A Kiss at Midnight

Chapter Forty-Four

To command the sea was no easy feat but the ships did their best. The hulls of cinnamon brown and fossil grey to make their arrival, ushering waves and the odd seal to one side. Seagulls huddled atop the many warehouses that surrounded the port of Whitby. One final goodbye, tissues clutched in one hand. Or suitcases in hand for the sea spoke of new adventure. All you had to do was to glide across the uneven at times stage of cerulean and aegean blue.
Cargo ready to be disembarked by dock workers. Muscles straining beneath the weight of many a barrel and wooden crates.

Narrow streets of cobblestone leading away from the port towards the town. Facades of currant red brick and buildings of panelling and trim jostling each other for the best spot. Wooden signage to advertise the nature of the business. The light afternoon breeze to carry with it, whispers of the latest fish catch and wares too valuable to miss.

Crimson curls to unravel with a simple tug of an eager hand, the madam leaned against one window of her establishment. Plump lips that spoke of sensual delight and promises best kept for one night, curved into a smile. Cobblestones underfoot after so long spent at sea may prove a challenge to some sailors. She hoped some would stumble onto the laps of her beauties or if so inclined, be hoisted into the arms of one of her finest men. In an alleyway across the street stood a man in a dark suit. The brim of his bowler hat tipped downwards seeking to conceal his features. The shadows, his cloak as he awaited news of his shipment.

Regalia was the last ship to arrive. Under the coxswain's orders, a gangplank of polished mahogany wood bowed in greeting to passengers disembarking.
Boots of penny brown leather to tread across the main deck. The tops of which were pulled up to meet breeches of navy blue. He placed a valise next to his feet. A greatcoat of slate grey draped over a starched white shirt that moulded itself to the wide expanse of his shoulders. A wave of umber brown to crash against the sharp cliff of his jawline, breaking up the pathway of stubble. He reached into one pocket, the cold kiss of metal to brush his fingertips as he retrieved a ring.

His gaze to trace the golden band. "I shall grant you your dearest wish, my love. That I swear," he murmured.

The soft tap of a booted heel against the ground, the sound not coming from the direction of the gangplank but towards him. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement approaching him in measures strides. He palmed the ring and pivoted. His hand, a manacle upon Finn Peterson's wrist who was a werewolf informant and a former employee of the Devereaux Pack. And also an old friend of his.

"Welcome back, Carrick," Finn said. His smile caused his friend's eyes to narrow.

"Sneaking up on a rogue is considered unwise," Carrick warned, his voice lowering at the mention of his title. Pleasantries forgotten yet again but the other wolf paid it no mind.

The informant shoved his hands into his pockets. "Last I heard, you were no longer a rogue."

At his words, Carrick couldn't help but smile. "It would seem you are correct. I refused his offer to retain my position."

He had also declined the incentive for Ilona to join the pack for her part in all of this, the alpha having read the stipulation of Barrymore's invitation. His reasoning though not voiced to the Alpha was what he knew the hounds in their protective duties would dig a little too deep and discovered what should remain buried. The Devereaux Pack leader did paid him as agreed but maintained when asked that the new location of the Morana Lily was to be held under lock and key.

"Your pockets heavier but a job position lost." A line appearing between the informant's brows.

"Yet I consider it a win," Carrick said.

Finn flashed him a smile before he spoke again, "A stagecoach is leaving Whitby in the next forty minutes, far end of the town by the butchers. From there, it will make four stops before stopping in the town of Rhys for the night. Next morning, around nine give or take several minutes, a train will leave the station bound for Peyton. I secured you a spot on the coach but the rest is up to you. Be ready, the driver leaves with or without you."