Grave slid a look at his brother. “Night, return to the bastion and bring aid for the female.”
Night glowered at his brother. “You want to heal her? She’s trying to kill you. He’s trying to kill you.”
Grave’s eyes narrowed, his dark eyebrows drawing down as he turned to his brother. “I issued an order, Night.”
An order that didn’t go down well with Night, had him looking as if he was seriously considering telling his brother to go to hell. Tense seconds trickled past and Hartt’s temper shortened with each one that slipped through his fingers. If the vampires wouldn’t help Mackenzie, he would have to find a way to do it himself.
“My mate is a witch. She can help the female.” Night’s deep voice held a reluctant note and Hartt wasn’t surprised when he muttered, “Still think this is a stupid idea.”
The vampire was swift to leave before Grave could say anything. Whether he would be swift to return was another matter. Hartt didn’t trust either male, felt certain that if the one he had just let go did return, it would be with reinforcements rather than the witch he claimed was his mate.
He monitored Mackenzie’s pulse as he ran through his options. He wasn’t sure what species she was, but elf medicine worked on most. He could run until he was clear of whatever spell had been cast on this place and then teleport to the guild to get some, but that meant leaving her alone with the vampire. Plus, he couldn’t be sure she would survive taking it. Elf medicine sped healing, but it condensed all the pain the person would have felt during the natural course of healing down into less than a minute. With her injuries, so much pain could be too much for her.
His other option was trying to move her, either taking her with him to his guild or to Rosalind. The witch might be able to heal her. The trouble was, he felt sure that if he tried to move her, he would place her in grave danger. She was weak, her breathing uneven, and he could almost feel her pain as she moaned and curled inwards, clutching herself.
“Your vampire better hurry,” Hartt growled at the King of Death. “He better not be lying either.”
“Night is not a liar.” Grave ran an assessing glance over Mackenzie. “His mate is a witch.”
“Witches,” Hartt snarled. He was beginning to despise their kind. They were causing him nothing but trouble. He sighed as he corrected that thought. Not all witches were bad. Rosalind had helped him. He looked at Grave. Rosalind had been right about him too. They did know each other. Well, now the vampire was going to give him some answers. “Rosalind believes our client, the one who hired both of us to kill you, is a witch. Can you call to mind any witches that might want your head?”
Grave pursed his lips and frowned, lifted his hand and brushed his thumb across his mouth. “The phantom mages hate me, but I killed most of those.”
And enjoyed it judging by the satisfied gleam in his pale blue eyes.
“Maybe you upset someone related to them? Someone who loved one of the mages you killed?” Hartt tried to ignore the witch that popped into his head, the one he feared was behind everything, but Mackenzie coughed and spilled more blood down her cheek, and dancing around things took a back seat. “Maybe you upset a necromancer?”
Grave’s expression went slack. “I was hired a long time ago to take out a family of that breed of sorcerer. When we arrived, the mansion had been burned to the ground. I have never seen anything like it. The entire area was scorched and some of the stone had been melted.”
Melted?
“What kind of being has the power to melt stone? Another witch?” Hartt glanced at Mackenzie when she moved, weakly pressing her hand to the black dirt and attempting to sit up. He turned to her and stroked her cheek, his brow furrowing as he gazed at her. She was pale now. Too pale. He feathered his fingers down to her throat and softly whispered, “Mackenzie.”
“Hartt?” she croaked and grimaced, shuddered and coughed, bringing up more blood.
“Hold on,” he murmured, pain lancing his chest as he glanced at hers, as he stared at the deep wound that spread scarlet across it and felt her growing weaker. “Help is coming.”
She shivered, her teeth chattering as she curled inwards again. “Cold.”
He rubbed her bare arm, trying to get some warmth into her. Rather than settling down, she tried to move again, managed to push herself a few inches off the ground. Hartt took hold of her and gently lifted her, unable to deny the need to hold her. He gathered her against him, so she rested on her back with her head on his thighs, hoping the angle would allow her to breathe more easily.
“Vampire,” she wheezed. “Said something. Mansion.”
He bared fangs at Grave when he moved closer. The vampire wisely halted, keeping his distance.
“Someone left a request letter and a hefty amount of coin on the doorstep of the First Legion. They hired us to take out a coven of sorcerers. Blood mages, apparently.” Grave looked off to his left, towards the town.
Hartt looked there too, relief washing through him when he spotted Night returning, clutching the hand of a brunette female in an ankle-length plain black dress. He hadn’t been lying then. He did have a witch on hand.
“Request?” Mackenzie forced the word out, her voice strained as she tried to look at Grave, as she attempted to twist towards him.
Hartt had to grab her shoulders to stop her from moving, felt her desperation as it echoed inside him, a wild and restless thing that demanded he help her.
Grave frowned. “It was only two words: Save them. Scrawled below it were coordinates. When we reached them, it was the smouldering remains of a mansion, littered with burned bodies.”
Mackenzie grimaced as she fought Hartt’s hold, trying to sit up. Her golden eyes were wide as they sought Grave, a crazed edge to them.
“Did you meet… one who left… note?” Her voice gained pitch as she pushed at Hartt’s hands and he held her more firmly, refusing to let her move.
The witch finally reached them and sank to her knees. He paid her no heed as he fought with Mackenzie, battling to keep her still. She choked again, her chest heaving as she coughed up more blood. Her eyes glowed more brightly as she looked at Grave.
The urge to claw the bastard’s heart out and crush it before his eyes blasted through Hartt and he had to fight to tamp it down, shifted his focus entirely to Mackenzie, using his need to take care of her to keep him in place and stop him from attacking Grave.
The vampire shook his head. “No. I felt… bad… that I hadn’t been able to save the people there. I killed the remaining sorcerers, a group who returned while we were there. It was all I could do. There was no one left alive to save.”
Mackenzie’s trembling worsened, her eyes glowing brighter still, beginning to blaze like the sun. Her breathing grew shallower and faster, and tears spilled down her cheeks as she shifted her gaze from the vampire to Hartt.
He gazed down at her, stroking her cheek, willing her to fight as the witch rattled off a list of ingredients she needed and Night rushed to get them.
“Does she know the sorcerers?” Grave said.
Hartt shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
But he wasn’t sure.
There was so much pain in her eyes as she gazed up at him, so much fear, that he shivered and held her closer, desperate to keep her with him.