Breaking Dawn

Chapter 1

Present day - Somewhere outside of London

Stay sane, act normal, he chants to himself as he strides down the alleyway. Ahead of him, muted light from the bayou tavern. A bar. A lone neon sign flickers over flat skiffs below. Music and laughter carry.

Stay sane... need to dull the rage. Until it's time to kill.

Inside. "Whiskey." His voice is low, rough from disuse.

The bartender's face falls. Like last night. Others grow skittish. Can they sense that I ache to kill? The whispers around him are like metal on the slate to his ragged nerves.

- "Harry Styles, once a general... madder than any vampire I've seen in all my centuries."

- "A killer for hire. If he shows up in your town, then folks from the Lore there'll go missing."

Missing? Unless I want them found.

- "Heard he drains 'em so savagely... nothing's left of their throats."

So I'm not fastidious.

- "I heard he eats them."

Distorted rumors. Or is that one true?

Tales of his insanity spreading once more. I've never missed a target - how insane can I be? He answers himself: Very f**king much so.

Memories clot his mind. His victims' memories taken from their blood toll inside him, their number always growing. Don't know what's real; can't determine what's an illusion. Most of the time, he can scarcely understand his own thoughts. He doesn't go a day without seeing some type of hallucination, striking out at shadows around him.

A grenade with the pin pulled, they say. Only a matter of time.

They're right.

Stay sane... act normal. Glass in hand, he chuckles softly on his way to a dimly lit table in the back. Normal? He's a goddamned vampire in a bar filled with shifters, fellow vampires, witches, and a few humans. Christmas lights are strung up in the back. At the bar, an immense werewolf bares his fangs, bowing protectively as he tosses a small redhead behind him.

Can't decide if you should attack, wolf? That's right. I don't smell of blood. A trick I learned.

The couple leaves, the redhead all but carried out by the werewolf. As they exit, she peers over her shoulder, her eyes like mirrors. Then gone. Out into the night where they belong.

Sit. Back against the wall. He adjusts the sunglasses that shade his red eyes, dirty red eyes. As he scans the room, he resists the urge to rub his palm over the back of his neck. Watched by someone unseen?

But then, I always feel like that.

He swoops up the drink, narrowing his eyes at his steady hand. My mind's decayed, but my sword hand's still true. A ruinous combination.

He takes a liberal swallow. The drink. The whiskey dulls the need to lash out. Not that it has disappeared.

Small things enrage him. An off look. Someone approaching too quickly. Failing to give him a wide enough berth. His fangs sharpen at the slightest provocation. As though a living thing hungers inside me. Ravenous for blood and a throat to tear. Each time he acts on the rage, others' memories blight more of his own.

He still has enough sanity to stalk his targets - his brothers. He will mete out retribution to Liam and Zayn Malik, his half-brothers for doing the unspeakable to him. Niall, his real brother, was a victim like him but must be slain - simply because of what he is.

He adjusts the bandage on his neck. The slashed skin beneath it will not heal. The wound has been there for as long as he can remember of his vampire years. He doesn't know why.