Scorched by Darkness: Eternal Mates Series Book 18 Page 16

  Hartt dusted down his black knee-length tunic, looking for all the world as if he was avoiding her gaze so he didn’t have to explain himself.

  The shifter huffed as he inspected the smouldering holes in his white shirt. “What the hell are you?”

  He pinned her with a look that was half-wary, half-pissed.

  “None of your damned business.” She squared up to him, smiled as she canted her head and looked into his eyes. “But if you lay a hand on him again, I’ll mount your head on my wall, kitty cat.”

  He arched a dark blond eyebrow at that.

  He was a good head taller than her, at least six-five, rivalling Hartt’s height. Unlike the elf, he was built, heavy with muscle that would slow him down but gave him strength. Not that it bothered her. If it came down to a fight, she could take him. She thought. She had fought jaguars in the past, but his scent was different. He felt different.

  His bright golden eyes searched hers, leaping between them as he frowned at her, as if he was trying to figure her out. Maybe he was. What did she care? She doubted he would be able to tell what she was just by looking at her. Hartt was right about her kind. They were more myth than anything, fairy-tales told to young children or written about in stories to entertain bored minds.

  “You know, we didn’t have to come and warn you.” She couldn’t stop herself from putting that out there. “If I had known this was the welcome we were going to get, I would have convinced Hartt not to bother and let you take your chances.”

  But she had honestly believed these were his friends, that the reason coming here had been so important to him was because he cared about these people. As far as she could tell, they were more like enemies.

  “Warn me about what?” The male glanced at Hartt.

  Hartt scowled at him. “I refuse to talk about this out here, in the open.”

  Mackenzie looked along the street in both directions. Her limited senses scoured the area. Everyone she could feel was indoors, either sleeping or not moving much. They had the late hour to thank for that. She looked skyward, at the heavy clouds that filled the space between the blocky brick buildings. What time was it anyway?

  She frowned and pouted, her mood souring further as a fine drizzle began to fall.

  She hated rain.

  Jaguar stared at Hartt for another full minute, until she was close to either throttling him until he let them in before the weather turned worse or convincing Hartt to leave and take her back to Hell where she didn’t have to deal with rain.

  In the end, the male grunted, “Fine.”

  He yanked the metal door open and went inside, and she glanced at Hartt. Before she could ask him why they had come to this place, to people who obviously hated him, he followed the jaguar inside.

  Mackenzie narrowed the focus of her senses to the nightclub as the door swung closed in front of her. People were moving around upstairs, off to her right. What snagged her attention was the fact that she couldn’t only sense Hartt and the shifter inside on the ground floor. Another signature had joined them.

  She grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, slipped inside and moved cautiously as her eyes adjusted to the darkness in the long wide hallway. She breathed through a momentary flare of panic, held it together and focused on the lights ahead of her. She was fine. There was light there. She just had to reach it.

  Her vision adjusted again as she reached the end of the corridor and the space opened up into a huge room on her left. The wall to her right continued in a straight line, running behind a long bar lit by lazily rotating coloured lights that glinted off the rows of bottles lined up in front of mirrored panels.

  “Hartt?” The soft female voice arrested Mackenzie’s focus, had her gaze leaping from the impressive collection of bottles of alcohol to the owner of it—a stunning, ethereally beautiful woman with sleek black hair and a figure to die for clad in black leather trousers and a dark spaghetti-strap camisole.

  Mackenzie’s gaze darted to Hartt and she didn’t miss how he rubbed the back of his neck or how he couldn’t seem to bring himself to look at the female.

  The elf female.

  The jaguar growled when Hartt finally lifted his head and locked his eyes on the woman, and Mackenzie realised something.

  They had come here to warn someone he cared about.

  The elf.

  “Iolanthe,” Hartt started and then frowned at the jaguar when he growled again, when he moved to the elf female and wrapped his arm around her tiny waist in a possessive move.

