Deadlier... than the male

By D Michelle Gent

What exactly do you know about your neighbours on the street where you live, in the same neighbourhood and even in the same town? What do you know about the society you live in?
What other societies share the same living space as you? None? Guess again.
The next time you’re in town on a night out, take a good look around you - at the person next to you in the queue to get into the nightclub, the good-looking guy across the street, or the gorgeous girl giving you the ‘eye’... are they all ‘normal’ like you? Or does one of them have a dark secret that he’s just dying to share with you?
Everyone has a secret, some are darker than others.
Hide in plain sight. Keep everyone in the dark; give nothing away about who you really are.
There is a society within – or rather, without the normal restraints imposed upon ours. This society has rules of course but their rules follow closer to the rules of the jungle, survival of the fittest, kill or be killed. This society has run alongside ours for millennia, hiding in plain sight, taking advantage of man’s bloodlust and war-like tendencies. They have fought with us in every major hand-to-hand battle since man first took up a club to batter his rival’s skull in. They reap what men sow and control their own bloodlusts far better than man is able to.
Werewolves are make-believe, they don’t exist. They are legends from times gone by when science was as accurate as horoscopes are today – or are they?
They are evolved, stronger and longer-lived. The Ancients can and have lived since before history began. They leave no witness - that is their ethos. They cannot destroy another of their kind unless they wish to chance the wrath of the Sentinels – the one and only police force, loyal only to their Monarch, the Lycaeon.
You don’t believe it? Not in this day and age?
Guess again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gingernut Books Ltd
• Release date: Feb 4, 2011
• ISBN: 9781907939044

D Michelle Gent

Michelle was born in Wirksworth, Derbyshire at the beginning of December 1964. As the first-born of three children, and the fifth living generation in a local mining family she hit the news early, appearing in the Derbyshire Times for her mother’s efforts.In recent times a more stable lifestyle has allowed her to follow jobs better in line with her character. She spent a number of years working as a Door Supervisor at public houses and night clubs, trying out different ways of keeping fit – such as kick boxing and gym work - she likes to do things girls don’t normally do and she loves a challenge.In the last few years she has been writing down ideas for this and other books and after a nine-month spell working at a school decided to take a year off work to finally produce her first book Deadlier... than the Male.A number of years later, a few rejection slips under her belt and as much determination as ever, Deadlier... is about to be joined by Cruel... and Unusual in the Werewolf series. These will be followed by Blood... on the Moon later this year.She lives in the heart of Sherwood Forest.

Book preview

Chapter 1

She stood with her back to the closed doors of the club; it was very late, almost three in the morning. The last punters of the evening had been persuaded to leave through those same doors less than twenty minutes before her. She asked herself, not for the first time; why did she work here of all places? Her feet hurt and she was forever on a knife-edge, waiting for the next incident to go off. Her weekends were never her own and her sleep patterns were shot to pieces and that was after only a month of working at the nightclub.

As she looked around, she saw that a prominent police presence was very obvious in the hope that by being there they could prevent the majority of fracas. Paramedics were also in abundance, in case the preventative measure was not enough. The two groups of professionals were the only visibly sober people in the vicinity and they were vastly outnumbered by drunken civilians.

She knew that the market-place of this medium-sized town would be bustling with late-night revellers, queuing for a late night snack at the burger vans, waiting for the night bus or a taxi or just walking home. The weekend started a few hours ago for most of these people and they seemed intent on making the most of it.

The sky was crystal clear, sprinkled with stars and accompanied by the luminous glow of the full moon, giving a stark, sharp feel to objects and shadows alike. The streets were filthy and littered with debris from the multitude of fast food outlets which flanked the clubs and pubs. She decided as she gazed up at the moon that she didn’t want to have to mingle with the drunks when she was sober. She had had enough of them for one evening and so on impulse she went against taking the shortest route to her car and took the road less travelled.

Looking both ways, up and down the street, she dodged in front of a slow-moving taxi and crossed over at a trot, bearing right. As the majority of the crowds continued straight on towards the hill down to the market, she swung left at the corner where only a small minority were walking. Even so close to the crowds still milling about on the street behind her, she felt an instant ease with the change of pace. She walked fast, overtaking a small group of young men who she remembered being at the same club where she had been working.

G’night love! One of them shouted as she passed, his reactions delayed by the alcohol he had poured down his throat in the few hours he had been out. She didn’t turn back but shouted a cheerful Goodnight and waved her hand at them. She walked down the slope, alongside the high and curved retaining wall which supported the railway embankment. The alternative way she had taken was peaceful and she was calming down after the stress of being on the lookout for trouble all the time at the club. Once around the corner and out of sight of the group still behind her, she cut right, taking an unusual route up through an isolated car park which led nowhere at this time of night. In the darkness caused by an absence of any working street lights, the moon’s glow cast deeper shadows than the sun and blanched the colour from everything, but the tranquillity she found only added to her calm.

Looming above the car park were the ancient and sturdy brick arches which made up the viaduct for the railway; she once again gazed up at the moon gleaming above the brickwork. Her attention was diverted by movement to the left of her focus. Some fool was playing about on the railway lines, perhaps fulfilling a drunken dare. She figured that unless he was unlucky and fell, he should be ok, because the passenger trains didn’t run this late. The only thing he’d have to watch out for was the freight trains which ran all night, albeit at a slower pace. Still, it was not her problem.

Cutting through a narrow alley at one corner of the car park, she expected to find a high ornamental gate, locked and barring the way. The gate was always locked at night to keep the drunken public out but she had no trouble jumping over it. She made her way with care down a flight of stone steps - more for fear of standing in something nasty than of losing her footing. She walked through a passageway which stank of urine, making her wrinkle her nose at the sour, musky odour.

