Scorched by Darkness: Eternal Mates Series Book 18 Read online

  “Now that vile Crow will beat me to her power.” The mage launched at him before Hartt could ask what the hell he was talking about.

  He barely had time to twist to his left to avoid being skewered by a blade that appeared in the male’s hand.

  One that looked awfully familiar.

  “You are weak against it, are you not?” The male looked at the short black sword and then back at Hartt as he swept it out at head height, forcing Hartt to duck beneath it to avoid being decapitated.

  It was one of the pair he had given to Mackenzie.

  He focused on the blade as he threw himself into a slide across the ice, passing beneath the blow the mage aimed at him. Only the sword didn’t respond to his command, didn’t disappear from the male’s hand.

  The mage chuckled.

  Brought the blade down in a fast arc aimed right at Hartt’s head.

  Hartt teleported, and regretted it when he landed and his right knee almost gave out. He jammed the tip of his sword into the ice, used it as a crutch to keep him upright as he mustered his strength.

  “Shall we dance?” the mage said.

  Before Hartt could say anything, the male was right in front of him, had moved almost too fast for Hartt to track, leaving a series of faint blue outlines of himself in his wake. Hartt dodged left and gritted his teeth as the black blade sliced across his right shoulder, cutting straight through his armour.

  When the male twisted and kicked off, Hartt was ready for him, leaped to his left and came up behind the mage. He thrust forwards with his sword. But rather than the blade plunging into his side, it only struck that point on one of the blue outlines. It wasn’t possible. Hartt growled as the mage’s knee slammed into his back, knocking the wind from him. It was.

  The mage was getting faster.

  Hartt rolled onto his feet and came to face him, honed all of his senses and did his best to track every thrust and withdraw the mage made. He countered most of them but wasn’t fast enough to block all the blows. He grunted as the black sword cut across his left thigh and then nicked his cheek, backed off in the hope of gaining some space to move so the witch couldn’t attack him as easily.

  Only he ran into a problem.

  A clone grabbed him from behind. Hartt growled and seized the wretch’s right hand, bent forwards and threw the male over his shoulder. The second the clone landed on his back in front of him, Hartt drove his katana through his chest.

  The mage grunted now.

  Hartt grinned.

  If he couldn’t deal a direct blow to the witch, he would target his clones, weakening him by dealing wounds to them. He spun on his heel and cut through the neck of another copy, twisted and brought his arm up to block the silver sword of another. His bones vibrated with the force of the impact, but the blade bounced off his armour.

  He turned to decapitate another, but the male disappeared.

  Hartt growled as more of them disappeared in a wave that spread outwards with him at its centre. The mage was on to him, drawing his power back into himself to stop Hartt from weakening him. Damn it.

  On a feral roar, he unleashed more of the darkness writhing inside him, harnessed it to make himself faster. He clashed with the witch, managed to land a blow this time, cutting across the male’s shoulder. The mage grunted and kicked at him, driving a heel hard into Hartt’s left knee and following it with a solid right hook that had the pommel of the blade he gripped catching Hartt across his cheek.

  The cut on it split open, spilling blood that was quick to freeze against his face.

  “Hartt!” Mackenzie’s voice pierced the darkness, drove it back to a point where he could control it but agitated it at the same time.

  He snarled as he sensed her closing in on them, wanted to roar at her and order her to stay away. He was glad she was healed, but he didn’t want her anywhere near the mage.

  That desperate need to protect her compounded in his veins, burned in his soul, as the mage turned his crimson eyes on her.

  Hartt couldn’t let the male reach her.

  He launched at the black-haired male, struggling to keep pace with him, barely blocking every fierce blow the male made as he tried to come up with a plan. Keeping him busy was the best he could do while maintaining a safe distance. It wasn’t enough. His sword clashed with the male’s again, sparks flying from the iron that laced the black metal and rendered the two blades impervious to each other.

  Hartt redoubled his effort, summoned the last of his strength and focused. He moved faster, struck harder, but he still couldn’t deal a fatal blow to the witch. The male was too quick, blocked every attempt he made.

