A Kiss at Midnight

Chapter Thirty

The plush carpet of garnet red, a stage but the one Carrick's footsteps must tread lightly across. For this kind of play, his costume was one to blend in with the night's tapestry and the shadows of a poorly lit hallway. He raised one hand. His fingers to brush against a small flower that he had placed in his breast pocket. Its neatly folded skirts of violet matched the one in Ilona's hair. While a second type of a flower; one with a marigold yellow rouge applied to its white petals currently decorated the locks of his and Ilona's trunks.

Just like the first flower, there was a reason for such a gift that Mack had explained during their earlier discussion.
"Should a fray occurred to even one petal, the flower will retreat into the embrace of the plant's vines." The warlock gestured with a flourish of his hand. "Whisking your belongings away to leave no trace of them."

Carrick let out a slow, steady exhale, his gaze yet to stray from the direction of the greenhouse. He had watched from afar, unable to let his footsteps fall into line with hers as Ilona climbed those final steps. The door to the greenhouse swinging open to usher her in. Out of reach of Carrick's arms and within Barrymore's clutches. A slight shake of his head. No, he couldn't think like that. Pushing back the thought before it could take root, he focused on the task ahead of him. He drew nearer to the greenhouse.

The sound of a male voice, its usual velvety smooth quality roughened by frustration caused his footsteps to falter.

"Find him," Barrymore demanded.

Carrick inhaled sharply, all too aware of who exactly the lord was referring to. Oh, bollocks! From his vantage point, Carrick spotted Barrymore, his foot poised to conquer another step of the staircase. He needed to get out of sight and fast, sweeping a look over his surroundings. Any number of these doors could be locked then he spotted one to his left. A small groove in the carpet told him it wasn't fully closed over. He reached for it.

At his touch, the door swung open in silent welcome. He slipped inside, ensuring the door aligned with its previous stance behind him. His back to flatten against the door. The harmony of his breathing to quieten for he could not let anyone dance to the tempo of his heartbeat. His ear to lay flat against the wooden surface.

The approaching footsteps of Barrymore's guards.
Air to remain caged within Carrick's lungs.
A silent plea on his lips.
His eyes to close.
A shadow loomed over the doorway but did not linger long.

Silence quickly descended over the hallway again but just to be sure they were gone, Carrick counted to three in his head.
One.
His eyes snapped open.
Two.

Walls of juniper green greeted him. Thick curtains of the same shade drawn across the window. Oil sconces to illuminate the room. An ottoman chair sat by the end of a bed made of charred spruce. A pelt of carob brown slumped over one side of the bed. To the right, a door of rich mahogany wood led to an adjoining chamber. To the left, an easel and resting upon it was a portrait framed by gold. A withered bouquet of roses at its feet.

Three...by the gods!

All air left Carrick's lungs.
His body, a marionette pulled by invisible strings towards the portrait. His eyes went round, utter disbelief rippled across his expression. She wore a gown of wine and cream. Pearls, a crown in her hair. Those midnight tresses, a mark of the dark coat wolves wore during the winter months to trail off the slender archways of her shoulders. A golden chain to grace her neck. Between her fingers which clutched the necklace to one breast, Carrick caught a glimpse of a locket and carved into the golden metal was a dragon's wing. Then his gaze drew upwards to meet her eyes, a rich shade of earthy brown.

"Annalise." Her name, a faint outline on his lips.

Realisation, a vine entangling Carrick. His feet becoming rooted to one spot. A gasp chased away from his lips.
Then his feet were moving before his mind could even utter the command. Without hesitation, he wrenched the flower from its vase of midnight fabric. His fingers closing over the petals, nails biting into his palm as he crushed them. Carrick bit off a curse, realising that he had forgotten to say the warlock's name first.
He had to try anyway.

"Mack!" His voice a hushed growl.

A green shimmer to dance across his fingers then he heard the earth warlock's voice in his mind. "Carrick?"

"Get Ilona out of there now!"

"What?" Confusion threading Mack's voice. "Why, she hasn't summoned..."

Carrick's curse cutting off the warlock's words. His pace quickening. "I know the identity of his mysterious maiden. It's Annalise. He thinks, no he believes," he said, hearing Mack's sharp inhale.

Dread, it's icy grip ensnaring Carrick by the throat. The words guttural in their sound pushed themselves from his lips.

"Barrymore believes Ilona is she returned to him."

"That means the man, Herzog who Barrymore made the deal with was..." Mack's voice trailing off in horrific realisation.

"Victor," Carrick replied, his fingers to rest on the door handle. His eyes to briefly close. Matthias and the wolves who swore fealty to him played a part in Annalise's downfall.

He opened the door and came face to face with Grayson. The male had forgone his usual attire of a suit of armour and instead wore a shirt and breeches. One booted foot hooked over an ankle. Smugness warping his lips into a smile as he saw Carrick take a step backward.

"You know, I was curious about you." The male's tone hardening to ice. "How long you would fare before I make you bleed for daring to covet what is rightfully Barrymore's."