A Kiss at Midnight

Chapter Thirty-Two

Blood trickled down one corner of Carrick's mouth stealing with it, a breath. Soon to take more. His eyes may be open but all he saw was Barrymore's fist poised to have the final wave of pain crashed into him. To plunge him into the dark abyss that was Death's realm. The haunting melody of Ilona's anguish reached Carrick's ears. Then those four words that tore at his very soul and heart.

"I am yours, Barrymore."

Matthias stilled at those words. His grip loosening slightly but it was enough to allow Carrick to turn his head towards Ilona. In time to see waterfalls of sorrow cascading down her cheeks, carrying with them over the ledge of her chin, broken fragments of her dreams. Love. A child.
An image came to mind. Ilona to dance across a beige floor, her stage. A gown of butterscotch yellow and lace, her costume. She was not alone in this. One small cheek to rest upon her shoulder, her arms cradling their infant. A tiny hand reaching out for Carrick because to explore this vast world of wonder and fright they needed their father there with them.

In one moment it was there, the next gone. His baby. Their child. The final stake to send his heart crumbling to dust. A tear to fall silently down his cheek.
Barrymore dropped Carrick. Victory a crown he delighted in having adorn his features. He began walking towards Ilona.

His palms to rest flat on the ground. His mind screaming commands to a body entangled by pain's agonising snare. By sheer will, Carrick managed to eased himself into a sitting position. Sweat to cling to his forehead. The uneven beat of his breathing sought to silence his words but he forced them to flee his lips.

"You claim to love Annalise yet your bargain condemned her to die." A wheeze rattled his chest.

Barrymore whirled. Anger seeping through the cracks in his expression, drowning any sense of regret. "Annalise was to be mine!" Yet she belonged to another. My bargain with Victor Herzog was to give me her hand, free from the shackles of marriage to that spineless peacock. I played my part but he reneged on his."

At those words, Ilona inhaled sharply. The pieces clicking into place in her mind.

"All this," Carrick choked out. "At the cost of Prince Adrien's life."

Momentarily surprise flickered Barrymore's face.
Those very words spoken to Matthias but were directed at another. Whose gaze Carrick did not allow himself to glance at.
The mocking sound of chains fell silent. One metal link to snap. Shadowy jaws to etch themselves on Barrymore's back as muscles expanded in size to accommodate her bulk. Storm grey to fade beneath the incendiary glow of rage. A shaggy cowl of coin grey to grace her neck while the rest of her fur was midnight black. The same shade of grey, a rouge upon her cheeks.

Beneath the silvery glow of a full moon, a werewolf could let slip their human mask. Once night falls, a wolfwalker needs only to think of the form they wish to take and the magic of their blood will make it so. Pain wasn't a fee to pay for the transformation.

"That's my Ilona," Carrick rasped, affection in his tone. A smile tugged at his lips despite the ache that ensued.

Ezrabeth's expression was one of shock, her foot poised to step backwards. The tap of her heel on the floor not to occur as Ilona struck. Claws, hooks to embed themselves in one side of her throat. One claw became trapped on the sharp ledge of her jawline. Ilona pulled her hand free. The force of such a retrieval had cracks appearing on the slender column of Erzabeth's neck. Barrymore turned his head.

Horror a spear to his chest, pinning him to one spot.
A waterfall of crimson to cascade down the broken marble.
Silent denial sprang onto Barrymore's lips.
Erzabeth clutched at her throat, her fingers, a weakening barrier.
Blood to steal with it, the very breath from her pleading lungs.