Halfway through the enclosed alley, she heard a noise behind her. It sounded very much like someone tapping (...as of someone gently rapping...) and her body shivered involuntarily as she listened. She turned to see if she could locate the sound, but as she turned it stopped, and she knew that she was being watched. She waited for a moment and then another shudder shook her frame and she turned back to continue her journey at a more accelerated pace.

As she emerged from the alley, between a tiny souvenir pottery shop and an artist supplies shop, she checked behind her once more. The sound had not been repeated but she had the feeling that the source was still there. She did not feel at ease. She stood in the middle of the pavement, listening hard. She was only a few yards from where she would have been if she had followed the crowds and all she could hear was the noise of the people, an indistinct mumble of voices, just a few hundred yards from where she stood.

As she moved further away from the market-place, the crowd’s noise was again diminished. Just fifty metres more and the streets were deserted and silent, any noise engulfed by the massive brick structure which carried trains far over the streets of the town, the final traces of the night’s work had all but vanished. She should be calm by now; instead she was back on the knife-edge.

In light of recent events - a spate of vicious attacks on women - walking alone at this time of night, she realised, could have been a mistake. She knew the risks she took, but she had always weighed them up and found them acceptable - until now, when she knew that she was being followed.

There had been no more suspicious noises but she knew. This could be the time that she had stretched her luck too far; this could well be her last mistake.

Her composure was shaken, she was almost startled into a run at the slightest sound - perhaps a dry leaf skittering across concrete - only preventing panic by sheer force of will. She was glancing behind ever more frequently and knew that her demeanour had altered. She tried to shake herself out of the anxiety and to do that she stood with her back to one of the massive ancient brick archways which made up the viaduct that ran high above the town. It was further down the line of the same railway system that she had walked under a few minutes before. There was nowhere for anyone to conceal themselves and that realisation gave her back some of the confidence that she had lost.

After the mental shake-down, she managed to keep her footfalls even and confident - the woman knew the value of appearance. More often than not, a person that walked tall and in an assertive manner would be passed over in favour of an easier victim.

Tonight however, there were no others to be passed over for. If there was to be a victim in this place, then there was only one choice.

She paused again when she approached the side of The Swan pub. There was only a wide-open car park separating her from the alleyway leading to where she had left her car earlier. She stood at the side of the building taking one last look around; making as sure as she could that no one was following. Only thirty metres left to the alley, which was another twenty metres of high walls on both sides - a very isolated alley and in retrospect, another bad choice - only at the other end would she reach the safety of her vehicle. She muttered to herself, I should have let someone drive me around. Sod that! I shouldn't have parked down here in the first place!

The watcher smiled as he heard her mumbling to herself. He was almost close enough to smell her fear. His anticipation swelled and he had to concentrate to regulate his breathing.

He assessed the woman he had chosen. She was bundled up in a large overcoat against the late night chill, but he could tell that she was slim. She had flat boots on and she was of average height. Her hair was red - the colour of autumn leaves - and was braided tight in one plait, though the length of it was hidden, tucked into her coat. Her hands were encased in black leather gloves and she was carrying a workbag. She had an air of confidence about her, but he thought that perhaps the skill had been learned rather than something that was natural to her, if only because he could tell that she was wary of the alley she approached. He thought to himself, and well she might be wary and allowed himself a broader smile.

He didn’t know why he had chosen this one; he never delved too deep into the whys and wherefores. Although he had noticed her because she had not followed everyone else, she had gone a different way. Curiosity made him follow her, he supposed - that and the fact that she was alone.

He had first thought that he had her when she encountered the locked gate on the stairway, but he had been both disappointed and yet delighted when she had clambered over it. He liked a woman with a bit of spirit. He also liked to watch their panic grow when they realised that they were being followed; it added to his excitement.

She moved on again, through the deserted car park. She noticed a lone car - perhaps left by its conscientious driver who had had a drink and left it until the morning. The cynic in her thought otherwise, in a perfect world maybe he had, but more likely, he was too drunk to remember where he had left it.

The open space of the car park gave her a sense of security that she knew would desert her as she approached the alley. There was nowhere to hide in the area surrounding the pub and so she knew he was not so close behind her.

As the distance to the walled passageway was eaten up by her self-assured strides, she started to slow down as though she was trying to delay getting there. Again she hesitated. At the mouth of the alley, she leaned forward just a little as if trying to see around the bend in the middle. Her bag was grasped in one hand and as she leaned forward, it swung against her leg. She looked down as if she had only just noticed it was there. Then, as though deciding that she should make a move before she could scare the living daylights out of herself, she entered the mouth of the narrow and enclosed walkway.

The stalker forced himself to be patient as he waited until she had entered the alley, then he moved - fast and silent - around the perimeter wall. He scaled yet higher walls with ease, running across the tops of them, moving with the agility of a cat to get ahead of her. He had the advantages of surprise and shock and he intended to use them both to maximum effect. His hands flexed as he waited in his chosen position just ahead of his victim, listening for her footfalls.

She tried not to think of the violent and bloody attacks that had happened in the neighbourhood - one a few weeks earlier and another just the previous night. She managed to keep a poker-face as her colleagues delighted in telling her the gory details - exaggerated no doubt, she hoped.

When she told them that she was parked in the same secluded car park as the two victims had been, their humour had turned to concern. Her dismissals of offers to drive her to her car or to accompany her were accepted with reluctance. She thought that acceptance of escort would be seen as weakness. She was probably right.

