It was a brutal blizzard outside, the wind howling fiercely.

Mike awoke drenched in sweat, his body feeling much more at ease than it had before. He considered getting up to dress, but noticed his clothes were hanging to dry a few yards away, quite out of his reach.

Reluctantly, he glanced towards Beth, who was resting on the sofa, "Madam, my clothes..."

"They're over there," Beth replied, gesturing lazily with her head, eyes still closed.

Feeling compelled, Mike pressed, "Could you possibly hand them to me?"

Beth, not wanting to interrupt her relaxation, muttered, "I'll just close my eyes." True to her word, she shut her eyes firmly, as if to convey, "I won't peek, be my guest."

"Still," Mike hesitated, "I would appreciate your assistance, Miss." It wasn't that he was incapable of undressing in front of someone—far from it. He often had attendants to help him bathe and change. But those attendants were nothing compared to Beth. To be disheveled in her presence would be a grave offense. She might not care, but he couldn't abandon his manners.

Beth, seeing his determined demeanor, finally stood and retrieved his clothes, handing them over. "Still a bit damp."

"No matter, thank you, Miss," Mike replied, turning away clumsily to dress.

Beth observed his struggle. "These things are trivial, no need to be overly concerned."

"For you, Miss, who lives for freedom, trifles hold no bounds," Mike responded, struggling into his garment, "Yet if I don't act with decorum, it is my fault."

Beth was silent for a moment, then spoke slowly, "I must apologize, given I was the one who changed your clothes."

Mike froze in the process of fastening his belt, looking at her incredulously. He had assumed she had someone else change his clothes—how could it have been her, hands-on?

Seeing his confusion, Beth elaborated, "Your clothes were soaked when you arrived. I thought of finding someone to help, but I couldn't risk them noticing anything suspicious about your attire."

The fabric he wore was uncommon, perhaps even embroidered intricately, which made her cautious of involving anyone else. As a result, she'd changed him herself, seeing more than she'd expected.

Mike processed this slowly, exhaling heavily. "Your goodwill is immeasurable, Miss, and I am profoundly grateful. Yet should your reputation be tarnished because of me, I would gladly assume all responsibility." He wanted to assure her, but with no path open ahead of him, any promises would have to wait until things were resolved.

Beth found his earnestness both novel and entertaining. "You're truly interesting."

The remark wasn't pejorative; rather, she found his demeanor, atypical for a man, intriguing. Perhaps it was because she hadn't encountered many men from various cultures, or maybe it was his uniqueness amidst adversity... Regardless, her sentiment towards him shifted subtly.

"Very intriguing," she repeated with a chuckle.

Mike was momentarily captivated by her laugh, his pulse quickening. He had known from their first meeting that she was beautiful, but up until now, he had viewed her actions as calculated, a benefit to some larger ambition.

This moment altered that perception, stirring a more intimate feeling.

A delicate, unspoken tension hung in the air.

Attraction between two people is intangible, not needing words. A glance, a smile—they revealed the subtle shift in their connection.

Beth chuckled again, her laughter a gentle ripple in the air, and sat back on the sofa. "Weren't you going to get dressed?" 

Waking from his reverie, Mike cleared his throat, turning to retreat behind the folding screen.

When he emerged, Beth gestured towards the stove. "The medicine should be ready now, go take some."

After a single lesson, the task was simple; he poured the concoction into a bowl and drank, feeling the welcomed warmth spread through him.

Beth couldn't resist laughing. "You should rest... Who's there?!" Suddenly alert, she registered a disturbance, sprinting to the door.

With a thunderous crash, it swung open, revealing five masked assailants clad in black. Three converged on Beth, with two setting their sights on Mike.

Beth extended her arm, her bracelet seeming to come alive and with a swift motion, it shot out with lethal precision, incapacitating one of the attackers instantly.

Within a breath, one adversary fell. The remaining four exchanged glances, reflecting mutual horror. Yet as death was the sole outcome for failure, they resumed their assault.

Channeling energy into the bracelet, it appeared serpent-like, ensnaring foes with searing, fatal strikes.

The attackers fell. The fire hindered their advance, and their weapons, forged of iron, were powerless against the animated steel.

Their numbers diminished.

As Beth reeled in the weapon, her attention snagged on a fleeting blue glimmer. Reflexively, she questioned, "What’s that?"

Her words preceded sight. Her bracelet responded, capturing the anomaly and bringing it back, revealing a diminutive butterfly, shimmering sapphire and pinned within its coils.

