If Fuery had hurt her…
“I left her alone,” Fuery muttered, the sharp, dark edge to his tone revealing that he wasn’t happy about it either.
It wasn’t like his friend to want to harm a female. The assassin must have hurt him worse than he realised, had injured him badly enough that Fuery wanted to lash out at her. Or maybe it was the fact she had pushed him deep into the darkness that had Fuery agitated and out for blood.
The relief part of Hartt had expected to feel didn’t come. One worry merely transformed into another. Alone. Fuery had left her on the outskirts of the town, injured and struggling to come around from the blow his friend had dealt her. Vulnerable. The vampires in that town had seen them fighting, and if the King of Death hadn’t known he had assassins after him, he did now. The vampires would have reported it to him, and he feared the male would send his men out to search the town.
If they found her…
Gods, he wasn’t sure what he would do.
A deep need to find her and make sure she was safe compelled him to move, a powerful urge to protect her sweeping through him on the heels of it. He tried to push up, gritted his teeth as his shoulder ached so fiercely he felt sick. He couldn’t just lie here while she was out there. The gods only knew what would happen to her. He needed to find her.
Fuery pushed him back down onto the bed and Hartt snarled and bared fangs at him, mustered his strength to fight the male and force him to release him.
“Tell me the words.” His friend’s voice swam in his ears, growing distant again as creeping tendrils of darkness encroached at the corners of his mind.
Kill the male. Teleport back to the town. Protect the female at any cost.
That echoed in his mind on repeat, rapidly becoming a cacophony that drowned out all other thoughts. The tendrils seemed to snake around those other thoughts, dragged them down into the shadows so he forgot them. All that mattered was the female.
He wouldn’t let anyone stand between him and her.
The black scales of his armour were cool as they rippled over his hands, as they capped his fingers with long talons. Talons he intended to use to gut the male who was restraining him, stopping him from reaching her.
Cold washed over him, causing his mind to spin and thoughts to twirl and blur. Pain blazed in his side and shoulder, the heady scent of freshly spilled blood goading him into attacking the male who was moving him. Taking him somewhere.
Further away from the female.
The cold remained as they landed, but the scents of Hell gave way to softer, sweet fragrances that were out of place given the time of year in the mortal realm. Roses. Lilacs. Hyacinths. Tulips. Hollyhocks. The smell of the earth and snow carried on the gentle wintry breeze.
His legs gave out and he sank forwards as another scent hit him.
The tinny, strange odour of magic.
His armour peeled away from his hands and he pressed them to the damp grass, dug his fingers into the earth and just breathed, letting nature flow over him to purge the darkness from his soul. Tears burned the backs of his eyes and his nose as he reached for her, desperate to connect with her in a way he had been able to once, before the corruption had spread too far inside him, had stolen too much of him.
Those tears blazed hot trails down his cheeks as he felt her reach for him, as he sank forwards and relief swept over him, together with a thousand other emotions that were too much for him.
“Do you feel her?” Fuery whispered as he crouched before him, as he gently placed a hand on his left shoulder. “She has not turned her back on you.”
Hartt couldn’t believe it. All elves shared a powerful connection with nature, and it was something they all cherished, and if the darkness in their blood became too much and began to taint them, it was something they all began to crave. He felt lighter as he clung to the ground, as nature embraced him rather than rejected him, and the shadows in his soul began to writhe and hiss, baring fangs at the light that filled him.
“I feel her.” He choked on those words, his throat too tight to speak without revealing the emotions running rampant inside him.
Had Fuery brought him here, to this oasis of nature, to help him purge the darkness, or had it been for a reason he didn’t want to contemplate, one he could sense rushing towards him as a door burst open off to his left?
“Oh, mother earth!” The bright female voice held a wealth of horror and disbelief that brought out her English accent, and Hartt could almost picture how wide her large blue eyes would be as she bounded towards them, her ash-blonde hair bouncing against her slight shoulders.
The witch halted beside him in the middle of the lawn of her cottage’s rear garden.
“Look at the bloody state of him.”
The air shifted close to him and tremendous power rolled over him. He wearily lifted his head and gazed at the elf who towered a foot taller than the petite blonde witch, his eyes warm with concern but holding a corona of darkness around his violet irises.
Prince Vail.
Hartt lowered his head, shame sweeping through him together with a need to teleport. He didn’t want his prince to see him like this, even when Vail had been lost to the darkness for millennia, was clawing his way back from it just as Fuery was. The male knew what he was going through, was liable to be sympathetic and supportive about it, helping him in the way he was helping Fuery.
But Hartt still wanted to run, as if that would erase the knowledge of this weakness that infested him from his prince’s mind.
“What happened to him?” Vail’s deep voice curled around him, holding only warmth, worry that touched Hartt but failed to alleviate the sudden feeling of vulnerability that swept through him, swirled and tried to pull him back towards the darkness.
Hartt dug his fingers into the dirt, needing to anchor himself, refusing to let the darkness steal command of him again.
“There is a spell,” Fuery said.
“No,” Hartt barked and whipped his head up, shook it as his eyes locked on his friend. He softened his tone as fear blasted through him, born of a deep awareness of what Fuery meant to do. “No. It is too dangerous.”
If Fuery used the spell that bound them to take some of the darkness from him, it would tip his friend back towards the abyss. He wouldn’t let that happen. This darkness, this corruption, was his to bear.
“Spell. Enchantment. Curse. I don’t care.” Rosalind stomped over to him, shouldering Fuery out of the way, something that had Vail growling and baring fangs at him, as if Fuery had touched his mate and not the other way around. She stopped before Hartt and frowned down at him, a mulish twist to her lips as she assessed his injuries. “I’m going to heal him and then we’ll talk when he looks a little less like minced meat.”
She reached out to grab him.
Vail seized her hand, a desperate and wild look on his face as he leaned towards her.
She stilled and looked at her mate, the hard lines of her face softening as her blue eyes locked with his violet ones. Rather than touching Hartt, she straightened and turned towards Vail, lifted her free hand and brushed her knuckles across his cheek, and then tunnelled her fingers through his wild blue-black hair. He leaned into her palm as she cupped his face, his eyes slipping shut as he tilted his mouth towards her wrist and pressed a soft kiss to it.
“I…” Vail’s eyebrows knitted hard, his mouth flattening.