Unleashed Fury (BloodRunes: Book 1) (25 page)

The girl countered this by bringing her head
forward sharply, connecting with Jezebel's nose in a tremendous
burst of pain and blood.

Jezebel's fingers loosened their grip, and
the girl turned to crane her neck around, searching for the object
she had lost.

The last thing Jezebel saw before darkness
overtook her was a strange symbol behind the girl's right ear.

*

Layna let Jezebel's limp body to fall to the
floor with a satisfying thud, and looked frantically around for the
box. She spied it in the corner and hurried forward to grab it,
cradling it to her chest. She looked up and down the hall, but it
was deserted, and an eerie silence had descended over the manor.
Layna followed in Charles' wake out through the back entrance and
found him waiting for her, already mounted on Axe and holding Fly's
reins ready for her. She jumped on and they spurred the horses,
urging them to gallop as soon as they were out in open land. The
horses seemed to pick up on their riders' excited states and
matched their pace to fit with it.

“Did ya get him?” asked Charles once they
were a good distance away and they had allowed the panting horses
to slow.

“Yes,” answered Layna breathlessly. “Are you
sure he's okay in there?”

Charles shrugged. “Better than he was with
the demon lady. He might be agettin' a bit banged up, but he'll
live.”

Layna didn't answer. Gryffon had been in
pretty bad shape when she had slipped down into the cellar dungeon.
Charles' plan had been that she would stow away with him as he was
allowed into the manor under the guise of a minstrel by riding in
his magic barrel.

He had shown her that not only was it the
barrel she had seen him with in the marketplace, but it had another
form as well. It could take on the appearance of a small box which
could be concealed easily, and would hold just as much. Charles had
tried to explain to her the mechanisms of the box, but it was
beyond her realm of understanding. He attempted to liken it to a
storage building somewhere else that the box was a dimensional hole
to. He said that once she was there she would feel no different
from simply being in a storage shed. Not particularly comfortable,
but survivable. Layna had been doubtful, and hesitant to try and
place her body into a magic container, but she had been assured
that she would be fine. She had finally just flung out her hands in
surrender, and decided to take his word for it.

She had ridden in this manner into Jezebel’s
house, and upon Charles’ knock, had emerged while Katrina went to
tell Jezebel of her visitor.

She had slipped unnoticed into the cellar,
and found Gryffon in the same cell that she had occupied not all
that long ago. Layna felt a twinge of guilt that she had not saved
him as he had her.

He had been slumped against the wall,
bleeding and bruised from dozens of injuries, his clothing in
strips around him. A blackened and blistering wound was festering
on his chest.

Layna had cried out at the sight of him,
which had roused him. He had peered at her through one eye, the
other too swollen to even slit open. His lips had cracked into a
smile and he raised his eyebrows in a brief salute.

“Aren't you a sight for sore eyes,” he had
said, “and when I say sore, I mean sore.” Layna had rushed to his
side as soon as she had the door open, after melting the lock with
magic fire. She had applied the few rudimentary techniques for
dulling pain and speeding healing that Mila had shown her.

As soon as she was able to get him to move,
she had urged him into the box and hurried back up the stairs to
meet Charles outside. That's when Jezebel had tried to intercept
her.

She shuddered, wondering what Jezebel would
have done to her this time if she had gotten her hands on them
again.

They reached the spot where they had hidden
their belongings, and they dismounted to collect them up.

“We'll hafta take him out now,” Charles told
her, “It's not really meant for an extended stay, you'd hafta spend
the extra money to get a tent box for that.” Layna wasn't sure if
he was serious or not, but decided not to ask and simply brought
out the box to retrieve Gryffon. She reached inside, searching for
his hand and she caught hold of it. She gently pulled him out.

He gasped for air and Charles winced, a
guilty smile playing on his lips. “Whoops, might've left him in
there a smidge too long.”

Layna stared at him wide-eyed. “I thought you
told me it was perfectly safe!”

