Page 115 of Inhuman Nature

Before Shaun could help Rake, Lawrence barrelled into him, knocking them both off their feet. They went down, Lawrence retaining the upper hand in the tumble. He straddled Shaun and threw fist after fist into his face.

Shaun reeled from the blows, but reached up and dug his fingers into Lawrence’s open shoulder wound, wincing at the squelch it made. As Lawrence reared back, Shaun shoved him off and ran to Rake, who leaned against the front door, cradling his head.

With a quick nod to Shaun, Kit headed Lawrence off from his pursuit, distracting him with another rugby tackle. Shaun spared a moment to ensure Kit didn’t get immediately overwhelmed, then checked Rake over, turning his head to inspect the deep wound.

“I think something broke,” Rake said.

Shaun wondered if the sliver of white he spotted was bone.

“You’ll be okay,” he said, hoping he wasn’t lying. “But stay out of the fight.”

Shaun ran back to aid Kit. Between them, they got Lawrence on the ground, Kit holding Lawrence’s legs down as he bucked, and Shaun on top of Lawrence’s chest.

A sharp crack and a yelp of pain told Shaun that Lawrence had managed to kick Kit off. Taking his chance, Shaun thrust a hand down, intent on removing Lawrence’s heart the same as he’d done to Lynette, but Lawrence blocked the blow before his arm fell to his side, limp and useless.

With Lawrence’s chest undefended, Shaun readied himself to strike once more.

“Please, Shaun, let me live to see the sun one last time. It’s the last thing I will ever ask of you.” The request—and its polite phrasing—threw Shaun.

Lawrence had never expressed a desire for the daylight hours. It distracted Shaun for half a moment, which was half a moment too long.

Lawrence’s claws dug into Shaun’s stomach. He choked as he looked down, unable to process what he saw. All his brain told him was that Lawrence’s arm had disappeared right into his abdomen.

When Shaun opened his mouth, all he expelled was blood. Lawrence withdrew his arm, and Shaun slipped off, hitting the floor. Shaun held onto his stomach, but his hands shook, his efforts doing little to staunch the flow of blood.

“You always were so easy to manipulate, pet,” Lawrence said as he lapped Shaun’s blood from his fingers.

Lawrence then grabbed hold of Shaun’s face, squeezing, and Shaun’s eyes felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets as pressure built. Just when he thought his skull would shatter, Lawrence’s hand was ripped away.

Kit and Lawrence grappled on the floor, moving too fast for Shaun’s sluggish eyes to follow. Grunts and groans punctuated their every movement, the tearing of flesh obscenely loud.

But it was a shrill scream that had Shaun cracking open his eyes. He hadn’t even realised he’d closed them. Lawrence stood over a prone Kit, Kit’s legs sticking out at angles that had whatever remained of Shaun’s stomach churning. Lawrence looked crazed, his one arm bathed in Shaun’s blood as he stood over Kit. Turning Kit face up, Lawrence slammed afoot down on his chest.

Kit swore at Lawrence, but their creator just laughed. “My darling, this is only the beginning. We have so much lost time to make up for.” Lawrence crouched over Kit, using the front of his shirt to drag them nose to nose. “Do you remember our first time? Perhaps we can recreate it. I’m sure I can find a uniform that matches.”

Shaun hadn’t known Kit for long, but seeing how broken he looked at Lawrence’s gloating was like watching an old memory playing out in real life, too real and too lucid to ignore.

Kit wasn’t threatening Lawrence any more. He’d frozen, eyes wide and pleading for a mercy that wouldn’t be granted. He appeared younger than ever—smaller and fragile.

Shaun couldn’t let Kit face Lawrence alone, no matter his own injuries. He pushed up from the ground, only making it onto his knees before Lawrence twisted to face him, a feral smile splitting his face in two. “You want in on this, pet?”

Shaun staggered to his feet. “Never again.”

Lawrence stood too, pressing his foot down onto Kit when he squirmed. “Ah ah ah,” Lawrence chastised. “Stay right there for me, darling.” If he stamped down, he’d cave Kit’s chest in and crush his heart.

Drawing on his last strength, Shaun sped towards Lawrence. It took no effort for Lawrence to scoop him up and hold him aloft by the throat. “Poor attempt, Shaun.”

He kicked out at Lawrence as hard as he could, but it was useless. Lawrence shook Shaun so violently that his brain rattled around in his head.

Shaun caught sight of Rake emerging from the kitchenover Lawrence’s shoulder. He tried to scream for him to run, to leave and save himself from the fate that he and Kit faced. He wanted Rake to take DJ and escape, to get as far away as possible. Shaun had vowed that he would never compel Rake, but he would use the bond of recreation to command Rake to save himself.

But no words escaped Shaun’s lips. Lawrence had crushed his voice box. His creator grinned up at him, a macabre slash on his face.

When Rake swayed on his feet, Shaun expected him to fall right back down. But he ran at them.

As Rake approached, Lawrence moved his body towards him, as if he might stop Rake in his tracks. But Lawrence had forgotten one thing—he had only one arm, and it was busy holding Shaun.

Shaun didn’t notice the knife until Rake plunged it into Lawrence’s chest. Shaun fell to the ground as Lawrence flailed, trying to pull the knife out. Rake attacked again, another knife slashing across Lawrence’s neck. Lawrence’s partially detached head fell backwards, his cut neck unable to support its weight.