Scorched by Darkness: Eternal Mates Series Book 18

by Felicity Heaton

  “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.

  “Got anything for me?” Night’s deep voice held a hopeful note.

  Hartt looked him over, a frown pinching his black eyebrows, reluctance shining in his eyes. When another cry sounded outside, an elegant katana appeared in his hand and he was quick to spin it around and hold the hilt out to Night.

  “I want it back.” He didn’t release the blade when Night took hold of the grip near his hand.

  “I’d never dream of keeping it.” Night’s tone told Mackenzie that he had considered holding on to the black blade, a weapon forged from the same metal as Hartt’s armour and the only thing that could cut through it.

  Hartt released it as another similar katana appeared in his left hand. He rolled his shoulders and then his neck, glanced at her one last time and then his hand was on hers and darkness embraced her. For once, it was warmer than the place she had just left, offered a brief reprieve from the bitter cold.

  When they landed, she had to bite back a yelp as she sank calf-deep into snow. That wasn’t good. She looked at the battle raging ahead of her, at what had to be almost a hundred of the milky-eyed clones fighting Grave, Isla and Frey, and Syn. That really wasn’t good. Hartt hadn’t been lying about the number they would be up against.

  Mackenzie waded forwards, gave up trying to reach the place where the snow had already been trampled and teleported instead, reappearing close to Syn as she whirled and her large silver sword sliced clean through the head of one of the clones.

  Hartt appeared on a low growl beside her. “Stay close to me, godsdammit.”

  She wanted to glare at him and tell him she could handle herself, but as two black-haired clones launched at her and she recognised their matching faces, she decided not to turn down Hartt’s help.

  Because Rosalind had been right.

  Their blood mage was here.

  The clones were perfect replicas of him, right down to the form-fitting ankle-length black coats they wore that hugged their torsos but flared from their waists, allowing them to move freely. The only difference between them and the one who had created them were their strange blue eyes.

  Silver blades flashed in their hands, catching the moonlight as they leaped at her as one. She was swift to bring her twin blades up, crossed them in front of her and blocked the blade of the first clone. The second one grunted as he went flying and she glanced at Hartt as she shoved forwards, knocking the first copy back.

  Hartt stood with his left hand outstretched, pointed at where the second clone had been, one he had sent flying using telekinesis. His gaze whipped to his right, towards the stronghold they had been watching. She looked there too and frowned when she spotted what he had. More clones. They were rushing across the snowfield, coming at them inhumanly fast.

  A cold wind cut across her, chilling her to her bones, making her fingers numb and her actions sluggish as she attacked the clone nearest her. He didn’t seem to share her problem. While the cold was slowing her, it was having no effect on him.

  Because he w
asn’t a real boy?

  She drove the clone back and cut across his thigh. Her thick protective clothing hindered her movement, but she was damned if she was going to strip off a layer or two, exposing herself to the icy cold.

  He grunted as if he had felt the pain but instantly came at her again, as if she hadn’t just dealt a fatal blow to his femoral artery. Blood gushed down his leg as he attacked her, staining the snow crimson, leaving a trail behind him as he twisted and parried, blocked her next strike and drove her backwards.

  “They’re like bloody zombies!” Syn yelled and Mackenzie couldn’t agree more.

  She had seen clones like these in the past, back when she had been held by the blood mages, but she had never seen them in battle. They were relentless, kept on coming at her side, unaffected by the icy cold while her team were having to battle both the weather and the enemy.

  Heat washed across her back, a blast of it that knocked her forwards as a shimmering shockwave of pale orange light swept past her. It struck the clones too, knocking several on their backsides. The effect of the spell Rosalind had cast was instantaneous, erasing the chill from Mackenzie’s hands and loosening her stiff muscles.

  Hartt growled as he teleported deeper into the thick of the clones. He wasn’t alone. Frey appeared beside him, sweeping his massive broadsword outwards as he rose out of a black patch on the ground, decapitating several of the clones and injuring others. The remaining clones turned towards him as one, launched at him on vicious hisses and snarls that sent a shudder down Mackenzie’s spine as she teamed up with Syn against another group. Zombies. They were definitely zombies. Straight out of the most terrifying movie she could imagine.

  Above the battlefield, the dome of the spell Rosalind had cast caused the aurora and stars to wobble.

  Or maybe it wasn’t the heat Rosalind had created that was responsible for it.

  Mackenzie heard the witch grunt, heard Vail snarl something in the elf tongue.

  “Fighting me,” Rosalind muttered. “Didn’t think the buggers would have this kind of magic at their disposal.”

  Everything went eerily silent.

  And then Rosalind screamed.

  “Brace!”

  Mackenzie grabbed Syn and dragged her friend down into a huddle on the compacted snow, held on tight to her as a blast of bitterly cold wind slammed into her, battering her with chunks of ice and small rocks. The heat that had been stopping her from freezing into a solid block was gone in an instant, the cold that bit into her fingers worse than before, stiffening them and making them hurt despite her gloves.

  Hartt roared something she couldn’t make out over the rush of wind against her.

  A bright burst of light nearly blinded her when she lifted her head to look for him and she screamed as the shockwave from the detonation hit her and sent her flying with Syn. She twisted and turned with her friend, slammed into her and tried to keep hold of her as she fought to muster a teleport before they hit anything.

  Because she feared the impact would kill them.

  Syn beat her to the teleport, and Mackenzie grunted as she popped out of a black hole in the ground and then dropped and slammed into the compacted snow. Pain blazed across her back, had her crying out as she arched upwards.

  Not her pain.

  Hartt.

  She fought to suppress the pain as she scrambled onto her feet. She scoured the battlefield for him and cursed when snow swept across the land, reducing how far she could see.

