Prince Vail.
Hartt lowered his head, shame sweeping through him together with a need to teleport. He didn’t want his prince to see him like this, even when Vail had been lost to the darkness for millennia, was clawing his way back from it just as Fuery was. The male knew what he was going through, was liable to be sympathetic and supportive about it, helping him in the way he was helping Fuery.
But Hartt still wanted to run, as if that would erase the knowledge of this weakness that infested him from his prince’s mind.
“What happened to him?” Vail’s deep voice curled around him, holding only warmth, worry that touched Hartt but failed to alleviate the sudden feeling of vulnerability that swept through him, swirled and tried to pull him back towards the darkness.
Hartt dug his fingers into the dirt, needing to anchor himself, refusing to let the darkness steal command of him again.
“There is a spell,” Fuery said.
“No,” Hartt barked and whipped his head up, shook it as his eyes locked on his friend. He softened his tone as fear blasted through him, born of a deep awareness of what Fuery meant to do. “No. It is too dangerous.”
If Fuery used the spell that bound them to take some of the darkness from him, it would tip his friend back towards the abyss. He wouldn’t let that happen. This darkness, this corruption, was his to bear.
“Spell. Enchantment. Curse. I don’t care.” Rosalind stomped over to him, shouldering Fuery out of the way, something that had Vail growling and baring fangs at him, as if Fuery had touched his mate and not the other way around. She stopped before Hartt and frowned down at him, a mulish twist to her lips as she assessed his injuries. “I’m going to heal him and then we’ll talk when he looks a little less like minced meat.”
She reached out to grab him.
Vail seized her hand, a desperate and wild look on his face as he leaned towards her.
She stilled and looked at her mate, the hard lines of her face softening as her blue eyes locked with his violet ones. Rather than touching Hartt, she straightened and turned towards Vail, lifted her free hand and brushed her knuckles across his cheek, and then tunnelled her fingers through his wild blue-black hair. He leaned into her palm as she cupped his face, his eyes slipping shut as he tilted his mouth towards her wrist and pressed a soft kiss to it.
“I…” Vail’s eyebrows knitted hard, his mouth flattening.
“I know,” she whispered, as soft as the first flakes of snow that swirled around Hartt, dancing down from a thick blanket of clouds. “I should have thought before I acted. You know me—always leaping before looking.”
“I wish you would not,” Vail mumbled, a decidedly grumpy edge to his voice now, one that revealed exactly how little he liked that flaw of hers. “It is hard to protect you when you—”
Rosalind shifted her hand to his mouth, pressing two fingers to his lips to silence him, and smiled softly. Silver sparks lit her irises as she tiptoed.
“We talked about this. I can’t really help it when I get witchnapped.”
Vail’s frown hardened and his nostrils flared as the tips of his ears grew pointier, and Hartt could sense the darkness rising inside him. Who had dared to kidnap his mate? Had it been only the one occurrence? Or was she often kidnapped?
“I still want to see you and the demon wrestle all naked like. Maybe with oil involved.” She smiled saucily.
It did not improve her mate’s mood.
He glowered at her, darkness ringing his brightening violet irises as his pointed ears flared back. “That will not happen. No one sees me naked but you… and you see no one naked but me.”
Vail wrapped his arms around her and tugged her hard against him, claimed her mouth in a kiss that had the witch melting against him.
And forgetting she had company.
Hartt tried not to stare as she practically climbed her mate, wrapping her legs around his waist and clutching his hair as she kissed him.
He tried not to think about Mackenzie and how she had kissed him with the same ferocity. He could still taste her on his tongue, like honey with a slight smoky note. Had it been the battle high and the heat of the moment that had provoked such a response in her, or had it been him?
Had she wanted to kiss him?
Still wanted to kiss him?
“Is it the darkness?” Fuery’s voice pierced his reverie and he frowned at his friend.
A grimace twisted his lips as he realised his ears had been growing pointier, his eyes brightening just as Vail’s had. Fuery had mistaken desire for rage again.
