Scorched by Darkness: Eternal Mates Series Book 18 Page 12

  The vampire shook his head. “No. I felt… bad… that I hadn’t been able to save the people there. I killed the remaining sorcerers, a group who returned while we were there. It was all I could do. There was no one left alive to save.”

  Mackenzie’s trembling worsened, her eyes glowing brighter still, beginning to blaze like the sun. Her breathing grew shallower and faster, and tears spilled down her cheeks as she shifted her gaze from the vampire to Hartt.

  He gazed down at her, stroking her cheek, willing her to fight as the witch rattled off a list of ingredients she needed and Night rushed to get them.

  “Does she know the sorcerers?” Grave said.

  Hartt shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  But he wasn’t sure.

  There was so much pain in her eyes as she gazed up at him, so much fear, that he shivered and held her closer, desperate to keep her with him.

  “Someone.” Her breath hitched. “From my family… that note.” She looked as desperate as Hartt felt as she inched a trembling hand towards Grave and looked at him. “You have it?”

  He shook his head again.

  She sagged against Hartt’s knees and he stroked her cheek, his insides going ice-cold as he saw how pale she was now. Her lips were blue, her gaze unfocused as she looked up at him, as her eyes blazed like the sun. He swallowed hard as he noticed the blood pooling around his knees, soaking into the black dirt.

  “Do something,” he snapped at the witch.

  She recoiled, leaning away from him as she brought her hands up in front of her chest, and Grave growled at him, a warning in it.

  “I need ingredients.” She looked over her shoulder in the direction of the town. “Night will get them.”

  “Hartt,” Mackenzie whispered, her voice so quiet he barely heard her. He looked down at her, right into her incredible eyes. “Can’t be here. Go.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He couldn’t.

  He wouldn’t leave her.

  He smiled for her even though it felt as if someone was ripping his heart to shreds, tried to hide his pain and fear from her so she wouldn’t give up. He hadn’t known her long, wasn’t sure of anything when he was around her, or when they were apart, but some deep, primal part of him felt connected to her, and it wailed like a banshee inside him as he sat there watching her, unable to do anything.

  Unable to save her.

  “Go,” she whispered and her brow furrowed, her golden eyes holding his as tears slipped down her temples. “Please?”

  “No.” He brushed her tears away with the pad of his thumb. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “Not.” She sucked in a raspy breath. “I know it. Run. Now.”

  Run?

  Never.

  He wasn’t afraid of these vampires. He wouldn’t flee from them. He wouldn’t leave her at their mercy. He would find a way to help her.

  He gently held her, bent his head and pressed a kiss to her brow. “Fight, Mackenzie. Don’t give up.”

  Because he couldn’t lose her.

  Tears burned his nose and the backs of his eyes, closed his throat and choked him as he cradled her, as he kept his senses trained on her and felt her weakening. Her breaths grew further apart, each one a struggle that killed him.

  Fear seized him between each one, gripped him so hard he felt sure he was dying too as he waited for her to breathe, willed her to draw down another one. He lifted his head and looked at the witch, silently imploring her to do something. Mackenzie couldn’t be dying. She just couldn’t be. He had only just met her, had only just realised he was desperate for more time with her, and now he could see it trickling through his fingers as he looked at her.

  Her eyes slipped shut.

  Pain swelled in his breast as he patted her face. “Don’t do this. You’re strong. Wake up. You have to wake up.”

  That pain turned to desperation when she didn’t respond, when she sank against him, her body going limp. No. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, growled when she still didn’t wake. A void opened inside him, an abyss that pulled him into it, down into the darkness as anger poured through him, rage he couldn’t contain.

  He lifted his head and pinned his gaze on the vampire.

  “You killed her,” he snarled, shunning the guilt that tried to stir inside him, the whispered voice that said he was responsible for her death too.

  He had injured her and left her alone, had weakened her enough that the vampire had been able to finish the task he had started, delivering her into Death’s waiting arms.

  He growled from between clenched teeth, his fangs cutting into his gums as pain scoured his insides, hollowed him out and carved his heart into pieces.

  He wanted to launch at the vampire, but he couldn’t bring himself to release her, couldn’t convince himself to let her go. She couldn’t be gone. He bent over her and clutched her to him, buried his face in her neck and clung to her as grief rolled up on him, tore him down and sparked a feeling in his battered heart that only pulled more tears from him.

  He felt something for her.

  Something deeper than lust.

  The faintest shadow of something he had believed he would never feel again.

  And now he had lost her and he would never know if it could have grown into something more than a shadow, something some secret part of him had been craving for centuries.

  He sobbed into her throat, uncaring of what the witch and the two vampires thought of him as he sensed Night return, unable to hold back his pain as he realised she was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. The primal urge inside him howled in agony, ripped at him and tore him down. He had failed her, and in her final moments, she had thought only of him, had wanted him away from her to protect him.

  Had she felt something for him too? Something more than simple desire, than mere attraction?

  He would never know.

  And that killed him.

  He lifted his head and stared at Grave, knew how bleak he had to look as the vampire averted his gaze, closed his eyes and pulled down a breath.

