The bond he had with Fuery was slower to come into focus, and for a chilling heartbeat he thought it was gone, but then he sensed it as Fuery reached for him, as the blood bond and the spell that linked them revealed itself.
“We should move somewhere warmer.” Rosalind continued before he could agree with her, “Mostly because I’m freezing my tits off.”
Vail gathered her into his arms and rubbed her back through her thick clothing. “To the cottage?”
She shook her head, but Hartt beat her to speaking.
“What happened to the mage?” He looked at Mackenzie.
Syn poked her in the shoulder. “Someone incinerated him. I don’t think blood magic can bring him back from that death.”
Hartt was glad the bastard had gotten what he deserved, held Mackenzie a little closer as he realised that was the reason she was naked—she had died again, destroyed herself with her own fire in order to defeat the mage.
He had tried to spare her that pain, but in the end he had only hurt her.
“Come on. Cave, now.” Rosalind tapped Fuery on the back of his head, earning a growl from him.
She disappeared before Fuery could turn on her, whisked away by Vail. Hartt mustered his strength to teleport, but darkness swept around him before he could manage it, and when it fell away, warmth caressed him. Mackenzie pressed closer to him, and he huffed as he felt her naked curves against his, thought about how things had ended the last time she had resurrected and felt the first stirring of desire.
He summoned clothes from his quarters, the thick winter ones he had discarded on the battlefield, and held them out to her. She wriggled onto her backside and pulled them on, donning the trousers first and then the jacket. Hartt glanced at his wrists, relieved to see the twin black and silver bands that contained his armour had survived the fire of his rebirth.
He issued the mental command to it and scales swept over his body, covering him from neck to toe.
“Guess we don’t have to worry about giving ourselves away now.” Syn tossed three logs and a handful of kindling onto the fire. It flared, showering sparks high into the arched ceiling of the cave, and greedily devoured the new fuel.
Fuery sank to his haunches beside Hartt again, giving him the impression he wasn’t going to be able to go anywhere without his friend, for a while at least. He doubted Fuery would let him out of his sight for the next year at a minimum.
A black patch formed on the ground closer to the mouth of the cave to Hartt’s left and Frey rose out of it, holding on to Isla and Night’s hands, facing Grave. The King of Death was quick to release his brother and fuss over his mate, checking her from head to toe and back again. Frey’s blue gaze slid to Syn and then the fire, but Hartt had the feeling it would be slipping back to her again before the demon knew it.
“It has not been pleasant to meet you all.” Grave finally stopped checking every inch of Isla, and turned to Mackenzie and Hartt. “But, should you ever need help with something, I owe you.”
Hartt nodded. “Same here.”
Mackenzie shifted so her side pressed against Hartt’s and snuggled close as he placed his arm around her shoulders.
She looked at Grave. “Same goes for my guild. As a bonus, I’ll even add you to my do-not-kill list.”
Grave scowled at her, but then his features softened and he nodded slightly. “I would appreciate that.”
He turned to Isla and then his brother, and finally Frey.
“Are you able to teleport us home?”
Frey hesitated and snuck a glance at Syn, who kept her cheek to him. She had her gaze locked on the fire in a way that reeked of avoiding looking at him. He stared at her, a silent battle in his brightening eyes, and then huffed and grabbed Isla and Night, who both quickly seized hold of Grave as they dropped into a hole in the ground.
“Well, thank my Dark Lord he’s gone.” Syn’s tone was a little too bright. A little too breezy. “I hope I never see him again.”
She played with her black hair, twisting the softly spiked ends just above her right shoulder.
And briefly touched her polished onyx horn on that side.
Mackenzie stood and went to her, gathered her into a hug that had Syn scowling at her, looking as if she didn’t have a clue why his mate was holding her. Hartt shook his head and smiled. It fell from his face as he thought about his fight against the mage and recalled things about it. His violet gaze slid to Fuery.
“I know why the mage targeted me. It wasn’t because of coin. He said something about how when we killed the huntress, he lost access to someone called Aryanna.” Hartt frowned as he remembered something else too.
“Aryanna?” Fuery’s eyebrows knitted hard. “Do any of you know that name?”
Rosalind and Vail shook their heads, and neither Syn nor Mackenzie looked as if it was familiar to them as they broke apart.
“I think she’s a witch,” Hartt put in and everyone looked at him. “The mage mentioned power. Something about a Crow beating him to her power.”
Rosalind stiffened. “A Crow? You’re sure he said Crow?”
Hartt nodded.
Concern washed across her face.
“What is it?” Hartt pushed to his feet and came to face her, wanted to growl when she looked at her mate rather than answering him.
“This is a little worrying,” she said softly, her pale eyebrows furrowing. Her blue gaze shifted back to Hartt. “A Crow is… They’re a sort of witch, but none of my kind would dare call them that in front of another. They’re reviled. We call them Crows because they steal from the dead. Not anything physical. It’s power they steal. Spells. Memories too if the tales witches whisper about them are right.”
“So this Aryanna is dead?” Hartt frowned again when she shook her head.
“Possibly not. We only say they steal from the dead because… It’s hard to explain. The legends say that a Crow isn’t born a Crow. They become one. They’re born with the gift. They’re normal witches until something happens to them and reveals what they are… a creature born of the death of another of their kind.”
Hartt wasn’t wholly following her, tried to make sense of what she was saying but found it hard to believe when she had labelled it as a legend. “So a Crow is a witch born with all the knowledge of a previous Crow, but they don’t know they’re a Crow until something awakens them?”
She nodded. “Because of the accumulated knowledge they gain, they’re extremely powerful and dangerous. They have thousands of spells at their disposal, ones lost to other witches. If a Crow is after something, then that can’t be good.”
Hartt had to agree with that. “It would have to be something they need… something that could make them more powerful.”
He couldn’t imagine what one of these Crows might need that wasn’t already in their head courtesy of whatever magic or dark power had created them.
“And it has to be something inside Archangel.” As Hartt said that, Rosalind’s look only turned more sombre.
He didn’t like the thought of the hunter organisation having a powerful witch or whatever Aryanna was in their hands either. He had lost too many good people and friends to that organisation’s apparently ‘noble’ cause.
“I’ll talk to Sable and her gang—the crew at Underworld. We need to know what this source of power Archangel is holding is and Sable might know.” Rosalind paused and frowned. “Or Talon, the tiger who works for Kyter now. I heard he was held by Archangel. He might have seen something.”