Chapter 69
The Portal outside the gates of Castle Morana swirled out of existence behind her. She pushed herself forward, despite the sweat building on the back of her neck and across her palms.
The winding path past the gates had never felt longer. She fell into the massive doors, knocking them open and falling to her hands and knees.
Maeve looked up. Mal stood at the center of the hall with his hands tucked casually behind his back. Abraxas whispered hurriedly in his ear. A hushed chaos ensued around them. Astrea stood over a Bellator, changing healing spells in a vibrating tone.
Not even Mal’s cold stare, and the temperature of Morana to match, lessened the burning in her core. Her skin was aflame with Reeve’s fire.
“Astrea,” said Mal coolly, his eyes never leaving Maeve as he interrupted Abraxas.
Astrea withdrew from the Bellator at once, following his gaze to Maeve.
“Maeve is hurt,” said Mal.
He stared at the burns on her arm with an unreadable expression.
Abraxas met her tired eyes for a moment, shock rolling over his face as he realized the only way she could have received such a wound.
Maeve swallowed hard, averting her eyes back to the floor.
Astrea stood before her. “Let me see your arm,” she said briskly.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” panted Maeve.
Mal spoke with royal control. “Maeve. Astrea will heal your arms.” He turned on his heel and didn’t look back as he said. “That’s an order. Ensure they don’t scar, Astrea. Come, Abraxas.”
Abraxas didn’t hesitate to fall in step with Mal. Their footsteps faded down the corridor.
“An order,” said Astrea. “You aren’t used to getting those. What did you do out there to deserve the cold shoulder?”
A sigh slipped from Astrea. Maeve looked up at her. They remained locked in a glare until Alphard appeared. He stepped behind Maeve and slid his arms under hers, pulling her off the floor.
“No–” she began with a groan, the heat of Reeve’s Magic shifting through her quickly. Alphard swirled her around towards him and gripped her shoulders tightly.
“What were you thinking going to Reeve like that?” He hissed down at her, disdain running through his eyes.
Maeve took him in through blurred vision. One side of his chest was coated in dried blood around a tear in the fabric of his uniform.
“Are you alright?” She asked without hesitation.
Alphard merely nodded. His grip loosened, but he did not let her go. His gaze traveled to her ripped sleeves and the scorched skin along her arm.
“You aren’t,” he said.
“I’m not like you,” said Maeve. Her head bobbed over her shoulder at Astrea. “I don’t need her. I can do it myself. Like most things, it seems.”
Astrea’s nostrils flared.
“Astrea,” said Alphard, “go heal the rest.”
“Her arms, Al,” his sister started. “I was given a direct order–”
“I don’t give a fuck if her arm rots and falls off. We will all die in the explosion if you touch her.”
Astrea didn’t argue further with her brother. She stormed in the other direction without a word.
“Why are you so stubborn?” Said Mal boredly as she slumped into a chair in his study. Abraxas sat at his desk, hunched over a scribbling quickly, with a cigar in his mouth.
Maeve didn’t answer. She laid her burned arm on the armrest and began healing herself in silence.
Mal nearly rolled his eyes as he batted her hand away, ripped what remained of her sleeve and wrapped his fingers around her forearm.
Prickles of ice weaved their way into her skin, sewing up the wound, stopping the blood flow and numbing the pulsating pain. Maeve’s eyes slid to a close, and she melted back into the chair, letting the cool leather stick to her clammy skin.
Mal’s fingers slid lower, pulling a soft moan from her throat.
She rolled her head to the side and opened her eyes up at him. Despite their solid green color that brought her an uneasiness, he looked down at her softly. His free hand moved to her face, and she welcomed his gentle, fleeting touch.
His Magic brushed across her skin, negating the flush of her cheeks. His eyes traced down to her healed arm. He withdrew his hands and turned from her, leaving her empty once more.
“What do you make of the Senshi Army?” Maeve asked Abraxas as he poured wax onto the envelope and pressed Mal’s seal into the spreading green liquid.
He pulled his cigar from his lips and didn’t smile. “Obviously worth their salt.” He took another pull. “Or you wouldn’t have gotten wounded.”
He looked up at her and smirked playfully.
“Do you enjoy seeing my Dread Viper bleeding, Abraxas?” Asked Mal dryly.
“Not at all,” said Abraxas. “But naturally I enjoy her lack of usual perfection.”
“Any Second that isn’t quick enough to react from a physical assault is far from perfect.”
Maeve looked up at him. There was no denying they were burn marks, and there was only one other being powerful enough to wound her.
Mal took a seat and placed his hands in his lap.. “So what did Reeve of Aterna say to you?”
Abraxas stopped smoking, frowned, and looked over at Maeve. “You saw him?”
“She went to see him,” Mal corrected.
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” she said coolly. “And yes. I did.”
Abraxas shook his head back and forth quickly. He sat up with a straight back and put out his cigar. “What for? That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“It makes no difference if it was I or a raven.”
“You are incredibly wrong about that,” said Mal icily.
Maeve looked over at him. “I hoped if I asked him personally to submit that, it could sway him.”
Mal’s head shifted to one side. “And why would you think your word would impact him so?”
Maeve rested her head against the chair-back. “I assisted in breaking his shields,” said Maeve. “You told me not to advance on the southland. You never said I couldn’t deliver the message personally.”
Mal nearly smiled, and looked away unable to argue. It was Abraxas who was in a tizzy.
“What did he say?” Pressed Abraxas.
“He didn’t exactly,” she replied.
Abraxas groaned. “Maeve.”
“Brax, ambushed by our request to bend the knee or not, it will make no difference.”
“That is not your decision to make,” said Abraxas. “There are so many things in motion. You cannot just take it upon yourself to change the course of things I have laid out.”
“How could you possibly know the course of things?” She said. “You don’t know if he will bend or not.”
“That’s not the point,” he said, whipping out another scroll of parchment. “It wasn’t your place.”