Beth regarded the captive curiously, "What is this?"

"Mercy, oh Sacred One!" From between its translucent wings appeared a diminutive, pleading face adorned with delicate features.

Agitated, Mike nearly stopped breathing. "A demon!"

Beth narrowed her gaze, "What exactly are you?"

"Mercy, Sacred One, I'm bound by force, compelled against my will, never intending harm," the butterfly pleaded, tears like dew on Beth's skin.

Beth opened her mouth to interrogate more when the sound of breaking porcelain echoed from the hallway. A servant from the neighboring room, having smashed a tray, screamed in hysteria, "There's a dead body!" He staggered away, panic-stricken.

"Time to leave." Beth seized the butterfly and swiftly confiscated the fallen attackers' purses and weapons, pushing them into Mike's hands, "Take these."

Before he could protest, Beth rolled up the sleeping bag from the car, her composure unshakeable, "Follow me."

Navigating the inn’s convoluted hallways, she guided them to the garage. Under Mike's watchful eyes, Beth commandeered an official's vehicle with remarkable poise.

"Get in," she instructed, bundling Mike and their belongings inside before taking off, dust and snow swirling in their wake.

By the time the inn's occupants gathered, all they found were five disfigured bodies and no trace of the enigmatic young couple.

Nor of the official's car.

***

"Miss, this isn’t the way to drive." Battling the harsh blizzard, Mike sat in the driver's seat, wrapped in blankets, attempting not to circle aimlessly as he instructed Beth on the vehicle's operation.

Beth handed him the wheel decisively, "Then you drive."

With wind-numbed fingers, Mike managed to maintain the course, gradually mastering the steering until they moved steadily forward.

Beth, confident the problem was solved, tapped his shoulder, "Keep it steady, I'll rest now."

Nodding, Mike replied, "Rest assured, Miss."

Holding the butterfly, Beth reminded him, "No worry, the snow’s heavy enough to mask our tracks."

The snowflakes clung to his shoulders, the wind needling his exposed neck. But Mike adapted to the change—from cozy refuge to the icy wilderness—with increased composure: "Understood."

Satisfied, Beth settled back into the warmth, spreading her palm where the diminutive butterfly lay motionless, nearly lifeless. "Are you alive?"

"Mercy... Sacred One..." it buzzed faintly.

Unmoved, Beth pressed, "What are you?"

Timidly, it revealed, "Though a petite clan by nature, we’ve gained recognition as Seekers due to our innate olfactory acumen."

Beth paused, processing. Her initial suspicion matched Mike's—a supernatural creature. But with talk of clans and practitioners... Could it be as she suspected?

Her mind drew connections to the distant advisor. "Who sent you? Mason?"

"Yes, he slaughtered my kin, forcibly bonded me, compelling my obedience," the butterfly confessed sorrowfully.

Beth's absence of memory hindered judgment, leaving her to bluff, "In that case, I cannot let you live." She moved to strike the colorful critter with her bracelet.

Terrified, the butterfly flinched, "Sacred One, though we bear no other talents, my sole trait poses no threat. Spare my life, I beg you."

Beth sighed softly, weighed down by its plight. "Yet, as an enemy, how can I not act?"

"Please understand, my vendetta lies with Mason alone," the butterfly entreated, voice quivering with urgency, "He annihilated my clan, forcing me as his servant—I couldn't refuse..."

Tears flowed freely as it struggled to convey despair.

But even as it pleaded, Beth's resolve didn't soften. The weight of the situation was fixed; it was aligned with Mason’s schemes and not sympathy could bridge that chasm.

In desperation, the butterfly revealed a crucial fact, "I only gained speech from consuming his elixirs. If noticed, he would not spare me!"

Beth's stare sharpened, a smile dawning, "So you wish to see him fall?"

The butterfly’s silence spoke for it.

The realization formed in Beth's mind, her exterior calm gradually returning, "Tell me then, what are Mason's intentions?"

"He’s merely human," the butterfly admitted, its gaze hopeful, "Once you recover, he stands no chance against you, Great One."

A chill crept along Beth's spine, yet outwardly she feigned amusement, "How do you know I've been injured?"

Gingerly, the butterfly answered, "Your power's depletion, your frail spirit—all suggest grave wounds."

Power... Spirit? Beth thought back to her unusual abilities, the strange attire, the unyielding bags, the mental strain... each peculiarity had a plausible explanation now, lending truth to the creature's claims.

Ruminating silently, she relaxed her grip, "You’re a clever little one. Now, inform me—what's Mason planning?"