The Ripper

William Jack Holloway

He was going to die.

Of that fact, William remained entirely positive as the Hunter lifted him to his feet and shoved him against the wall. The crack of his skull against the brick had his world tilting. His vision blurred instantly at the edges and his stomach lurched. The pain was blinding and seemed to take any ounce of fight out of the British man. Even without the blade poised at his throat, William was in no condition to fight and he was well aware of it. His captor was stronger, and even now he doubted he could call his power to him if he wanted to. The man's comment on wanting him alive saw the man letting out a weak laugh as he scowled at him. "I wish you'd just kill me, I'd rather die than be one of yoâ€""

The man was cut off entirely by the force shoving the Hunter off of the man. William was aware of the flash of white before his knees seemed to buckle and he found himself sliding down that wall once more to land in a heap on the pavement. Everything seemed to spin around him, and though he attempted to focus on whatever it was that had saved him, he was more preoccupied with the way his vision blurred and his head throbbed. And that didn't even account for the pain that laced his back. God, he was going to die here in this alleyway, and he'd never be able to say goodbye to Sebastian or to Vhalla... No... he was going to die before he could talk to either of them again.

It wasn't fair.

His head was focused entirely down on the ground, the man spending every bit of his remaining energy on keeping himself upright. He was certain that he was dreaming when those gentle fingers touched his cheek, and yet if he was going to have a hallucination he was so happy it was her. The blood in her white hair was so bright, and instinctively the man pulled on his bonds to reach out to her. "Hey kitten," The man replied, his voice sounding decidedly weak. It was her voice that had his fuzzy brain focusing on something other than the pain that laced his body, his lower lip quirking up into a smirk as he regarded her. "Perhaps you should save them for later then..." He teased, though any amusement he felt was torn away from him as she worked to move him around. "Bloody hell, Vhalla..."

She was certainly not a hallucination, and the relief that set in that she was here was immediate. The instant that her fingers grasped at his cheeks, his head tilted instinctively into her fingertips. "Vhalla... Vhalla..." The man whispered the witch's name over and over, his lips curling up into a smile as it became increasingly clear that she was, in fact, not a dream and was very much here with him. As her fingers brushed across the back of his head, the man winced. His whole world swayed and for a moment he was entirely sure that he was going to be sick. "Willpower," He mumbled, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned his head back against the brick wall. He could tell he was beginning to heal already, though it would be the better part of the next few days before he truly felt himself again. But at least the blood would begin to cease - at least until he would move. The pain in his head was already beginning to ebb, though he was sure it was far from over.

It was the notion that the Council would not be happy that had the man rolling his eyes. "They never are with me, I'm afraid," The man muttered as he pushed himself to his feet. The instant he was upright, the entire world seemed to lurch sideways and he found himself falling against the brick wall to keep himself upright. "Blimey," He muttered to himself. "Vhalla, I don't think I can make it home." He closed his eyes. "And we need to get out of here. If reinforcements show up... if they figure out it was you..." He shivered. "I couldn't bare the idea of anything happening to you..."

But darling -- it's only human nature.