Page 18 of Ashwood (Wallflowers and Demons #1)

His body is flushed, naked, human, cock now hanging limp between his thighs, cut from marble and heat. He is all muscle, taut and ridged…my gaze lands on the wood still jutting from his chest.

Dorian …

I roll off him.

My palms wrap around the shaft, then I pull. There is resistance then, with a slosh, it tears free from his chest. The wound closes and blood disintegrates until only smooth skin remains.

Like before.

My shoulder fall.

He can’t be killed.

And then they crawl through the wreckage toward our sullen forms. Four. Skittering. Slithering. Snarling. Childlike shadows dancing wild against the storm. They pour through the shattered skylight and breach the sundered walls.

“Wake up,” I whisper at Dorian’s side. I press my hands to his cheeks. His skin is burning and dotted with sweat. “ Dorian, please.”

He does not stir.

“Your Grace.” I slap him. Then a second time, but harder. “Dorian! Wake up! Wake up, please—”

He remains frozen, curled hair drenched against his cheekbones. My heart pounds so loudly, it is all that I can hear.

I open my mouth, ready to scream.

Steel clashes and gunfire explode against the stone walls, cutting me off. A monster is ripped in half before it can lunge. I whipped my gaze across and expelled a relieved sigh.

The staff.

“Your Grace—“

Gabriel appears with his sabre drawn and fresh blood dripping. It disintegrates as soon as it appears. The butler flanks him with a broken fire poker, and a cut bleeding across his left shoulder.

I crouch protectively over Dorian’s body as the others flood in. The driver and the valet come from the rear. The last demon is incinerated with a final crack of a pistol.

“Part-demon,” I breathe.

Mrs. Grange catches my look. She stands beside me. “They were sick, both of them. They stayed because it worked.”

“Worked?”

“His Grace injected them with a mild strain before the explosion. The driver’s body heals now. The valet smells things no man should.”

“Consumption,” the valet says behind her, breathless but composed. “It was killing us. But no longer.”

It’s monstrous, but it saved them.

And perhaps, I as well.

My legs tremble as I push myself to my feet. The remnants of my torn dress cling to my skin, damp from the rain. My thighs are slick with everything Dorian left inside me. I don’t bother hiding it, but there is also nothing to say.

Gabriel, who watches in horror, stops me. “What happened?”

A bloody stake lands at his feet.

“I saved my husband.”

Then I turn. I walk past Nora, who stands with her mouth agape and her hands clutched over the hilt of a butcher’s knife.

“Princess,” she whispers.

I walk past Gabriel, the others with my head held high, and point to Dorian’s collapsed form. “Help him.”

Williams does as asked. He heaves Dorian’s unconscious form over his shoulder. Then, barefoot and filthy, I limp toward the manor.

When did I misplace my slippers?

Christ, I need a bath.

With aching muscles and skin numb from the cold, the group follows me back to Halfway Manor.

∞∞∞

The next day, morning arrives with giant streams of golden yellow.

I am surrounded by a room filled with books, vials, and old glass tubes.

Shelves of grimoires, preserved specimens, flasks of rainbow, and handwritten journals.

It is Dorian’s room, one we now share. Compared to the demonic spawn of last night, it is the most normal thing I’ve seen on our arrival.

I am strangely comforted by it.

Dorian is asleep, naked beside me, modest with a single blanket. Nora arrives first, shaken. She eyes Dorian warily, and filled with judgment, lays down a tray of steaming tea, coffee and pastries.

Shaking my head, I tuck a pillow behind me and prop myself upright. “He is not evil, Nora. If you cannot trust him, trust me instead. If he can create this madness he can cure it. I’m certain. Have faith.”

“His Grace is dangerous,” she replies quickly. “He can hurt you. He almost did. This is black magic. We cannot stay.” Her voice drops to a quivering whisper. “Our souls will be damned.”

