“No, we’re not,” Kit said, trying to keep his voice steady. “You’re going to fuck off out of Quin, or I’ll make you leave again.”
“How many times can you knock him out before he gets permanent damage?” Lawrence asked, rapping his fist against his head.
In the space of a second, Jack manifested next to Kit. He hadn’t expected the ghost to reappear, and neither had Lawrence, judging by his slack-jawed expression. Thomas and Matthew appeared behind Jack, the two of them less tangible than their younger brother.
Lawrence blinked, then seemed to collect himself. “My boys.”
Jack’s form wavered and then solidified. Kit wondered what would happen if he reached out and touched him: if his fingers would pass through his body or if he’d be as solid as flesh and bone.
“This isourhome,” Jack said, his voice seeming to bounce off every corner of the room. “We want you to leave.”
“I think you’ll find that I was the one to bring you here,” Lawrence said, though he didn’t appear as cavalier as he had only moments before.
Thomas disappeared and then reappeared behind Lawrence. Kit didn’t mean to give him away, but his gaze darted to the ghost. Lawrence spun, slicing the poker straight through Thomas’s head. Jack’s noise of dismay when Thomas disappeared—a pure, animalistic sound—cut deep into Kit. It spurred him into action.
Kit sprinted at Lawrence, dodging as he swung the poker around and narrowly avoided getting disembowelled. Kit had seen it happen to Shaun when they’d last fought Lawrence, and he had no desire to share the experience. Getting both of his legs snapped like twigs had been bad enough.
Rake came at Lawrence from the other side, wrenching the poker from his grip and throwing it out of reach. Lawrence growled as it skittered along the floor, and it sounded so much like Quin’s wolf that it gave Kit pause.
Which, of course, Lawrence used to his advantage.
The blow caught Kit off guard, Lawrence lashing out with Quin’s full strength. Kit’s face whipped to the side, his jaw flaring with white-hot pain. His vision blurred, and he stayed on his feet by sheer force of will alone.
By the time he righted himself, Lawrence was subdued. Rake sat on top of him, holding Lawrence’s arms down and pinning his legs. Lawrence spat threats so impotent it was almost pitiful.
“You’re not the strongest in the room anymore,” Kit said, standing over him. “Not so easy, is it?”
Lawrence glared at him. “You will regret crossing me.”
“Been there, done that.” Kit toed at Lawrence’s arm. He wasn’t harsh with it, given that it was Quin’s body, but he took some satisfaction at Lawrence’s wince. “Remember when we ripped your arm off? How did that feel?”
“When I—mmph!” Lawrence tried to bite Kit’s hand when he used it to cover his mouth, but Kit pressed down hard.
“Kit, could you hurry it up with the monologue?” Rake gritted out. “He’ll buck me off if you take any longer.”
Kit stared into eyes the wrong shade of blue. “Goodbye, Lawrence. I’m going to throw you into the North Sea.”
Kit reached his hand down and circled Lawrence’s—Quin’s—throat. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins; feel his Adam’s apple bobbing as he fought to breathe, feel hisfrantic, fluttering pulse. It was alarming to see his face redden and his eyes bulge. Kit wanted to avoid hurting Quin, but this was the only way.
“He’s out,” Rake said, springing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. Kit panicked for a second that he might have been faking it, but true enough, Quin’s body had gone limp. Kit withdrew and glanced around. The ghosts were nowhere to be seen.
Kit rubbed at his sore jaw. He’d have to feed from someone else for it to heal, given that Quin would be far too weak to handle any more blood loss. He didn’t like having to look at Quin’s unconscious body, knowing that it was all his fault. It made his stomach churn with guilt. Quin wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for him. He wouldn’t be injured, or hurting, or be forced to relinquish control of his own body.
Kit knew all too well what it was like to be unwillingly controlled by Lawrence. In this very building, it had happened to him in so many ways that could have broken him beyond repair. It hit him then that if things had gone even worse, this could have also been his final resting place.
“Hey,” Rake said, pulling Kit’s attention away from his morose thoughts.
Kit lifted his chin, his gaze meeting Rake’s serious eyes.
“You okay?” Rake’s voice was quiet, almost subvocal.
Kit swallowed. Rake wasn’t the sort to ask about others’ feelings. Despite not really feeling okay, Kit nodded.
Rake—to his relief—didn’t press the issue.
They both turned towards the parlour door when they heard a shout from upstairs. “Rake, what’s going on?” It was Shaun.
“It’s clear!” Rake shouted. “Lawrence is down.”
