He frowned now, the darkness in danger of flooding his irises with black as his mood shifted. “If it upsets you, I can make the witch do her work outside.”
It was sweet of him to mask the truth with such an innocent-sounding word like ‘upset’. He could feel the trickle of fear in her, but didn’t want to call her on it, didn’t want her to feel as if she was weak for being afraid of the witch to a degree.
“It’s not that.” She lifted her hand and placed it over his, savoured the feel of his against her cheek, how strong and steady it was. That strength flowed into her too. It chased her fears away, belief that he would never allow this witch, or any witch, to hurt her ringing in her heart to calm it. “It just feels different to all the magic I’ve encountered before.”
“Rosalind is of the light. I believe she focuses mainly on protective and healing spells.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek, his look softening. “But I think this lightness you feel, this calm, comes from our connection. This place, and Rosalind’s magic, is deeply rooted in nature. Those roots have grown deeper still in the time Vail has been here. He is close to nature, far closer than any other elf besides his brother can hope to be. Being here is a sort of comfort to me. It is hard to explain.”
It was the nature thing again. She had always thought elves dark, a vicious species who were ruthless in battle and spared little thought for others, preferred to remain among their kind and looked down upon the rest of Hell. She had never realised how deep their bond with nature ran, how fiercely they craved a connection with the goddess. She placed her free hand on Hartt’s chest and closed her eyes as his heart drummed against it. She could feel it there though, a constant yearning to connect with nature, to bathe in her light and be nurtured by her, and on the other side of that coin, a constant fear she would reject him.
If this was a weakness in his species, it was a beautiful one.
Phoenixes had no such goddess of their own, bowed to no deity. They had lost all the traditions of their people long ago. They had been cast aside when they had been driven into hiding by the blood mages, fear of revealing what they were causing her ancestors to forsake them. She knew only rumours of them, whispered tales of how things had been when they had soared free in the skies of their realm.
One that existed on another plane.
The mages had invaded and had driven many phoenixes here to this world, and the gate between the two realms had been closed to her kind, trapping them. Now, the oldest of her people, those who had been able to vaguely recall the beauty of their world, what it was like to live there and be free, were gone, and the tales of it were dying out.
Now, the only thing her kin had to show to the new younglings were faded cave paintings of the world they should have lived in.
A world beyond their reach.
“You’re hurting,” Hartt’s smooth, deep voice rolled over her, soothed the pain she felt whenever she thought about that world she had never seen with her own eyes.
“You just got me thinking, that’s all. About the world of my people.” She opened her eyes and lifted them to meet his, smiled softly when he looked confused. Elves weren’t the only species with closely guarded secrets. “Phoenixes are not from here. Thousands of years ago, mages invaded our world through a portal, and drove hundreds of phoenixes through it, into this world where we are supposedly weaker. That gate was sealed to us and we can’t return, but sometimes I get this yearning… this constant nagging need to find a way back there.”
It was impossible though. Many phoenixes had searched for a way to open the gate, and all of them had gone mad in the end, driven insane by a constant thirst for knowledge, to find the one scrap of information that would give them the key they sought.
Hartt raised his other hand and framed her face. “Elves have been in Hell for almost five thousand years. Prince Loren and Prince Vail have been alive for all of those. Maybe once this is done we can speak with Vail?”
She didn’t dare hope that the elf could give her any information on her kind, but a tiny spark ignited in her chest anyway, defying her. She thought about her feelings towards elves and realised the reason she had thought them aloof and distant, unfeeling and vicious creatures, was because she had always heard that from her parents, who in turn had heard it from their parents.
What if the reason her kind thought elves were so cruel was because they had refused to help them in the past?
Besides the demons, elves were the oldest species in Hell. If there was a possibility that the elves could help her find the key to unlocking the gate between this plane and the one where her kind lived, she had to pursue it.
She checked that need, tamped down the fire that burned inside her, quelling the urge to go to the elf prince right that moment and shake answers out of him. She pulled down a long, slow breath and then another, seeking calm. Purging the need to seek a way to unlock the gate.
She didn’t want to end up mad, twisted by a pursuit of knowledge that might not bear any fruit.
Too many phoenixes had lost their lives that way.
She wrapped her arms around Hartt’s waist. Besides, as much as she was curious about the world her ancestors had come from, she was happy in this one and was in no hurry to leave it.
Hartt dipped his head and kissed her, a soft slow one that made her feel light inside, warmed by the love she could feel in it and in him.
“Oh, good grief. I leave you alone for two seconds and you’re at it like rabbits. Newly-mates.” Rosalind spoke that last word like it was a curse and Mackenzie could practically hear the eye-roll that accompanied it.
Hartt reluctantly released Mackenzie and looked as if he wanted to scowl at the witch for interrupting them. Rosalind gave him a pointed look, one that dared him to do it. He huffed instead and stepped aside as the blonde approached them, didn’t stop her as she seized Mackenzie’s wrist again and tugged her forwards.
“Knew I shouldn’t have let him take you from me. Honestly. Come along now.” Rosalind looked back at her. “I don’t bite. I leave that to my husband. You’ll find me perfectly charming, absolutely sweet, and adorably acerbic.”
Mackenzie glanced back at Hartt as she tripped along the hallway behind Rosalind.
He shrugged and whispered, “She’s not wrong.”
Rosalind huffed again. “You want to wait outside with your pals? I don’t think so. Dial it back.”
Mackenzie was beginning to like Rosalind with her take-no-crap attitude. She had the feeling that aspect of her personality wasn’t the product of being mated to a powerful male. Rosalind felt powerful in her own right, had clearly lived in the cottage for some time, and ran a business from it by the looks of things.
The witch released her and gathered a cardboard box filled with glass vials into her arms, causing them to clink together as the box bowed and bent and she struggled to lift it. “Bloody things. You’d think the supplier could have used something sturdier. I just don’t know why clients can’t have potions in neat, square bottles that fit together nicely. No… they need the colourful curved bottles with pretty stoppers that look the part.”
“Here, allow me.” Hartt took the box from her, effortlessly lifting it from her arms and waiting for her to direct him.
When she pointed to the far corner, beyond the fireplace, and Hartt headed in that direction, Mackenzie looked there and raised an eyebrow. There were five other boxes like it stacked in a neat pile. How many vials did the witch need? Was this a year’s supply or a month’s?