  “Don’t,” Hartt bit out, because he didn’t want to hear that the vampire was sorry. It wouldn’t bring her back. It wouldn’t fix what had happened.

  His chest warmed, the pain that blazed in it so fierce he felt as if he was burning up.

  When that heat scalded his hands and his thighs too, he looked down and his eyes widened.

  Light glowed from beneath Mackenzie’s skin, shone through her closed eyelids, and as he stared at her in disbelief, unsure of what was happening, heat rolled off her in intense, pulsing waves that felt as if he was standing under the noon sun on the equator of the mortal realm.

  That heat grew stronger, forcing him to release her, to rise to his feet and back away as it scorched him. Grave moved back too, and Night seized the witch’s arm and tugged her with him, guiding her behind him as he backed towards the town.

  Hartt couldn’t believe his eyes as bright golden fissures formed in Mackenzie’s skin, releasing flickers of fire that quickly caught on her clothes. The instinct to rush to her to put out those fires was strong and it took all of his will to keep moving away from her instead, stopping himself from being engulfed by those eerie flames too.

  A shiver danced down his arms and his spine as her chest lifted, as if someone had tied a rope to her waist and was raising her into the air. Her arms and legs dangled as her chest bowed, as she rose into the shimmering air and her hair turned to flames. The heat haze that surrounded her twisted and distorted as the flames spread, as more cracks in her skin broke open to release blinding light and boiling heat, and he stumbled away from her as he struggled to believe what he was seeing.

  Another form.

  That form took on a stronger, clearer shape as her feet suddenly dropped and he brought his arm up to shield his eyes as light exploded from her.

  A wave of heat blasted outwards from her, sent pebbles and dust flying past him as he brac
ed himself against it, as fire licked at him and he was forced to take more steps backwards, away from her. He grimaced as the air grew hotter, in danger of scalding him even at this distance, and for a heartbeat, he felt sure there was no escaping the fire.

  But then it suddenly ceased.

  Cold air rushed back in, moving towards her, as if she were pulling it to her.

  Hartt lowered his arm, swallowed hard and stared. Just stared.

  Mackenzie hovered in the air around thirty feet off the ground, great wings of fire wrapped around her naked body, flames dancing over every inch of her. Those wings opened, spreading to at least forty feet wide, and began to flicker and fade. When they were almost gone, her eyes gradually opened, revealing irises that blazed like white-hot fire.

  Hartt couldn’t stop himself from moving towards her as she looked at him, the need to be close to her too powerful to deny, to reach out and touch her and know that she was real.

  Alive.

  Not a trace of blood marred her pale, perfect skin. No evidence of what had happened to her.

  She leaned towards him as he approached, floating in the air with long ribbons of fire leaping from her shoulders, flickering in the air like wings. She reached for him as her hair streamed from behind her, dancing as flames that were a shade darker than her wings, closer to red.

  Light continued to pulse beneath her skin, waves of it that mesmerised him, seemed to cast a spell on him as he gazed up at her, drawn to her.

  Hartt raised his hands and reached for her too, ached to make contact with her as she slowly drifted down towards him. The tiny flickers of flames that played over her skin chased upwards, away from her hands as they neared his, and he gasped as they touched, as he felt the heat of her skin slowly fading back to normal.

  “Mackenzie,” he murmured, his voice thick, laced with the disbelief still coursing through him even now when they were touching.

  He still couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that she was back.

  Had resurrected.

  Mackenzie’s eyes gradually dimmed, the light that chased under her skin fading as she drifted down into his arms, as her legs lowered and her feet touched the black ground. Her hair settled around her shoulders, no longer flames, spilling in red waves that he wanted to bury his hands in as he held her to him and breathed her in.

  “I told you to run,” she whispered, and gods, it felt so good to hear her voice again that tears filled his eyes.

  “And I told you I wouldn’t leave you.”

  She smiled shakily, looked herself over and then glanced up into his eyes. “I guess my secret is out.”

  “You’ll have to kill me now?” he offered, and it felt like a poor joke as she looked away from him again, down at herself, an awkward air about her.

  He wanted to apologise for it, for referencing something Harbin had told him about once, a joke that the snow leopard shifter had seen on television in his time in the mortal world.

  “You are a phoenix shifter.” Grave started towards them, the way he said that making Hartt feel the vampire had suspected as much and that was the reason he had brought Mackenzie outside the town to fight her.

  Hartt growled at the vampire as the reason why Mackenzie had turned awkward suddenly struck him. It hadn’t been his terrible joke—it was the fact she was naked.

  He used his connection to his belongings to call on some clothes, was quick to help her into a black tunic that swamped her slighter frame, covering her to her knees. She rolled the sleeves up, her fingers trembling badly. He helped her, wanted to close his eyes and savour the feel of her as she leaned against him, using him to keep herself upright.

  “The fire at the mansion?” Grave said.

  She lifted her head and looked at him, a weary edge to her golden eyes. “It was me.”

  Hartt looked from her to Grave. “I have the feeling we all angered the wrong witch.”

  “You asked about necromancers.” Grave went to move and then stopped, and warily eyed Mackenzie. “I presume the truce stands?”

