A Kiss at Midnight

Chapter Thirty-Three

A misplaced step.
Blood to flood the tunnels his claws dug into her back.
A scream of agony tore from her throat.
One hand moved to her stomach to defend it.
The shield wasn't raised quick enough.

Her breath to still on her lips. Pain to inscribe its agonising details upon her body and expression. A crimson sash to be placed around her waist. A slow turn brought her back to meet Barrymore's gaze. Victory, a crown she would not let him wear. With every bit of strength she could muster, her foot swept upwards to connect with one knee. The bony plate to shatter.

Matthias roared in pain, staggering backwards. The final step of this vicious dance of sharp turns and sweeping arches of claws, Ilona's to take. She drove her fist into his snout. The bloodied mask of his firmly back in place as Barrymore was escorted to the edge where the bannister in its polished suit of mahogany stood waiting. His footsteps unsteady as Ilona delivered another round of pain. Barrymore was thrown against the wooden frame.
The banister bowed in defeat, releasing him into the embrace of the ground below.

"Grayson is dead."
At that revelation, Carrick glanced up at Mack who was kneeling next to him.

Upon his arrival mere minutes ago, his footsteps had drawn to a sharp halt. Eyes wide with horror at the blanket of crimson upon Erzabeth then his head turned to see Carrick. The entangled vines of shock were uprooted with a single stride forwards then another as Mack rushed over. His magic summoned one vine of ivy that brought with it, a brown satchel that contained healing salves and vials. Of which, the warlock quickly administered before bandaging Carrick's right leg. A spell to manipulate earth and stone had broken the cold kiss of metal against his wrists.

The bitter taste of one such vial to linger on Carrick's tongue. Sweat a cloak upon his back from his battle to ease himself into a sitting position once more despite the protest of his own aching muscles and the warlock's. A muttering of foolish actions on his end reached Carrick's ears although the warlock may feign innocence at a later stage. His shirt to slip off one broad ledge of his shoulders as the warlock assessed the reddening welts on his torso.

"Good," he rasped. "What about the Morana Lily?"

"On board on the carriage with nary a scratch on it," the warlock replied.
A note of distraction in his voice as he rummaged through the satchel. He let out a sigh of relief. His eyes to close briefly. When they opened again, the warlock was holding up a jar, its contents a rich earthy brown.
Seeing a look of suspicion cross his friend's face, Mack spoke. "It is a healing salve."
He twisted the lid off and Carrick caught a faint scent of lavender.

Carrick sank his teeth into his bottom lip to stop a cry of agony from escaping as the cold touch of the balm met the painful heat of his injuries.
A wolf's howl, the sound to echo across the room.
Dread, its icy grip to tighten around Carrick's neck.

Mack grabbed him by the shoulders, cutting off his attempt to rise up. "Don't. You have to give the healing salve a chance to dry."

"Ilona." Her name chased away from his lips by panic.

"It could have been Barrymore," Mack countered.

The words accompanied by the sound of wood splintering beneath some great weight. Carrick broke free of Mack's grip, scrambling to his feet.
An uneven beat to disturb the harmony of his breathing and pain promptly added its own high pitched note. Carrick rested a hand on his ribcage as he took a step towards the door. Mack cursed at his foolish actions, rising to his feet too.

Footsteps.

Relief flooded Carrick as moments later, Ilona appeared, one arm draped over her stomach.
Her gaze swept over him, tears silently falling.