  Mackenzie lingered by the hallway, in the shadows, her feet set in concrete as she stared at Hartt and began to fear he more than cared about this elf female.

  He had feelings for her.

  He had feelings for her and the jaguar knew it, and that was the reason the male had attacked him the moment he had set eyes on him. Instinct had made the shifter want to fight him to keep him away from his female.

  “Who is this?” Iolanthe leaned to her right, away from the jaguar, and peered past Hartt to Mackenzie.

  Mackenzie’s first instinct was to shrink back into the shadows, but she forced herself to take a step into the light instead, revealing herself to the elf. Iolanthe was beautiful, but males had called Mackenzie that too in the past, had complimented her on her good looks. She willed Hartt to look at her, and ignored the stinging sensation in her heart when he didn’t.

  “I’m an assassin. The witch we came to warn you about hired me too.” She realised she was getting ahead of herself when the jaguar and Iolanthe both frowned at her, a confused edge to their expressions.

  “An assassin?” The jaguar raked his gaze over her.

  Mackenzie didn’t miss that this time, Hartt didn’t react to a male looking at her.

  He was too busy staring at Iolanthe. The jaguar’s golden gaze shifted to Hartt and his lips peeled back off his teeth, flashing short canines.

  “I thought you did not employ females?” Iolanthe cast a look at her too.

  When her incredible violet eyes darted back to Hartt for an answer, Mackenzie was the one who wanted to growl.

  “We don’t.” The hard edge to Hartt’s deep voice sharpened to a blade that cut her as he added, “Females are a liability.”

  She curled her fingers into fists and clenched them. Females were a liability? Like she was some weak maiden who needed protecting and couldn’t handle herself? What era was he from to think like that?

  The jaguar leaned slightly to his left and gave her a look, one that rankled and had her glaring at him. His right eyebrow rose. She didn’t care if she was misreading why he was looking at her, didn’t care if he was on her side and had wanted to show her that, or whether he was simply trying to see what Hartt had—a weak female.

  A liability.

  Her nails dug into her palms. She gritted her teeth and bit her tongue to stop herself from saying something as the jaguar turned to Iolanthe. The words died in her throat anyway as she looked at Iolanthe too, as she stood there like an idiot wondering whether Hartt would think the elf a liability if she wanted to join his guild.

  He would probably welcome her with open arms.

  It hit Mackenzie that she was more than an idiot.

  She was a godsdamned fool.

  An ache slowly grew in her chest as she watched Hartt talking to Iolanthe and the jaguar, as she noticed the way his violet gaze strayed back to the beautiful elf female every minute without fail.

  As she noticed the unmistakable warmth that shone in his eyes whenever they landed on her.

  And she had the feeling he would never look at her like that.

  As if she was special. As if she was beautiful. As if she was the centre of his universe.

  His whole world.

  She eased a step back into the shadows as she realised something else.

  He was in love with Iolanthe.

  Hurt welled, a poisonous tide that scoured her insides and left her hollow, had her taking another step backwards, some ridiculous part o
f her willing him to notice the distance that was growing between them. He didn’t. He only made things worse.

  He smiled at Iolanthe.

  That smile felt like a fist around Mackenzie’s heart, crushing it and setting it alight at the same time, burning it to ashes in her chest.

  She sucked down a breath, pivoted on her heel and forced herself to move. She gained speed with each step, until she was almost jogging as she struggled to breathe, as she fought the pain that tore at her heart.

  Fool.

  She eased the door open rather than shoved it and slipped silently out into the night.

  The backs of her eyes burned, a headache brewing as pressure built inside her, as her blood blazed like liquid fire. She took brisk steps along the alley, her strides long, her heart aching with each one.

  “Damn him,” she muttered.

  Damn herself too.

  She had been a fool to think she could trust him, for convincing herself to lower her guard and let someone in for the first time in a long time, breaking the rules she had set down for herself. She had been a fool for believing things would turn out the way she wanted.

