I stood and stared down at the pair. Con was torturing his former master, long blue fingers around the warlock's throat, his other hand scratching over bared skin. The warlock's face was dark with struggle, eyes rolling back, but Con was toying with him, pulling away and returning. I had no sympathy for the warlock, but the sounds coming from the hall were restless. We needed to leave.
I braced myself, stepped forward and pressed my hand to Con's back, crying out and then swallowing the pain down. It was familiar. Beloved.
"That's for me," I forced out. "Con. Stop. Stop. Your gifts are for me."
Con pulled his hands away, twisting to stare up at me, brow furrowed but eyes wide, almost innocent.
Is he ours now?the roots asked.
Yes! Yes, please, I answered, my head muddled and my arm numb, still touching Con.
"We have to leave. Save your gifts for me," I said.
Lively roots burst from the floor, and Con's head turned, blinking at the sight, but then he stood. The warlock managed one weak effort to rise before eager ropes of life tightened around his throat, squeezing and twisting until they drew out a horrifying internal crack.
The gold medallion was hot in my hand, electric pain running like a current up my other arm, and the man on the floor was revealed in full, a rapidly disintegrating husk of age and the corrosive influence of dark magic. Con pulled away from my touch and I gasped, staring at him as he stepped over the warlock, staring down, reassuring himself of the man's death.
I'd barely caught my breath when Con turned and snapped me up in his arms, my scream at the sudden vivid shock, equal parts desperate and delighted. He pressed his face to my bared throat and then rubbed me against his groin, where he was growing hard.
"Not here," I gasped out, my chest tight and struggling for air. Con growled and shook, a set of claws scratching over my ass. I wanted to laugh, but it was impossible in this strained state, torment coursing through me. Still, it was nice to know he was happy to see me.
The walls around us shook, and I recalled my point. "The house is about to come down. We have to get out."
In the hallway, metal groaned and a dangerous, high-pitched rending sounded.
Con set me back on my feet, pushing me toward the wall. A shadow blurred over the hallway's stone, and a snarl echoed nearer. Shit. Something or someone had gotten out, and I didn't know if they were friend or foe. Con twisted and pointed me toward the roots crumbling the stone wall at my back.
"What about you?" I asked.
He reached for my hand, brought it up to his face, and I whimpered as he nuzzled my palm, holding my gaze with his. A claw scratched over my pulse, a wretched slicing sensation as a gesture of reassurance.
He would make it out. Especially if he didn't have me to worry about.
"Take this," I said, holding the talisman out on its chain.
But his head shook, hand retreating, and he turned away. Which meant the talisman was in my care, at least for now. I wrapped the chain around my palm as an enormous, glistening, twisted beast of a creature extended one vast, taloned foot in front of the cell door.
Con's knees bent, his shoulders flexing, spreading himself out like a shield in front of me. He will have an easier time making it out once I'm gone, I told myself.
"I'll see you outside."
He nodded without looking back, and I stumbled back into the roots, their thin hands reaching for me eagerly.