She waggled it in the vampire’s face and then Hartt’s, a wicked smile teasing her red lips. Hartt wanted to frown at her, but his gaze got snagged on her mouth, and his mind blanked. Gods, he wanted to kiss her again.
Her hand slowly lowered and heat flooded her golden irises, making them glow.
Grave cleared his throat. She tensed. Hartt tensed too. Looked at the table and then the vampire, and then back at her when she glanced away from him. Crimson stained her cheeks, and her eyes gained a shy edge he found adorable.
Alluring.
“Where did you meet him?” Grave said, dragging Hartt’s focus back to him and his mind back on topic.
“At the guild. He came to visit when Fuery—”
“Mad bastard,” the vampire muttered, earning a glare from Hartt.
“Takes one to know one,” he bit out, unwilling to let Grave talk crap about his friend. His brother. “If you have a problem with Fuery, I can gladly tell him for you.”
Grave arched a dark eyebrow at him, an unimpressed edge to his blue eyes, and then huffed and pushed away from the table. He strode to the windows, clasped his hands behind his back and stared out of it. Apparently, the King of Death didn’t want Fuery banging down his door but wouldn’t admit it. Hartt could understand why. Revealing weaknesses was something he was reluctant to do too, mostly because it would tarnish his reputation.
“Describe what he looked like.” The vampire looked back at him and Mackenzie.
“He was blond,” Hartt said and frowned as Mackenzie spoke at the same time as him.
“Black hair—” Mackenzie broke off and looked at Hartt.
“Well, which is it?” Grave turned his back to the wall and leaned against it between two tall sash windows, folding his arms across his chest and pulling his crisp black shirt tight across his shoulders.
Hartt waved Mackenzie on when she looked unsure whether to go first. “I have the feeling that the reason Rosalind sensed magic on me is because he altered his appearance, and that you’re about to tell me he had neat, short black hair, a tall and slender build, and crimson eyes.”
“Not crimson eyes. They were blue.” Mackenzie frowned. “I’m guessing because we were meeting in public places. Stuck up English accent?”
He nodded, the weight in his gut growing heavier. “He didn’t bother to change his appearance dramatically for you because you’ve never met him. There was no need to pretend to be someone else. At least it confirms we’re dealing with the witch I fought in London. I don’t think it can be anyone else.”
Grave pushed away from the wall. “I cannot say I have ever met him.”
“Understandable,” Hartt put in. “Like he never met Mackenzie before hiring her. He had decided you were enemies before ever laying eyes on you. Me? I didn’t become his enemy until we killed the mortal huntress he had been working for and almost killed him.”
Something hit him.
Mackenzie looked at him, a flicker of confusion crossing her features as he reached for her. He seized her wrist and pulled her forwards, so she slipped from her seat on the table.
She placed her hand over his and looked up into his eyes. “What has you so jittery?”
“I have to warn everyone. The guild… Underworld. They’re all on the lookout for a male with the description you gave me… the way he had appeared to me. If he can use magic to alter his appearance, then he can use it to get close to my friends. Close enough to kill them.” He tugged on her hand, but she stood firm, even dared to glance at the vampire.
He growled at the male, a reaction he couldn’t hold back, just as he couldn’t stop his fangs from descending or his ears from flaring back against the sides of his head as aggression flooded him, filling him with a need to fight the vampire.
Because she wanted to remain with the male, was picking the bastard over him.
Mackenzie arched an eyebrow at him. “You seriously expect me to walk into a rival guild that probably wants me dead?”
He frowned at her. “You seriously expect me to leave you alone with the vampire who killed you?”
Her eyebrows pinched hard, her mouth flattening and the corners of her lips turning downwards. She was silent for seconds that felt like hours, and then sighed.
“I suppose you have a point. I should go back to my guild anyway. Syn knows about the witch, but—”
“You’re coming with me,” he interjected.
A little too harshly judging by the arched brow she tossed at him again, together with a pointed look that said he was being a controlling dick. He didn’t mean to be, but the thought of parting from her roused something dark inside him, something that reacted fiercely and flooded him with a desperate need to keep her with him at any cost.
“I might.” Her frown stuck, and the edge of wariness her eyes gained hit him hard, made him want to release her and let her do as she wished even as he wanted to lock his hand tighter around her wrist and stop her. She was genuinely worried someone at his guild might try to harm her. He could understand her reluctance. He would feel the same if she demanded he go to her guild. She sighed. “I’ll go with you if you swear none of your people will try to hurt me… especially this Fuery fellow.”
He clenched his jaw as he realised Fuery was the real reason she was afraid of coming with him. She had good reason to fear him, or she had in the past.
“Fuery will not raise a hand against you. I swear, he won’t even speak harshly to you. I will see to it.” He ached to lift his free hand and touch her cheek, wanted to chase her fears away and see trust in her eyes, not wariness.
“I could go with you,” Grave offered with a hint of amusement in his voice.
Because the vampire knew exactly how Hartt would react to that.
Hartt bared fangs at him, barely tamped down the urge to launch across the room at the male and beat him to a pulp for trying to remain near Mackenzie.
“I can’t teleport both of you,” he bit out.
Not a lie. Teleporting Mackenzie was liable to drain him badly enough since she was powerful. He couldn’t risk trying to teleport the vampire too. It would be too much for him, would tap him out and leave him vulnerable to his darker side, and would prevent him from being able to teleport to London to warn the others.
The best he could manage these days without provoking the darkness by draining himself was two average people, or one powerful one. He had learned that the hard way by teleporting Fuery and Harbin together. He had almost passed out. It had taken him hours to recover.
He feared he didn’t have hours to warn the others.
The witch was clever, had no doubt been keeping tabs on him and Mackenzie to see what progress they were making. By now, he was probably aware that Hartt and Mackenzie had teamed up with each other and the vampire. Hartt feared that meant he was liable to turn his sights on others, striking at them to weaken their side.
Or to provoke one of them into reacting.
Hartt wanted to believe he would be able to keep a clear head if the witch targeted anyone at the guild or Underworld, but deep in his heart, the oily darkness was already writhing, seething with a need to hunt the male down and take out anyone who dared to stand in his way.
He was a liability, and to stop himself from being that, he needed to speak with everyone.