Corabelle moved quickly, the talons he’d given her springing forth. Blood spattered across the ground, nearly reaching him as the nails glided effortlessly through the soft meat in Ailan’s calf, and the soft snap of tendon and bone. He was brought to his knee as his own spell evaporated as his concentration shattered.

  Behind her eyes, it wasn't her anymore. Something had taken hold of her, but it wasn’t his control. A rage he didn’t think she was capable of possessed her as she took advantage of her first attack.

  Zaramir was paralysed, bolted to the ground.

  Vengürd stood across from him, similar shock and horror plastered on his face. He didn’t seem to know what to do against this either, pinned between not wanting to get too close to her, and the need to help his benefactor.

  Corabelle was moving faster than Ailan could react, tearing out chunks of flesh quicker than he could heal. A nearly impossible amount of blood spilled onto the lawn, staining everything around the two a deep shining red. That's when Zaramir realized she wasn’t going to stop. She was actually going to kill him.

  He had to stop her. If she killed him--

  Terror spiked through him, stronger than before. The poison didn’t stand a chance in this battle, ripping free, escaping through the invisible cracks in the flesh from when he’d been created, where his body sealed around his Spark.

  The acid burnt his skin, stinging where it touched, though most of it had been diluted enough with his own blood to keep it from harming him. Only a few areas burned, blistering and bubbling where the corrosive poison clung.

  Though he hardly noticed, fixated on stopping Corabelle.

  Only when Zaramir made a move toward the massacre did Vengürd finally react.

  He flung the held vial to the grass, as it made contact it ignited into a plume of dark smoke that cast a dark haze on the entire hillside. Though he didn’t use the cover for an attack, instead he ran, sprinting down the hill nearly slipping on the grass in his haste.

  While cowardly, not engaging in a fight with multiple Faedemons might have been the smartest move he had yet to make.

  Surely Vengürd would be back with reinforcements, but for now he had at least bought them a few moments.

  Zaramir seized Corabelle, pinning her bloodied arms against her body, “Cora! Stop!” Though he doubted she was even listening to him as she writhed against his grip, trying to free her arms to continue her carnage.

  Her skin fizzled lightly from the poison coating his body as he gripped her tighter.

  Her thrashing slowed, the claws beginning to retreat slowly.

  Ailan didn’t move, didn’t heal. Though there was hardly anything left to heal. His torso had been nearly hollowed out. Most everything that had been inside, splattered across the lawn.

  Not fast enough.

  A thick heavy dread pooled in the pit of Zaramir’s stomach as he gripped Corabelle tight against him, her body starting to shake.

  Everything he’d done to hide her, and he couldn’t stop this. Ailan belonged to a member of the same Court. They would seek out the source that would cause them to spend the resources to revive him. How long would it be until they placed it on Corabelle? How long until they questioned which Court she belonged to? How long until they found out she didn’t belong to them?

  That Faedamned poison.

  He should have never used it. He should have figured out another way. Without that delay, he might have been able to stop her, to stop this.

  But he didn’t have time to worry about this now.

  Vengürd would be back likely with the whole House behind him. Zaramir could handle a number of Mages, but not a whole House and certainly not with so little power left.

  Corabelle’s body quaked, inhaling stuttered breaths, gaze fixated on what she’d done. She didn’t budge from her spot as he tried to move her. She was rigid, staring at the remains in front of her until he forced her to look away, to stand up.

  “We have to go,” He urged, as she stared blankly at him, eyes sparkling. “We have to go. Vengürd got away. I couldn't stop him. They’ll be here soon.”

  She slipped in his grip, her legs refusing to support her weight, as he supported her.

  That's when he heard them, the voices. There were dozens, perhaps hundreds of aggressive voices, getting louder, closer.

  Time was up.

  He couldn’t afford the gentle approach any longer. He’d apologize when they were safe.

  He picked her up, swiftly; One arm under her rear, the other hand pressing into her back, like carrying a child. He pressed her as tightly as he could against her, minimizing the range of the teleportation spell he’d have to employ, saving every bit of energy he could.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Without a time consuming ritual, his teleportation range was limited outside of the maze. He’d have to find somewhere close, somewhere they wouldn’t think to look, at least until he could finish the ritual to get them home.

  They were trapped in a House of Alchemists, actively hunting them. No where he could get them too would be safe for very long.

  Their best option was somewhere the mob had likely already been and would expect them not to go.

  The energy he’d stored after the poison was no longer leeching it was just barely enough to get there to the Administration building. Completing the ritual would drain him down to nothing, but once it was done, when they were home, it wouldn’t matter.

  “I couldn’t get us far,” He explained to her softly, as he set her down “Hopefully this is the last place they’ll expect us to be.”

  He dug through his bag for the envelope of ritual components. Encasing the components in his fist, beginning the ritual he’d done hundreds of times. The tiniest bit of relief crept into him as it began to glow.

  Thought that relief was quickly smothered as he realized they weren’t alone. The ritual fizzled out as his concentration broke.

  The receptionist, Bryla, if he remembered correctly, had pinned herself to a wall. Staring at them with fearful eyes. The whole House knew what they were, he’d just expected everyone to be among those hunting.

