Frey chuckled. “Sharp end of a sword? The blade, since that is the sharpened part? Or did you mean the point? If you need a lesson in the anatomy of a sword, I am more than happy to give you an up close and painful look at my one.”
He held his right hand out above the rocky ground, his palm facing it.
Hartt arched an eyebrow as the rock split and the round pommel of a sword emerged from it, holding a large blue crystal. The bound black leather grip followed it, and then the cross-guard, a thick but ornately carved bar of silver that cut across the base of the blade. That blade was broad, slowly revealing itself as the weapon continued to rise from the ground, lifting up towards the demon’s hand.
A blade made for a demon.
Syn’s amber eyes gained a strange light as she stared at the sword, as the blade kept going. Three feet long. Four. When it reached close to five feet in length, Frey twisted his hand, skimmed it down the grip, and curled his fingers around it. He pulled the point of the sword free of the rock, set it back against it and stared at Syn, blue fire shining in his eyes.
The demoness edged forwards, her hands twitching at her sides, her eyes locked on the sword. She sounded dazed, or possibly bewitched or enamoured.
“So big—can I touch it?” she breathed, reached for it and caught herself. She scowled at everyone, her expression blackening as she found all of them staring at her. Her tone gained an edge as sharp as the blade Frey gripped. “So I have sword envy. It’s a thing!”
Her sparkly amber eyes leaped back to Frey.
“How’d you get such a fancy one anyway?” The pout in Syn’s voice drew a smile from Mackenzie, had his mate shaking her head.
“I am First King.” Those words were tinged with melancholy and regret, sorrow that only seemed to build as Frey lowered his eyes to the weapon he wielded, transforming into pain that looked as if it was tearing him apart.
“Frey.” Isla softly placed her hand on his forearm again.
He glanced at her as he released the sword and it sank back into the ground, drew a shaky breath and touched her cheek. “I need some air.”
She smiled tightly.
Frey lingered, shifted his hand and brushed his knuckles across her cheek, looked as if he wanted to say something more to her, and then his hand dropped from her face and he walked away from her, out into the frigid night.
“What’s his problem?” Syn muttered.
The temperature of the air dropped so low Hartt swore his blood was freezing.
Isla turned on the demoness, her blue eyes verging on white, her pale hair fluttering at the tips and beginning to rise into the icy air. “A demon like you killed his family—killed my family—my sister and my young nephew. Frey’s sister-in-law and his nephew. A demon like you placed him on a throne that should have belonged to his brother!”
A blast of cold air struck Syn and knocked her backwards. She braced her foot behind her, the flicker of regret in her eyes there and gone in a heartbeat as she bravely faced the phantom.
“Not like I did it,” Syn snapped.
Isla snarled, “Your breed are all the same.”
“His breed are all the fucking same!” Syn shot back, fire in her eyes now. “You don’t know my story, so don’t stand there and act like you do. You don’t know what his wretched kind have taken from me.”
The demoness breathed hard, looked close to hyperventilating as her eyes slowly widened and her hands shook at her sides as she stared the phantom down.
Isla looked as if she wanted to say something, but then she swept from the cave, the soles of her boots floating an inch from the ground. Grave bared fangs at Syn, growled low at her, his crimson eyes bright with a hunger to hurt her, and then went after his mate, following her out into the night.
Syn glared at everyone, her amber irises turning black as her pupils blazed gold and began to turn elliptical. “Get off my back.”
She looked at Mackenzie, regret swift to fill her eyes as the darkness receded and she spoke in a softer tone.
“How was I meant to know?”
“You all right?” Mackenzie went to her, placed her arm around her friend’s waist and rested her cheek against her shoulder.
Syn shook her head and didn’t look at her. She just kept her eyes fixed on the cave mouth, stared at it with a look on her face that made Hartt feel sure of something.
Something he had to be imagining.
Because there was no way the demoness wanted to go after a demon from the mutinous realms, one her Dark Lord, the Devil, had probably raised her to despise and view as beneath her.
Although Hartt had the feeling her problem with Frey and his breed wasn’t born of her upbringing—it was born of something in her past, something that had rattled her when she had remembered it while arguing with Isla.
“You should all try to get some rest.” Night grabbed his thick winter jacket and pulled it on. He zipped it up and jammed his hands into the pockets. “Grave and I can take first watch.”
Hartt nodded, silently thanking the male, and started towards Mackenzie as the vampire walked past him.
Froze as Night flew backwards into the cave, his booted foot catching the fire and knocking the logs everywhere, causing a shower of sparks to leap high into the air.
Cold raced down Hartt’s spine, his senses sharpening in an instant as he whirled to face the mouth of the cave.
And met the milky-blue gaze of a clone.
Chapter 29
One moment Mackenzie was worrying about her friend while at the same time dreaming of bedding down for the night and cuddling up to Hartt, the next she had two-hundred-plus pounds of vampire slamming into her and knocking her flying.
She grunted as she hit the rough wall of the cave first, taking the brunt of the impact for Night as he landed against her.
The second her feet hit the ground, she shook off Night and the blow, trying to bring her senses back online quickly as growls erupted around her and magic laced the air. A cold wind swirled around the cave and a male cried out, the sound growing distant as the scent of blood joined the tinny odour of magic.
“Suit up,” Rosalind barked. “And get me out there.”
A feral growl was the only reply, and then the sensation of power Mackenzie always felt whenever she was near Rosalind and Vail disappeared. In the distance, another shriek cut through the still night air and someone else hollered orders. Grave.
Mackenzie grabbed Night’s arm and hauled him onto his feet as he gripped his head and shook it.
“What the hell was that?” Night snarled and looked at Hartt as he straightened.
“A clone, but not from a witch I recognise.” Hartt glanced back at her, a wealth of worry in his violet eyes.
He didn’t need to give her that look. She was fine. When two short black blades materialised in his hands and he hurried to her and held them out to her, she realised he wasn’t worried about whether she was injured from what just happened. He was worried about what came next.
Mackenzie didn’t hesitate to take the swords. She nodded her thanks as she tested their weight and found she liked it. They had good balance and would serve her better than her daggers. Hartt ripped his scarf and gloves away, tossed them aside and then undid the top fastening of his thick winter coat. Black scales rippled over his hands, transforming his fingers into claws.