Author's Note: My sincere apologies for the wait! O.O Didn't mean to do that, but I just got caught up in other things. Shamefully, I don't have much of an excuse, but hopefully this update will make up for it… O.o The prompt for this was 'Too Much'.

CHAPTER TEN: BUILD UP INSIDE OF ME

His shoulders and arms burned madly from the torn wounds, but experience had taught him that they would not only heal before too long, but he would survive; it could have been worse. If Tobias hadn't intervened, then it most likely would have been worse, Tomas realised, and it caused him to glance fleetingly to his brother. The two werewolves still loomed over the female they had overpowered, with Mrs. Harker's help, and even though she seemed cocky and unfazed, Tomas couldn't help but wonder about her real frame of mind. The wolves in the pack they were tracking hardly seemed to have the best grip on reality, and it was entirely possible that many of them, if not all, were insane to some degree.

Tomas recognised the scent of the one they pinned down, but couldn't place a name. It wasn't important, he knew. The only thing that mattered was getting some answers out of her.

"We'll never find him in time?" the vampire repeated darkly, applying the edge of her blade to the female werewolf's neck. Now that it wasn't protected by fur, the hiss of the burn could be heard more easily. Tomas' ears flattened back, reacting instinctively to the silver's damage. His jowls lifted just a fraction, but not in Mina Harker's direction; his eyes were very much still focused on the downed female lycanthrope. She tensed, but did not cry out at the punishment. "We'll see about that."

"He'll be dead before you ever get to him," came her snapped retort, and Tobias growled deeply, pressing down on her shredded thigh, perhaps somewhat sadistically, all things considered. She groaned in discomfort, but again, did not yell. "Do whatever you like with me — if I don't return, they'll tear him apart."

"We'll see about that as well," Mina growled, blade still in place. "How badly is he hurt?"

Tomas' eyes looked up briefly to the vampire, but didn't waver from their main focus for long; he had to concentrate on their captive.

"On the off-chance that you rescue him," the lycanthrope prisoner began in response, "his injuries will kill him…" She grinned coldly, her eyes filled with a menace and glee like that of a cruel child. "He's broken…"

It was the younger brother's turn to growl, and he bowed his head closer to her face to bear his fangs in her direct line of sight, reminding her not to gloat. Irritably, she didn't seem perturbed…

Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Oh, Tomas… still so quick to anger…"

Ears flattened back against a coppery coat of thick fur, and his growl cut off. His fangs showed themselves more prominently though, as if in a silent threat. His warm breath played over her face.

"It'll be the death of you," the female whispered derisively. "You and your bastard brother."

And with that, she moved, even with the blade pressed to her neck. Her hand shot up, tensed powerfully, and slammed into Tomas' snout and muzzle, snapping his mouth shut dizzyingly. Blood poured from his assaulted nose, and trickled from between his clenched jaws; with a quiet yelp, he staggered, stumbling to the side and down to the ground. Lights flashed and danced madly behind eyes that were squeezed shut after the blow, and he felt his body collide with the dirt heavy enough to partially wind him. He could taste the copper in his mouth, and down his throat, and a dry, deep cough parted his maw roughly.

A roar ripped through the canopy of the trees, and there was the deafening sound of something large and meaty colliding with flesh and bone. Managing to peel his eyes open, still dazed, Tomas saw the female's head snap to the side from a heavy club to the face. Tobias had been moving in for another strike before Mrs. Harker pulled out her second blade, forced to use it in order to warn the older male werewolf away.

"We need her," the vampire snarled insistently, looking down quickly to the female, who, though stunned, was thankfully still alive. Tobias had ripped open a large wound along her cheekbone, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. The red was fading from her eyes as Mrs. Harker looked to the downed lycanthrope, saying to Tobias quietly, "See to your brother."

The rest of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen were not far away, and even as Tobias moved towards his sibling, transforming as he did so, Dr. Jekyll came closer. Another rasping cough broke out of Tomas. Grimacing heavily, still in wolf form, he grumbled uncomfortably, waiting for the disorientation to pass. Even in human form, her blow had done quite a bit of damage, it seemed, and he hated himself for it. Even after nearly two-hundred years, he was unintentionally relying on his brother to rescue him; watch over and protect him. His ears dropped miserably as he felt Tobias' hand land on his head, and when he opened his eyes, he saw the female staring at him in mocking delight.

Melody…

Her name was Melody.

Even with blood still coursing down and around his lupine muzzle, Tomas reacted instinctively to the gloating expression, and with a rattling snarl, he tried to tear forward. At the downed woman. His claws tore viciously into the ground as he tried to find purchase in order to rise, and his maw opened wide savagely, eyes blazing in fury.