  For a moment there, it had truly looked as if they would.

  Her eyes were open now though. Hartt had feelings for Iolanthe, and Mackenzie refused to play second fiddle to another woman. She was better off without him.

  She tipped her head back as the rain grew heavier, welcomed the cold kiss of it on her face rather than hating it for once. It cooled her overheating skin, washed away the evidence of her hurt, and dampened her senses.

  Yet she still reached out with them.

  Her jaw tensed as she realised what she was doing.

  She had run away from Hartt, had slipped out and was now hoping he had noticed she was gone. She wanted him to come after her.

  To choose her.

  Mackenzie shook that weak, pathetic need off with a growl. She didn’t need him. She only needed her guild. She was more than capable of defending herself against a witch. She had proven that more than once in her life. She had taken out a whole coven of the bastards and if she had to die to take down this one witch too, she would gladly put herself through that hell.

  She didn’t need Hartt.

  She would handle this alone, or at least with the help of Syn. Two capable women. Not a man in sight. Men were the liability. A danger she didn’t need. Yet part of her was still focused behind her, hoping Hartt would come running after her like some terrible romance movie cliché.

  The rain grew heavier, falling in a thick sheet that soaked her to the bone, stuck her black shirt to her shoulders and worsened her mood.

  She reached a crossroads, and a conclusion.

  He wasn’t coming after her.

  He probably hadn’t even noticed she was gone, was probably too swept up in the beautiful Iolanthe to give two shits about average Mackenzie.

  “Men suck,” she grumbled.

  She amended that when she thought about what he had said, when it cut her to the bone all over again and made her feel as if he thought she was a bit of a joke or that she was only playing at being an assassin.

  But she would never really be one because she didn’t have a dick.

  “Men suck balls.”

  She scanned the streets, hoping to recognise where she was so she could get to the nearest portal as quickly as possible and get her sorry ass back to Hell. She needed to talk to Syn, even though her friend would probably congratulate her for getting laid at last and then chastise her for letting her feelings get involved, and then need to be talked out of murdering Hartt.

  Or maybe Mackenzie would skip talking her out of it and let her loose on the elf.

  She highly doubted an elf was strong enough to defeat a demon of the Devil’s domain.

  “Why did you leave?” That bass voice rolled over her, sent a shiver tripping down her spine and stopped her in her tracks.

  She denied the warmth that tried to curl through her, the stupid giddiness that accompanied it as the ridiculous part of her joyfully cried that he had chosen her. Just because he had come after her, it didn’t mean he had picked her over the elf. She doubted he could pick her over Iolanthe, not after the way she had seen him look at her, or the fact he clearly still had feelings for the elf despite the fact she was with the jaguar.

  Mackenzie kept her back to him, refused to give him the pleasure of seeing her outstanding and most beautiful face. Or maybe she just wanted to hide the stupid tears from him. Although, the distance between her and the nearest streetlight and the abysmal weather might do that for her.

  “Mackenzie?” He moved a step closer.

  She plucked up her courage and lined up the words—an accusation about him and his feelings for Iolanthe—and failed dismally.

  “Females are a liability, huh?” Not quite what she had wanted to say, but something that had hurt her almost as much as his blatant love of the elf.

  “What?” Confusion rang in his voice as he took another step closer. He came to an abrupt halt. “Ah… No, Mackenzie. I didn’t mean it like that. Fuery… A long time ago, before I met him, Fuery lost himself to the darkness during a battle against one of our princes. Prince Vail had been twisted by magic and turned on his own legion. Fuery was a commander in it and he admired Prince Vail, loved him like a brother and looked up to him like a father. He was understandably devastated when he was forced to fight him. The darkness seized control of him and he became what we call tainted. It corrupted his memories as well as his mind and his body, and for millennia he believed he had killed his ki’ara.”