  The mage’s crimson eyes darted to Mackenzie again, filled with a terrible black hunger that chilled Hartt to his soul.

  His instincts flared in response, the need to protect his ki’ara strong as it beat inside him, rousing his darker side, bringing it to the fore as he realised something—the mage intended to do exactly as Hartt had feared, viewed her as a source of power he wanted to abuse in order to make himself strong enough to kill them all.

  He realised something else too as he sensed the barrier fall and the mage bared teeth in the direction of Rosalind and then glared at Mackenzie as she ran at them.

  There was only one way for him to get close enough to the witch to kill him, or at least deal a fatal blow that would allow the others to take him down and end this.

  The mage moved, leaving the eerie blue trail of outlines in his wake as he closed the distance between him and Mackenzie. Everything seemed to slow to a crawl as Hartt mustered the last of his strength, as fire shone in Mackenzie’s eyes and Grave kicked off, sprinting towards the mage.

  Silvery light shimmered over Hartt.

  He swept his blade out as he sliced through the darkness, as he came out the other side of the teleport.

  His sword cut clean through the mage’s side, spilling his coppery blood and tearing a pained bellow from his lips.

  Hartt realised one final thing.

  The witch had better aim than he did.

  Chapter 31

  Mackenzie couldn’t hold back the ear-splitting shriek that ripped from her as the mage’s sword punched right through Hartt’s chest and protruded from his back. A blow that had been meant for her. Her heart felt as if it was going to burst as pain speared her, as she fought to catch her breath.

  As rage ignited inside her.

  Fear stoked that rage as the mage withdrew his blade and Hartt slumped to the icy ground in a heap and lay there, his weak pulse grating in her ears, throbbing in her breast.

  “Hartt!” Rosalind yelled and Mackenzie sensed her moving, felt Vail drawing closer as she stared at the mage.

  The snow began to melt around Mackenzie, steam rising from the grass hidden beneath it as her eyes narrowed on the mage. He swept his blade down at his side, splattering the ground with Hartt’s blood. The rage burned hotter, liquid fire in her veins that burned everything in its path as she bared her teeth at the witch and a hunger to destroy him flooded her.

  A desperate need to avenge her fallen mate.

  The mage twisted his blade, clutched it in both hands and held it point downwards.

  Aimed at Hartt’s head.

  Mackenzie kicked off, was hardly aware of what she was doing as a need for violence blazed inside her, as her instincts seized hold of her and demanded she make the male pay for what he had done. She slammed into the mage, steam swirling like mist in her wake as she drove him away from her mate.

  Fire leaped from her back, fluttering and streaming behind her, bathing the male’s face in warm light. His crimson eyes narrowed and he grabbed her shoulder, his pupils faintly shining blue as he stared into her eyes.

  She knew that look.

  Knew the sickening odour of his magic as it swept around her.

  He was using a spell to stop her from shifting, keeping her in this weaker form.

  His eyes slowly widened, the blue glow that lit his pupils growing stronger and st
ronger as a flicker of fear joined them. Rather than shrinking into her back, the flames grew larger, arched above her head and shone deepest red to brightest gold at their tips as they formed wings.

  A shift he couldn’t stop from happening.

  Because her rage ran too deep, her need for revenge flowing too strongly in her veins to be held back. She let the fire consume her, embraced the other side of her, and roared as she spread her wings and the shift came over her.

  The black-haired man drove his sword towards her, pierced her shoulder with it but she didn’t feel the pain. She felt nothing but the acidic raw rage that scoured her insides, that stoked the flames of her wings and strengthened her. The grass burned as those flames blazed hotter, satisfaction rolling through her as the mage’s robes caught alight and he teleported away from her.

  Mackenzie launched into the air, felt her bones lengthening and becoming fire, saw everything more clearly as her vision sharpened and brightened, flickering in yellow hues as she opened her fiery beak and cried out.

  A cry of grief.

  A cry of vengeance.

