A Kiss at Midnight

Chapter Nine

Ilona's steps faltered.
Outside, the early morning sun had yet to rise above the inn, causing the building to remain in shadows. Though neither darkness nor light could hide her gaze from Carrick. The one beam of sunlight managed to find him, illuminating his profile as he stood close to the carriage. His features were of aristocracy blood but there had always been this ruggedness to his beauty that left her feeling like that he would be just as at home in walls of stone as being surrounded by trees of evergreen and having lush green beneath his boots.

Minutes before, Carrick was enjoying the joyous if not a little high pitched chorus of birds who serenaded those travelling the roads at this time. Only to have the peaceful serenity broken by Mack's colourful curse as he jumped out of the way of a horse's hoof.

"I swear, the fool who created this creature from clay infused his personality into it!"

The warlock's face twisting into a scowl.
Carrick ducked his head, hiding his smile.

"I was going over the map last night," Mack said, resuming his task of wrangling the horses into place. "There is a small inn on the outskirts of Burr whose road leads back to the main one. It is probably the safest place for me to stay if we don't want Barrymore's hounds sniffing around. I presume you told Ilona last night."

Guilt flashed across Carrick's face. "No."

The warlock looked at him, his hands stilling on the horse's bridle. "You haven't told her, why the bloody hell not?" A sharpness entering his voice.

Carrick briefly closed his eyes.

"Do you recalled what caused this Morana Lily we seek to bloom?" His voice quiet.

A pearlescent sheen kissed each petal of ivory white. The flower's beauty on display when the moon was high but its stem was stained with blood for the Morana Lily only bloomed in the aftermath of utter carnage.
The one thing that could save a werewolf's life from the deadly grip of silver.

Mack's brows furrowed slightly. "Something to do with Alexander Seares's death and the tragedies that befell his kingdom shortly there after. What does that have to do with..."his voice trailed off, eyes widening. "Does Ilona have ties to this?"

Carrick's expression grim. "Yes."

Any further words died on the warlock's lips. Mack had seen the tapestry depicting one such tragedy in a place he never wanted to visit again not even in his nightmares. A place where those of his kind and others of supernatural blood were killed for the right price. The lair of a now defunct hunter organisation, the Lucien Order.

Blood, the very essence of life soaked the portrait of the beast's midnight fur as it lay on its side. Arrows made of silver protruding from its back. Threads of porcelain, dandelion yellow and blue woven together to display the victorious hunters tasked to destroyed the vicious creature.
What the tapestry failed to display was the poor beast's shallow pants. It's desperate struggle to fight back before a musket ball finally ended its existence.
They buried it, surrounded by silver.

Both men turned at the sound of footsteps. Ilona walked over to Carrick, placing her hand on his arm.

"Is everything alright?" She asked, her gaze flickering to Mack who had resumed his task at hand and then back to Carrick.

Without a second thought to his action, he reached up. The backs of his fingers a light touch on her cheek. "We were talking, nothing more."

"That is actually something we need to do too. Last night, we may have discussed the roles but nothing of our supposed marriage details nor the reason for all of this. What is this item of great importance?"