  Heavy footfalls beat the earth and she whipped towards the direction of the vibrations, hoping it was Hartt and not an army of clones about to descend on her and Syn.

  A huge shape loomed in the blizzard.

  Her heart jammed into her throat and then dropped again as a male muttered.

  “Put me down.”

  Hartt.

  Frey emerged from the snow and dumped him unceremoniously on the ground. “As you wish.”

  Mackenzie didn’t miss the way Frey’s glowing blue eyes leaped to Syn and then away again, his glance just long enough to check on her but not long enough to incite her friend. In fact, Syn seemed terribly preoccupied with checking a hole in her black leathers and grumbling about it.

  “I should probably pop my armour on,” she muttered, and then cleared her throat, straightened her spine and shot Frey a wicked look as she fluffed her black pixie cut. “You’d totally instantly climax at the sight of me in it though. Don’t think team Vampton would be impressed if you lost your load in the middle of a battle.”

  “Vampton?” Mackenzie made her way across the slippery ground to Hartt and helped him onto his feet.

  “Vampire and phantom. It sounded better in my head than Phanpire… but now I say that out loud I think I like it more.” Syn hefted her blade and rolled her shoulders. Black leathery wings unfurled from her back, white flecks of snow spotting them as she stretched them and then allowed them to settle. “I’ll go scout the skies, see if I can find who’s causing this blizzard and take them out… before I addle demon-boy’s mind with my beauty.”

  Frey scoffed at that but said nothing.

  When Syn kicked off, he looked stunned, as if he hadn’t actually thought she was going to fly through a blizzard. In a heartbeat, the huge demon male had spread his own dusky leathery wings and was launching into the air after her.

  “You don’t think…” Mackenzie looked at Hartt and then shook her head as she wrinkled her nose. “Nah.”

  There was no way that Frey was interested in her friend.

  There was definitely no way that Syn would be interested in him. She hated demons of his kind and avoided them as best she could, something she had told Mackenzie was due to a bad history with them—a history her friend flatly refused to tell her.

  Although, Syn was being uncharacteristically nice to Frey, teasing him rather than trying to take his head off with her sword.

  Hartt pivoted away from her as shadows loomed in the darkness. Clones rushed from the blizzard. She plastered her back to his as she sensed more coming from the other direction and realised they were surrounded. It felt good to work in tandem with him as the clones attacked, as she cut and slashed at some and blocked others, and then turned with Hartt to handle ones he had injured, and any who tried to sneak up on them.

  Another blast of heat swept past her, warming her fingers, and she glanced at the sky, relief beating through her as an orange dome of light formed again, the shimmering wall of it slowly falling to cover an area at least three hundred feet wide. The snow instantly melted, the blizzard dying and revealing the enemy.

  Gods. There were more than before. For every one they cut down, another two appeared.

  A black shadow moved through the throng, a wraith that sent clones flying in all directions, even took out several of the ones that had been rushing towards Mackenzie. Vail. He was brutal as he cut through the copies with claw and blade, pirouetting and somersaulting to evade any blow they tried to deal him, bringing his black sword down whenever he landed. He cleaved a copy in two down the middle and then kicked off, disappearing into the fray.

  Hartt twisted with her, grabbing her shoulder and shoving her back, and grunted as he took a blow meant for her. The copy’s blade slashed his coat but bounced off his armour, failing to cut him, but it still hurt. She felt the pain echo on her shoulder. He pushed her down and lashed out with his blade, cutting across the chest of the copy she had been about to block and growled as the male’s sword jabbed him in the side of his ribs.

  Pain erupted there on her too.

  “Stop taking blows for me,” she snapped.

  “Never.” He lifted her and spun, set her on her feet and she twirled away from him, cutting down a clone that had been raising his sword to strike at Hartt.

  She knew why he was stopping the clones from getting near her, that it was instinct for him to protect her, sparing her the pain he would feel too if the clones landed blows on her. Their bond was both incredible and sucky.

  She
opened her mouth to argue with him.

  Grunted as a clone grabbed her and ran with her. She battered him as she wrestled to pull back from him, slamming the pommel of her swords into his shoulders in the hope he would release her. He didn’t. He grinned at her as she looked at his face.

  An all too familiar face.

  He was a clone of the one who had hired her.

  Panic swelled inside her, fear that he was taking her to that witch compounding to have her striking him harder and fighting to teleport. She couldn’t. She gritted her teeth and twisted her blade, stabbed him in his back several times. He grunted with each one, his step faltering as she continued her assault.

  Mackenzie drove her blade into his spine.

  The male silently dropped and she tumbled from his grip, rolled across the hard ground to land on her feet. She lifted her head, scanning to find where she had been before the male had grabbed her, fear for Hartt gripping her as she felt his pain echoing in her body.

  As soon as she spied him, she pushed off.

  Heard a bellow and a scream that came from behind her. Syn.

  She turned to look for her friend.

  Froze as she came face to face with a black-haired male.

  Not a clone.

  His crimson eyes narrowed as he smiled at her, slowly canting his head. “Mackenzie.”

  She focused to teleport.

  Cried out as he lunged forwards, his hand a black blur surrounded by a halo of blue, his movements impossibly fast. She felt the hot slice of the blade he gripped, smelled her own blood as an inferno swept outwards bringing white-hot pain in the wake of it that felt as if it was incinerating her from the inside out.

  A spell.

  She stared at the jagged obsidian blade the mage clutched, cold sweat trickling down her spine as shivers wracked her despite the fire that was burning her up inside.

  Fear spread through her.

  Fear that if she died, she wouldn’t be coming back this time.