Dark Season: The Complete Box Set (16 page)

It takes me a moment to realize that I've seen this man before. It's Hamish, the Scottish guy from the nightclub, and he looks like he's about to die. I stand up and look at Patrick, and I see something in his eyes that I've never seen in him before: a look of complete helplessness.

Hamish

London - 1650

Two guards drag me along a corridor in the Palace of Westminster and into a large hall, where an assortment of dignitaries, officials and onlookers are gathered. I'm thrown to the floor so fast, I actually skate along the marble for a few meters until I come to rest at the foot of a large wooden desk, upon which a fat and humorless-looking man is scribbling something on a piece of paper.

"What's his name again?" asks the scribbler after a moment.

"We do not know, your honor," says another of the men. "There is some speculation that it is Robert, although others have heard him called by the name Hamish."

The scribbler looks shocked. "Is he
Scottish
?" The last word drips from his tongue with utter disdain.

"He seems to be," says the other man, with a disgusted tone to his voice.

The scribbler jots some more things down. "And is this the lady?" he asks, not looking up.

"It is."

I sit up. To my horror, Hannah is being restrained by two guards. Her eyes are red with tears, her nightgown is ripped, and she looks absolutely terrified. I have to help her, but I have to make sure she doesn't get killed in the attempt. I glance around at the other men in the room; my mind is racing as I try to work out a plan. I don't have long.

"There is no point prolonging this," says the scribbler. "Guard."

I turn as I hear the sound of metal against metal, and then a thick sword slices straight through my back, into my heart, and out the front of my chest.

Hannah lets out a scream. One of the guards slaps her.

"Shut that woman up," barks the scribbler.

The sword is roughly pulled out of my body and I'm allowed to fall to the floor. The pain is intense, and I can feel blood flooding my heart. I won't die, of course, but it will take some time to heal, and I won't be in a position to help Hannah. I've failed her.

"Bury him in a pauper's grave," says the scribbler. "And take the sniveling woman away. She must consider how she might regain her honor after this little dalliance."

I try to call out to Hannah as she's led away, but there's too much blood in my mouth. I want more than anything to promise her that I'll find my way back to her. Because I will. No matter what they do, no matter how deep they bury me, I'll find my way back and I'll be with her again, and when I'm at full strength, I'll come back to this place and rip out all their hearts.

"I will have her in my quarters," says the scribbler to one of the other men. They clearly believe I'm dead, and are in no hurry to clear away my body. I wait, slowly gathering strength. This will be a futile move, but I'm sure I can at least take the architect of my death with me. As soon as I feel ready, I leap from the floor and with a roar I throw myself at the scribbler, knocking him to the ground.

By the time the guards can pull me off, I have eaten half the bastard's face; eaten and swallowed it. Would that I could have the chance to pass it out the other end of me.

I'm pulled backwards and another sword slices through my chest, then another pierces me in the neck. As I fall to the ground and begin to black out, I see at least that Hannah's tormentor is also dead.

Sophie

"You should never have brought him here!" shouts Vincent, clearing a space on the sofa so that Patrick can put Hamish down. I've never seen Vincent angry, I've never even heard him raise his voice before, but he's almost shaking with rage. "You're making the same mistake you made before!" he says, tipping out a small bag of medical supplies onto the floor as he starts to examine Hamish's ripped and bloodied body. "I never thought you could be so stupid, Patrick. Not in a thousand years did I think you could be such a fool!"

I look at Patrick. He's watching helplessly as Vincent tries to tend to Hamish's wounds.

"He's going to live," says Vincent, still working furiously as he applies dressings and liquids to the wounds that cover Hamish's body, "but some of these bites are so deep, there's no way of knowing how much damage there might be." He stops working and steps back. "I can't even tell you if he'll be able to walk again." He glances at me, then looks at Patrick. "I don't care how good a friend he is, or was, you made a terrible mistake bringing him down here. You put all of us in jeopardy. Do you understand that?"

Patrick just stares at him.

"Sometimes," says Vincent slowly, "I fear for your ability to think about things under pressure. One of these days, your sense of misguided loyalty is going to get one of us killed. If you want to die, there are easier ways than attracting an army of wolves into your own home, do you understand?"

Patrick doesn't respond.