He shook his head.
Just beyond his friend, Rosalind awkwardly rearranged her plain black dress, her cheeks bright pink and not because of the cold. Vail continued to stare at her, fire in his eyes, hunger that felt so familiar to Hartt now. He was sure he had looked at Mackenzie like that more than once.
“Can you help him inside?” Rosalind looked at Vail and then Fuery, and wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her bare skin. “The weather is turning bloody awful. Wouldn’t want him catching his death out here.”
“Little wild rose.” Vail reached for his mate instead of Hartt, a tender look on his handsome face. “You are cold too.”
“I know. But I won’t be if we hustle. Come on. Nice cuppa tea to warm us up while I heal him.” She turned away from them, starting back towards the picturesque thatched cottage.
“I need to know the words that form part of this spell that binds us. I need to be able to activate it too.” Fuery took hold of Hartt’s left arm and Hartt wanted to protest, but he could only grit his teeth as pain shot across his chest, searing his ribs, and his heart skipped a beat.
Rosalind turned dangerously bright blue eyes on Fuery. “I’m going to heal him, and then we’ll talk business.”
“But—” Fuery snapped his mouth shut as she pivoted to face him and silver stars burst to life in her irises, the scent of magic growing stronger in the wintry air as her expression blackened.
“My house, my rules!” she snapped and the tiny flakes of snow within a fifteen-foot radius of her melted and fell like rain.
Fuery made the mistake of glancing at Vail, not to check on him to see if he was reacting negatively to the use of magic around him, but to implore him.
Rosalind folded her arms across her chest again and huffed. “Why are you looking at him? He’s not going to weigh in on this and help you.”
Vail just shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling beneath a thick black woollen jumper.
He came to Hartt, stooped and gently took hold of his other arm. Hartt struggled to hold back a grimace as Vail helped him onto his feet. He pulled free of the male’s grip and fought to remain standing under his own volition, not wanting to appear weak in front of either elf.
His right knee instantly buckled.
Fuery was there to stop him from making an utter fool of himself, keeping him upright.
Rosalind led the way to the back door of the one-and-a-half storey cottage. She opened it for them and he gritted his teeth as he lifted his left foot and the wound above his hip burned. Concern danced across her eyes and she looked as if she wanted to say something, but a glance at her mate had her holding her tongue.
He could understand her reluctance to put voice to her worry about the state of him. Vail was holding it together, but the corruption was strong in him, forged by thousands of years of abuse by another witch who had held him under her spell, forcing him to fight his own people.
And his own brother.
Thankfully, Prince Loren had disobeyed his advisors’ orders to eliminate Vail and had ended up saving him instead when he had discovered a witch was controlling him against his will. Prince Loren was now working to convince his council to allow Vail to return to the elf kingdom, but Hartt had the feeling Vail was happier here.
And he couldn’t blame him.
This pocket of nature was beautiful, serene, and calming. Hartt felt deeply connected to the goddess here, could feel her str
ength flowing into him by simply being inside this magical bubble Rosalind had created. He felt sure that if he could just laze in the garden here, could close his eyes and listen to the birdsong, feel the warmth of the sun on his skin and breathe deep of nature, that he could purge the darkness just as Vail was.
And Fuery was too.
He smiled tightly, amused at his train of thought.
He had forced Fuery to continue his visits with Vail even when Fuery had felt they were no longer benefitting him. Maybe he should have stuck around whenever he had dropped Fuery off. Maybe passing time here would have helped him too, would have prevented the darkness from stealing control from him when he had been wounded.
Hartt frowned as someone settled him on a worn leather chaise longue in front of a roaring fire, looked around at his new surroundings and couldn’t remember how he had gotten to the drawing room.
Rosalind nudged several stacks of books aside with her booted right foot, clearing a space that she dragged her green velvet armchair into. She settled on it and Vail came to loom over her, a grim edge to his expression and darkness threatening to devour the amethyst of his irises.