"No!" The booming voice belonged to his brother, as strong hands twined through dense fur, yanking him back. Tomas' snarl broke off abruptly as his balance was wrenched from under him, and he slammed to the ground with his older brother, feeling the air forced out of him again. Once more, he gave a breathless cough, wincing. Still, even as he sighed, lying almost atop Tobias after being torn back, he couldn't help but realise that it had been for the best. If he had managed to get to Melody, he likely would have torn her throat out in anger, and what then? They would never find the League's friend, and missing member. He would have ruined their chances…

"Easy, brother… take it easy." Tobias wriggled out from beneath Tomas, allowing him to lie on the ground again, a large mess of brown fur and powerful limbs. Keeping his eyes from turning in Melody's expression, Tomas sighed as his brother examined his lupine face for the damage.

"Let me help," Dr. Jekyll insisted, crouching next to the older male werewolf. With only a few moments' hesitation, Tobias permitted the assistance, and Tomas simply lay there as he was checked. It would probably be easier if he changed back to human form, but something not too unlike embarrassment was keeping him from transforming.

Quentin revelled openly in the sounds of the human's suffering, laughing to himself each time a cry broke free… even a whimper provoked a grin. He remembered what it really was to be a wolf then; to have the upper hand in any situation — the power. He was reminded all over again why he loved being the way he was. Even in situations like this, when the sport of the torture was perhaps lessened by the fact that the victim was restrained, he could truly enjoy himself, and give in to his more primal urges. The wolf wanted pain and blood, and one way or another, it usually got them.

This was no exception.

Endeavouring to walk closer, Quentin used his free hand to lift the human's head by the jaw, angling it upward roughly, checking his condition. He was in agony, but didn't seem close to passing out. Another grin made itself present on the werewolf's face, and he chuckled. "You see what I meant?" he asked the captive conversationally, dropping his head and then mockingly ruffling the tangled hair atop it. "The human body can take so much punishment before it breaks down."

He was getting wrapped up in the heat of the moment. The thrill of causing the damage and getting the reactions he wanted was making him relaxed, and it showed in his expression and posture, and even in the way he spoke; it was lighter than when he had started, and more casual. "And everybody wins. I get to make you scream," he bowed slightly to try and look in the agent's eyes, even though they were screwed shut again, "and you get to learn more about yourself." He chuckled again, turning back to the fire, taking a deep breath as he did. "And didn't I tell you I was fairly easy to get along with?" Glancing back at the human, he saw, finally, that the boy had managed to lift his head again, albeit with a struggle.

Calm down, his mind whispered to him in a warning. You'll exhaust him too quickly.

With a low noise, Quentin watched the metal heat in the flames, and realised he was rushing things. After the first few strikes, he'd simply allowed his enthusiasm to take over. He knew that now, and it would hopefully keep him back from doing too much damage too fast. He didn't want the spy to pass out, or even react too much; he had to keep from doing too much to him, if he could help it. As with every other captive they had had in the past, the killing blow automatically belonged to Tyrone, as was his right as Alpha. The others were allowed their fun, but were never to do too much. It all added up, of course, but if any of them started him on that downward spiral too quickly and too heavily, then there would be hell to pay. Tyrone would be furious.

So be careful.

Removing the metal from the fire, he turned, taking in another deep breath, feeling calmer already. His childish delight had to pass if he was going to use his time effectively. His body wasn't so loose now; it was more tense, and prepared. All-business…

Even in his tortured state, Tom noticed the change in Quentin's posture, and could only wonder at what it meant. Trying to right himself against the pillar, and fight back the cloud of ominous fog in his mind, he watched the werewolf stalk closer. What had killed the laughter? Automatically, Tom tried to think what he had done to anger him, but came up blank. Giving his head the briefest of shakes, he lifted his gaze to the wolf again, and tried to focus.

All he could concentrate on properly was that glowing weapon… and the agony it would bring.

The agent's torso was starting to go numb, he'd noticed, but it was peculiarly coupled with a sickening, tingling sensation that moved from one wound to the next. The pain never truly faded, and it was only building… Tom couldn't describe it, even to himself. He just knew it hurt… and he was reaching the end of his tolerance.

No… no you're not. You can take it. You have to. It didn't sound like his own voice in his head, but as he tried to listen to it, it was dulled by the grogginess in his entire mind. He couldn't think clearly, and it was clouding his judgement and senses… driving him more and more into frustration. They'd already hurt him so much, and he hated them passionately for it; he just wanted to hurt them back…

Don't, his mind hissed pleadingly as he awkwardly tried to straighten his body, eyes never leaving Quentin's approaching form now. He breathed raggedly; angrily and painfully. Don't do it… you'll pay for it.

And yet, that knowledge that he would pay for it somehow fuelled the drive. Maybe, just maybe, if he actually did it, the bastard would go through with it. Quentin was wrong… the human body could take punishment, but it hadn't been designed to take this much. Tom was dying, and in the most agonising way possible.