Charles shrugged. “Well, he's alright now so
no biggie. Sheesh, you're captious. I'll take that back.” He
snatched the box and turned his back on them, so Layna turned her
attention to Gryffon.

“We have to ride out a bit farther in case
she mounts a hunt for us. Do you think you're up for it?” she asked
him compassionately.

Gryffon gave her a weak smile, marred by the
condition of his face. He closed his one good eye briefly before
opening it again to answer. “Well, not much choice. I think there’s
little doubt that she’ll send someone out after us.” He sat up and
winced. “I hate to say it, but I think I'll need to ride with one
of you. I might pass out on the horse by myself, and I don’t think
there’s an inch left on me for another bruise.”

Layna nodded. “We were going to have you ride
with me so I can help you heal as we go. Mila wasn't able to teach
me too much before she - but I can help you some.” She caught
herself before mentioning Mila, she didn't want to add to Gryffon's
pain just yet. She paused in thought a moment and then added, “I
don't suppose you'd be alright with being tied on to the saddle?
I'm not sure I could hold you if you passed out on me.”

Gryffon groaned good-naturedly. “Well, if I'm
going to be tied up, at least it will be next to a beautiful
woman.” Layna flushed and rose to cover her embarrassment, and dug
out the rope from their bags.

She took a few extra minutes, despite
Charles' annoyance, to clean and bandage Gryffon's wounds. Healing
or no healing, she didn’t want them to get the chance to get
infected. Besides, it would make him that much more comfortable and
easier to handle during the ride.

Gryffon's moan of pleasure and relief as the
healing salves absorbed into his wounds and the numbing effect took
hold was reward enough for her, and she ignored Charles' smart
remarks on the delay.

CHAPTER 19

Jonathan raged in the hallways of his house,
grabbing up decorations and hurling them at the walls. Once he
almost hit a cowed servant, who stood frozen in place, too scared
or too stupid to move out of the way. The statue had just missed
her head and it banged into the stone wall behind her, crumbling a
large chunk before she gathered her wits about her and fled.

He screamed his anger at the top of his
lungs, and continued his rampage for several long minutes before he
wore himself out. Then he surveyed the destruction, panting.
How
could she have gotten away? My greatest source of pleasure and she
is gone! Was I lying to myself when I thought she had cared for me
too? No, of course not, she had to have been taken, she had to have
been. She wouldn't have just left me like this. We had something
special.
He had been forced to travel for business, and had
come home to find her chambers empty. The servants had been too
terrified to even tell him, they just led him up.

Jonathan glared around, looking for the
servants now who had all mysteriously absented themselves. He
marched towards the bedroom again, and looked down when his heel
crunched on something as he stepped. Tears sprung to his eyes as he
realized it was her favorite glass figurine, a tiny pink unicorn.
He gruffly rubbed a sleeve over his eyes and fought down the
emotion as he swept into the room, searching about for her means of
escape.
I mean kidnapping.

A sharp fragment of mirror was bloodstained
and discarded on the bed, next to the ripped remains of the silk
bonds that she had worn to please him.

A blast of cold air chilled him as the wind
picked up outside. It caused the curtains to flutter into the room,
and revealed that the glass in the window was smashed as well.

Jonathan pushed the curtain aside to peer
out. Glass shards littered the ground below, and red drops of blood
could still be seen standing out against the white snow. He raised
an eyebrow.
That must have been quite a fall. Perhaps someone
pushed her
. The footprints were distorted as if the person was
staggering, and were soon lost amongst the packed snow of the
street. Jonathan cursed his frustration and went to search out a
servant to have them clean up the mess.

Some time and many unhappy servants later,
Jonathan was in his carriage on his way to meet Jezebel. Though he
was not in the mood for her attitude, he needed to make a report to
Master which could not be delayed.

He drummed his fingers on his knees and
twitched nervously. He closed his eyes in an effort to be still,
but the urge could not be denied. He took out a small metal box and
pried a fingernail under the edge to pop it open. It flicked up,
and Jonathan dipped a finger in the white powder inside. He rubbed
it along his gums and sat back slowly, sighing with pleasure as the
drug took hold. The stress of dealing with Jezebel had grated his
nerves so badly that he had turned to his old habit of relief.