Reports in the local paper after the first incident had described a woman being attacked and brutalised. One had described the attacked woman as being mauled. A hospital porter had gone to the paper and told of the victim’s hysterical and not-quite-coherent deathbed ramblings about her attacker who slashed and bit with tooth and claw. Last night’s attack was, as yet, unconfirmed by official sources but that didn’t stop gory details circulating along the rumour mills.

Her pace was no longer as brisk as it had been. She was by now, dawdling along the pathway, hesitating more and more as she approached the sharp bend in the path, stopping to look behind time and again.

He heard the sigh of relief when at last she rounded that bend and could see the rear bumper and one light and she knew her car was within reach. Her pace picked up a little and she straightened up, regaining her self-assured stance of before.

She was just two metres from the exit of the alley and no more than four metres from her car. Her keys were already in her hand - as they had been since The Swan. Her guard dropped for a split second as she made sure it was the right key for the lock.

A split second was all that was needed to pick off a victim.

He landed in front of her, from the top of the wall.

She was surprised into an exclamation of Shit! and she staggered back a few steps to lean against the high sandstone wall.

His grin was full of cruel humour but she tried to return the smile with one of her own. What looked like an attempt at a confident smile did not seem to make her feel any better.

He knew adrenalin would have begun to course through her veins, she looked to have it under control for now, but who knew how long she would manage that? At the very next shock, her whole system would be flooded with it and that would convert her brain into a useless lump of offal. Powerless to think clearly, it would in turn make her limbs incapable of response - this is the result of the ‘fright’ instinct. Or, she could start punching and kicking and screaming like a banshee - the instinct to ‘fight’. The last alternative would be the ‘flight’ instinct, but she had nowhere to run; he blocked her path to the safety of her car.

He had been the cause and seen the effects of all possibilities and used them many times as tools of his trade.

He studied her for a moment, then he lifted his chin and sniffed, catching her scent - she smelled clean but wore no perfume - a bonus - he preferred that. He half closed his eyes and savoured her scent.

The alley was not very broad, just wide enough to pass another adult in, and he seemed to make the spaces on either side of him appear too small to allow her to get past him.

He spoke first as though this situation was normal: Hello, he said with a smile, very aware of how attractive he was. You’re quite fit, aren’t you?

What? She stammered, perplexed at his opening statement. She was still leaning against the wall as though her legs were having difficulty in supporting her. Then, seeming to realise that she already looked like a victim, she pushed herself upright.

She brushed aside his attempt at conversation and said, Excuse me please; I need to go to my car. She raised her hand in indication to the direction she wanted to go.

Sure, he replied, his smile not wavering as he moved closer to one wall. He knew that the broad smile he flashed, his silk shirt which clung to his muscled torso in all the right places, combined with his slightly exotic features, helped to distract females in this situation. It was just one more tool for him to use as he indulged in his favourite nocturnal activity.

There was still not enough room in which to pass without invading what she considered 'his space' and she did not move.

He tipped his head in the direction of the exit, as if to indicate that she was keeping him from his journey.

She appeared wary, but took the hint and started to go forward, not wishing to appear foolish by being scared of this amenable and striking man.

She tensed as she passed him because she knew that he would grab her, yet when he did she was rendered rigid.

With her tucked under his arm like a bundle of laundry - he was deceptively strong, even taking his height into account - he carried her back down the alley with little effort.

He didn't need to cover her mouth; the woman was in shock already and could not even make a murmur, let alone scream. Not like that one bitch last month, she screamed the place down! Still, screaming didn't do her any good, and this one's silence wouldn't save her either.

He stopped just at the bend, shielded a little from casual passers-by but he still glanced either way just to make sure. He pushed her up against the wall quite gently; his right forearm held her across her collarbone. He leaned against her, his head just lower than her throat and he looked up at her face, taking his time to appraise her.

I said you’re fit aren’t you? I watched you jump the gate at the top of the hill. A slight foreign accent tinted his voice.

Oh, you’d been following me further than I thought then. Was that you on the top of the viaduct too? she asked. She was quite calm and less scared than she had seemed a few seconds ago.

Yes. I didn’t know if you’d seen me or not. He sniffed her again, and said: You are on your period. He made the personal comment sound as though it was something that she would be unaware of.

Am I? She didn’t seem upset or annoyed that he had been so very intrusive with his statement. He grinned at her again, a leer in his eyes and on his smile.

Then she surprised him more by turning the conversation again. You murdered those women, didn't you?

Yeah, that was me. He didn't even try to conceal the pride in his admission as he reminisced. He moved his other hand to clasp her coat, just above the top fastened button, ready to rip it away from her neck.

Through her blouse, the backs of his fingers were touching the delicate strap of her bra where it was sewn to the cup. Breathing deeply, he smelled her again, almost as though he was deciding whether to seduce or devour her. His head moved upwards from where he held her coat open at breastbone level. His face stayed very close to her skin, taking intimate pleasure in her smell. His senses were always heightened as he worked and he got an extra thrill from the added anticipation that he had acquired with this one.

Languishing in his task, relishing it, he moved his mouth toward hers.

But you didn't rape them, she said, turning her face away from his as he moved his arm in order that he might continue upwards. She kept her eyes on him - and she now sounded like she was interrogating him.

No I didn't, why do you say that? Are you making me an offer? He leered as he pulled his head away. His curiosity at this woman's sudden calm made him want to carry on the conversation. After all, he was in no rush tonight. There was no danger of rescue because she had called for none and anyone passing who happened to glance up the alley would assume that they were lovers, impatient in their passion. So her coat was left with the collar intact - for now.