  She nodded and leaned more heavily against Hartt. Hartt wrapped his arm around her, tucking it beneath her arms, supporting her as the vampire came to them.

  And gods, it felt right to hold her like this, to feel her pressed against him.

  Just as it felt right that she sought shelter in his arms, relied on his strength when hers had left her, as if they were a team now.

  “Blood mages,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and too weak for his liking. He didn’t know much about phoenix shifters, but she sounded as if she needed to sleep, and felt it too as he locked his senses on her, monitoring her in case she needed anything from him. “They use our blood in their spells… to make them live longer… to give them powers.”

  “Power over death,” Hartt murmured, his mind racing back in time. “I fought a witch with that power, a few months ago now. We ended up killing the one he was working for, and he got away. We thought the male would attack us, but he never did.”

  And now Hartt knew why.

  The vampire said it for him.

  “It seems he was more interested in pitting his enemies against each other and watching us take each other out for him.” Grave motioned to his brother. “Night, go on ahead and tell the legion to stand down, and ask the servants to prepare rooms.”

  The brunet vampire nodded and turned away, leading his witch back towards the town.

  “Rooms?” Mackenzie croaked, and Hartt didn’t like the way she trembled, or how it tugged at his darker side, drawing it back to the fore as it flooded him with a need to protect her.

  He edged closer to her, hoping it would make her feel safe while she was weak, hoping she would know that if anything happened, he wouldn’t fail her this time. They were no longer working against each other. They were working with each other.

  Grave looked at Mackenzie and then right into Hartt’s eyes, his blue ones colder than ice. “You are my guests. Of course you need rooms.”

  The way the vampire said ‘guests’ made it sound awfully like he meant captives. Hartt had the feeling the vampire wasn’t giving them a choice in the matter. Mackenzie looked at him as Grave turned away from them, her golden eyes holding a weary but worried edge.

  He held her tucked against him, swore to the gods he would keep her safe. The vampire could have them as guests while she was regaining her strength, but as soon as she was strong enough, Hartt was getting her away from this place.

  He bent his head towards her ear and whispered, “Whatever happens, just stay close to me. I won’t let anything happen to you, Mackenzie.”

  She tilted her head towards him, making him aware of how close her mouth was to his, flooding him with a deep need to kiss her. She lingered, as if daring him to do it, and somehow he found the strength to resist. A flicker of disappointment lit her eyes, made him feel like a bastard for denying her. He stared at her, needing her to see that he wanted to kiss her, that he wanted nothing more than it.

  But he didn’t want to hurt her.

  Right now, she was weak, recovering from her resurrection, and he feared that no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn’t be able to keep the kiss gentle enough that it didn’t hurt her. He had thought he had been doing the right thing, but the way she looked at him with a flash of fire in her eyes made him feel he couldn’t have made a worse move.

  She shirked his touch and wrapped her arms around herself as she walked away from him, her steps unsteady, and cold stole through him as the distance between them grew. When he couldn’t bear it anymore, he strode towards her, swiftly closing that distance.

  She didn’t look at him as he fell into step beside her, as he warred with himself, torn between wrapping his arm around her again to support her and doing something else, something he hoped would show her that he was beginning to care about her.

  That he wanted her.

  He slipped his hand into hers.

  She jerked her head up, her gaze colliding with his, a stunned look
on her face that quickly faded as she looked down at their hands. Her soft smile stole his heart, had the ache to kiss her growing stronger.

  And he would.

  As soon as they were alone, he was going to kiss her like there was no tomorrow.

  Chapter 13

  The vampire had been merciful, something Mackenzie hadn’t been expecting since the main mansion in the sprawling complex of warm yellow buildings that formed the very Italian-looking bastion of the First Legion had Latin carved above the arched entrance.

  A motto that read Nulla Misericordia.

  No Mercy.

  Rather than insisting they discuss the witch immediately, Grave had dispatched guards to the wall and had insisted Mackenzie follow a female servant up to a room on the second floor. The pretty blonde had been all smiles as she had led the way, as she had offered to have a bath drawn for her and had shown her around the elegant eggshell-blue room that was her temporary cage.

  Being parted from Hartt had left Mackenzie on edge and she had ended up bluntly turning down the bath, something she regretted now that she was alone, standing before a roaring fire and wishing she were enjoying a nice, long soak to ease her tired muscles.

  She hated resurrecting.

  It always left her skin feeling too tight, made her irritated for days and made her bones feel achy.

  Mackenzie paced away from the enormous white marble fireplace, the wooden floorboards creaking in places as she crossed the spacious room to the four-poster double bed. She sank onto the dark blue covers with a sigh and immediately wanted to stand again. Restlessness was another annoying side-effect of being reborn. She wanted to sleep for days but had far too much energy all at the same time.

  She huffed, flopped back onto the bed, and remembered that she was lacking clothing as the oversized black tunic she wore rode up and cool air kissed her thighs. She tugged it down.

  Really tugged it down as a soft knock sounded.

  Her senses reached out, attempting to identify who was on the other side of the door, but only a jumbled mess came back to her. She hated that too. It would be days before she could pick out things with her senses without them just mashing everything she could feel together into one blob.