Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
I cling to Ada as she runs, my hands buried in her mane, face pressed to her warmth. The night splits around us. I can’t see through my tears, all I can picture—again, and again—is that boy’s crushed skull, the strange, broken shape of it. His blood, his silence.
I want to scream. I want to tear the world open for letting it happen. I’ve killed men before, plenty, but that was out of duty; always measured, sanctioned.
This was something else.
This was rot.
I blink and I’m somewhere else.
I’m eleven again, watching from the corner of a filthy street as a man brings his boot down on a child’s head. The sound clings within me. I remember the red. The smell. My scream.
Then, I’m sixteen, my knife sliding through another man’s throat because he did the same thing to a girl I once knew.
Sarah.
Her name returns like a wound reopening. I’d forgotten her face, her laugh, her breath against my neck. We’d kissed. We’d done more. I loved her, though I never said it. Never even knew how to.
A sob cuts out of me before I can stop it, sharp and raw. Ada takes me home without needing to be told, and I hang on, shaking so hard I can barely sit straight.
Back in my cottage, I shiver under a blanket, staring at food I can’t eat. My mouth tastes of salt and iron. I keep listening for him, for Gray, but the silence presses in.
He’s gone.
He’s left me to drown in this alone. The thought coils through me, cold and mean.
Bastard.
I sit up in bed and pick up Romeo and Juliet, flipping to the end.
Death for love.
Dying to be together.
Is that what this is? The secret he won’t tell me?
I can’t concentrate on my favourite story as all my thoughts now rush to one person and the threat he is to me.
I close the book slowly, my fingers trembling. The decision rises in me so quickly but certain.
And I know what I must do.
I need to go for Richard.
The moon hangs as I saddle Ada, pale and swollen on the horizon. She shifts beneath me, restless, her breath ghosting through the cold air. I stroke her mane, murmuring softly, then turn her towards Lambeth.
We ride beneath the watching light, each hoofbeat is too loud in the stillness. The night is young, the fields slightly misty and the roads slick. The cottage fades behind me, swallowed by fog and open ground.
As we ride, the moon climbs, slow and deliberate, dragging its light higher into the sky. By the time Lambeth’s dark fields stretch out before me, it hangs clean and full above the rooftops, casting the world in cold silver.
Richard’s mansion isn’t hard to find. A stone wall rings it, the grand house safe within. Three floors, perhaps four if there’s an attic, with balconies jutting from the second and third on opposite sides like a beast poised to spring.
The garden trails behind the house, old trees standing scattered across the grounds, their branches twisting like ribs.
I guide Ada into the trees and tie her there. She snorts, uneasy, as if she senses what I’m about to do, and I hush her, resting my palm against her cheek. The air smells faintly of hearth smoke and old wood, but it’s quiet; the kind of quiet that only settles when a household sleeps.
Good.
I move forward, the grass whispering beneath my boots, breath steady, heart cold.
Time to see what Lambeth keeps hidden behind its fine walls.
My body feels honed, faster, built for the hunt. I’m stronger than I ever remember being. The bond from yesterday still burns in my veins, sharpening everything. Whatever Gray did to me—whatever we became—it’s changed me. I doubt Richard will be a challenge, but we’ll see.
The wall rises ahead, shining sickly under the moonlight as I move through the dark and leap, catching the edge with both hands.
The stone bites into my palms as I pull myself up and over, landing in a crouch on the other side.
I wait for a moment, listening. The world is silent but for the faint hiss of wind through grass.
The air is cool and heavy with dew. I check the blade at my hip, then the one tucked into my boot. Their weight steadies me as I start across the yard, slow and deliberate.
At the back of the house lies a small brick patio, empty chairs, a table, a folded umbrella, forgotten in the corner. The glass doors beyond are etched with curling patterns that catch the moonlight, and above, a balcony stretches into shadow.
No lamps. No sounds. The house sleeps.