  He silently cursed himself for not making sure they were truly alone here, as he quickly moved to cover her mouth before she could alert the others.

  Hot tears dripped down onto his hand, her body shaking violently. She didn't dare to make a sound louder than a shuttered whimper.

  “Don’t scream. Please. We don’t intend to hurt you.” He knew his words wouldn’t do anything. Nothing he could say would

  Looking at Corabelle, the only part of her that had moved was her eyes. They were fixated on Zaramir and the frightened girl, though her thoughts weren't in this room.

  “Take the ritual components so I can put Bryla to sleep,” he tried to draw her back. He needed to be able to take his hand away from the girl. If he completed the ritual here, she’d be coming with them, “Miss Cora?”

  She didn’t move, mind retreating further. She couldn’t shut down, not now. He needed her and she was leaving him, “Miss Cora!” He snapped.

  Her eyes refocused, suddenly attentive, but she didn’t move, tears pooling in the corner of her eyes.

  He extended his arm further but, so long as she stayed where she was, she was just out of reach.

  This instant momentary imbalance was suddenly seized by the receptionist, her arms pushing him toward Corabelle, as her foot came down on his. She broke free.

  He couldn’t cast a spell with the components in his hand, and she was as fast a rabbit, reaching the door, fleeing, as she let out a scream surely heard.

  They had seconds, minutes if they were extremely fortunate. Not long enough to do this ritual, but he had no choice.

  He dropped down next to Corabelle, prepared to take hold of her near the ritual's completion. This ritual was supposed to be done carefully, deliberately, but he didn’t have that luxury.

  As the spell began to form, its instability radiated, crackling sharply against his palm. If this even worked, it was going to be highly unpleasant. The landing trajectory was fluctuating, he knew they were going back to his little temporal bubble, but they weren’t going to land in the atrium. The best he could do was force their landing to be the house instead of the maze.

  He supposed it was a stroke of fortune that the group that came to Bryla’s call were young students, teenagers. The majority were clearly frightened, inexperienced, wielding weapons that would hardly scrape the creatures they were hunting.

  Those students he paid little mind to, they wouldn’t even try to hurt them, their confidence shattering the moment they entered the room.

  Though there were others, perhaps higher ranked, welding potions he couldn’t spend the time to try to identify. Nothing they had could kill them, the frequencies coming off them were low and weak, but it could very well break the ritual, shattering their chances of escape before more dangerous Alchemists appeared to aid the hunt.

  Thankfully, the ritual was nearly complete. He snatched Corabelle's wrist, flinching as he felt the bone snap. He was careless, but it didn’t matter right now. Nothing mattered but finishing this ritual. Repercussions could be dealt with later.

  That’s when a higher ranked student forced her way to the front, fury pouring off her. He expedited the spell further, already dreading their arrival.

  Though the rage wasn’t what suddenly concerned him, it was her weapon, or more accurately the coating on the tip of the hunting bolt loaded into her dark crossbow, primed and ready to fire. The noise was chaotic, sharp, angry, potent.

  The bolt loosed just as the final words were spoken, a final manic spike of power exploding from the ritual components.

  Zaramir wrapped himself around Corabelle, hoping to break the painfully rough landing as the ritual spell consumed them.

  There was a familiar change in pressure as they entered the timelessness of his realm. Though, as he’d expected, once inside the ritual frayed. A pop of unstable magic flinging them in different directions.

  He crashed into something metal that groaned loudly under the force of his impact. Sharp edged stabbed into his back and side, the greater impact forcing all air from his lungs. His shoulder pulled free from his socket. His arm was pinned awkwardly under him, against the object he finally realized was one of his animal cages in the lab. Though, now it was a mangled heap of twisted metal scrap.

  He pulled himself free from the mess, pulling spikes of metal from his skin that had been the bars of the cage. He jammed his shoulder back into place, the smaller cuts and bruises slowly healing.

  His eyes found Corabelle quickly. She was unconscious on the floor. Any injuries she sustained in the crash were already nearly healed. There was a small puddle of blood oozing out from under her head. While it did worry him, he knew she’d be fine.

  Or at least he thought so until he heard it. That same sound. The sound of that black potion that dripped from the crossbow bolt, the volatile thrum.

  He was across the room in an instant, eyes scouring every inch of Corabelle, looking for the bolt. The blood that covered a good portion of her body was making it difficult to tell if she was injured. The loud hum of magic mocking him the longer he took to find it.

  As he sat her up to check her back for the flight, she jolted awake.

  She shuffled away, frantic eyes scoring the room in a panic. Upon realizing they were home, her eyes filled with tears, everything she’d been holding back finally breaking free. Hot droplets streaming down red cheeks as her whole body shook with sobs so hard they couldn’t make a sound.

  “What did I do?” She choked on her words as she threw herself back into his arms.

  He opened his mouth to try to comfort her but she yelped, jumping back before he could utter a sound.

  Her eyes went to a small tear in the front of her dress, a small red mark on her skin beneath that hadn’t drawn blood, before they went to the source of intrusion. Protruding through the center of his shirt was dark, bloodied silver, hot liquid slowly trailing down his front.

  He found the bolt.