“I know,” she whispered, as soft as the first flakes of snow that swirled around Hartt, dancing down from a thick blanket of clouds. “I should have thought before I acted. You know me—always leaping before looking.”
“I wish you would not,” Vail mumbled, a decidedly grumpy edge to his voice now, one that revealed exactly how little he liked that flaw of hers. “It is hard to protect you when you—”
Rosalind shifted her hand to his mouth, pressing two fingers to his lips to silence him, and smiled softly. Silver sparks lit her irises as she tiptoed.
“We talked about this. I can’t really help it when I get witchnapped.”
Vail’s frown hardened and his nostrils flared as the tips of his ears grew pointier, and Hartt could sense the darkness rising inside him. Who had dared to kidnap his mate? Had it been only the one occurrence? Or was she often kidnapped?
“I still want to see you and the demon wrestle all naked like. Maybe with oil involved.” She smiled saucily.
It did not improve her mate’s mood.
He glowered at her, darkness ringing his brightening violet irises as his pointed ears flared back. “That will not happen. No one sees me naked but you… and you see no one naked but me.”
Vail wrapped his arms around her and tugged her hard against him, claimed her mouth in a kiss that had the witch melting against him.
And forgetting she had company.
Hartt tried not to stare as she practically climbed her mate, wrapping her legs around his waist and clutching his hair as she kissed him.
He tried not to think about Mackenzie and how she had kissed him with the same ferocity. He could still taste her on his tongue, like honey with a slight smoky note. Had it been the battle high and the heat of the moment that had provoked such a response in her, or had it been him?
Had she wanted to kiss him?
Still wanted to kiss him?
“Is it the darkness?” Fuery’s voice pierced his reverie and he frowned at his friend.
A grimace twisted his lips as he realised his ears had been growing pointier, his eyes brightening just as Vail’s had. Fuery had mistaken desire for rage again.
He shook his head.
Just beyond his friend, Rosalind awkwardly rearranged her plain black dress, her cheeks bright pink and not because of the cold. Vail continued to stare at her, fire in his eyes, hunger that felt so familiar to Hartt now. He was sure he had looked at Mackenzie like that more than once.
“Can you help him inside?” Rosalind looked at Vail and then Fuery, and wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her bare skin. “The weather is turning bloody awful. Wouldn’t want him catching his death out here.”
“Little wild rose.” Vail reached for his mate instead of Hartt, a tender look on his handsome face. “You are cold too.”
“I know. But I won’t be if we hustle. Come on. Nice cuppa tea to warm us up while I heal him.” She turned away from them, starting back towards the picturesque thatched cottage.
“I need to know the words that form part of this spell that binds us. I need to be able to activate it too.” Fuery took hold of Hartt’s left arm and Hartt wanted to protest, but he could only grit his teeth as pain shot across his chest, searing his ribs, and his heart skipped a beat.
Rosalind turned dangerously bright blue eyes on Fuery. “I’m going to heal him, and then we’ll talk business.”
“But—” Fuery snapped his mouth shut as she pivoted to face him and silver stars burst to life in her irises, the scent of magic growing stronger in the wintry air as her expression blackened.
“My house, my rules!” she snapped and the tiny flakes of snow within a fifteen-foot radius of her melted and fell like rain.
Fuery made the mistake of glancing at Vail, not to check on him to see if he was reacting negatively to the use of magic around him, but to implore him.
Rosalind folded her arms across her chest again and huffed. “Why are you looking at him? He’s not going to weigh in on this and help you.”
Vail just shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling beneath a thick black woollen jumper.
He came to Hartt, stooped and gently took hold of his other arm. Hartt struggled to hold back a grimace as Vail helped him onto his feet. He pulled free of the male’s grip and fought to remain standing under his own volition, not wanting to appear weak in front of either elf.
His right knee instantly buckled.
Fuery was there to stop him from making an utter fool of himself, keeping him upright.
Rosalind led the way to the back door of the one-and-a-half storey cottage. She opened it for them and he gritted his teeth as he lifted his left foot and the wound above his hip burned. Concern danced across her eyes and she looked as if she wanted to say something, but a glance at her mate had her holding her tongue.
He could understand her reluctance to put voice to her worry about the state of him. Vail was holding it together, but the corruption was strong in him, forged by thousands of years of abuse by another witch who had held him under her spell, forcing him to fight his own people.
And his own brother.
Thankfully, Prince Loren had disobeyed his advisors’ orders to eliminate Vail and had ended up saving him instead when he had discovered a witch was controlling him against his will. Prince Loren was now working to convince his council to allow Vail to return to the elf kingdom, but Hartt had the feeling Vail was happier here.
And he couldn’t blame him.
This pocket of nature was beautiful, serene, and calming. Hartt felt deeply connected to the goddess here, could feel her strength flowing into him by simply being inside this magical bubble Rosalind had created. He felt sure that if he could just laze in the garden here, could close his eyes and listen to the birdsong, feel the warmth of the sun on his skin and breathe deep of nature, that he could purge the darkness just as Vail was.
And Fuery was too.
He smiled tightly, amused at his train of thought.
He had forced Fuery to continue his visits with Vail even when Fuery had felt they were no longer benefitting him. Maybe he should have stuck around whenever he had dropped Fuery off. Maybe passing time here would have helped him too, would have prevented the darkness from stealing control from him when he had been wounded.
Hartt frowned as someone settled him on a worn leather chaise longue in front of a roaring fire, looked around at his new surroundings and couldn’t remember how he had gotten to the drawing room.
Rosalind nudged several stacks of books aside with her booted right foot, clearing a space that she dragged her green velvet armchair into. She settled on it and Vail came to loom over her, a grim edge to his expression and darkness threatening to devour the amethyst of his irises.
“Little wild rose,” he murmured, his voice thick and low.
She smiled up at him and lifted her left hand, brushed her fingers across his palm in a gentle, soothing caress. “Just a little magic. Perhaps you would like to walk around the garden with Fuery? You could show him the work you’ve been doing at the bottom near the field.”
Vail’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked between her and Fuery, a war erupting in his eyes.
“You don’t have to,” she whispered to him. “If it becomes… It’s always an option.”
His face crumpled and he shifted foot to foot.
Fuery had told Hartt that Vail was undergoing something called exposure therapy, where Rosalind would use spells around him in a controlled environment to help him overcome his aversion to magic and the violent responses it provoked in him. Fuery had also told him they had hit a bump recently.