A calming sensation spread through him, and
he spent the rest of the ride in bliss.

He was so lost in his private euphoria that
he didn't notice when the carriage stopped. The driver had to climb
down and knock on the carriage door to alert him to their arrival.
The driver eyed him with trepidation as he opened the door, but
Jonathan ignored him, and brushed him aside on his way to
Jezebel.

The door opened before he even reached it,
and a hysterical girl came flying out of it. Forgetting her manners
in her panic, she grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Sir,” she exclaimed, “we've been attacked!
The lady and Master Devon are,” she broke down and started sobbing
against him, sniffling on his shirt. She suddenly seemed to
remember herself and hastily backed away, removing her hands from
him as though she had suddenly been burned. “I'm so sorry, sir,”
she stammered. “Please, please won't you come and help?” she
implored him.

He smiled at her languidly, wondering what
this was all about. “Of course,” he drawled. “Do show the way.”

He followed lazily after her as she led him
back up towards the house and in through the front door which had
been left wide open as she had come flying out of it. She motioned
for him to come in, and then moved aside in the hall, pointing to a
crumpled shape on the floor.

Jonathan moved closer and saw that it was
Jezebel, lying unmoving in an undignified heap. He gave a soft
chuckle and ignored the confused look that the girl gave him.
I
wonder what the stupid woman got herself into?
He knelt down,
feeling for a pulse. He found one, and it was strong, so he told
the girl to fetch some water and she hurried off, glad to have
someone to tell her what to do.

He strolled down the hall to where the
library door stood ajar, and he pushed it farther open. He stepped
into the room cautiously. There on the floor lay Devon, looking
even worse for wear than Jezebel, with two knives sticking into him
up to the hilt.

“Tsk tsk,” Jonathan commented. “I never did
like you anyway,” he told the body, and was turning to leave when
movement caught his eye. “Well, would you look at that,” he said,
amazed, as Devon's hand moved towards him. He caught the man's eye,
which had opened with great effort. The look he gave Jonathan was
enough to make him turn on his heel and leave him there to die, but
Jonathan sighed and rolled his eyes. “I suppose I should help you
then.”

He strode over to Devon, muttering a few
healing words to help stave off the flow of blood as he roughly
pulled the two blades from the man's body. Devon convulsed as he
did this, and Jonathan watched him with interest while he writhed.
He then put a hand over Devon's forehead, and whispered another
word to put him into a healing trance.

Despite the relief it would have been to have
the need for visiting Jezebel removed by Devon's death, Jonathan
supposed it was for the best. Master did enjoy the access to
Devon's network. Jonathan picked himself up and brushed his hands
together, convinced that the rest of the healing was up to Devon
now.

He made his way back into the hall to see if
the girl had returned. She was just getting back and looked
relieved to see him, as if afraid she might have to pour the cold
water on her mistress herself.
Well
, he admitted,
I
suppose if Jezebel was my mistress I wouldn't want to upset her
either
. He took the bucket from her, and dumped it
unceremoniously over Jezebel's head. She coughed and sputtered, but
did regain consciousness.

She sat up and started right in on
complaining. “Where is that little slut? How dare she come in here?
I'll kill her!” Jonathan half-listened for a moment before clearing
his throat. She looked at him for the first time and demanded,
“What are you doing here?”

Jonathan snorted. “That's a nice way to treat
someone who just saved your precious little lap dog's life and
revived you from unconsciousness. That is, unless you put the two
knives in Devon and then came out here to take a nap on the
floor?”

“Of course not,” she snapped at him. “You
saved Devon? He's all right?”

He licked his lips, which were suddenly dry,
and answered, “I did. For the moment anyway. He's in a trance right
now so his body can heal without putting any more strain on itself.
I didn't have a chance to look closer though, so he could still
die.” He waved a hand with an air of uncaring.