Hardly, she smiled, but this time, her smile made him take stock of her a little better - she wasn't scared.

She was not begging or negotiating to be allowed to go, nor was she struggling, and yet she was in mortal danger, she had to realise that? Her arms were by her sides, the car keys in one pocket. Her gloves had been removed and were now in the other pocket. Her bag lay at her feet, but she had allowed it to drop there, she had not dropped it in panic. She was not as small as he had first thought; she must have been over five and a half feet tall. Although she was slim, she was not weak; she had good musculature - toned muscles that he could feel even through her coat.

Her manner - the new confidence bordering on arrogance - was beginning to irritate him; she should be damned well scared by now, at least screaming her head off, even pissing her pants.

This was not as much fun as it had been last night, or the previous times. She was spoiling his enjoyment!

Fuck this, he growled, you need a fright to get you going!

With that, he let go of her coat and stood upright, away from her and the wall that he had been trapping her against. He half hoped she would try to make an attempt at escape now that he had let her go.

His full height of six feet, two inches was impressive, as was his body which was sleek and toned under his silk shirt. Her eyes were locked on his as his entire face began to alter. The skin and muscles were independent of the bone structure beneath yet were following the same path. His features rippled as his skin then began to change its texture. He knew what he looked like, he'd spent time practicing this - just like a wannabe pop star does.

Though rather than dancing around the bedroom with the obligatory make-believe microphone, he had instead watched his own transformation. He had studied this process, studying his own face in the mirror countless times until he had perfected this elaborate and terrifying metamorphosis. He had worked hard for each of his victims’ benefit, making their ordeal as shocking as possible - after all, it would be their last experience.

His forehead changed and flattened - as did the slope of his cranium - the hairline moving forward. At the same instant, his mouth began to protrude from his face, bringing the nose with it and elongating his jaw. The teeth moved by themselves to fill the new jaw, they became longer and pointed - a visible and lethal sharpness as his lips drew back from them. His hairline was continuing forward - like water burbling over shale - down his face, changing texture as it enveloped skin. The hair passed over his jaw line and down his throat on into the open collar of his shirt. His eyes turned from dark brown to preternatural yellow as the hair sprouted along his lengthened nose. Then, as the transformation of his face had finished, his tongue, glistening with saliva, touched the tip of one front fang in a final and theatrical gesture.

The face of the full moon watched over this horrifying tableau and still the woman’s gaze never faltered.

He stood still and quiet for a moment and then, pride and arrogance gleaming in his eyes, continued to set the scene for her.

I need no introduction; you can see exactly what I am. I belong with the dark terrors that reside in the back of your mind. I am the embodiment of what you humans hope does not exist and try to convince yourselves so, yet still fear is real. I am a Werewolf! My kind have inhabited your stories and nightmares for centuries, you delight in the telling and re-telling of stories which scare you to death and what happens when you encounter such a being? Do you revel in the experience? No, you scream and plead and beg for it not to be so. Well, I fulfil my part of the bargain; I want you to honour your part. All you need to do is make a break for it; your flesh will taste so much better if you pump adrenalin into it. His voice sounded deeper because of his distorted vocal chords.

She waited until he had finished his speech and then said: Oh, you're a Werewolf are you? Sarcasm dripped from every syllable. Is this how you scared the woman last night? You weren’t satisfied that she was probably terrified out of her wits because you were attacking her in the first place? You needed that extra edge to make her really scared… but why? What purpose does that serve you? I don’t believe that it’s just the adrenalin taste that does it for you, there has to be more.

The predator was astounded - she still did not run! He was wearing the countenance of every sane person’s nightmares and she was questioning him! What the hell was wrong with her? Could it be that she didn’t believe her own eyes? He had never encountered a reaction such as this.

She continued in her verbal onslaught. Actually, I'd describe you more as a Rogue-Wolf, and unless I miss my mark, you’re a Throwback.

Now he was the one thrown into disbelief, and she continued;

You are bringing too much attention to the gates of our society; your kills are conspicuous and excessive. You have to be stopped for all our sakes!

Too late he realised that his new 'victim' was nothing of the sort and roles had been reversed. Now it was he that got the adrenalin dump as she sprang forward. Hitting him low in the abdomen with her shoulder, she knocked him against the opposite wall with far more force than he had done with her moments before. Heaving him up on her left shoulder sliding him up the wall, she twisted and her right hand came around to catch him under his chin. Then she pushed hard on his throat, holding his head up and almost immobile, taking his weight from her shoulder. As her fingers tightened on his windpipe, cutting off most of his air supply, he soon realised that he was fighting for his very life. His kicks and swings were ineffectual at best, each swing blocked, no kick ever landing because of how close her body was to his. He was forced to calm down and listen to her.

I have been tracking you for months, Jervais Marchand, even before you started your killing spree in this country in fact. I have studied your case and I now know of all the crimes you committed in Europe. I know the judgement and sentence that was handed down to you. I also know what conditions were put upon your acceptance of this sentence. You have broken the terms of agreement.

She paused, giving him time to realise the grim situation his murderous hobby had brought him to. I have the authority to deal directly with you. You now have three choices.

She ignored his attempts to remove her fingers from his throat as she held up her index finger close to his face, to indicate one choice. With the evidence I have against you, combined with your previous record, I can ship you back to France to let your authorities deal with you - again.

She added her middle finger to the index finger to indicate his second choice. I can take you directly to our authorities or… her ring finger was added to the other two: As an appointed Sentinel, I carry out the final option in the sentence you were handed - doing what you should have done if you had any courage or sense of honour - I can end it for you now, rather than you committing suicide, for I don’t think I can trust you to carry that out. Well? What do you want?

