Scorched by Darkness: Eternal Mates Series Book 18

by Felicity Heaton

  The heat of her body against his was like fire and he briefly worried he was about to get burned, but then she went from stiff to lax and her right hand came up fast, and all thoughts about how good she felt in his arms were obliterated.

  Hartt blocked the dagger she turned on him, using the arm he’d had around her to knock hers back, and clucked his tongue as she turned on a pinhead to face him and thrust forwards with the short blade. Her pretty face morphed into the picture of fury as he casually leaned his head to his left rather than blocking her and her dagger harmlessly cut through the air beside his pointed ear.

  Adrenaline surged, the darkness chasing on its heels as she lunged again, attempting to pierce his heart this time. He swiftly blocked her, gripped her wrist and twisted hard. She choked out a cry as her entire body bent backwards from the force of his action, and lost her grip on the weapon. It clattered across the cobblestones and her bright golden eyes leaped to it.

  In a lightning-fast move, she twisted beneath his arm and freed herself, and lunged for the blade.

  Hartt hit it with a blast of telekinesis that sent it flying across the main street of the demon district and buried it hilt-deep in a stone wall.

  The female huffed and stopped, didn’t miss a beat as she whirled back to face him, the dagger forgotten. She came at him fast, a blur of fists that had him on the backfoot, forced him to move as he parried her.

  His heart beat harder. The darkness writhed faster, agitated and excited by the speed of her.

  The raw fury.

  “Did you get all the information you wanted on me?” He blocked another blow, slapping her right fist to knock it away from him, and teleported, appearing behind her.

  She loosed a frustrated noise that was close to a growl and pirouetted. Part of him had expected her to use the reprieve, to take the break he had given her to get her breathing under control. She didn’t. She came at him again, landed a fierce kick to his shin and followed it with an uppercut that caught him under the jaw and snapped his head back so hard that his spine ached.

  Gods.

  He maintained enough control to make it look casual as he staggered backwards, refusing to reveal that she had managed to hurt him.

  And impress him.

  “Maybe we should cut to the chase?” As those words left his lips, her eyes widened and her pulse spiked, ticking fast in the smooth, tempting column of her throat and luring his gaze there.

  Hunger flooded him, had his mouth watering as his fangs descended and a sudden urge to take her vein hit him.

  Damn near stole command of him.

  He shut it down, but it took far more of his will than he liked. What ravenous beast had she awoken in him? Maybe it had just been too long since he had taken blood. He tried to think back to the last time he had satisfied his need of it, but couldn’t focus to recall it as she advanced on him again.

  All sinful curves that swayed with each measured step.

  Tempting him.

  “My name is Hartt.”

  Her step faltered and a brief flicker of awareness, and surprise, shone in her eyes before she shut it down. She had heard of him then. It wasn’t particularly surprising given her profession, but some ridiculous part of him still wanted to puff his chest out. Hartt shut that down too.

  “Your name is…?” He gave her an opening to say it.

  She took it as a chance to attack instead.

  Hartt blocked her as she threw a vicious right hook at his face and shrugged off the fact she didn’t want to share her name. “No matter. I only wanted a name to go with your face, one to remember you by when you’re dead.”

  She ducked beneath the blow he aimed at her jaw, and he grinned as anger flared hot in her eyes, turning them molten. She didn’t like him belittling her, making out as if this fight was a done deal and she was as good as dead. She had pride. He filed that away and then reminded himself that he was going to kill her. He didn’t need to remember these small things about her.

  She was no match for him.

  She launched at him on a feral bellow, threw her weight at his chest and knocked him off balance. His back hit a wall and her fist came at his face. He barely had time to dodge it, relished her pained grunt as her knuckles struck the stone beside his ear rather than his cheek, together with something else.

  How fast she was.

  How vicious.

  It spoke to him on a deep, dark level. One where he wasn’t quite master. One where the tainted part of him lurked. That darkness slowly grew with each swift jab she hurled at him, each measured blow she managed to land, and when she blocked a punch of his and snagged his wrist, had the audacity to grapple with him and revealed something else about her, he was done for.

  She matched his strength.

  She matched him so well that he found himself drawing out the fight, leaving himself open at times to see what she would do, cataloguing everything about her. She leaped backwards when he gave her a shot at his torso, a blow most would have taken to weaken him, revealing that beneath her fierce exterior, she had some honour.

  He teleported, curious to see what she would do.

  She shocked him by being ready for him before he had even reappeared, by throwing a hard left hook that connected with his cheek the moment he manifested. A lucky shot? Or could she track him through a teleport?

  What was she?

  Whatever she was, he had never met a female like her. He had never come across one who matched him as she did, who seemed to be aware of him at all times and could keep up with him. If she hadn’t already been a member of a guild, he might have ended things right there and then and convinced her to join his one.

  Although, he wasn’t about to break his no-females rule. Fuery was still recovering from centuries of believing he had killed his fated one, something that had tormented him and driven him deep into the darkness. Being around females had been a trigger for his friend, and continued to be one even now if the darkness inside him was pushing for freedom, attempting to steal control of him and manipulating his memories, making him believe Shaia was a ghost of the female he had killed.

