Page 42 of Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls #4)

Chapter 42

Becoming the Beast

THE BEAST OF BOSTON

W e crouch in the shadows. The building where Roman holds Belle looms, a jagged monstrosity of concrete and iron that seems to pulse with malevolence. The snow around us is filthy, streaked with ash and oil, but I barely notice. My senses are trained on the Wolves patrolling the perimeter, their movements sluggish and predictable. Their guns are no doubt loaded with silver bullets.

“Boss, you’re sweatin’ like a sinner in church,” Lucien mutters under his breath, the faintest edge of amusement in his tone. A flicker of flames dances across his fingertips, restrained but itching for release. His eyes cut toward me, sharp with concern despite the jest.

“I’m fine,” I growl, low and tight. The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. My body betrays me in ways I can’t ignore—my breaths come shallow and uneven, each one burning as if I’ve been inhaling smoke. My muscles twitch uncontrollably, the lion within clawing at the edges of my control, straining for release. Pain radiates through my ribs, spreading like wildfire with every beat of my heart .

Tock adjusts the lapel of his sharply tailored coat, the movement precise and deliberate, his gaze as cold as the frost biting at my skin. “If this is what ‘fine’ looks like, I’d hate to see you on an off day,” he says. His voice carries that cool British detachment, but his grim expression betrays him. Tock’s hand is wrapped around a well-polished Glock, and I’m sure there is another somewhere on him. It’s not often he does the dirty work, but he refused to stay behind.

“I’m sure about this,” I grind out, my claws twitching involuntarily. I curl my fingers into fists to steady them, the effort costing me more than I’d like to admit. I know what they’re thinking. They’ve been watching me unravel over the past year and a half, watching my strength bleed out of me bit by bit.

Lucien leans in slightly. “You sure you ain’t gonna keel over halfway in there? Look, we get it—You’re hellbent on gettin’ her back, but if you go down, we’re screwed. Belle’s screwed.”

I snap my head toward him, narrowing my eyes in a silent warning. The look alone is enough to make him press his lips into a thin line, his flames flickering lower.

Tock raises a brow but speaks barely above a whisper. “Not the time for arguments. Let’s keep moving.”

The tension between us is thick enough to choke on, but I force myself to focus on the Wolves ahead.

A soft crunch of snow behind us has all three of us spinning, weapons at the ready. Chip emerges from the darkness, hands raised. “Easy, easy! It’s me.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” I snarl, my claws itching to rip into something, anything.

Chip straightens, a defiant edge to their stance despite the tension radiating off them. “I couldn’t sit this one out. Belle’s my friend too. ”

“This isn’t your fight, mon ami ,” Lucien says, his flames flaring brighter in his frustration.

“It is now,” Chip retorts, pulling a small handgun from their belt. The weapon is a cheap, scratched piece of metal—probably picked up from a pawn shop. It looks wrong in their hands, too small and jittery against the tremor of their fingers.

Tock mutters a curse under his breath. “This isn’t a rescue mission for rookies.”

Just then, a black and white flutterbun lands on Chip’s shoulder.

Witchtits . I knew some of them had escaped the house. Who knows how many have already gotten to reproducing and nesting in the city.

Unphased, Chip doesn’t even seem to notice the awkward way the gun slips slightly in their grip as they reach up to stroke the flutterbun’s ear. “I overheard two of the Wolves talking. Roman’s got them guarding the east side heavier than anywhere else—it’s a dead giveaway that something important’s over there.”

I exchange a glance with Tock, whose brow furrows in thought. Lucien curses softly under his breath.

“It’s a trap,” I point out the obvious. “But it doesn’t matter. Isabelle’s in there.”

Chip hesitates, the flutterbun nuzzling against their cheek like a comforting presence. “I’m not leaving until she’s safe,” they say firmly, their other hand steady on the pistol.

I glare at them. “No. You’re going back to the house. If Roman sent Wolves out to guard this place, who’s to say he hasn’t sent more to circle back? Basil and Mrs. P need you. You’re the only one I trust to keep them safe. ”

Chip falters, their grip tightening on the weapon. “But?—”

“No,” I cut in, leaving no room for argument. “You’ve done your part. If Basil or Mrs. P are hurt while you’re out here playing hero, Isabelle will never forgive us.”

Chip’s shoulders sag slightly, the fight draining out of them. They glance at the flutterbun on their shoulder as though seeking reassurance, then nod reluctantly. “Fine. But you’d better bring her back.”

Lucien huffs, shaking his head. “This is already a suicide run, and we’re sending the kid home to babysit.”

“Exactly,” I say, baring my teeth in something that’s more snarl than smile. “This isn’t their fight. Let’s keep it that way.”

Chip gives one last glance toward the building before retreating into the shadows. The flutterbun takes flight into the night sky. I exhale slowly, forcing my body to focus despite the pain ripping through it. Isabelle is in there. None of this matters. Not my pain, not their doubts. Nothing.

The words hang in the frigid air, a vow more solid than stone. My body protests with every step as we move toward the building, but my determination burns hotter than the pain.

My monstrous foot slams into the door, and the warped metal groans before giving way with a resounding crack. The flickering fluorescent lights inside cast jagged shadows across the walls, emphasizing the grime and disrepair.

“We’re heeere,” Lucien mutters, dragging the words out in a low, singsong tone that sets my teeth on edge. His flames flare to life in both hands, their glow dancing off the cracked concrete walls. The acrid smell of oil and decay hangs in the air.

Tock steps in next, scanning the room with precise movements, his Glocks at the ready.

I follow.

Every step sends jolts of pain through my body, but I force it down. Isabelle is here. Pain is irrelevant.

We move in formation, boots crunching over shattered glass and debris. The sound grates against my nerves. Every step is a reminder that stealth is irrelevant.

The moment we round the corner into a wider room, the trap springs. A dozen humans emerge from the shadows, half-hidden by the dim light.

“You came,” one of the Wolves sneers. I recognize him from the alley. Curt. His grin is feral, his teeth gleaming unnaturally in the flickering light. “We’ve been expecting you.” Then he pulls a vial of viscous, dark liquid from his pocket. He holds it up like a trophy. “Roman said you’d come. He made sure we’d be ready.”

Then they all quickly uncork their vials and drink. Curt smirks as he downs his own, tossing the empty container aside.

The transformation is immediate—and horrifying. Bones snap and reform, limbs elongate unnaturally, fur sprouts in patches.

One of the Wolves collapses, their body bubbling and dissolving into a heap of mangled flesh, fur, and bones. Another lets out a strangled cry as their limbs twist and lock at impossible angles before falling silent, their remains little more than a steaming pile of gore.

The room fills with guttural screams, a cacophony of agony and rage.

Tock doesn’t flinch. “Bloody hell,” he mutters, raising both guns at the horror twisting in front of us.

At the end of it, only six of the original group remain standing, their forms warped into something that defies nature. They aren’t wolves—not even close. Their bodies are amalgamations of fur and muscle, with limbs too long and twisted, jaws that unhinge unnaturally, and eyes glowing with a feral, maddening light.

They charge forward with reckless fury.

Lucien’s flames roar to life, cutting through the dark like a blade, while Tock’s pistols bark with sharp precision.

I meet one head-on. My claws tear into its malformed chest, and the sickening crack of bones reverberates through the room. Blood sprays across the concrete as the thing that’s no longer human lets out a guttural scream before falling lifeless to the ground.

Fire, bullets, and fangs collide in a chaos of violence. The room erupts into a cacophony of destruction as we crash into the oncoming monsters.