  “Ki’ara?” That word slipped from her lips as she frowned over her shoulder at Hartt.

  He raked his long fingers through his wet blue-black hair, pushing it back from his face, tousling it in a way that made him too handsome. She looked away from him again, refusing to crumble, to let him sway her from her path. She was leaving and she would never see him again. This was just a delay in her departure.

  And it was only because she wanted some answers.

  As soon as she had them, she was gone.

  “The elven term for a fated female.” His explanation sparked a thought, one she despised.

  Was Iolanthe his ki’ara?

  Chapter 17

  Mackenzie’s ears rang as she considered the possibility that Iolanthe might be Hartt’s fated mate, that this pull he felt towards her might be born of that biological connection to her. If it was, then he would always love her, would always choose her over anyone else. He was a lost cause.

  “Fuery was mistaken though. His female, Shaia, wasn’t dead. He never killed her,” Hartt said. “They have been reunited and now Fuery is on the path to recovery, but there are times when the darkness muddles his memories and he cannot bear to be around females. At those times he is dangerous and easily turns on others.”

  Mackenzie looked at her boots. She understood what he had meant now, and she felt terrible for presuming he believed all of her gender were weak, but it didn’t alleviate her hurt. It didn’t stop the pain that constantly beat in her heart or the rage that burned up her blood.

  “I do not think you are weak, Mackenzie,” he murmured and moved another step closer.

  Mackenzie turned towards him and took a sharp step backwards, away from him. She fixed him with a hard look. “I suppose it would be hard for you to think a female weak because of her gender when you know ones who are strong.”

  He frowned at her, a flicker of confusion in his violet eyes now.

  Before he could question her, or her courage could falter, she pushed onwards. “Iolanthe isn’t a weak maiden, is she? I noticed her scars. She’s a fighter.”

  “She’s a mercenary who hunts down rare artefacts for clients.”

  And was a rare artefact herself, a beautiful object that more than one person wanted to possess. The jaguar had her, and Hartt wanted her. What would he do to take her from that male? What would he give to have her?

  Hartt’s eyes slowly narro
wed, a glimmer of suspicion forming in them as he looked at her. “Why did you leave?”

  “Because you pissed me off.” She pivoted away from him and frowned at his hand as he seized her arm, holding her in place. It wasn’t wise to try to stop her from doing something she wanted. He should have learned that by now. She focused and her skin heated, the raindrops turning to steam that curled into the cold night air.

  Hartt released her and glared at her, and then at his palm.

  She hadn’t burned him this time, but gods, he deserved it. He deserved to hurt just as she did.

  Fire ignited in her, a need to make him suffer rising within her to steal control, to set her temper ablaze. She turned on him and squared up to him, aware of the heat shimmering around her, how the rain couldn’t get within a few inches of her now without sizzling and evaporating.

  “What is she to you?” She slammed her mouth shut as those words left it and violently shook her head. “Actually, I don’t want to know. I don’t care.”

  She turned away again.

  Hartt was crazy enough to seize her arm again, and this time he didn’t let go. She wanted to grab his hand and throw it off her, wanted to yell at him for touching her when she was overheating, when she would hurt him, scalding his palm or worse. She twisted and brought her arm up, hoping to dislodge him, but he didn’t release her. He tightened his grip, his handsome face pinching as the disgusting scent of burning flesh filled her nostrils.

  “Let me go,” she growled and tried to break free of him, desperate to stop him from hurting himself further.

  “No,” he bit out and gripped her harder, so hard her bones creaked and ached. “I can’t.”

  She stared at him, saw in his eyes that he meant that, and wished it changed everything. Only it didn’t. He might have feelings for her, but he had feelings for Iolanthe too, and she couldn’t be with him knowing he didn’t want only her. It would kill her.

  So she teleported.

  Meant to go to the nearest portal, her only way of entering Hell since she couldn’t teleport there directly like Hartt could, but only made it a few feet.