  He landed a hard blow of his own, dropping on his left side to plough his fist into her stomach and rip a grunt from her. She was quick to break away from him, to press her hand to her side and scowl at him as she caught her breath.

  Her flame-red hair stuck to her damp skin as she came at him again, her eyes flashing dangerously against their dark backdrop, her lips flattened in a mulish line as she readied her fists.

  Hartt blocked both of her blows, captured her wrists and pulled her towards him.

  Her scent of sandalwood and vanilla hit him hard as she breathed, as her golden eyes collided with his, and he forgot what he had intended to do, just stared into her eyes and lost himself in them.

  Gods, she was beautiful.

  Fascinating.

  Got his blood pumping hard and hot, rousing fire in his veins that spread to heat every inch of him.

  Harden every inch of him.

  “If I best you, will you give up your name?” he whispered.

  He could easily win this fight if he used his connection to everything he owned to call a weapon to him, but it didn’t seem fair. It didn’t seem right. If he was going to win this, he would do it on a level playing field.

  She was a little breathless as she muttered, “Go to hell.”

  “Already there,” he countered, but that feeling he had been thrown into some strange torturous hell was starting to look more and more like a glimpse of heaven as she twisted free of his grip and slammed the flat of her palm against his chest.

  Knocking him backwards.

  She stilled, her eyes bright, filled with something he couldn’t decipher, but damn it looked a lot like desire.

  His pointed ears flared back against the sides of his blue-black hair as that same feeling ran through him and had him contemplating letting her get close to him again so he could grab her and do something unthinkable.

&nb
sp; Like kissing her.

  His senses sparked, warning him that they were no longer alone as she came at him, as she gracefully pirouetted beneath the fumbling grab he made for her and swept her leg up. He blocked it and glanced at the other end of the alley. Bared fangs at the male demons gathered there. A sudden need to whisk her away from prying eyes shot through him, a fierce demand to be alone with her that he couldn’t deny.

  He lunged for her, seized her left arm and teleported.

  Landed halfway up a damned mountain in the middle of a blizzard.

  Her little gasp delighted his ears, the all too brief flare of panic he sensed in her quickening his blood again to keep the cold at bay.

  His eyes rapidly adjusted to the darkness, revealing her as snow swirled around them, catching in her red hair. Goosebumps broke out over her bare skin, there and gone in an instant as her flesh warmed beneath his grip.

  She rallied quickly, smashed her free hand into his face and hit him hard enough to rattle his teeth. He blocked her second attempt to relocate his brain, tightened his hold on her wrist and glared at her.

  She glared right back at him, her eyes glowing gold in the darkness.

  What was she?

  If he took a sip of her blood, he might be able to tell. Her blood would give him her powers for a short time, but there was also a danger it would mess with his own abilities, negating ones that were necessary to him.

  For example, teleporting.

  He didn’t want to be forced to walk down the mountain in a blizzard or risk freezing to death.

  His gaze dropped to her throat. Still, it was tempting to have a little taste of her. A vein ticked wildly just above her collarbone, beckoned him and had his head growing hazy, thoughts spiralling together into a blur as hunger rode him hard.

  Hartt pulled her towards him.

  Against him.

  The feel of her breasts pressing against his chest and the soft gasp that left her lips, fanning his face with her warm breath, had him dragging his gaze away from the tempting tick of her vein. He lifted it to lock with hers.

  Her eyes sparked with fire as she gazed up into his.

  “Tell me your name,” he husked, words he had meant to come out hard and commanding, but had instead come out unsettlingly soft.

  “No,” she bit out, clearly not held by the same spell that entranced him.

  Her golden irises darkened as her pupils devoured them.

  Or maybe she was and she was just fighting it.

  She tried to throw him, putting all her slender weight into it and almost managing it. He twisted away from her, wrapped his arm across her throat and hauled her back against his front, pressing them together.

  One hell of a mistake.

  She was all heat and softness against him, and it placed his mouth dangerously close to her throat. His fangs itched, mouth watering as hunger returned, as it goaded him into biting her.

  “What is it you fear?” he murmured into her ear and she trembled, a delicious little shudder that he felt too. “Are you fae? Is your name power?”

  It was a possibility. Some fae, such as succubi and incubi, guarded their true name like fiends because those who knew it could command them to do anything.

  She growled, reached over her shoulder and grabbed him by his. She leaned forwards, pressing her backside against his groin, and threw him. His back hit the rocky ground and he grunted as snow burst outwards in all directions, some of it landing on top of his legs and arms. She brought her foot down and he rolled, narrowly avoiding being impaled by the pointed heel of her boot. He popped onto his feet and she glared at him as he dusted the snow from his thick tunic and trousers.

  “You are not fae.” He looked her over again, circled her as she moved with him, keeping the distance between them steady. “You are something else.”

  A flicker of fear crossed her features.

  Interesting.

  What species feared discovery?