I press close to the door, ear to the glass. Nothing. Just the creak of settling wood, the low groan of the wind.
Edging along the wall, my eyes trace the lines of ivy that climb towards the balcony; I’m almost certain it’ll hold me if I’m careful.
My boot catches on a stone and I stumble, twisting as I land—pain flares sharp through my ankle and a hiss slips out before I can stop it. I steady myself with a heavy step, a throb climbing my leg before settling deep, hot and pulsing.
A beat of silence. Then barking.
A dog.
Fuck.
I freeze, my jaw tight, ankle screaming with each heartbeat.
Shit. This just got harder.
I crouch low, deathly still and force my breathing to slow, measured and shallow. The dog doesn’t bark again, but still, I wait. No doors creak open, no heavy paws scrape the ground, and there’s no flash of sharp teeth coming to tear at me through the dark.
When the quiet stretches long enough, I finally exhale, slow and deep. My ankle throbs with the shift of weight but I press a hand against the grass, gathering myself, and moving on.
I circle the house until I find a tree close enough to the wall, its branches reaching across towards the second-floor balcony.
Not ideal, but possible. I test my foot against the ground—pain bites, but I can bear it.
Stepping back, I take a short run and push off the trunk.
My boot slips once before I catch the bark, grabbing a low branch and hauling myself up.
The strain sends an assault of pain through my ankle, but I grit my teeth and climb.
The branch above creaks softly as I shift, edging along it, moving slow and cautious, until I reach the balcony. I drop down, landing light, but wincing as my ankle protests. The space is wide and empty, washed in the gloom of the night.
I cross to the door and listen. Nothing. Not even a snore.
I test the handle; unlocked.
Good.
Slipping inside, I close the door behind me and am engulfed by the dark. A bedroom, sparse and unused, the air smelling of old linen and dust. I pad across the floor silently and press my ear to the next door.
Still nothing.
I ease it open a fraction and listen again.
The house sleeps on.
I ease the door open enough to peer out. A window gives me enough light from the moon to see a long hallway, lined with opened doors, a stairwell leading both up and down. Shadows gather in the corners, soft and deep.
I move quietly, each step measured, the rugs beneath my boots swallowing the sound. I check each room as I pass with quick glances, no more. A study. A library. A sitting room. All empty. The bedroom I’d entered from still lies behind me, untouched, and there’s no sign of the dog.
Richard’s done well for himself. Even in the dark, I can see the glint of wealth; the faint sheen of gold inlay tracing the edges of dark wood furniture, thick rugs, and the deep polish of hardwood panelling over old stone walls.
I reach the stairwell and glance up, then down. The air shifts faintly, carrying the smell of wax and smoke from somewhere below. I start to move upward, slow and cautious…
A sound cuts through the stillness.
A door creaks open downstairs. The soft scrape of claws follows, rapid and sharp against the hardwood floors.
The dog is inside.
I freeze, my chest tightening, muscles gripping around the pain in my ankle. I listen; the rhythm of its nails on the floorboards, the low, uncertain growl rising as it tests the air.
I close my eyes and empty my lungs.
If it scents me, I’ll have to kill it before it makes a sound.
A flicker of doubt skates across my mind. I haven’t seen the crow. I don’t feel Gray. Wouldn’t he be here if death was to fall tonight?
I push the thought away, but it clings and I find myself hoping that it doesn’t mean my plan has already gone wrong.
Upstairs again, there’s only one door. One room. It must be Richard’s.
I draw my knife from my thigh with extreme care, as if it were made of glass. The steel catches a whisper of moonlight before I smother it beneath my hand. Every movement is deliberate, measured.
I push open the door and cross the room one step at a time.
The constable lies on his side, face slack in sleep. His chest rises and falls with the soft rhythm of a man who’s forgotten the world has teeth and his wife is curled beside him. I pause, the knife fitted in my grip, and glance toward the shadows.
I look towards the bedroom window and notice a crow is perched on the ledge.
