Wykes Manor loomed before them like an ancient promise, its Victorian towers silhouetted against the already darkening sky. The tall windows reflected the warm light of the interior lamps, and for a brief moment it seemed… safe. Too far from the alley, the blood, the broken ice, and the presence that still seemed to cling to their skin.
But the path to the entrance arch was anything but simple.
Damon was visibly limping. His tall, normally firm body now seemed supported more by stubbornness than real strength. His right arm hung stiffly, his fingers still trembling involuntarily, while his back was soaked in blood already darkened beneath his torn clothes. Each step was accompanied by a stifled grunt, his teeth clenched to keep out something worse.