“Little wild rose,” he murmured, his voice thick and low.
She smiled up at him and lifted her left hand, brushed her fingers across his palm in a gentle, soothing caress. “Just a little magic. Perhaps you would like to walk around the garden with Fuery? You could show him the work you’ve been doing at the bottom near the field.”
Vail’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked between her and Fuery, a war erupting in his eyes.
“You don’t have to,” she whispered to him. “If it becomes… It’s always an option.”
His face crumpled and he shifted foot to foot.
Fuery had told Hartt that Vail was undergoing something called exposure therapy, where Rosalind would use spells around him in a controlled environment to help him overcome his aversion to magic and the violent responses it provoked in him. Fuery had also told him they had hit a bump recently.
Well, apparently, it had been more like a solid wall.
Vail had turned on Rosalind and had come dangerously close to hurting her. She had been forced to use a spell on him to contain him and that had only made things worse. Guilt flickered in Vail’s purple eyes and his mouth opened, and then closed.
Rosalind stood, tiptoed and curled her hand around his nape. She drew her mate down to her, hugged him tightly and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He buried his face in her neck and seized hold of her, dragged her against him and clutched her.
“Take a walk. Find out what this spell Fuery mentioned is… for me.” She dropped a kiss on his throat.
Vail nodded stiffly, released her and stepped back. He moved past her without looking at her, his shoulders tight beneath his jumper, and Fuery lingered, staring at Hartt.
“Go with him.” Hartt didn’t want Fuery talking about the spell, but it would do both males good to be alone for a while.
Because Hartt had the feeling this was going to hurt and that seeing him in pain would tip Fuery over the edge.
He locked his senses on Fuery when he lost sight of him, tracked him as far as he could manage while he was weak, and looked at Rosalind when he moved beyond the limited sphere of his senses.
She sighed, looked him over and shook her head. “Care to tell me who did this to you?”
He shook his head.
She smiled, but it wasn’t soft, or gentle, or warm. It was sinister in a way.
“Indulge me,” she said, and he had the feeling he wasn’t being given a choice. “Whoever sliced and diced you had a weapon made of the same material as your armour. Should I be worried about my mate?”
He was quick to shake his head again. “It was not Fuery.”
He grimaced as he tried to move. Rosalind pressed her hand to his chest.
“It’s best you keep still while I do this. Healing spells tend to have a mind of their own and it’ll go batshit crazy if I lose my connection to you.”
Before he could ask whether it would hurt, his entire body lit up as if someone had hit him with fifty bolts of lightning rolled into one. He gritted his teeth so hard they creaked and tipped his head back into the arm of the chaise longue, every muscle in his body clamping down on his bones. His heart laboured as pain ricocheted through him, condensed wherever his wounds were and made them throb and burn.
“So, who did you piss off to end up like this?” Rosalind’s voice was far too bright for someone who was torturing another person.
He grunted and clenched his jaw again, the only answer he could give her as he struggled to remain conscious.
“Oh, this one is a nasty one. Hang on tight, bub.”
He managed to get his eyes open a crack, enough that he saw her grinning down at him, strange, twisted delight in her blue eyes as they swam with stars.
Pain roared through him.
Hartt threw his head back and roared with it.
He screamed until his throat was raw, until he had used all the breath in his lungs and black spots winked across his vision.
And then he sank into the chair and just lay there, depleted, all of his strength gone. Not a shred of it remained, not even enough to move his head or open his eyes. Voices swam around him, loud at first, but then they softened and calmed.
A warm hand pressed softly to his forehead and one to his chest.
Light flooded him like beams of the sun cutting through tiny chinks in clouds.
Heat followed it.
The muscles that had felt liquid filled with strength again, the ache in his bones fading as the light washed over him, as he felt as if it was lifting him up by his chest, so he was suspended in the air.
