Clare backed up, matching Madeline’s pace as she stalked forward. Each step the older woman took made a soft clicking noise on the stone. Then, faster than Clare had thought she was capable of, Madeline darted forward. One bone-tipped leg shot out. Clare sidestepped and swung her poker, trying to break the appendage. She only managed to swipe it aside so that it missed her. Clare moved back, putting herself out of reach, but stumbled on her injured leg. Pain bloomed out from the cuts, and Clare swallowed a gasp. The makeshift bandage was saturated.
She risked a glance to the side. Dorran was trying to reach her, but every movement was foiled by the monsters surrounding him. Their bony arms wrapped around his, slack jaws chattered into his face, and talon-like claws dug into him. He lifted the shovel repeatedly, slamming into them, knocking them back, but there were too many. The creatures never stayed down for more than a second before rising again and rejoining the fray.
He was running out of energy. Clare tried not to think about what would happen when he was exhausted. Madeline claimed she had control over her maids and had instructed them not to kill her son. But as their bulging eyes fixed on Dorran’s exposed skin, Clare had the sense that their hunger was at risk of overcoming their loyalty.
Madeline circled Clare, her eyes unblinking. Her arms stayed at her side, but she repeatedly clenched her fingers into fists then relaxed them. That and the coldness in her eyes were the only visible signs of emotion.
“You’re out of choices.” Clare held the poker ahead of herself, wishing it shook less than it did. “Dorran won’t be coming back to you. But there’s still time to save yourself. Take your maids and leave us alone. You can start a new life without him.”
“Insolent. Ignorant.” The words hissed through clenched teeth. Madeline’s expression flashed dark. She darted forward, two of the legs stretched out to impale Clare.
Clare had anticipated the attack, but she didn’t try to escape it. Every step sapped her energy and caused fresh blood to trickle down her leg. She had to end the fight quickly. It was their only chance. She took a risk. Instead of trying to dart back, she stepped forward.
Madeline had been expecting a retreat. Her legs went wide of Clare’s new position and stabbed thin air. Moving forwards pushed Clare right into the woman’s personal space. Her eyes were level with the twitching claws extended from the matriarch’s stomach. They wiggled, agitated. Clare could hear Madeline exhale. See the sweat glistening on her neck. Smell the stench of breath tainted by rotten meat. She angled the fire poker towards the ceiling and stabbed up in the same instant Madeline lunged down.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Hot liquid drenched Clare’s arms. She squeezed her eyes closed, knowing she would either pass out or be sick if she had to look at what she’d just done. The fire poker twitched in her hands as Madeline convulsed. Then it was wrenched out of her grasp entirely as the woman lurched back.
Clare’s nose was full of the harsh metallic tang of blood. It coated her, sticking to her hair and face and dripping from her arms. Clare finally opened her eyes. Madeline stood a pace away. The metal pole impaled her head, running through the underside of her jaw and with the sharp tip poking out from her steel-grey hair.
The woman’s upper eyelids fluttered, and the sagging lower ones twitched. Clare let her arms slump. Madeline’s lips parted as though to speak, and Clare caught a glimpse of the black metal inside her mouth. Then the matriarch crumpled backwards.
A plume of dust billowed up around her when she fell. Her spindly insectile legs tangled over themselves. One gave a feeble twitch then fell still as the dust began to settle.
“Oh.” Clare couldn’t hold herself upright any longer. She dropped to her knees and retched. She was dizzy, and she couldn’t tell if it was caused by blood loss or shock.
Through the buzzing in her head, she was faintly aware of noises in the room. Scratching. Clattering. Her consciousness made a final bid for coherence.
Dorran is here. He needs help. You’ve got to get up. Don’t leave him to fight them alone.
She struggled a few inches off the ground then slumped back down. Everything was turning numb. She couldn’t see properly, but suddenly, she wasn’t alone. Hands caught her, and she heard Dorran speaking her name.
“Did she hurt you? Clare, my darling, I need you to talk to me. Where are you hurt?”
She blinked, and Dorran filled her vision. Tracks of sweat and blood ran through the grey dust coating his face. He held her, one hand on each of her shoulders, keeping her upright.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled. She squeezed her eyes closed as she waited for the nausea to fade. “You… you killed them?”
“Two of them. The others ran off when…” He glanced over his shoulder, towards his mother’s corpse, and when he returned his attention to Clare, his expression softened with mingled relief and sadness. “You were very brave, my darling. They ran when she fell. I think we are safe now.”
Clare nodded. Her eyes burned. Tears began to escape, and she was too tired to stop them. Dorran moved closer and circled one arm around her back so that she could rest against his shoulder. She knew she must smell awful, like blood, sweat, and the oily musk that permeated the basement. But he didn’t try to recoil. As he ran his hand over her hair and murmured soft words of comfort, Clare felt safe for the first time in a long while.
“I can take you somewhere more comfortable where we can clean up and rest. We can worry about this mess later.”
Clare looked from the fallen matriarch to the crushed bodies of the two dead creatures. She nodded sluggishly. Dorran kept one arm around her back and reached the other under her legs to lift her.
“I can walk,” she mumbled.
“I know. But this is easier.”
Clare’s eyes were already drooping. “You’re tired.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “I’m never too tired to hold you. Rest now. I will take care of everything.”
Clare drifted into sleep. Her subconscious was vaguely aware of the bumps of ascending stairs, but whenever she stirred, Dorran rocked her and lulled her back under.
It was night when she woke properly. The familiar bed and crackling flames told her she was back in the bedroom. Blankets were draped over her. She rolled over, moving gingerly as aches flared. A warm body lay at her side. Dorran watched her, his eyes half-lidded.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” He smiled, and featherlight fingertips brushed stray hair away from her forehead. He ran his fingers across her cheek in a caress then relaxed again, leaving the hand resting on the crisp sheets between them. Clare squirmed her own hand out from under the blankets and took Dorran’s. Their fingers wrapped together. It was a small touch, but it felt intimate and good.
She was clean, and she realised he must have undressed and washed her while she was asleep. Fresh bandages were wrapped across the bite marks and scrapes.
It was a sudden reminder of the first day she’d met Dorran. She’d woken in his bed, wearing nothing except her underwear and bandages. Back then, she’d been terrified of him. Now she couldn’t think of anyone she trusted more.
Outside, the storm raged, hurling sleet against the walls and rattling the windows, but Clare had never felt so comfortable.
“We’ll have to face the real world again soon,” she murmured.