Page 89 of Malcolm

Checking the wound, she could see his throat had already started healing.

“Eliza.”

She whipped around to see Malcolm running towards her. Her eyes widened as she spotted a dark space opening up behind him. Ribbons of her magic wrapped around her, and in a flash she reappeared behind him raising a shield between him and his would-be attacker. The tip of the staff penetrated the center of the black circle before it stopped short abruptly.

Dully she stared down where the staff had pierced her stomach, slowly she glanced up at the man who was standing in front of Beliel.

Thick brows quirked up in surprise on the cold face of the newly arrived stranger. Rather than look displeased that Elizahad stopped his attack, instead he muttered, “Phen’s not going to be happy.”

She coughed; blood splattered her front as her hands started to tremble.

“Eliza,” Malcolm shouted, running to her side.

Seeing him getting closer, Eliza shouted, “Don’t!”

She focused her sharp gaze on the Warlock in front of her. “Who are you?”

Not answering her, he glanced down at Beliel. “You failed, he said.”

Beliel shook his head. “No, I didn’t.” He pointed towards her. “I said I would find her, and there she is.”

The noise of the battle going around them didn’t break the tension in the air. The unnamed Warlock looked around, and saw that Kirkle’s forces of rogue wolf kind weren’t going to win. “We should leave for now.”

The warlock looked away from the heavily breathing Beliel to Eliza, where the staff pierced her stomach. With a casual wave he summoned it back. “I’ll be needing that back.”

Unseen hands yanked the staff from her stomach, Eliza cried out as she fell to her knees.

“Eliza.” Malcolm reached her side and stared in mute shock at her stomach where she pressed her hand.

“I-I’m all right,” she tried to say as her hand shook. The pain quickly distorted her attempt to smile.

“You’re not all right.” Malcolm's eyes were black, his voice gravelly as he stood. His tail and ears changed to that of his wolf counterpart.

“You,” he said to the warlock, “will pay for that.”

The warlock’s dead expression changed into euphoric anticipation as he smiled. From between his lips, he drooled black ink. “A mongrel wants to fight me.” His voice turned high-pitched and manic.

“Come, wolfy. Fight me," he loudly demanded. “I?—”

“No,” Eliza screamed, grabbing onto Malcolm’s ankle. Causing her bloody wound to send a piercing signal up her back. “You can’t. You can’t.”

Malcolm was caught between taking care of his wounded mate and fighting the man who’d hurt her. He gritted his teeth, averting his eyes. He bent down and picked her up gently but he kept his eyes on the Warlock and Beliel.

“Keep your heads for me, so I can take them later,” he said, tightening his hold on Eliza.

“Don’t worry, pup,” Beliel said as he stood up, a demented grin taking over his face. “I will be back, and I’ll be taking the heads of the other McLarens when I return.”

After he said those ominous words they were swallowed up by a flash of blue light and disappeared.

Malcolm glared at the spot they’d been. The need to kill them rode him hard. Picking up Eliza, he hurriedly made his way toward the campsite. He barely paid attention to the fallen bodies of those who’d attacked. Stopping only long enough to look at the dead Kirkle, and spit on his body.

Finished venting some of his anger, he continued on his way,

“Malcolm?” He looked down to meet Eliza’s pained gaze. “I’m okay.” She reached up with her blood-covered hand and pressed her hand against his cheek. “I’ll be okay.”

He gritted his teeth; she was trying to care for him even as she was the one bleeding out.

“So, please, don’t make that painful face,” she barely spoke above a whisper.

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