The gentle hands disappeared and he sank back onto the seat, his body feeling heavy again, but there was no pain, and no fatigue. It wasn’t magic that had restored his strength. A spell had healed him, but magic of a different sort had been the one to do this.
He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at Vail where he towered over him, his brow furrowed.
“Are you well?” Vail didn’t take his eyes from Hartt’s.
Hartt nodded, couldn’t find his voice to thank his prince for what he had done, was too awestruck by the fact Vail had used his connection to nature to heal him, to draw him back to the light and banish the darkness.
For now.
Chapter 8
Vail helped Hartt up into a sitting position on the worn leather chaise longue in Rosalind’s cottage living room. Hartt sagged forwards, exhaling hard. When Vail had summoned his connection to nature to help complete his healing process, Hartt had figured he was good to go. A wave of fatigue rolled over him as he stared at the flames leaping and dancing in the fireplace, so heavy he had to fight to remain upright and keep his eyes open.
Fuery came to sit beside him, placed a hand in the centre of Hartt’s back and leaned forwards with him. “Are you unwell?”
“I’ll get you all something to drink,” Rosalind said with a brightness that he couldn’t feel in her. She was up to something.
Rather than following his mate, Vail pulled the second green armchair to face him, scraping the feet of it across the worn wooden floor. He sank into it and watched Hartt closely as if expecting something terrible to happen to him.
Rosalind bustled back into the room, her short black dress swaying around her knees with each hurried step. She clutched a silver tray in her hands. On it sat three tall glasses of orange-coloured liquid, a pot of tea with a woollen stripey cosy on it, and several cups that rattled as she moved.
Vail was quick to stand and take the tray from her, relieving her of its weight as he gave her a chastising look. “You should have called for me.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m not some wilting little flower. I think I can handle a tray of drinks.”
He frowned at her. She huffed and stomped past him, muttering about him being overbearing.
“Court females gave you a seriously wrong
impression of women,” she groused as she sank back into her own armchair.
Vail arched a single black eyebrow at her for that one, but set the tray down on the rickety wooden coffee table without saying whatever had crossed his mind.
“Where were we?” She beamed at Hartt.
Vail growled at her.
“Oh, hush.” She leaned over and patted his knee. “You know I love you. I’m just being polite.”
Or she was trying to get him and Fuery killed.
“Hartt had a spell done, one to strengthen our bond. Shaia told me that Hartt spoke words that triggered this spell and allowed him to take some of the darkness from me.” Fuery refused to look at him when Hartt scowled at him, kept his noble profile to him and his focus locked on Rosalind.
“And how is your lovely mate?” The witch’s smile brightened further, reaching her eyes.
There was mischief lurking there.
Fuery had brought Shaia with him on a few of his visits with Vail, and had complained about how Rosalind had taken a shine to Shaia and was intent on bringing her up to speed on modern times. It had put ideas into Shaia’s head, desires that Fuery didn’t like.
Such as wanting to join the guild as an assassin in training.
“She is well. About this spell…” Fuery trailed off as Rosalind lifted a glass towards Hartt. He seized Hartt’s arm as he reached for it, holding him fast. “I would not.”
Hartt stilled and stared at the drink the witch offered, and her innocent, surprised expression that didn’t quite hide that glimmer of mischief her eyes had gained when she had gone for drinks.
“It is poisoned?” He looked at Fuery, sure the witch wouldn’t want to poison him.
Rosalind gasped and placed her other hand to her chest.
“You wound me. He wounds me.” She turned a hurt look on her mate, who just sighed, and then glowered at Hartt. “How ill you think of me considering I just saved your bloody life.”
Saved his life was a stretch. For a time there, he had been convinced she had been trying to finish him off.
When she pouted and her brow furrowed, he held back a sigh and took the glass with his free hand. He brought it to his nose and sniffed it. He couldn’t smell any poison, and he had trained for centuries in the art of detecting it.
Scorched by Darkness: Eternal Mates Series Book 18 Page 7