see yet more police cars pass by. My stomach flipped as I saw a policeman glance over at us. His eyes locked with mine for a brief moment, before he turned away, as if he hadn’t seen me at all.
We were leaving the city behind now, already out of the congestion zone. As we started hitting the open roads, I felt the car speed up and I glanced at the speed dial. It was hitting one hundred. I felt a familiar thrill in my stomach, but for once, it wasn’t welcome. My head was pounding and throbs of pain were still shooting down my side. I pressed my hands to my ribs and it eased a little, but not much.
I curled up on the seat, drawing my knees up to my chest, leaning my head against the cool window. My eyes were drooping and my body was begging for the release of sleep, but I didn’t want to think about what would happen if I allowed myself to drop off. Holding back the tears, I mechanically began analyzing my situation with as much
detachment as I could muster.
I had just witnessed the mass murder of thirty men in the centre of London. I had been kidnapped by six fast and strong guys who did not seem to want to kill me – yet. I did not know where the hell I was going, who the hell these people were, and what the hell was going to happen or how long it would take for someone to notice I was missing.
I began to contemplate jumping from the door, but just as a plan had started to form there was a click and the central locking turned on. A dry sob escaped my lips.
Joining the deserted M25, we left the city I loved behind. The scenery gradually changed from city to suburban and eventually to sprawling fields, dotted with the occasional town or village. The signs we passed read Kent and I began to wonder whether they might be heading to the port at Dover to get to France. A glimmer of hope began to ignite in my heart. There was no way they would get through the port. But that hope dwindled as we veered not south, but north, towards Rochester.
Another sob escaped and I saw Kaspar glaring into the rear-view mirror. His brother, Cain, placed a hand on my shoulder and I stared at him, wide-eyed. He didn’t look like a killer. He looked like a kid.
He smiled. In my mind, I heard a man shrieking.
I shrugged him off and turned into the seat, my hair forming a curtain, shielding me from view. I let my forehead rest against the window. Tears began to fall, unchecked, streaming down the glass and tracing patterns in my breath on the window. Wrapping my arms around my shoulders, I delved into my mind.