He stopped his half-hearted struggling for the moment, both hands upon her wrist, but she still held him off the floor by the throat.

The partial metamorphosis back to his human face was far swifter than the theatrical change of earlier. His human eyes held hers and pleaded for more mercy than he had ever shown to his victims.

She smiled at the irony.

They'll kill me if you take me back! He croaked past the pressure on his windpipe.

Or I'll kill you now.

What will your authorities do? he ventured, hopeful of punishment lighter than the other alternatives.

They'll kill you too, but I don't know how quickly. At least if I do it, you'll not suffer.

He took a while to come to a conclusion, but then sighed, nodded once to her and dropped his hands from her wrist. She was about to begin when he spoke, almost too quiet to hear and she held off to listen.

Sentinel, do it. I am weary. I have battled my conscience for too long now. Each Full Moon, I have the urge to kill and torture my prey. I don’t want to live with this anymore. I swear to myself that this time will be the last and that I shall have the strength to do what I should have done even before the judgement was passed, but I don’t have the strength. End it for me. For what it is worth, I am sorry.

Jez, also for what it is worth, I don’t think you are able to help yourself. You are being punished for something that was not your sin. I too am sorry.

He nodded his head - an almost imperceptible movement - in acknowledgement. Then she lowered him down the wall and letting go of his neck, she slashed open his throat and in a fluid motion, ripped downwards, cleaving his still human belly from solar plexus to pubis.

His eyes opened wide in surprise, even though he knew that it was coming, one hand reaching for his throat to try to stem the blood as his primordial instincts took over. His other hand flailed and tried to grasp hers. His body began the transition to Wolf once more. She ignored the changes taking place and slapped away his thrashing hand to reach into his abdomen, snapping the bottom ribs as she pushed her fist up and through. She grabbed hold of his heart and squeezed it until it burst. She felt the strong beats rise with his panic as she applied pressure, then as gore washed over her hand, she felt the final fluttering of the destroyed muscle and Jez was Werewolf no more, his last metamorphosis remained incomplete.

Flipping the still-twitching body onto its back, she dragged it by the shirt collar for the last few metres to her car, grabbing her discarded workbag as she passed it. The trail of blood ebbed. There was only a dribble of blood from his wounds now that his heart was no longer pumping it through his veins. She dropped his collar, his head made a sick-sounding crunch on the pitted tarmac of the car park; she opened the boot and retrieved a plastic sheet. She draped it over the whole of the floor and left a tail over to the outside. She lifted the body as though it weighed no more than the corpse of a child and dumped it in her car, arranging the sheet over it and pulling up corners so that no blood spilled onto the carpet. She took off her coat, pulled the gloves from the pocket first and tucked them into her trouser front pocket. Then she bundled it up with the blood soaked sleeve on the inside and threw that on top of the body.

She sensed someone approaching and finishing her task, she wiped her hands on a cloth. Then throwing the bloody cloth into the boot, she slammed the lid and turned around to sit on the car, discouraging interference.

She recognised the massive shape of the approaching man as her long-time friend Steve and relaxed. The broad shoulders and flattop cropped hair were distinctive, as was the Cromby style coat that he always wore which did nothing to hide the power and strength in his frame. His rugged features were battle-scarred but worn with modest self-assurance rather than the arrogance associated with thugs. His hands, shoved in his pockets, were also battle-scarred. They were massive hands, powerful and hefty, the useful tools of an experienced and successful boxer.

You caught him then. Steve made this a statement of fact rather than a question.

I did, but you knew I would. She said this without boast.

Steve nodded and said, I did as you asked. I waited on the other side of the wall so I could witness you giving him his choices.

Thanks, but that’s not the only reason I asked you to be here. She relaxed more, crossing her arms.

Oh? What other reason then?

Well, he was an experienced Wolf - very experienced. He would have sensed me and left me alone, but he’d already spotted you and obviously thought it was you that he was aware of. It never crossed his mind that I could be a Wolf too. It helped that he was filled with bloodlust and impatient with it. It was lucky that he’d not already found another victim tonight.

You’re not just a pretty face then, after all, he grinned. But how did you know that he was experienced?

He’s noticed me before, well, I was sensed rather than seen. I can guard against newer Wolves recognising me as Wolf, even one as old as you would have difficulty in sensing me if I didn’t want you to, yet somehow, he knew. I was so annoyed when I realised that he was avoiding me on purpose. That’s why I did some more research on him.

She got up from the car, grabbed her bag and nodded for her companion to get in. She threw her work bag into the back of the car, just behind her seat.

They were out of the car park and driving through deserted streets, driving in silence, but something was bothering Steve. He was beginning to become agitated and restless. He kept looking behind him into the back seat. Then he began to sniff the air. When he became too irritating for her, she asked him what was wrong.

I don’t know. I can smell something, blood, but not the body. This is Hume blood. Where is it coming from?

Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot about that, she said, reaching behind her to grab her bag from where she had thrown it. She passed him the bag. This is my secret weapon. It’s the main reason that Jez followed me tonight. I needed a certainty. It’s in the front pocket, but be careful.

He took the bag with care, not knowing what to expect.

What the fuck are you doing with that? Steve said as he pulled a small plastic bag from the front pocket. He closed the bag by sliding his fingers along the top to seal the locking mechanism.

Why? was all he could manage as he held the bag containing a used tampon in front of him, using just his finger and thumb. His nose wrinkled in revulsion.