  She flew high in the night sky, her fire burning hotter still as the air warmed around her, as the snow as far as she could see melted beneath the onslaught of her heat. Her gaze fixed on the mage as magic swirled around him, as crimson orbs launched from him to fly at her. She cried out again as she twisted into a dive, as she pinned her wings back and whirled downwards, gaining momentum.

  The first blast of crimson fire shot harmlessly past her. The second caught her left talon and she unleashed a pained roar as muscle and bone suddenly formed, her flames dying as the spell tore into her.

  She stoked her rage, clawing back her phoenix form in time to dodge another blast of the same spell, barely avoiding being struck by it. She unfurled her wings as she neared the ground, banked right to evade another crimson orb and called out again as she swept around, closing in on the mage.

  He twisted towards the stronghold.

  Mackenzie didn’t give him a chance to reach it.

  She beat her wings and brought her talons down, relished his cry as she seized her prey. The scent of his blood was like ambrosia, drugging her as she closed her claws around him, as she carried him high into the air and raised her legs.

  Pained crimson eyes filled with disbelief and horror met hers.

  Mackenzie struck, her beak slicing clean through his body, cutting him in two. Her flames were quick to incinerate him, to steal the taste of his blood from her tongue, and as she watched his ashes spiralling down towards the earth like snow, the high of victory was short-lived.

  She threw her head back and cried out as the fire consumed her too, as her insides succumbed to the flames and her heart laboured. She dropped as her wings gave out, the pain too much for her to bear as her own power devoured her too.

  Killed her.

  Mackenzie plummeted towards the ground, unable to control her descent, her gaze leaping to Hartt where he lay on the earth, Rosalind bent over him. Her beautiful dark elf. Her mate. Tears misted her eyes, fell as fire as she cut through the cold air, feeling the chill of it as her flames sputtered and died.

  She hit the earth hard, blacked out and surrendered to Death’s waiting arms.

  When the world came back to her, it took her a moment to recall what had happened. She stared at the demoness standing over her, one who was familiar to her as she offered a jacket. Syn helped her sit up and wrapped it around her shoulders. The scent of earth and spice on the coat brought tears to her eyes, had her clutching it to her and doubling over as she cried out, as her heart caught fire all over again.

  Hartt.

  Her gaze sought him as she blinked away tears that scalded her face.

  She stilled as she spotted him a short distance away.

  “Mackenzie,” Syn started, but Mackenzie wasn’t listening, was on her feet and running before her friend could stop her.

  Her step faltered as she looked to Rosalind, her heart shattering when the blonde witch stood and shook her head, a grave look on her face.

  Mackenzie swallowed hard and sank to her knees beside Hartt, stared down at his ashen, blood-splattered face and willed him to come back to her. She sobbed as she bent over him, as she clutched his chest and pressed her forehead to it, desperate to hear a heartbeat. It was weak when she heard it. Too weak.

  She was losing him.

  A flicker of fire ignited in her veins again, her grief too much for her in this form as her instincts roared at her, as the whole of her mourned for her mate. She struggled to hold back the flames, desperate not to hurt Hartt, unwilling to let them burn her to ashes again.

  Stronger phoenixes than her had died a thousand deaths upon losing someone they loved, consumed by their grief.

  She fought the part of her that wanted to give in to her grief. She wasn’t willing to give up. There had to be a way to save Hartt. She clutched his right hand in both of hers and let heat shimmer across her skin to warm his. He couldn’t give up either.

  She wanted to growl as the others came to stand around him, as they all looked at her and at Hartt. She couldn’t bring herself to look at them and see the pity on their faces. She wasn’t giving up.

  Tears blurred her vision and she blinked them away, wracked her brain to think of a way to save him.

  Her heart broke as his eyelids fluttered, as she heard his heart skip a beat and then another.

  “Fight.” She leaned over him, pressed her forehead to his and willed him to listen to her. He was strong. He could survive this.

  He would survive this.

  She drew back as his fingers weakly flexed against hers.

