Did he love Iolanthe? He thought he did, but what if he was wrong? What if he wasn’t? He had loved Iolanthe for as long as he could remember, and while there was a time where he had put her to the back of his mind, those feelings had roared back to life inside him again when he had seen her that fateful night in Underworld. They had remained strong since then, had kept his mind on her and kept him distracted.
He debated going back to Underworld, a test to see how he would react to Iolanthe, and how she would react to him if she saw he was hurting.
Saw the wound Mackenzie had made in his chest by leaving him.
He shut down that need because no good would come of it. He needed distance from both of them, needed solitude and quiet, a place to think and get his head straight. Seeing Iolanthe or Mackenzie would sway him one way or another, and he was in no mood to be pulled apart in an emotional tug of war.
So instead of returning to Underworld, he returned home, teleporting not to his room but to the main entrance of the guild. The impressive gothic façade towered above him and he tilted his head back, running his gaze up the huge arched wooden door of the cross-shaped building to the circular stained-glass window that sat above it. Light flickered behind it, illuminating the colourful depiction of a battle featuring both him and Fuery.
He lifted his gaze higher, to the steep pitched black roof and the two five-storey tall towers that flanked it, and the dull grey sky speared by their conical roofs.
This was home. This was where he belonged. His guild. This had been his life—steady and dependable—for centuries and it was all he needed. He was sure of it. He and Fuery had carved this place out of nothing, had worked hard to elevate it to the position it occupied as the best assassin’s guild in Hell and he wouldn’t allow females to distract him from his work here.
He huffed as a need to find Mackenzie ran through him, shoved it back down and stomped forwards. He pushed the double doors open and entered, deeply aware of every soul in the building. Harbin was back, which should have been a relief, but Hartt felt nothing as he moved forwards, his boots loud on the polished black stone floor as he made his way along the broad arched corridor that led to the main reception room.
The space opened out into a huge black-walled room. Movement to his left caught his eye. Harbin stood from the horseshoe of onyx velvet couches that nestled around the large marble fireplace, a flicker of concern in his silver eyes. Fuery rose from the couch opposite him and twisted to face Hartt.
Hartt spared him a smile and turned away, banking right towards the door in the wall there that led to the wing where his quarters were located.
“Fuery told me about the witch,” Harbin started.
Hartt sensed the male closing in on him, together with Fuery.
“We shall discuss it tomorrow.” Hartt waved him away, felt it when Harbin glared at his back.
He didn’t bother making an excuse for his curt dismissal, just kept on walking, heading for that door that beckoned him. Solitude would be his just beyond that door. All he had to do was navigate the maze of corridors while avoiding any of his assassins and he could lock himself in his room. Fuery would leave him alone then. Everyone would leave him alone.
He wanted to be alone.
To do what? Think things through?
Pine for Mackenzie?
He growled and clenched his fists, relished the sharp sting as his nails bit into his palms. She had left him and maybe it was for the best. He had work to do, needed to concentrate on this mission and finding the witch, couldn’t afford to be distracted. The darker, more primal side of him snarled at the thought of leaving her alone in the world, raged with a need to see her and know she was safe, uncaring of how angry she had been with him.
Harbin made the mistake of stepping into his path.
Hartt grabbed the silver-haired shifter by the front of his black T-shirt and twisted with him, slammed him so hard into the wall that the plaster cracked beneath the impact and Harbin grunted.
And then hissed at him through emerging fangs as his irises brightened around his pupils.
Aggression rolled off Harbin, stoking a need to fight in Hartt, one that only grew stronger as the snow leopard shifter grabbed his wrist and shoved him backwards, breaking his grip on him. Harbin growled again, silvery fur rippling over his corded forearms as he advanced on Hartt.
Hartt stood his ground and stared the snow leopard down, goading him in a way. Harbin never could back down when someone challenged him, was easily provoked into fighting and defending his perceived territory, just like any feline shifter.
And Hartt wanted a fight.
It wouldn’t be the first time the two of them had ended up brawling when one of them needed to blow off steam. Harbin’s blood ran as hot as Hartt’s. Both of them were easily seduced by a hunger for violence, to bruise flesh and attempt to break bones.
As predicted, Harbin launched at him on a roar, slammed into his chest with enough force to knock the air from his lungs and sent both of them stumbling into the centre of the large room. Hartt was quick to grab him by the back of his neck and yank him backwards in an attempt to shake him. Harbin dug his claws into Hartt’s shoulder, refusing to release him, and spun with him. The shifter’s leg hit the back of his and Hartt grunted as the male twisted him over it and his back smashed into the polished black stone floor.
Harbin growled, flashing fangs as he leaped on top of him, as his fist ploughed into Hartt’s face. Hartt grinned at him, baring his own bloodied fangs as the coppery tang of it flooded his mouth. A need punched him hard in the gut, a hunger that rose swiftly to obliterate his awareness of the room.
Not a need to fight.
But a need to taste the sweet, smoky flavour of another’s blood.
Mackenzie.
He snarled, hooked his hand around Harbin’s nape and dragged him down as he reared up. He cracked his forehead against the silver-haired male’s and relished the grunt that burst from his lips. Pain spiderwebbed across Hartt’s skull, made his eyes ache and vision blur, but it didn’t slow him down. He shoved Harbin while he was recovering, pushing him off balance and onto his back, rolling on top of him so he was in control of the fight.
Hartt slammed his right fist into Harbin’s face, splitting his lower lip, and followed it with a brutal left hook that knocked his head back the other way. Harbin snarled, growling low, a warning that sparked Hartt’s instinct to defend himself, because Harbin was about to lose it.
Silvery fur rippled over the male’s arms as he launched them upwards, as he moved faster than even Hartt could dodge. He grunted as Harbin’s hands closed around his throat and he squeezed hard, cutting off his air supply. It still didn’t stop him. He delivered another punishing blow to Harbin’s jaw, raked claws over his forearm and bore down on him when his grip weakened. The scent of Harbin’s blood joined his in the air.
Satisfaction rolled through Hartt.
Followed by surprise as Harbin’s legs lurched upwards and he flipped Hartt over his head and landed on top of him. Harbin growled right in his face as he released Hartt’s throat, satisfaction gleaming in his bright silver eyes as he punched Hartt, striking him so hard his brain hurt.
The next blow had shadows encroaching at the corners of his vision.
Hartt couldn’t take another like it without passing out.
He teleported, appeared a few feet from Harbin as the shifter roared, his anger clear in it.