I told you, it was insurance that Jez would follow me. She shrugged, unabashed. There are certain aspects of this job that are disgusting, that happens to be one of them. It’s unfortunate, but Jez had to scent human blood on or around me, otherwise he wouldn’t have been interested. He had killed last night and I had to have something which grabbed him and forced him to get interested. His taste for blood had been slaked a little, so I attacked his olfactory senses.

So this isn’t the first time you’ve done this?

Not at all, I’ve used this type of method hundreds of times. They’re quite neat little inventions if you think about it.

I’d rather not think about it. Jesus, where would you..? no, I don’t want to know anything about it.

Actually, I get them from the sanitary bins in the toilets. I don’t go asking women if they have a used one that I could borrow, you know. She laughed at the expression he wore.

It’s more difficult to find something if I’m hunting a female Throwback though.

She waited for a second until his mind had caught up and his expression went through realisation, shock and back to disgust once more.

He shuddered and muttered, Oh for God’s sake!

She just laughed. It’s something you have to get used to, I’m afraid. Put it back in my bag, I’ll dispose of it properly when we get to where we’re going.

He dropped the plastic bag back into the open front pocket on her work bag and dropped the bag in the back. He held his hands up and away from him as though they were contaminated and he couldn’t bear them near him.

She threw a pack of hand wipes to him without a word.

As he wiped his hands, he changed the course of the conversation.

Who’s our passenger then? He nodded his head toward the back of the car.

"His name is or was Jervais Marchand. He’s from an ancient French Wolf family and at least a couple of hundred years old. He’s been busy slaughtering women in France for the past few years, in much the same sloppy way as the one last night. He brought the press to the door of ‘L'Ordre’ - the French syndicate - once too often.

Eventually, after too many warnings given and promises made that he would change his ways, he was put on the most lenient charge they could come up with and expelled from France. I know that he was treated favourably because his grandfather and great-grandfather are both on ‘Le Comité’ but I can do nothing about that... yet. You’ve heard of the Du Sang family?

Jesus, Steve exclaimed. You’ve killed a member of the Du Sang family? You’re for it now!

"No I’m not. You forget I’m older than most of the Du Sangs. I was born even before Jez’s grandfather reached full-Wolf. The Sentinels were put on alert before the trial was held, just in case Jez decided to do a runner. The English Committee know all about this particular investigation too. I’ve kept them up to date on a daily basis. They agreed with me that he needed to be stopped. We can’t have Humes thinking that Werewolves exist can we? They would hunt us down and there would be all-out war.

The Order also contacted Le Comité last week to confirm everything. He was found guilty in his own country and therefore England’s Committee - or Sentinel representative - could pass sentence if he continued to commit his crimes here. No doubt when I get this body to them, they’ll carry out tests to see if my theory is correct in that Jez is - was - a Throwback. Then they will refrigerate it and contact L'Ordre du Loup to collect it. If he had gone to Germany, the result would have been the same. ‘Die Reihenfolge des Wolfs’ were on alert and had requested that I personally take my notes over to them if I hadn’t caught him here. If he had got to Scotland though, I’d have been stuffed. We’d have had to apply to their Committee to pursue him and he could have gotten away in that time.

So why are you playing this strictly by the book? You don’t usually need witnesses and corroboration for such a kill, do you?

You’re right, I don’t, but I have to be whiter than white on this one, there are no margins for error. I don’t want any loopholes left for me to have my head pulled through and hanged by. This needed to be an absolutely perfect execution and not only for my own sense of satisfaction. I know who I killed tonight belonged to an important family and I know that if there are any repercussions for his death then I shall be bearing the brunt of their wrath. Even if there are no visible anomalies, I’m sure they will find some or make them up.

After a few minutes silence, Steve once again asked a question:

You said that Jez has been hunting openly for only a few years, why would he suddenly start?

Hmm, good question. I don’t have an answer, but I can guess that maybe he hasn’t only just started, but probably got more prolific and therefore his protectors were unable to cover all his crimes up. I’d even hazard a guess that they’ll never find out about the larger part of his murders. To be honest, at first, I didn’t know that I was tracking a tried and convicted criminal. I thought that it was a Wolf gone feral and had gotten a little too blood-drunk. I saw reports of the murders in local papers and my orders didn’t catch up with me until after I had begun the hunt.

She noticed his raised eyebrow and answered before he could voice his disbelief. It’s a huge coincidence I know, but it’s true. I only got involved because I was the closest Sentinel to where he began killing again. It could have been any one of us, but I got lucky I guess. I followed the trail over from France and up England to here, where he seemed to stop for a while. That’s why I needed a base and here is as good a place as any, my old stamping ground.

Steve seemed to accept the explanation, or if he didn’t, he made no further comment.

Where are we going? he asked after a while.

We’re going to Victoria’s house; she has the facilities to hold the body until an Official can collect it. She has the facilities to test the body too if necessary.

Test it for what?

Well, I suppose you could say I think that she’ll be as interested in his pedigree as I am.

Steve’s brow furrowed again, That’s a bit cryptic. But she just smiled and kept her eyes on the road.

They drove for another twenty minutes or so then she turned off the main road and up between large trees and abundant undergrowth which lined and helped to obscure a private road. The going was slow because of all the potholes. At the top of the drive, they reached a very large Georgian building that had seen better days and was in need of a coat of paint. She drove the car around the front but reversed so that the rear of her car was towards the back of the house. Then she got out and beckoned Steve to follow. As they reached the front door, a portly older man, dressed in an expensive but dated suit, opened the massive front doors. He stood on the doorstep and waited for them to reach the steps before extending his arms to invite her for an embrace.

Hello Oscar, she said, kissing him on the cheek. This is Steve; I’ve spoken to you about him.

