London Calling by Sorcha Mowbray & TL Reeve & Michele Ryan & Dena Garson

Author:Sorcha Mowbray & TL Reeve & Michele Ryan & Dena Garson [Mowbray, Sorcha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: After Glows Publishing

10

By the following night, Dr. Brew had returned and assessed the body Mr. Tinnin retrieved. As suspected, like the last one, the body had been brought to life by magic and steam. The compulsion to attack and destroy had been threaded through the spell used to create their unlivable life.

Miss Clara and Jerome worked tirelessly together, trying to pinpoint where the bodies came from, and who’d have the power to regenerate the dead. Though they understood a necromancer’s ability to resurrect the dead and control their every move, adding in the cog and steam mechanics would sustain life until they ceased to function. Long term, unless they found a way to stop the person behind this, the horde could continue with its compulsion to kill.

The woman, tragically, never had a chance. Severe bite wounds covered her body. What was left of her face rendered her unrecognizable. Dr. Brew had discovered a cutting-edge technology only used within the Metropolitan Police department, with varying success rates—if you could read it—fingerprints. According to the limited documentation of the procedure, each print was different; like a snowflake, no two were ever the same. However, with nothing to base the print on, gathering them would be inconsequential, leaving them empty handed.

Jonah slid from his bed and stood. Asking Annabelle to accompany him for his sleep was completely out of the question. She didn’t need to see his lifeless body lying prone without breath. He grabbed the empty bottle of elixir and frowned. When had he finished it?

As he spent more time with the vexing woman, he’d noticed his thirst for the real “thing,” had grown stronger. Last night, hearing the whisper of her thoughts, smelling her arousal as she’d fantasized about them, tore his resilience to shreds—or what had been left of it anyway. He’d left in a bluster and… apparently downed the bottle. Bloody hell.

He placed the empty reminder of what he’d become on the table, then went to his wardrobe to retrieve his clothes. Hunger gripped him, stabbing at his gut. His vision turned red seconds before a knock came at his door. Annabelle. Fear gripped him by the bollocks at her soft rap.

“Jonah,” she whispered. “Please let me in.”

Saliva pooled in his mouth. Her sweet scent coiled around him like a constrictor, ready to squeeze the rest of whatever life he had out of him. “I-I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He closed his eyes, willing himself to gain control over his natural inclination. He curled his hands into tight fists.

His beast rebelled, tearing at the shackles tethering his control.

She turned the knob and pushed inside. Stupid girl. He should take her to the floor, fuck her and drain her. Teach her a lesson for being so impertinent.

“You’re unwell.” Her worry-filled tone did nothing to push back the monster.

“Very. Please go before I do something we’ll regret.”

She stepped closer to him. “What is wrong?”

“I’m dangerous,” he lisped, his teeth elongating to the point of pain.

“Where is your serum?” She took another step toward him.

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