"You should listen to your father," says a voice from behind. We all turn to see the stranger from earlier standing in the doorway. It's the same guy who followed me through the woods. "You're risking your life, and the lives of your friends, just to protect someone who only cares about himself."

"You're not welcome here," Vincent says, with fear in his voice.

"Calm down," says the stranger, stepping into the room. "It's just me. I split from the rest of the pack and I covered up the scents you left on the way down here. You're safe, this time. But I hope you won't keep relying on me like this." He turns to Vincent. "It's been a long time, old man."

"Not long enough," says Vincent tersely.

The stranger smiles, then looks at me. "We got off on the wrong foot," he says, extending a hand for me to shake. "My name is Garvey. I'm sorry if I started you earlier. I'm afraid there was no other way to get the attention of certain people." He glances over at Patrick, and I get the feeling that these two have a certain history.

I shake his hand reluctantly. "Sophie," I say.

"Nice to meet you, Sophie," Garvey says as he wanders over to Hamish and looks down at his wounds. "I hope you will be able to overlook the nature of our first meeting. I'm very sorry if you felt threatened."

"How far behind are the others?" Vincent asks.

"Not far," says Garvey. "I distracted them, but such tactics can only last so long. They'll find their way down here if you persist in giving sanctuary to this creature." He reaches down and pokes one of Hamish's wounds, which causes Hamish to let out a groan of pain. "Let me take him, and all of this will be over."

Patrick moves firmly in his way, blocking him.

"Patrick," says Vincent, "you can't protect Hamish forever. He's not your friend. Not really. He doesn't deserve your loyalty."

Patrick stays where he is, as if he hasn't heard a word Vincent is saying. Keeping his gaze firmly locked on Garvey, Patrick is clearly indicating that there's no way he's going to let anyone get to Hamish without a fight. It's a tense moment.

"Have it your way," says Garvey. "I'll try to hold them off for as long as possible, but they'll catch the scent eventually." He turns and walks to the door. "They'll find their way down here and they'll take him anyway, and they'll kill anyone who gets in their way. They'll probably kill everyone they find." He looks at me for a moment, then back to Patrick. "We both know that a pack of marauding werewolves can't cause you any permanent harm, Patrick. But your friends here? You're putting them in a lot of danger." With that, he turns and leaves.

Patrick turns to look at me.

"There's no way out," says Vincent. "Patrick, you have to accept that you can't help Hamish any longer. You've already done far more than anyone could ever expect of a friend. Every time you help him, he just goes and makes another mistake, and then another. He never learns. It's time to let him accept his fate."

"Isn't there any other way out?" I ask.

Vincent nods. "Yes, but it's no use. Even if we run, Patrick will stay and fight and... The wolves will find their way down. They'll sniff out the trail and they'll overrun us. They'll rip us to pieces if they find us. Patrick, how many of them do you think you can fight at once? Ten? A hundred? For all we know, there could be thousands of them massing nearby. All they want is Hamish, and you know, deep down, that he deserves this fate. A lot of innocent people have already died for him. Don't make more suffer."

I go to look at Hamish. He's unconscious and breathing heavily, but at least he's still breathing. "Who is he?" I ask.

"He's a fool," says Vincent, coming over to check on Hamish's wounds. "He made a deal with the Alpha Wolf, and now he's trying to escape from that deal. He's been running for years. Hundreds of years. I'm impressed he made it this far, but they've caught up with him now and there's nothing anyone can do. No-one can run forever." He glances over at Patrick for a moment. "Sophie, will you help me? We have to carry him to the entrance."

He moves to start lifting Hamish, but Patrick steps forward and pulls him away.

"How did you end up being such an idiot?" Vincent asks, clearly exasperated. "You're going to make the same mistake you made last time, and exactly the same thing is going to happen. Don't you understand? If you insist on protecting one friend, you doom others to certain death. Is that a decision you can make?" He waits for an answer. "This is hopeless! I know what you think. You think that when they get down here, you'll be able to hold them off. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them, and you think you can take on every single one of them. You're not facing reality!"

Without acknowledging either of us, Patrick turns and walks out of the room. I look at the window and see him heading outside, going over to the entrance and presumably waiting for the first of the wolves to arrive.