  His violet eyes opened, glazed with pain and hazy, and tears spilled down her cheeks as she tried to smile for him, not wanting him to see how afraid she was, how much pain she was in, even though she was sure he could feel it.

  “Why?” she croaked and swallowed to clear the thick lump from her throat.

  Her chest constricted, felt too tight for her to breathe as he tried to smile for her, only managed to get the corners of his lips to twitch as he gazed up at her.

  “I would have resurrected.” She squeezed his hand, her brow furrowing as more tears spilled, as she struggled not to break down. She wasn’t giving up. He couldn’t either. “Rosalind undid the spell.”

  He gritted, “I know. Couldn’t… help it. You… hate… dying.”

  She hated him dying even more. She would die a thousand deaths if it would stop this one from taking him from her.

  Her eyes widened as she thought of something. Elves used blood to heal. She lifted her right hand and stared at her wrist, went to take her other hand from his to cut it and spill her blood for him, but he tightened his grip on it.

  “I love you, Mackenzie,” he whispered and her heart broke as she heard the goodbye in it, a great heaving sob stealing her breath as her gaze whipped to him, her wrist forgotten.

  He stared at her.

  “I love you, too,” she said, but he didn’t respond, just kept staring at her.

  Through her.

  “No. No… no… no!” She shook her head as his hand went lax in hers, tried to make his fingers grip it again, and when they didn’t, she threw her head back and screamed until her lungs burned, until fire chased over her skin.

  “Mac,” Syn called, her voice a distant wobble as the fire grew hotter.

  Mackenzie looked down at Hartt, frowned at the golden light that warmed his skin and immediately pulled back on her fire, fear of hurting him swift to bring it back under control.

  She sank against him, held him and silently pleaded him to come back to her.

  She needed him.

  She rocked against him as she sobbed, as grief tried to consume her and unleash her phoenix side. She didn’t hear the others as they spoke to her, as someone touched her back. He couldn’t be gone. He just couldn’t be.

  Her eyes widened as she remembered Rosalind’s garden and how Vail had healed the tree, reve
rsing the damage he had done to it.

  She lifted her head, knew how desperate she looked as she locked gazes with him, as his black eyebrows furrowed and sorrow shone in his violet eyes. “You can heal him. You can bring him back. You have to bring him back!”

  “Mackenzie, I—” Rosalind started, but cut herself off when Vail moved to stand beside Hartt and dropped to his knees.

  He held his hands out over Hartt’s chest and she moved back to make room for him, keeping hold of Hartt’s hand. She sniffled as Vail closed his eyes, as he drew a deep breath and pressed his hands to Hartt’s chest above his heart. This had to work.

  Agonising seconds trickled past, the tension cranking tighter inside her, the hope she had felt bleeding from her. She jerked her shoulder backwards when Syn touched it, unleashed a vicious snarling hiss to warn her away. This wasn’t over. Vail could bring Hartt back to her. She believed that.

  Vail lifted his hands from Hartt’s chest and she looked at her mate’s face, waited for him to move.

  When he didn’t, the fire blazed through her again, burning hotter, and she glared at Vail.

  “Mackenzie… I am sorry.” Vail flicked a pained glance at Hartt.

  The grief that filled his eyes flooded her as she realised what he was saying, as she refused to believe it.

  “No. You have to bring him back. You can bring him back.” She practically growled the words at him as her heart broke all over again.

  Tears lined Vail’s black lashes as he shook his head. “I tried. I should be able to… but nature… she refuses to give her power to me.”

  He snarled those last eight words, his face twisting in black lines as his eyes rapidly darkened, as the pain she could see in them morphed to rage, to frustration. Rosalind touched his shoulder but he shirked her grip, growled as he held his hands out over Hartt’s chest again, a desperate and wild edge to his expression.

  “I can do this.” His black eyebrows pinched hard as he pressed his palms to Hartt’s chest. “Nature will yield to me.”

  “Vail,” Rosalind whispered and he sagged, shoulders sinking as he looked back at her, his brow furrowing and a wealth of pain in his eyes.