I shake my head. “It isn’t magic, it’s alchemy. Dorian—“ I pause. “His Grace has a plan to send me away, somewhere safe after the ball. We are to discuss this further after we arrive at the castle.”

“You mustn’t sleep here. Now is our chance to run—“ the maid begins.

I place a hand over hers. They tremble .

The fear in her eyes is real.

“It will be alright. I will handle this. Please, Nora, you are exhausted. Rest if you must.”

Nora sighs in defeat. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

Nora departs and I am alone with him again.

He does not move in sleep. I fear I might be able to watch him for eternity, the man whose face was carved by gods.

There I remain, without the will to move, nor dress.

It isn’t until lunchtime that I am called downstairs.

It seems an impromptu meeting has been organised by the staff itself.

I gather my wits and a fresh dress and force my way downstairs. Dorian remains asleep, compelling us to remain at Halfway House another day.

It is now too late to depart.

Downstairs, a buffet and Lord Gabriel await, lonelier now without his two men who perished last night. His face is grim, pulled back from what I know was a restless evening.

The staff who are still staff, await behind him. Despite this madness, I am a duchess and this is a place of decorum.

“Dorian,” Gabriel quips. “Is he not coming?”

The butler speaks. “When the Duke has to regenerate limbs, he may rest for an extended period.”

He blanches at the image. “Then, let us not dally. I must know everything.”

It’s then Dorian appears in the open hallway, dressed in a his nightwear. There are dark circles under his eyes but he seems improved; more himself and in control.

The valet appears behind him.

“Your Grace, you are indecent! Please!”

But Dorian ignores him and sits down at the table. The chef lays down his lunch and warm coffee.

Dorian already has the black notebook pulled out. He lays down the sketch. He reveals the system he installed inside the castle after he became duke.

“It transports waste away from the castle. Water comes from rain collected on the castle roof, mixes with excrements which then flows through underground pipes to a special area where it’s made clear by stones and sand, so it returns as pure water.”

I raise an eyebrow. “How does this have anything to do with what we are discussing?”

“It worked. My panacea. It saved their lives.” He points to the valet and the driver who are standing nearby.

“But there was a terrible accident. I don’t know how it happened.

I must’ve fallen asleep. There was a fire and contamination.

The experimental room was burned down. I predict the tincture cure went down the pipes and out into the forest behind the castle.

From there, it’s washed into an adjoining stream, infecting the local area. ”

He opens his notebook and reveals a roughly drawn map of Ashwood.

“The forest behind Ashwood curves up at the edge of the outer mines. That’s why the Earl became monstrous.

He must’ve become infected somehow. A botanist looking at Ashwood plants no less.

Once we knew he was inside the forest, he had boarded the ship to London — alone. ”

Katherine frowns. “But the creatures attacked here.”

Dorian nods. “It’s spreading — and quickly. We must return to Ashwood Castle. There are supplies there. I have a plan to kill it — to contain it.”

“And Lord Sainsbury…his staff?” Gabriel enquires.

Dorian sips his coffee. “The rest of the staff were never found. We don’t know what happened to them.”

He glances at me. And I know.

There’s something he isn’t telling me.

Steaming tea wafts up my nose as I sip. “What is it?”

“The Crown Prince. He is attending our ball.”

I choke on the tea, then gather myself, using a napkin to dab my lips. “What? You are serious?”

“He hopes to secure a diamond contract. Cancelling the event will mean scandal, exposure, and betraying the crown. It is treason to deny him.”

It is something to consider.

There are, of course, some issues now.

How do we ensure guests will be safe at the ball. Two, how will we or anyone travel through the cursed forest and three, how does my husband plan to they stop the infection, especially with bow-street runners poking their heads around?

Dorian can’t send me away until we are done playing these games. The Prince will attend the ball, and now with the Bow Street runners at our heels, we can’t afford to look like suspects. If just one of them succumbs to the Prince, even Lord Gabriel’s testimony will not save us from the gallows.