Finally.
Gray is here to watch me take Richard’s life. I gain my confidence back in my plan and I raise the blade above my head, muscles taut. My heel shifts back for balance…
The floorboard groans beneath my boot.
I freeze. A curse slips out of me, low and sharp. The constable doesn’t stir, and his breathing stays even.
Then…
Bark, bark, bark!
The sound rips through the house, violent and sudden.
The man jolts awake, eyes wide, fumbling for sense.
“Shit,” I whisper, too late to swallow it.
Richard’s eyes snap open and lock on mine; the only thing he can see beyond the mask.
“You!” he bellows, voice raw.
I drive the knife down, but he rolls, dragging his wife with him, both tumbling off the far side of the bed. The blade sinks deep into the mattress where his chest should’ve been. The woman jolts awake with a strangled scream, clutching at him before she even knows what’s happening.
Richard hits the floor hard, already pushing to his feet. I wrench the knife free, spinning, and dodging as he lunges. He misses, crashing head-and-shoulder into the wall beside the bed, the thud shaking the floorboards.
He swears, grabbing for the bedpost, but he’s up again before I can blink. I back away, ankle burning, trying to find space to move.
He comes at me with a roar, fist cutting through the air. I duck under the first swing but almost catch the uppercut that follows; it grazes my chin as I drop, throwing me off balance. I stumble sideways, my bad ankle screaming.
I kick out, catching his knee just enough to send him down with a curse. He grabs at his leg, teeth bared, fury twisting his face.
Then everything happens at once.
The dog’s claws clatter on the stairs, nails scraping wood. Richard shoves himself upright again, lunging toward me with a shout. His wife screams his name and rushes forward, trying to pull him back, to stop him.
I twist, knife in hand, ready to block him but she moves into the wrong place at the wrong second.
The blade meets her instead.
A breathless, broken sound leaves her lips. Her eyes go wide. She looks down at the knife between us, then up at me; confusion, pain and disbelief colouring her cheeks.
I let go and she collapses into her husband’s arms before I can catch her.
For a heartbeat, none of us move. The room feels hollow. Then Richard looks up at me, and the sound he makes isn’t human.
The dog bursts through the doorway, barking madly. My pulse pounds in my skull. I take one step back, then another, ankle throbbing, my mind a blur.
I didn’t mean to…
But it’s far too late for that. Her blue orb comes flying towards me, Richard can’t see as he’s looking down at his dead wife and the orb gets sucked into my pendant but this time, I don’t feel good nor stronger.
The mastiff lunges, a blur of black and muscle. It slams into me, knocking me sideways as claws scrape across the boards.
Richard’s voice explodes above the chaos. “Murderer! I’ll get you for this! You hear me? I’ll make you pay for what you’ve done!”
The dog’s weight presses me down. I reach up, grab the blanket from the bed, and drag it down with both hands.
In one motion I throw it over the animal, wrapping the heavy fabric round its body.
The mastiff barks and thrashes, twisting on itself, lost in confusion as the blanket tightens around its legs.
I shove myself upright just as Richard lunges again, arms wide to grab me. I duck under and drive my fist into his ribs, hard and low. The crack that follows is sharp and final. He folds, clutching his side, his mouth open in a silent snarl.
The mastiff spins in frantic circles, tangled in the blanket, barking and growling at ghosts, as Richard drops to his knees, rage broken by pain.
I don’t wait. I bolt from the room, down the corridor and the stairwell—one floor, then another—until I reach the ground floor. My pulse hammers in my skull, the world narrowing to movement and noise.
The front door gives out after I kick it twice and cold air rushes in as I hobble out into the yard. Ada stands where I left her, restless and shining under the moon. I grab her reins, haul myself into the saddle, and ride.
Behind me, Richard’s voice carries through the open windows, all fury and broken promises, and the dog’s bark twists through it like a warning I’ll never forget.
Richard will hunt me to the ends of the earth now.