Hellfire

Interval Twenty-One

Lucius was observing the last of the witches slide into their cars beneath the brim of his trilby with little patience, each and every one of them finally leaving his city. Finally, it was safe for Susan to come home, something he found himself craving. The house was empty without her fire and rage, and he very much desired to take her to his bed and not let her go, something that made his body tense with wild frustration and his mind to drift towards her.

Then, as he strode from the steps of the crumbled ruins of the Swansong, Lucius froze as instincts whispered with warning. His teeth extended, his fingers opening to release his blood, and his bats began to scream about him. His instincts roared, a furious male need to reach his bride and hold her, to protect her with everything he had.

He knew why quickly when he danced along his bats and tasting their screams in his home. Morrigan was haunting again, stronger than before and with poisonous malice; a desire to kill that was focused on Susan.

Lucius didn't hesitate. He melted into mist and flooded home like a blizzard, his mind utterly fixed on Susan. Just her. But when he stepped into the hall to find Ella cradling Susan and Arnold checking her pulse, he felt only a lingering warmth, not death. She was alive still.

Arnold looked up at him sharply, his glasses frosting over from Lucius' presence so thickly he snatched them off his face. Ella just watched Susan with terror, calling her and tapping her face, while Susan lay limply; lashes against her cheek and flames rushing from her mouth.

Lucius hunkered down, letting his knuckles brush over his cheek, relieved when she stirred ever so slightly with a flutter of eyelashes and soft breath. She didn't wake though. He let his mind crash against hers and found it on fire. She was fighting something. Something in the depths of her. He flexed, released a breath of mist, and unfolded himself fluidly.

'What's happened?' Arnold demanded.

Lucius gaze flicked to him. By the ferocity of his eyes, Arnold knew. The tiger in him rippled, flourished vibrant fur over his hands and the tips of his ears. Arnold had seen Morrigan's handiwork too many times not to know.

'Take Susan outside.' Lucius instructed icily. 'Ensure she's cold, get Alistair to cover her in ice, and keep your distance. I don't know what'll happen.'

Arnold didn't hesitate. He whispered orders to Ella, scooped up Susan into his arms and strode down the hall towards the back of the house. Ella scarpered in another direction, shouting for Alistair and Sam desperately.

Lucius forced himself to set off into the depths of the house rather than follow his unconscious bride. He had to be by her, to pull her against his chest and shield her, but that was only going to soothe himself, not help her. Frost spiralled over everything in his wake, turning the once dark hall alight with gloaming lights into glistening ice and pure whiteness. His shoes crunched over the ice as he ripped his trilby and coat free, tossing them aside to work at his sleeves, yanking them up to his elbows and baring his lithe arms. His attention was fixed on that old, battered door at the end of the hall. He could smell Susan in there, that rush of femininity and fire he could never ignore. He felt her heat, her ferocity, her blinding need to live. And, beginning to smother it was the malice he knew hauntingly well. The obsession, the cruelty, the old blood and madness.

Lucius came to a stop before the door, his body flexing with a need to fight, his skin tight from the frost clinging to him. Bats swept to his shoulder, baring their tiny teeth at the door Susan was behind and trembling with the need to protect her.

He released a rush of mist between his thickened teeth and, after sweeping to see where Susan was and finding her being taken care of by Alistair and Arnold, he let his consciousness fall away.