He dodged backwards, narrowly evading her blow, her dagger harmlessly cutting through the air where his chest had been.
Mackenzie lunged forwards and he smacked his palm against her forearm, knocking her blow off course, and she gasped as his other hand slammed into her chest. The air that had been in her lungs burst from her mouth as she hit the ground and her ribs ached as if someone had just hit her with a sledgehammer.
The vampire was stronger than she had anticipated, far stronger than any rumours had painted him.
On a vicious yell, she kicked off and flew at him, ducked when he hurled a punch at her and slid under his arm. She twisted and found her feet, lashed out with her blade and grinned as she caught his thigh, drawing blood.
He growled and flashed fangs at her as she ran past him, aiming for his brother.
Night was ready for her, easily dodged her first attack and came around behind her. His fist slammed into her spine, tearing the air from her lungs again and sending her staggering forwards. She stumbled to a halt and fought for air, her head turning as her lungs burned.
Grave was behind her before she could recover.
He grabbed her wrist as she swung at him with the dagger, and she snarled as she unleashed a fraction of her power, heating her skin. He hissed and released her, growled as he looked at his palm. Blisters covered it.
She backed off, keeping her blade in front of her and shaking off the dizzy spell that came from using her powers when she was low on energy. She had to be careful. Pushing too hard right now would be a death sentence. Her body wouldn’t be able to handle it.
She tossed her blade to her other hand and focused, breathed deeply to get oxygen into her starved lungs as she readied herself. The two vampires closed ranks, moving to only fifteen feet apart, and advanced on her.
Mackenzie didn’t dare take her eyes off them, but she did a quick scan of the area with her senses and noticed something.
Grave and Night were the only two people out here with her.
The rest of the vampires waited at the edge of the town, too far away to be of use to their leader.
Her blood chilled a few degrees as a feeling ran through her.
The King of Death knew what she was, and that was why he had let her run.
He had wanted their fight to be out here, in the barren land that surrounded the town, far away enough from it that there was no danger of her damaging it.
It wasn’t possible.
Only a handful of people knew what she was and none of them would have told him.
But as she looked into his eyes, she knew it was true. He knew what she was and had taken measures to protect the town and his men, placing only himself and his brother in danger.
The temptation to go all-out as he expected was strong, luring her into surrendering to it, but she held on, refusing to give in. She couldn’t. If she did, it would weaken her, and the vampire could easily seize hold of her.
Could cage her.
Dim, dark memories threatened to surface but she shoved them down and buried them deep. She had vowed no one would ever hold her like that again and they wouldn’t.
Grave slowly drew the blade that hung at his waist, brought the katana down and gripped it in both hands before him.
Night went one better.
He reached around his back and pulled out a black gun, and had squeezed the trigger before she could react.
Fire exploded in her left shoulder, the force of impact knocking it back. She slammed into the ground, a grunt bursting from her lips as she hit it hard enough to send a vicious jolt up her spine. Her eyes widened as Night pulled the trigger again and she rapidly rolled to her right, flipping over twice as three shots rang out in quick succession.
Grave sighed. “It always seems so unnatural to use firearms.”
Night shrugged it off and fired again.
Mackenzie gritted her teeth and rolled backwards this time. A deep, hot throbbing in her shoulder stole her breath and her head turned. What the hell had been in that bullet? It felt as if it was pouring molten fire through her, incinerating everything in its path.
She flipped onto her feet and fixed her sights on Night. She needed to take him, or at least that gun, out of action.
The hot throbbing worsened, each pulse of fire threatening to steal consciousness from her as it pushed her back down into her memories, into a past she wanted to forget. Heat filled her hands, had her bones aching as her muscles clamped down on them, and her vision wavering. She blinked to clear her eyes and launched at the vampire, managed to dodge another two bullets and frowned as a third hit the ground in front of her and exploded in a splash of violet liquid.
The bullets contained spells, just as she had feared.
She flipped her dagger and caught it by the point, pirouetted and grunted as she hurled the blade at Night. It nailed him in the shoulder, knocking him back and tugging a grin from her as he lost his grip on his gun. Payback felt good.
She didn’t get time to enjoy it.
She screamed as fire seared her side, arched forwards as she felt the chilling slice of metal through her flesh, and shook as she looked down at the tip of the blade protruding from her. Another scream burst from her lips as Grave yanked the sword out of her and she stumbled forwards a few steps, desperately summoning her abilities.
She didn’t get a chance to use them.
Grave grabbed her hair and pulled her back.
Plunged his blade into her again.
Her ears rang as she stared down at her chest, as she blinked and tried to make sense of what she was seeing. It felt so unreal. Like a terrible nightmare. She fought to lift her hand, wanted to touch the bloodstained blade that stuck out of her just an inch to the right of her heart. She coughed, choked on her own blood as her strength rushed out of her.
As she sank to her knees on the black dirt.
Grave pressed a boot to her back and tugged the sword out of her, and she sagged forwards, breathing hard, spluttering as her heart laboured and she fought for air.
The vampire rounded her.
She looked up at him out of the corner of her eye, swallowed thickly as cold invaded her veins and awareness slowly dawned on her.
