March 13th, 2012 | Published in Haventon Chronicles
Chapter Ten Part One
Ragnar paced angrily in front of the church gates. He didn’t know who had rescued the young vampire hunter, but they couldn’t stay in there forever. When they came out he would be waiting for them. Inside his head a little traitor voice pointed out that they wouldn’t have to wait forever, just until sunrise. If he somehow managed to resist returning home to sleep even the human boy would stand a good chance of out running him in daylight. Ragnar swore to himself in his long dead native tongue. He just had to make them come out before then.
He stared up at the moon and whispered a prayer before reaching out towards the church to see if he could recognise who he was dealing with. But it seemed that even his mind was forbidden from the church because all that he could sense was a painful void of white light. He clenched his fists and scowled up at the building. He wasn’t a Christian and did not care what some alien god thought of him but it was very inconvenient though.
He gave a small smile as the light of the full moon caressed his skin and his painful wounds began to heal. Yes, his own god still approved of him – he did not need the approval of some strange deity.
But what to do? Maybe if he called the police and told them he thought someone had broken into the Church? But no, whoever had rescued the psychic boy had used mist form to enter so the police would come and see no sign of forced entry and put it down to a prank call. Perhaps-
He broke off from his thoughts when the first howl sounded nearby.
“It’s just a dog that has been spooked,” he whispered to himself. “The chances of it being one of the moon-cursed is remote, even here.” He was not really convinced by his own argument. That howl had sounded like a wolf not a dog, and the only non-captive wolves in Britain were the cursed ones who would devour sun and moon and world if they could. And they were as attracted to the area around Haventon as other supernaturals. He scowled at the Church. “Why don’t you save your anger for them, they deserve it?” he asked. There was no reply, of course. He looked up at the moon again. “Please let it just be a dog.”
A moment later – as if to mock him – a second howl sounded even closer, and this time he knew for sure it was no normal creature that was approaching him but a moon-cursed werewolf. He swore again. Even at full moon he was more than a match for a single werewolf but the moon-cursed rarely travelled alone. If there was one there would probably be a whole pack and while they would be hard pressed to kill him they could do serious damage in a group. The moon would heal him of course, but the moon-cursed also healed fast, and he would need blood afterwards – which was the last thing little Caroline needed. If only he had a silver weapon he would show them. A silver weapon?
He turned and looked down the road to where the hunter boy had dropped his silver crucifix. That thing had some pretty sharp edges and it only took a tiny silver wound to kill a werewolf. It would do, except that it was blessed, and would burn his hand if he picked it up. Even a layer of cloth wouldn’t help. It would be like trying to hit someone with a red hot iron, did he have the strength of will to not drop it? Why couldn’t the boy have dropped all his equipment, or not thought to remove it from the motorbike. There would surely have been a silver knife in his bag.
But his only chances of not getting chewed up by the moon-cursed was either to flee now, or grit his teeth and try to fight with a weapon that would hurt him almost as much as it did his opponents, albeit for different reasons. It wasn’t really a choice, he had to try. He ran down the road towards where the crucifix lay in the gutter and then screeched to a halt when a large grey wolf leapt over the park fence and landed between him and the only weapon he could possibly use against it.
He backed up a few steps as it snarled at him, fur bristling, obviously it was not going let him near the crucifix. He looked back towards the church and saw two more of the creatures barrelling towards him. It was no good, he’d have to retreat, But how to avoid the monsters’ infamous tracking abilities? He leapt over the one in front of him before it could react, fled down the road to the other end of the park, leapt over the canal and swiftly climbed to the roof of one of the new blocks of flats on the other side. Once there he looked back and saw the moon-cursed were chasing him. They did not have his supernatural speed but their tracking skills were legendary. Against humans anyway, vampires had some advantages, but he would have to break his trail somehow.
If only he could fly he would be able to evade them easily, but he couldn’t. He could come closed, but it was unnerving and required patience. Still he had little choice. He swallowed the nausea the thought gave him, shifted to mist form and floated slowly through the air towards his home. Staying in this form for more than a few minutes made him shudder. The longer he was in it the harder reforming was. He always feared that he would not be able to regain his physical form, but what could he do. He had to lose his pursuers.