I have to… I can't take it…

The realisation brought furious tears to his eyes again, and even as he set his aching jaw, his mind silenced. His thoughts stopped arguing against one another; the voices quieted and left him alone.

He was alone… and he had to do something.

As Quentin came even closer, looking Tom's body over to see where to strike next, the bound American tensed, even through the discomfort. The distance was closed once again… and then Tom lashed out.

One of his legs shot up and out, sending a blazing arc of pain right up and through his body, all the way to his head like lightning. The dirty boot slammed into Quentin roughly, almost knocking him back with a heavy grunt and grimace.

But instead of allowing his balance to fail, the werewolf grabbed Tom's leg by the ankle, gripping tightly. His growl thundered through the room, and his eyes were aflame with blue fury. His grip tightened again, tearing a gasp out of the agent no matter how hard he fought against it. His gritted his teeth, waiting for something to happen, looking to Quentin with anguished eyes. He watched his tormentor, struggling to keep the outline of the other 'man's' body from blurring so badly.

"You stupid son of a bitch…" the lycanthrope grumbled fiercely, his canines tipped dangerously.

Here it comes. Tom felt a cold chill of readiness race up his spine, and he tensed again, trying to ignore how much it hurt to be gripped the way he was. It was getting too difficult to ignore it all…

Quentin struck, but not in a killing blow, as Tom had perhaps hoped he might. Before he'd even managed to follow the aim of the strike with his eyes, he was trying to tear his leg from the lycanthrope's grip, his cry ripping out of him loudly and roughly enough to make his entire throat ache. Voice breaking, Tom dropped his head down and to the side, the awkward angle allowing him a strange view of the damage Quentin had done in revenge for the kick. Even with tears blurring his vision, he could see his gripped leg… and the bar pierced clean through it. The glowing end had stabbed straight through his left leg below the knee, searing the skin and scraping bone on the way. The protected grip of the bar was angled up into the air on the other side of the wound. Quentin dropped the leg, leaving the bar in.

With an undeniably pathetic whimper of a noise, Tom slumped, struggling to keep the red-hot tip of the bar from his other leg, leaving him positioned awkwardly where he had been tied, half-slumped and tensed at the same time, despite the apparent impossibility of such a posture. He was concentrating — as difficult as that was with all the injuries and their effects taking their toll on him — on the dangerous weapon pierced through him when Quentin's left hand grabbed his hair at the right side of his head. The werewolf's arm completely blocked the bar from view, and Tom gasped again, feeling the painful lump in his throat.

You idiot. His mind had awakened again, chiding him wearily from within. You've made it worse… you've only made it worse.

The blunt reality of the situation weakened Tom's resolve even more, and even though he tried to fight them, he felt the tears in his eyes breaking through. He closed them tightly as a last-ditch attempt to keep from showing them, but the sadistically tight grip in his hair and the impalement of his leg were quickly tearing down the walls of bravado.

You're breaking…

Again, it didn't sound like his voice… and that only made it worse. Even with his eyes closed, a choked sob sounded in the excruciating silence, coursing up Tom's dry throat to escape his mouth pitifully.

"This will get worse," Quentin's voice snarled down his left ear, the words harsh like a blade, cutting into Tom's brain. He could only stand there, in agony, with those first few tears struggling free. "So much worse…" Feeling the wolf's hot breath course over the side of his face and neck made the spy shudder… in fear. Real, crippling fear that swarmed through him and took hold of his heart, wrapping around it coldly; so tightly he thought it might stop beating. "And what you just did," Quentin pressed on, exaggerating each word sharply down the agent's ear, "will keep those who come after me from holding back."

To think that they had been holding back… Tom wasn't sure how to feel. He'd known when Melody had been hitting him that she could have clean broken his jaw with each punch, but knowing that the torture could have been — and now would be — worse… it was almost enough to make him ask Quentin to kill him. He felt empty, and lost, and when Quentin pulled his head back to look fiercely into Tom's eyes, he couldn't help but tremble.

… You've broken…

Tom's eyes closed, and he fought back another sob at the sound of the voice in his head, and what it said to him sadly. The tears that had escaped were soon followed by others, running down his blood-streaked and dirty face towards his bruised jaw.

"They'll tear you apart… the mind, and then the body." Quentin's words sounded vacant, but the edge was like a vicious blade that ripped into Tom. The werewolf dropped his head, letting it fall heavily. Tom didn't fight it.

When the bar was grabbed and ripped from his leg, Tom's cry was weaker than before, and yet still loud. The sob that seemed to carry through it echoed through the room, and when he slumped back against the pillar, he looked up fleetingly to Quentin. The blonde wolf stood before him, staring at him almost in disappointment now.

The subtle pleading in the spy's exhausted frame wasn't ignored for long, and after a few minutes of simply standing there, Quentin moved bodily, and swung the bar. It connected heavily with the right side of Tom's head, and before he'd even been able to react audibly, he was unconscious once more.

To Be Continued…