He had lived up to his name.
Death had come calling for her.
Chapter 12
Hartt was sure this was a mistake, but the more he thought about it, the more he felt Fuery was right. Something had felt off about this contract from the beginning, and if Rosalind was correct and the client was a witch, then he really needed some answers.
And the vampire was the only one who could give them to him.
He landed in the square outside the bastion of the First Legion.
Close to a hundred vampires in a strict formation of twenty men wide and five rows deep stared at him.
“Well, fuck,” Hartt muttered and braced himself.
Only none of them moved to attack him.
He tensed as a gunshot rang out and whipped to face the direction the sound had come from. He stretched his senses outwards, charting the town, and detected more vampires, groups of them that were spaced at intervals that could only be by design. Several of those groups were situated at the mouths of alleyways, as if they were blocking the route into the town.
Stopping someone from trying to enter it?
The scent of blood hit him.
Honey sweet but laced with a smoky note.
Mackenzie.
He tried to teleport and failed, growled as he realised something was stopping him and it must have stopped her too. He broke into a sprint as more shots rang out, his heart lurching into his throat as he navigated the maze of alleys. When he reached the wall of vampires he had sensed, he kicked off, easily leaping over them to land in the wasteland on the outskirts of the town.
He scanned the bleak, grim landscape. Froze when he spotted her.
She arched forwards as the vampire behind her plunged a blade into her back.
“No!” Hart
t bellowed.
Black spots winked across his vision as the darkness rose within him, as oily onyx tendrils rapidly snaked through him to coil around his heart. He gave himself over to it as she went down and stayed down.
Grave moved around her and raised his blade.
On a vicious growl, Hartt ran at the vampire, used all of his preternatural speed to close the distance between them in the blink of an eye. He slammed into the vampire’s chest and knocked him backwards. Grave’s blade came down and bounced harmlessly off Hartt’s black armour.
The need to check on Mackenzie was strong, almost undeniable, but he fought it, kept his focus on the two vampires so they couldn’t get the jump on him.
Or finish her off.
Her pulse was weak in his ears, her rasping breaths pushing him dangerously close to the abyss.
Every instinct he possessed roared at him to protect her and he was a slave to them as he summoned his sword and lashed out at the brunet vampire, cutting him across his chest.
“Leave her alone,” he snarled and swung again, his blade clashing with Grave’s this time as he blocked.
The other vampire moved.
Hartt swept his free arm out and hit him with a blast of telekinesis that sent him flying through the air to land over one hundred feet away.
Grave growled as he watched the male land. He turned murderous crimson eyes on Hartt, his pupils nothing more than thin vertical slits in the centre of irises that were ringed with black. Hartt knew what that black was. Bloodlust. Vampires had a darkness in them that was as wretched and dangerous as the one that lurked inside elves, stole their sanity and turned them into beasts.
The vampire snarled, “You’ll pay for that.”
“My line,” Hartt barked and lunged at him, using a mental command to complete his armour. The black scales rippled over his hands, transforming his fingers into vicious claws he intended to use to gut the vampire. “You’ll pay for hurting her.”
The vampire leaped backwards as Hartt swiped at him.
“What is she to you? She’s your enemy.” Grave looked as if he couldn’t understand what was happening.
Hell, Hartt couldn’t understand it either. All he knew was every instinct was roaring at him to save Mackenzie, was driving him to protect her, and he had to obey.
He flicked a glance over his shoulder at her where she still lay on the ground, curled up and struggling for air, a thick stream of crimson coating the side of her face. His heart clenched, pain spearing it as he gazed at her, as fear rose inside him to whisper that he was too late.
There was no saving her.
He growled, flashing fangs as he whipped back around to face Grave as he dared to move. “I only came here to ask you some questions about the one who hired us, but now I think I’ve changed my mind. What Rosalind told me doesn’t matter.”
“Rosalind?” Grave stilled. “The witch?”
Shock rolled through Hartt as Grave lowered his blade, as he held his other hand up to halt the other vampire as he ran at Hartt.
“A truce,” Grave said and sheathed his sword. “I’ll hear you out.”
Hartt backed away from him, edging towards Mackenzie, not taking his eyes off the vampire. He didn’t trust him, wasn’t sure he ever would now. He sank to his haunches beside Mackenzie and reached around behind him, keeping his sword aimed at the vampires as they grouped up. He found her throat and cold stole through him as her pulse beat weakly against his fingers.
Too weak.
“She needs aid,” he said and looked at the vampires, not sure he would get it from either of them.
Grave slid a look at his brother. “Night, return to the bastion and bring aid for the female.”
Night glowered at his brother. “You want to heal her? She’s trying to kill you. He’s trying to kill you.”
Grave’s eyes narrowed, his dark eyebrows drawing down as he turned to his brother. “I issued an order, Night.”
An order that didn’t go down well with Night, had him looking as if he was seriously considering telling his brother to go to hell. Tense seconds trickled past and Hartt’s temper shortened with each one that slipped through his fingers. If the vampires wouldn’t help Mackenzie, he would have to find a way to do it himself.
