Rosalind frowned over her shoulder at her. “That was my amazing line, thank you very much.”
She petted Vail’s hair and hummed to him as she stroked him.
“You want to come inside while I take a peek at Mackenzie and hunt for the witch?” Her voice was as soft as the first light of morning, but Vail still shook his head.
“I do not want the vampires in the house,” he grumbled into her shoulder.
She patted his back.
“Fair enough. No bloodsuckers in the house. Maybe you can stay outside with them, talk to Fuery and get some air.” Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. “And keep an eye on the demoness. Her breed is sketchy as fuck.”
Syn huffed at that but didn’t deny it.
Vail drew down a deep, shuddering breath and straightened. He released Rosalind and looked as if the last ten minutes hadn’t just happened. His face was a black mask as he eyed the vampires, all trace of softness gone from it.
Grave and Night exchanged a look, and if they were planning to mention the vulnerability they had witnessed in Vail, they were dumber than she had thought. She waited, part of her wanting them to cross that line just so she could see what would happen, the rest of her willing the two males to continue to hold their tongues.
When they said nothing, she was a little disappointed, had to remind herself that the vampires were her allies and she was meant to be on their side. She put it down to having an elf for a mate. It was already colouring her opinion of vampires.
Rosalind came to her, snatched her free hand and tugged her forwards. “Probably best we do this quickly.”
Mackenzie stumbled along behind her, losing her grip on Hartt’s hand. She tossed a glance over her shoulder, relief swift to bloom as she spotted him following her. She turned back to face front so she didn’t fall flat on her face and grunted as a taut wire or something slapped her across her forehead, almost knocking her onto her ass.
“Watch the washing line!” Rosalind hollered without slowing and huffed. “Took me bloody ages to get that thing around the trees with Vail constantly muttering about how it would hurt them.”
“I heard that, little wild rose,” Vail called.
Rosalind peeked over her shoulder and blew him a kiss. “Don’t kill the vampires.”
He sighed and sullenly said, “I will endeavour not to, my love.”
Mackenzie didn’t think that sounded promising. Hopefully Fuery could keep his prince in line and stop him from slaughtering their allies. She glanced at Syn, sure her friend could handle herself if things went south.
But just in case, she was going to get this mystical witch-hunt over quickly.
Chapter 27
Hartt came up beside Mackenzie, took her hand from Rosalind and clutched it tightly as they strode together towards the small cottage. Rosalind opened the wooden back door for them and stepped inside, and Mackenzie followed, her eyes widening as she entered a quaint country kitchen that was far too big to fit in the space she had seen from outside.
A deceptively small cottage.
A strange sensation skittered over her bare arms and it wasn’t the cold or the sudden warmth that encased her like a comforting blanket as the door closed behind her. It was magic. She had been around plenty of witches in her life, more than she had ever wanted to be near, but none of their magic had ever felt like this.
It was like a light caress over her skin, a soothing touch that warmed and calmed, took away her nerves and left her feeling she could trust the witch who disappeared around a corner in the corridor ahead of her. Hartt began walking in that direction, paused and looked back at her when she didn’t move.
“Are you all right?” He stepped up to her, smoothed his palm across her cheek and angled her head up, so their eyes met.
She hesitated and then nodded. “It’s just… the magic.”
He frowned now, the darkness in danger of flooding his irises with black as his mood shifted. “If it upsets you, I can make the witch do her work outside.”
It was sweet of him to mask the truth with such an innocent-sounding word like ‘upset’. He could feel the trickle of fear in her, but didn’t want to call her on it, didn’t want her to feel as if she was weak for being afraid of the witch to a degree.
“It’s not that.” She lifted her hand and placed it over his, savoured the feel of his against her cheek, how strong and steady it was. That strength flowed into her too. It chased her fears away, belief that he would never allow this witch, or any witch, to hurt her ringing in her heart to calm it. “It just feels different to all the magic I’ve encountered before.”
“Rosalind is of the light. I believe she focuses mainly on protective and healing spells.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek, his look softening. “But I think this lightness you feel, this calm, comes from our connection. This place, and Rosalind’s magic, is deeply rooted in nature. Those roots have grown deeper still in the time Vail has been here. He is close to nature, far closer than any other elf besides his brother can hope to be. Being here is a sort of comfort to me. It is hard to explain.”
It was the nature thing again. She had always thought elves dark, a vicious species who were ruthless in battle and spared little thought for others, preferred to remain among their kind and looked down upon the rest of Hell. She had never realised how deep their bond with nature ran, how fiercely they craved a connection with the goddess. She placed her free hand on Hartt’s chest and closed her eyes as his heart drummed against it. She could feel it there though, a constant yearning to connect with nature, to bathe in her light and be nurtured by her, and on the other side of that coin, a constant fear she would reject him.
If this was a weakness in his species, it was a beautiful one.
Phoenixes had no such goddess of their own, bowed to no deity. They had lost all the traditions of their people long ago. They had been cast aside when they had been driven into hiding by the blood mages, fear of revealing what they were causing her ancestors to forsake them. She knew only rumours of them, whispered tales of how things had been when they had soared free in the skies of their realm.
