Chapter Eighty-Four: Carol's POV

Chapter Eighty-Four: Carol's POV
If I fell, nothing would catch me.
My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out the waves and wind.
This thought stabbed into my chest like a knife. I was going to die here. Alone, broken, and Simon would never know the truth.
I used every last bit of strength in my body, twisting violently in Grey's grip.
My scalp tore painfully, several strands of hair ripped out, but I couldn't care.
I planted my feet on the ground, steadied myself, then drove my elbow backward hard into his ribs.
He let out a roar, his grip loosening slightly, just enough for me to twist sideways and break free.
We faced each other again, both gasping for breath, him bearing the marks I'd inflicted—split lip, bloodshot eyes.
I wasn't much better off, palms torn, several strands of hair ripped out.
Behind me was the cliff. One more step back, there would be nothing.
Grey realized this too. The anger on his face slowly receded, replaced by a colder expression.
"Nowhere left to run, Carol." He stepped forward, movements unhurried, as if already assured of victory. "You can choose an easy way, or a hard way. Either way, tonight you're going over that edge."
Then, incredibly, something happened.
A sound like thunder but sharper, more focused.
Grey's shoulder exploded in a spray of blood, he staggered forward, eyes wide with shock and pain.
For a moment I thought he would crash into me, take me over the cliff with him.
But he steadied himself at the last second, dropping to one knee, hand clutching the gruesome wound on his shoulder.
The smell hit me, unmistakable even through the sea wind—silver.
Someone had shot him with a silver bullet.
I spun around, searching for the source of the shot. Thirty yards away, by an old pier post, stood a figure.
Maurice St. Claire.
He stood perfectly still, one hand holding a sleek black pistol, the other hanging at his side.
His suit was slightly disheveled, collar undone, hair falling across his forehead, he'd rushed here.
But his eyes, those dark eyes that sometimes flashed red, were locked on Grey.
That gaze made my skin tighten.
"Carol," his voice carried clearly, "Move away from the cliff edge. Now."
I didn't think, just moved along the cliff edge sideways, eyes never leaving Grey.
The wound on his shoulder was still bleeding heavily, silver not only preventing his healing but poisoning him. The veins under his skin had already started turning black.
"You." Grey ground out, "This is pack business, vampire. You have no right—"
"I certainly have the right to protect my student from being hurt by a deranged werewolf." Maurice cut him off.
He walked forward a few steps, gun barrel steadily pointed at Grey.
Only then did I notice he was carrying a small leather case in his other hand, the kind doctors use for house calls. "Especially when this werewolf is acting outside pack territory and has violated the Seattle Accord. You didn't think the council would turn a blind eye to impersonating an Alpha and attempted murder, did you?"
Grey's gaze shifted from me back to Maurice.
His uninjured hand twitched, muscles tensing, preparation before transformation.
Maurice saw it too.
His finger squeezed the trigger. Another shot, precisely hitting Grey's other shoulder.
Grey was pushed backward by the impact, falling to his knees.
He let out an inhuman howl, pain and rage mixed together, bouncing between cliff and sea.
Both his arms were ruined. Silver bullets embedded in muscle and bone, he couldn't transform, couldn't even use his hands, could only lie there twitching.
Blood pooled beneath him, slowly seeping through cracks in the rocks.
Maurice flashed to my side, ice-cold fingers gripping my arm, even through the jacket fabric I could feel that chill.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
His gaze swept over my face, my torn clothes, the torn skin on my palms, and the sore spots on my scalp where Grey had ripped out hair.
That scrutiny was too detailed, more detailed than ordinary concern.
"I..." I instinctively wanted to say I was fine, the answer I always gave when someone asked.
But halfway through, my voice caught. I swallowed hard before continuing. "I'm okay. Just some bruises. Otherwise okay."
He stared at me for several seconds. Then he released my arm, turned to look at Grey.
Grey was already prostrate on the ground, nearly unconscious, breathing shallow and rapid.
Maurice carefully approached, gun barrel still aimed at Grey's head.
He crouched down, set the leather case aside.
"You shouldn't have dragged my student into this despicable revenge." His voice wasn't loud, but very clear. "No matter how much resentment you hold against Simon Volkov, Carol is innocent. Children shouldn't be weapons in adult conflicts. Even werewolves should be able to agree on that principle, right?"
Grey struggled to lift his head, blood dripping from his bitten tongue. His lips moved, maybe trying to say something, maybe just a dying reflex.
I wasn't sure, didn't want to look too closely.
His eyes had already started to glaze over, silver slowly killing him.
Without help, he would die on this cliff.
"We need to get him back to the pack." I said. "If he dies here, without trial, the pack doesn't know what happened, there will be big trouble."
Maurice stared at me for a long while, head tilted slightly to the side, the way he did in class when I gave an unexpected answer.
Then he smiled. A real smile, showing teeth, creasing the corners of his eyes.
"Smart," he said softly, "You're already thinking like a leader, considering political consequences."
This praise should have warmed my heart, but I only felt tired, felt far older than twenty.
I watched Maurice open his leather case, inside was an array of medical instruments, some looking very old.
He worked quickly and efficiently, expertly extracting the bullets from Grey's shoulders.
"How did you know I was here?" I asked.
Maurice didn't look up, his fingers steady, injecting something into Grey's neck. Grey's body jerked once, then went completely still.
"I saw you leave the laboratory this afternoon," he said, "Something about you seemed wrong. Tense, scared, but also determined, then you got in a car, I kept feeling something wasn't right."
"Your instincts," I repeated, skepticism in my tone. "You followed us all the way on instincts?"
Maurice looked up, those dark eyes meeting mine directly, making me catch my breath.
"I have lived a very long time, Carol." His voice was calm.
"Over this long time, I've learned one thing—to trust my instincts about people, especially about those..." he paused, "about those I protect. If instincts tell me something's wrong, I listen."
I looked away.
The weight of his gaze was too much to bear, I turned to look at the darkening sea level, sunset staining the clouds blood and fire.
"Thank you." These two words squeezed out of me, more sincere than I'd ever said them before. "If you weren't there, if you hadn't followed, I would have—"
"You would have found a way." Maurice gently interrupted me.
I wanted to believe him, wanted to catch this confidence he threw my way.
But all I could think about was how close I'd been to the cliff edge, if Maurice's gunshot had been one second later, Grey could have easily pushed me over.
My hands started shaking. Maurice noticed immediately.
He set down his instruments, gracefully stood up, and before I could speak, he'd already draped his suit jacket over my shoulders.
The fabric carried his coolness, but quickly began to warm.
I wanted to say I wasn't cold, but the words stuck in my throat. I lowered my head and smelled his lingering scent, couldn't help pulling the jacket tighter.
The warmth on my shoulders made my eyes suddenly heat up, but I held it back.
I looked at Grey's prone body on the ground, then at Maurice.
"We need to get him back to the manor." I said, "Simon isn't there, but Samuel knows what to do. He can keep Grey locked up until Simon returns from the East Coast to decide how to deal with him."
Maurice shook his head.