“My mate is a witch. She can help the female.” Night’s deep voice held a reluctant note and Hartt wasn’t surprised when he muttered, “Still think this is a stupid idea.”
The vampire was swift to leave before Grave could say anything. Whether he would be swift to return was another matter. Hartt didn’t trust either male, felt certain that if the one he had just let go did return, it would be with reinforcements rather than the witch he claimed was his mate.
He monitored Mackenzie’s pulse as he ran through his options. He wasn’t sure what species she was, but elf medicine worked on most. He could run until he was clear of whatever spell had been cast on this place and then teleport to the guild to get some, but that meant leaving her alone with the vampire. Plus, he couldn’t be sure she would survive taking it. Elf medicine sped healing, but it condensed all the pain the person would have felt during the natural course of healing down into less than a minute. With her injuries, so much pain could be too much for her.
His other option was trying to move her, either taking her with him to his guild or to Rosalind. The witch might be able to heal her. The trouble was, he felt sure that if he tried to move her, he would place her in grave danger. She was weak, her breathing uneven, and he could almost feel her pain as she moaned and curled inwards, clutching herself.
“Your vampire better hurry,” Hartt growled at the King of Death. “He better not be lying either.”
“Night is not a liar.” Grave ran an assessing glance over Mackenzie. “His mate is a witch.”
“Witches,” Hartt snarled. He was beginning to despise their kind. They were causing him nothing but trouble. He sighed as he corrected that thought. Not all witches were bad. Rosalind had helped him. He looked at Grave. Rosalind had been right about him too. They did know each other. Well, now the vampire was going to give him some answers. “Rosalind believes our client, the one who hired both of us to kill you, is a witch. Can you call to mind any witches that might want your head?”
Grave pursed his lips and frowned, lifted his hand and brushed his thumb across his mouth. “The phantom mages hate me, but I killed most of those.”
And enjoyed it judging by the satisfied gleam in his pale blue eyes.
“Maybe you upset someone related to them? Someone who loved one of the mages you killed?” Hartt tried to ignore the witch that popped into his head, the one he feared was behind everything, but Mackenzie coughed and spilled more blood down her cheek, and dancing around things took a back seat. “Maybe you upset a necromancer?”
Grave’s expression went slack. “I was hired a long time ago to take out a family of that breed of sorcerer. When we arrived, the mansion had been burned to the ground. I have never seen anything like it. The entire area was scorched and some of the stone had been melted.”
Melted?
“What kind of being has the power to melt stone? Another witch?” Hartt glanced at Mackenzie when she moved, weakly pressing her hand to the black dirt and attempting to sit up. He turned to her and stroked her cheek, his brow furrowing as he gazed at her. She was pale now. Too pale. He feathered his fingers down to her throat and softly whispered, “Mackenzie.”
“Hartt?” she croaked and grimaced, shuddered and coughed, bringing up more blood.
“Hold on,” he murmured, pain lancing his chest as he glanced at hers, as he stared at the deep wound that spread scarlet across it and felt her growing weaker. “Help is coming.”
She shivered, her teeth chattering as she curled inwards again. “Cold.”
He rubbed her bare arm, trying to get some warmth into her. Rather than settling down, she tried to move again, managed to push herself a few inches off the ground. Hartt took hold of her and gently lifted her, unabl
e to deny the need to hold her. He gathered her against him, so she rested on her back with her head on his thighs, hoping the angle would allow her to breathe more easily.
“Vampire,” she wheezed. “Said something. Mansion.”
He bared fangs at Grave when he moved closer. The vampire wisely halted, keeping his distance.
“Someone left a request letter and a hefty amount of coin on the doorstep of the First Legion. They hired us to take out a coven of sorcerers. Blood mages, apparently.” Grave looked off to his left, towards the town.
Hartt looked there too, relief washing through him when he spotted Night returning, clutching the hand of a brunette female in an ankle-length plain black dress. He hadn’t been lying then. He did have a witch on hand.
“Request?” Mackenzie forced the word out, her voice strained as she tried to look at Grave, as she attempted to twist towards him.
Hartt had to grab her shoulders to stop her from moving, felt her desperation as it echoed inside him, a wild and restless thing that demanded he help her.
Grave frowned. “It was only two words: Save them. Scrawled below it were coordinates. When we reached them, it was the smouldering remains of a mansion, littered with burned bodies.”
Mackenzie grimaced as she fought Hartt’s hold, trying to sit up. Her golden eyes were wide as they sought Grave, a crazed edge to them.
“Did you meet… one who left… note?” Her voice gained pitch as she pushed at Hartt’s hands and he held her more firmly, refusing to let her move.
The witch finally reached them and sank to her knees. He paid her no heed as he fought with Mackenzie, battling to keep her still. She choked again, her chest heaving as she coughed up more blood. Her eyes glowed more brightly as she looked at Grave.
The urge to claw the bastard’s heart out and crush it before his eyes blasted through Hartt and he had to fight to tamp it down, shifted his focus entirely to Mackenzie, using his need to take care of her to keep him in place and stop him from attacking Grave.
Scorched by Darkness: Eternal Mates Series Book 18 Page 11