Ah yes, Steve! I’ve heard so much about you! I am pleased to finally meet you, young man! Oscar boomed as he took Steve’s hand and as he pumped it, he looked up, into Steve’s eyes.

It’s nice to meet you too, sir, Steve replied, holding Oscar’s gaze.

I take it that you were successful this evening? Oscar asked, his features set in a grim expression. It’s not good when the Sentinels have to hunt down one of our own.

I agree, but in this case it was more necessary than I think you realise. I have another theory on Jervais Marchand that I’d like to run past you before we get the Orders involved officially.

She led them both around to her car.

She opened the boot of her car and started lifting the cumbersome parcel, trying not to allow the pool of congealing blood to flow from the plastic.

Ah damn it! she swore, throwing the parcel onto the gravel drive. Now I’ve got blood in my car!

Never mind dear.

She turned to the new voice and her face brightened. She went to greet the woman who had appeared from the rear of the building.

Victoria! Where have you been for the past few months? Both women hugged each other as friends rather than Royal and subject.

Actually, I was in France, adjudicating on Jervais Marchand’s trial and conviction. I was not entirely happy with their judgement, but as they reached it by unanimous decision, I left it to them. I did make notes of my displeasure on the official documentation however, and I was not at all surprised when I heard that he had now taken up his practices in England. I am glad that you caught him.

Victoria allowed herself to be guided towards Steve for an introduction.

Whilst Oscar led the way to take the body into the outbuildings and to the refrigeration units, Victoria took Steve by the elbow and guided him indoors.

They converged in what resembled a large hotel kitchen and Victoria, Oscar and Steve watched and listened as the blood was washed from the Sentinel’s hands with the thoroughness that mere wipes could not give. She chattered as she washed and explained how she had followed what she thought, at first, was a case of finding and guiding a Wolf that had gone feral, into territories where his actions would be more easily explained as wild animal activities.

Steve was surprised to find out that ‘going feral’ was only frowned upon a little and was not illegal as long as it was sure not to bring the unwanted attention of the Hume authorities. There were still places on the planet where a Wolf could get back to nature.

Then, as she dried her hands, she got back on track and explained that she could not have made her capture without the help from Steve.

Oh, how did Steve help? Victoria asked.

I was already following the Feral through France and I thought that I was quite close to catching him when my orders caught up with me and I moved the hunt up in urgency. Suddenly it was a matter of all Sentinels in the vicinity - and by that I mean Europe - to be on alert to find and capture a Renegade. It was apparent that the Wolf was arrogant and cocksure because he was charged with certain crimes and instructed to attend a hearing and instead of going on the run before the hearing, as most Wolves would in that position, he showed up to answer to them. I knew then that he must be from an influential family. My theory was confirmed when I read that he was not executed or banished right after the sentence was passed. I was already close on his heels by the time I read the report so I had the advantage and I followed him across the Channel.

He surprised me by not making a kill on the full moon as he arrived in England and that alone told me for definite that he was no youngster. He waited until he got to the Capital before he made his first kills. I suppose he could easier cover his tracks in London than in relatively quieter surrounding areas between there and Dover.

I then requested as much literature on the accused and his trial as was available but not much was forthcoming. That was another clue to his family’s influence. I eventually managed to get hold of what I needed from one of my contacts in the Order. I followed, who I by then knew to be Jervais Marchand, up the country and was well prepared to go on into Scotland, but he seemed to stop here in the Midlands. I waited to see if he would break cover and whilst I waited, I needed cover for myself. That was where Steve’s help first came in. He got me a job in a town central to where I had last sighted Jez. You know I have one of my safe-houses in a neighbouring village, so I was ok for long-term accommodation. All I had to do was wait, but waiting was never my strong suit. I did a bit more digging and a month ago I saw an obvious pattern emerging. This Wolf did not just kill to feed, he liked what he was doing and he wanted to shock. My problem was that I had got too close to him on a couple of occasions and he knew that he had a Sentinel or at least another Wolf on his trail. I soon realised that if I could sense him, he could also sense me, even when I was cloaking.

They had moved into a sitting room where coffee had been served and left for them to help themselves. Once seated, Steve took advantage of the break in conversation and asked: Just how important is this Jez Marchand’s bloodline?

Victoria looked at Steve as though trying to work out if he were joking or not. When she decided that he wasn’t, she took up the narrative.

As the group settled into the brocade sofas, she began with a history lesson.

"Jervais Marchand was the son of Phillipe Du Sang’s youngest daughter, Claudia - there has been a great deal of controversy surrounding Jez’s father’s infection - there were rumours - never proven of course - that she had taken him herself rather than him being pure-blood, or bitten for her. She reverted back to the original family name and did not take on the name of her husband which in itself only added to the controversy surrounding Jez’s birth, which was always suspected to be tainted. As you can imagine, however, any Wolf - including Sentinel - that voiced an opinion on this subject was never heard from again. Needless to say, Claudia’s ‘husband’ also disappeared and she has never remarried, nor re-mated. She was a particularly spoilt brat as a child and has grown to be a vicious and ruthless Wolf who stands out even amongst the nastiest of the Du Sang / Marchand family.

As for the rest of the Du Sang branch of the family, Phillipe Du Sang - Jez’s grandfather - was the eldest child of Francois Marchand. Francois named himself Marquis Du Sang in the mid 1500s. This is literally translated to ‘Marquis Of Blood’. Do you remember when he took that name?

Oscar laughed. Yes I remember, and then winked. I also remember that her name was Hazel back then. He said this to Victoria in a stage whisper, nodding towards the Sentinel.

Steve looked at his companion. I never knew that you’d changed your name, he said.