  He gazed into her bright eyes, at the dark powder she had streaked across them that resembled a mask. Perhaps it was one, a method of concealing her identity, but that didn’t feel quite right to him. It struck him that her reason for wearing it was psychological. The makeup was more like a shield for her—a method of protecting herself. Did she wear it to make herself appear more imposing to others? Or was it because it brought out the gold in her eyes when they glowed, giving her a dangerous vibe?

  Or perhaps it was a dash of everything, including his first thought—that she wanted to hide who she was.

  “I will not ask what you are if you tell me your name.” He held back his smile as she frowned at him.

  “Why?” She slowly raked her gaze down him, pretending to be curious about him too, when she was blatantly anticipating his next move.

  Or sizing him up for hers.

  “Because you want to remember it when you kill me?” She launched at him and they tangled again, and again he pulled his punches, couldn’t quite bring himself to hurt her. She grabbed him by the front of his jacket and snarled in his face, “Newsflash, buddy, I’ll be the one killing you.”

  “I only asked because I like to know the names of my enemies.” Although, her threat to kill him did have the fire she ignited in him blazing hotter. He blamed the darkness. It was trying to steal control and that part of him always took pleasure from pain, from violence.

  Hartt managed to get hold of her again.

  She kneed him hard between his legs.

  He grimaced as pain shot through him, but didn’t double over or grunt in agony, something which made her look most dissatisfied.

  When she tried to strike him while he was recovering, he grabbed her arm and twisted her, shoved her away from him and almost sent her toppling down the side of the mountain. She skidded on the snow as she leaned backwards, fighting for balance and to stop herself pitching forwards into a roll down the mountain. A muttered ripe curse burst from her lips as she landed on her backside in a deep patch of fresh powder that covered her lower half. She was on her feet again a heartbeat later and storming towards him, kicking snow in all directions as the wind whipped her scarlet hair around her face and her eyes flashed like fire.

  “If I beat you, you will tell me your name.” He was done giving her a choice in the matter.

  She launched at him, but he was ready for her, took the blow to the chest and reared back so she leaned forwards. Tipping them both off balance. He hooked his right leg around hers, seized her upper arms and twisted with her.

  She landed hard in the snow, all stunning blood-red against white that roused his hunger to bite her again.

  Hartt landed on top of her, was quick to shift his legs so he sat astride her hips and seize hold of her shoulders to pin her.

  Admiration shot through him as she still didn’t give up. Even with his full weight on her, she struggled like a wild thing, kicking and clawing, forcing him to pin her harder. He shifted his feet, hooking them over her shins to stop her from kneeing him in the back. A mistake. She bucked against him instead, rubbing him in a way that had the temperature of his blood soaring to that of the sun.

  Sweet gods.

  She was temptation incarnate, driving him mad, all sinful curves and fire he knew would only scorch him if he got too close to her. It was impossible to concentrate as she writhed beneath him, rousing hungers he shouldn’t be feeling, needs that were seemingly beyond his control.

  The wind howled across them, flecked her hair with snow that was a stark contrast to the flames that flickered in her irises, a blaze that snared him and had him moving before he was aware of what he was doing.

  He caught her wrists, stopping her from battering him, and leaned over her, pinning them to the ground above her head.

  Bringing them closer together.

  “Give up and give me your name. I will let you go if you do.” He didn’t feel the cold bite of the wind as he stared down at her, as he pressed closer to her.

  She stilled, her eyes enormous now.


  She didn’t believe him. It was right there in those striking eyes of hers.

  He remained where he was, time trickling past at an agonisingly slow pace as he waited, forced himself to be patient. No hard task considering he was enjoying the warmth of her against him far too much.

  She finally sagged and muttered in a resigned tone, “What does it matter? You’ll kill me either way.”

  For a moment, he thought she would look away from him, but her gaze remained rooted on his.

  “Mackenzie.”

  Hartt rolled that around his head, ignoring how convinced she was that he would kill her, revealing how she thought he possessed less honour than she did. He also ignored how he should kill her and eliminate the competition because, despite what she believed, he was an honourable male.

  Plus, it didn’t seem sporting since it hadn’t been a fair fight.

  He focused and let his armour finish forming, so it peeked out from the collar of his tunic and covered his hands, the small black scales rippling over them to transform his fingers into talons.

  Mackenzie scowled up at him, anger that he deserved blazing in her eyes. His armour had dampened a lot of her blows, turning bone-breaking ones into only bruises. Her eyes widened as he convinced himself to release her, pushed off her and distanced himself.

  She was still for a moment, and then she picked herself up off the ground, but she didn’t shuffle away from him or run. She surprised him by standing right where he had downed her, only a few feet from him, and tipping her chin up.

  She looked him right in the eye. “Next time, I’ll come appropriately armed.”

  Hartt did his best to ignore the shiver of heat that coursed through him, caused by her delicious threat. Something was seriously wrong with him tonight, and he didn’t want to examine it too closely.

  “I look forward to it,” he murmured, and he meant it.

  Which only unsettled him further.

  He shouldn’t be looking forward to seeing Mackenzie again.

  But as she disappeared, revealing that he wasn’t the only one who could teleport, he found himself counting the seconds until she was back with him.

  Chapter 4