Hartt lowered his arm, swallowed hard and stared. Just stared.
Mackenzie hovered in the air around thirty feet off the ground, great wings of fire wrapped around her naked body, flames dancing over every inch of her. Those wings opened, spreading to at least forty feet wide, and began to flicker and fade. When they were almost gone, her eyes gradually opened, revealing irises that blazed like white-hot fire.
Hartt couldn’t stop himself from moving towards her as she looked at him, the need to be close to her too powerful to deny, to reach out and touch her and know that she was real.
Alive.
Not a trace of blood marred her pale, perfect skin. No evidence of what had happened to her.
She leaned towards him as he approached, floating in the air with long ribbons of fire leaping from her shoulders, flickering in the air like wings. She reached for him as her hair streamed from behind her, dancing as flames that were a shade darker than her wings, closer to red.
Light continued to pulse beneath her skin, waves of it that mesmerised him, seemed to cast a spell on him as he gazed up at her, drawn to her.
Hartt raised his hands and reached for her too, ached to make contact with her as she slowly drifted down towards him. The tiny flickers of flames that played over her skin chased upwards, away from her hands as they neared his, and he gasped as they touched, as he felt the heat of her skin slowly fading back to normal.
“Mackenzie,” he murmured, his voice thick, laced with the disbelief still coursing through him even now when they were touching.
He still couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that she was back.
Had resurrected.
Mackenzie’s eyes gradually dimmed, the light that chased under her skin fading as she drifted down into his arms, as her legs lowered and her feet touched the black ground. Her hair settled around her shoulders, no longer flames, spilling in red waves that he wanted to bury his hands in as he held her to him and breathed her in.
“I told you to run,” she whispered, and gods, it felt so good to hear her voice again that tears filled his eyes.
“And I told you I wouldn’t leave you.”
She smiled shakily, looked herself over and then glanced up into his eyes. “I guess my secret is out.”
“You’ll have to kill me now?” he offered, and it felt like a poor joke as she looked away from him again, down at herself, an awkward air about her.
He wanted to apologise for it, for referencing something Harbin had told him about once, a joke that the snow leopard shifter had seen on television in his time in the mortal world.
“You are a phoenix shifter.” Grave started towards them, the way he said that making Hartt feel the vampire had suspected as much and that was the reason he had brought Mackenzie outside the town to fight her.
Hartt growled at the vampire as the reason why Mackenzie had turned awkward suddenly struck him. It hadn’t been his terrible joke—it was the fact she was naked.
He used his connection to his belongings to call on some clothes, was quick to help her into a black tunic that swamped her slighter frame, covering her to her knees. She rolled the sleeves up, her fingers trembling badly. He helped her, wanted to close his eyes and savour the feel of her as she leaned against him, using him to keep herself upright.
“The fire at the mansion?” Grave said.
She lifted her head and looked at him, a weary edge to her golden eyes. “It was me.”
Hartt looked from her to Grave. “I have the feeling we all angered the wrong witch.”
“You asked about necromancers.” Grave went to move and then stopped, and warily eyed Mackenzie. “I presume the truce stands?”
She nodded and leaned more heavily against Hartt. Hartt wrapped his arm around her, tucking it beneath her arms, supporting her as the vampire came to them.
And gods, it felt right to hold her like this, to feel her pressed against him.
Just as it felt right that she sought shelter in his arms, relied on his strength when hers had left her, as if they were a team now.
“Blood mages,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and too weak for his liking. He didn’t know much about phoenix shifters, but she sounded as if she needed to sleep, and felt it too as he locked his senses on her, monitoring her in case she needed anything from him. “They use our blood in their spells… to make them live longer… to give them powers.”
“Power over death,” Hartt murmured, his mind racing back in time. “I fought a witch with that power, a few months ago now. We ended up killing the one he was working for, and he got away. We thought the male would attack us, but he never did.”
And now Hartt knew why.
The vampire said it for him.
“It seems he was more interested in pitting his enemies against each other and watching us take each other out for him.” Grave motioned to his brother. “Night, go on ahead and tell the legion to stand down, and ask the servants to prepare rooms.”
The brunet vampire nodded and turned away, leading his witch back towards the town.
“Rooms?” Mackenzie croaked, and Hartt didn’t like the way she trembled, or how it tugged at his darker side, drawing it back to the fore as it flooded him with a need to protect her.
He edged closer to her, hoping it would make her feel safe while she was weak, hoping she would know that if anything happened, he wouldn’t fail her this time. They were no longer working against each other. They were working with each other.
Grave looked at Mackenzie and then right into Hartt’s eyes, his blue ones colder than ice. “You are my guests. Of course you need rooms.”
The way the vampire said ‘guests’ made it sound awfully like he meant captives. Hartt had the feeling the vampire wasn’t giving them a choice in the matter. Mackenzie looked at him as Grave turned away from them, her golden eyes holding a weary but worried edge.
He held her tucked against him, swore to the gods he would keep her safe. The vampire could have them as guests while she was regaining her strength, but as soon as she was strong enough, Hartt was getting her away from this place.
He bent his head towards her ear and whispered, “Whatever happens, just stay close to me. I won’t let anything happen to you, Mackenzie.”
She tilted her head towards him, making him aware of how close her mouth was to his, flooding him with a deep need to kiss her. She lingered, as if daring him to do it, and somehow he found the strength to resist. A flicker of disappointment lit her eyes, made him feel like a bastard for denying her. He stared at her, needing her to see that he wanted to kiss her, that he wanted nothing more than it.
But he didn’t want to hurt her.
Right now, she was weak, recovering from her resurrection, and he feared that no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn’t be able to keep the kiss gentle enough that it didn’t hurt her. He had thought he had been doing the right thing, but the way she looked at him with a flash of fire in her eyes made him feel he couldn’t have made a worse move.
She shirked his touch and wrapped her arms around herself as she walked away from him, her steps unsteady, and cold stole through him as the distance between them grew. When he couldn’t bear it anymore, he strode towards her, swiftly closing that distance.
She didn’t look at him as he fell into step beside her, as he warred with himself, torn between wrapping his arm around her again to support her and doing something else, something he hoped would show her that he was beginning to care about her.