She shook her head to prevent him continuing. I’ll explain later, she whispered.

Victoria continued, ignoring Steve’s whisper. I always thought that he was arrogant and presumptuous in the extreme in his self-proclaimed title. I still wonder how he managed to get away with it.

Maybe it was because he was chosen by your great-niece for her husband? Oscar said.

Ha! It is still too grand a title for that ignorant cur! Victoria said, her hand curling into a fist.

So are you related to their family? Steve asked.

No! That branch forfeited their right to be related to me when they killed my niece and her daughter! Victoria slammed her fist on the arm of her chair, taking Steve aback at her reaction to his question.

To be fair, that was never proven dear. Oscar placed his hand over hers.

Maybe it was not proven, but I know and you know that they would never have gone so far as they have if Juliet and Diana had still been alive.

Does that mean Phillipe is related to you by blood? Was he Juliet’s son? Steve asked.

No, he is Diana’s son. Juliet was my niece, Diana was her daughter. Victoria said.

Oh of course, that means until the tests are run and he is proven to be a Throwback, it means that you killed a Wolf of Royal blood! Oscar exclaimed, looking over to his guests.

Don’t worry, dear. Jervais was convicted of crimes in France and it is all documented. He was also heard admitting similar crimes in this country and you have an independent witness to that. Victoria made an attempt to reassure everyone and then she looked right at the Sentinel and continued: The Sentinels were perfectly right in giving the order that the execution was a viable option and you were right to carry it out.

I know I was, but that’s not how they’ll make it look given half a chance, she replied. As I brought the body here, I should also have informed the Order that I had performed the execution, but I didn’t. I made the decision to wait until morning.

Does that have significance? Steve asked.

It shouldn’t, but I dare say that given a chance, someone who is out to cause mischief could well twist the fact to make it look like I had something to hide. I could be in deep shit and I could also be dragging not only you, Steve, but Victoria and Oscar down with me too.

They wouldn’t dare try! Victoria snapped and then she thought for a moment and decided to err on the side of caution. Oscar, perhaps you would be so kind as to instruct a call to be made to the Order, requesting representatives and technicians to attend me here. We have an important meeting which cannot wait until Monday morning.

Oscar nodded, his expression unreadable as he left the room.

They waited in agitated silence. Steve did not know what to expect and so kept quiet, watching Victoria pace the room, whilst the Sentinel sat quietly beside him, gazing off into the fire.

Oscar returned in short order and informed them that a number of higher representatives were being informed of the summons to the Lycaeon’s home and should be on their way as he spoke, as were a team comprising of a surgeon and medical assistants to perform an autopsy on the body in situ.

Less than twenty minutes had passed before they heard the crunch of gravel on the driveway as vehicles arrived.

A butler of sorts came into the room to announce that he had directed the technicians out to the back of the house and they would be shown to the operating theatre where the body was waiting, untouched. The operating theatre was equipped with full video equipment which would record every last detail of the autopsy and its findings.

They were just about to go to the viewing gallery to watch when they heard more vehicles arrive. This time, there was no polite knock at the door. Instead it sounded very much like a raid.

The door stood up to the barrage of fists very well and the butler stood up to the verbal assault when he opened the door. He was pushed to one side and retained his dignity by not retaliating. He closed the door behind the newcomers who were two men, dressed in impeccable fashion, yet looking very ruffled. He ignored the insults and shouts to get a move on, and asked them their business. As one of the visitors was just beginning to get violent, the front hallway was filled with security staff, the presence of which served only to pacify the angry man down to a simmering point.

Victoria opened the door to greet her guests with an expression which was calm yet menacing.

Good morning, Chancellor. I am pleased that you could make this meeting.

Bowing, he said, Good morning Lycaeon, I came as quickly as I could. Good morning sir. He nodded his greeting to Oscar, but gave only a cursory Sentinel to the woman standing behind Oscar. His condescending nasal tones were enough to give Steve cause for wariness even before he saw the man. Steve held back, allowing the others forward first. He liked to watch from the background, unnoticed until he had good reason to make himself noticed.

And you brought along a friend, I see. Good morning Phillipe, you have made excellent time from Lyon.

Not exactly, madam. I had arrived in England yesterday. I was hoping to get to my grandson before this bitch could murder him! Phillipe pointed a gloved finger at the Sentinel and then, as an afterthought, bobbed a slight bow to Victoria.

Furious at being referred to as ‘bitch’, she managed to ignore it for the moment and instead smiled at how ridiculous he looked in his servile action of a bow towards Victoria.

Murder of a Wolf is such a serious accusation Phillipe. I do hope that you can substantiate the allegation? Victoria asked with menace evident in her tone.

I sincerely hope to, Lycaeon. There was no need for Jervais to be executed. I was willing to take him, Phillipe said.

Take him where exactly? Victoria asked. Not back to France that is for certain! Most of Europe would have laughed you from their borders. Italy certainly would never have allowed Jervais to settle there, it was Ordo of Lupus that commenced the proceedings against him. Germany expressed their disgust at his lenient sentence and Russia did not want him under any circumstance. After he allowed that first girl to live, granted that she only lasted a few short hours, he was not even welcome in America!

Madam, Phillipe quivered with repressed anger. I still maintain that there was no need for him to be murdered. The boy needed help and I was willing to get him that help.

"Phillipe, there was an inquiry, a trial and a sentence. Jervais agreed to the terms of the sentence and then absconded anyway. I am afraid that he made it perfectly clear to the rest of our society that he did not want help from any quarter, including yours. I assume you know that he escaped from the court rooms and immediately attacked a girl in the full