"Who is this guy?" I ask, looking at Hamish. "Why is he so important to Patrick?"

"They were friends," says Vincent. "Long ago. And Patrick's sense of loyalty to a friend is so great, he'll do anything to save him. Even if he deserves everything that's coming to him. I'm afraid Patrick's default response to a situation is to prepare for a fight." He turns and goes to the door. "There's another way out. We don't have long, but we have to get out of here before they arrive."

"We can't leave Patrick here," I say.

"We have no choice," says Vincent. "He's made his decision. Don't worry, they can't kill him, but I dread to think of what they'll do to him, to punish him for trying to stand in their way. It might take him years and years to recover. If they find us here, on the other hand, they'll kill us instantly. I need to gather some things, and then we have to leave, do you understand? Wait here."

He walks out and I hear him making his way up the stairs. I have no idea what to do next, so I go out of the house and walk over to Patrick.

"Is this really your plan"? I ask.

No reply. Not even a response. Not even eye contact. His eyes are focused on the entrance, waiting for the wolves to appear.

"How many are there going to be?" It occurs to me that I have no idea of Patrick's limits. I've seen him in action, killing and hurting people, but I don't know how much punishment he can take. I know he can be killed in extreme circumstances, but I don't know what it would take. If Vincent is right, there could be more than a thousand wolves heading down here, and it seems impossible that he could take on so many.

"He must be a good friend," I say.

Again, though, Patrick doesn't respond. He just remains in place, defiantly waiting for the battle to begin.

"Maybe Vincent's right," I continue. "Maybe you should just let them take this Hamish guy."

No response. It's clear that Patrick isn't going to listen to me. It's weird: he's always silent, but right now he seems even more silent than usual. Silent and completely still, almost like stone.

I turn and walk back to the house, where I quickly find Vincent.

"How many are there going to be?" I ask.

Vincent shrugs. "A few? Hundreds? Thousands? They'll all come, eventually."

"Can he hold them all off?"

Vincent pauses for a moment. "No," he says finally. "No, he can't."

"Will they kill him?"

"They'll hurt him. He knows that, but he believes he has to protect his friend."

I look out the window and see Patrick still in position. I understand why he's doing this, even if I think he's hopelessly misguided. His friend came to ask for his help, and Patrick's not going to turn him away. I admire Patrick's loyalty, but I wish he could see things from another perspective. "So Patrick knows he can't win this battle?" I ask. "And he's still ready to fight it?"

"Yes," says Vincent. "But you should not be here. Patrick is putting you in danger. I'll show you another way out."

"We can't leave him here," I say.

"He'll survive," Vincent says.

"And you?"

"Me?"

I look at Vincent. He's an old man, certainly not built for fighting wolves. "Are you going to come with me?" I ask.

"I'm going to show you the exit," he replies, but I can tell from the look in his eyes that he's not being quite honest with me. "I'll be okay here. I can't leave Patrick."

"But you just said -"

"I can't leave him!" he insists. "Please, try to understand. Even if it means risking my life, I can't let him do this alone. I can try to reason with them when they arrive."

"But -"

"Wait here for a moment," he says, leaving the room. "I'm going to get you out of here," he calls back to me, "whether you like it or not."

I walk through to the study, where Hamish is still unconscious on the sofa. Heading to the window, I look out at Patrick, still at his lonely vigil. I don't want to leave him here, but I also know that I'm no match for a pack of angry wolves. Why is he so determined to save Hamish? Is it really just friendship? That's the problem with Patrick, you never know what he's really thinking, even if -

Suddenly a hand clamps over my mouth and an arm is wrapped around my body. I try to shout out, but I can barely breathe. I struggle, but I can't get loose.

"Don't make a fucking noise," hisses a familiar Scottish voice, close to my ear. "You're coming with me. I'm really sorry about this, darling, but there's no other way." I try to look around, and for a moment I catch sign of Hamish's damaged, shredded face snarling at me. I look at the window and see Patrick, still on guard and facing the wrong way, completely oblivious to what's happening in here. I try to get loose from Hamish's grasp, and for a moment I think I might succeed, but then I feel a great pressure being applied to my neck, and although I try to struggle, everything quickly turns black and I quickly pass out.