One that existed on another plane.
The mages had invaded and had driven many phoenixes here to this world, and the gate between the two realms had been closed to her kind, trapping them. Now, the oldest of her people, those who had been able to vaguely recall the beauty of their world, what it was like to live there and be free, were gone, and the tales of it were dying out.
Now, the only thing her kin had to show to the new younglings were faded cave paintings of the world they should have lived in.
A world beyond their reach.
“You’re hurting,” Hartt’s smooth, deep voice rolled over her, soothed the pain she felt whenever she thought about that world she had never seen with her own eyes.
“You just got me thinking, that’s all. About the world of my people.” She opened her eyes and lifted them to meet his, smiled softly when he looked confused. Elves weren’t the only species with closely guarded secrets. “Phoenixes are not from here. Thousands of years ago, mages invaded our world through a portal, and drove hundreds of phoenixes through it, into this world where we are supposedly weaker. That gate was sealed to us and we can’t return, but sometimes I get this yearning… this constant nagging need to find a way back there.”
It was impossible though. Many phoenixes had searched for a way to open the gate, and all of them had gone mad in the end, driven insane by a constant thirst for knowledge, to find the one scrap of information that would give them the key they sought.
Hartt raised his other hand and framed her face. “Elves have been in Hell for almost five thousand years. Prince Loren and Prince Vail have been alive for all of those. Maybe once this is done we can speak with Vail?”
She didn’t dare hope that the elf could give her any information on her kind, but a tiny spark ignited in her chest anyway, defying her. She thought about her feelings towards elves and realised the re
ason she had thought them aloof and distant, unfeeling and vicious creatures, was because she had always heard that from her parents, who in turn had heard it from their parents.
What if the reason her kind thought elves were so cruel was because they had refused to help them in the past?
Besides the demons, elves were the oldest species in Hell. If there was a possibility that the elves could help her find the key to unlocking the gate between this plane and the one where her kind lived, she had to pursue it.
She checked that need, tamped down the fire that burned inside her, quelling the urge to go to the elf prince right that moment and shake answers out of him. She pulled down a long, slow breath and then another, seeking calm. Purging the need to seek a way to unlock the gate.
She didn’t want to end up mad, twisted by a pursuit of knowledge that might not bear any fruit.
Too many phoenixes had lost their lives that way.
She wrapped her arms around Hartt’s waist. Besides, as much as she was curious about the world her ancestors had come from, she was happy in this one and was in no hurry to leave it.
Hartt dipped his head and kissed her, a soft slow one that made her feel light inside, warmed by the love she could feel in it and in him.
“Oh, good grief. I leave you alone for two seconds and you’re at it like rabbits. Newly-mates.” Rosalind spoke that last word like it was a curse and Mackenzie could practically hear the eye-roll that accompanied it.
Hartt reluctantly released Mackenzie and looked as if he wanted to scowl at the witch for interrupting them. Rosalind gave him a pointed look, one that dared him to do it. He huffed instead and stepped aside as the blonde approached them, didn’t stop her as she seized Mackenzie’s wrist again and tugged her forwards.
“Knew I shouldn’t have let him take you from me. Honestly. Come along now.” Rosalind looked back at her. “I don’t bite. I leave that to my husband. You’ll find me perfectly charming, absolutely sweet, and adorably acerbic.”
Mackenzie glanced back at Hartt as she tripped along the hallway behind Rosalind.
He shrugged and whispered, “She’s not wrong.”
Rosalind huffed again. “You want to wait outside with your pals? I don’t think so. Dial it back.”
Mackenzie was beginning to like Rosalind with her take-no-crap attitude. She had the feeling that aspect of her personality wasn’t the product of being mated to a powerful male. Rosalind felt powerful in her own right, had clearly lived in the cottage for some time, and ran a business from it by the looks of things.
The witch released her and gathered a cardboard box filled with glass vials into her arms, causing them to clink together as the box bowed and bent and she struggled to lift it. “Bloody things. You’d think the supplier could have used something sturdier. I just don’t know why clients can’t have potions in neat, square bottles that fit together nicely. No… they need the colourful curved bottles with pretty stoppers that look the part.”
“Here, allow me.” Hartt took the box from her, effortlessly lifting it from her arms and waiting for her to direct him.
When she pointed to the far corner, beyond the fireplace, and Hartt headed in that direction, Mackenzie looked there and raised an eyebrow. There were five other boxes like it stacked in a neat pile. How many vials did the witch need? Was this a year’s supply or a month’s?
“Business is booming, I take it?” Hartt set the box down in front of the others, nudging aside a few old tomes.
“No better marketing than word of mouth. A few love spells to the right person, a case of warts on a business or romantic competitor here and there, the odd toxin overdose in an enemy. Before you know it, everyone wants a potion from Rosalind the Great.” The hint of sarcasm in her voice made Mackenzie question the title she had claimed to have, giving her the impression it was something she called herself more than something others called her. “It’s that bloody Atticus’s fault. I swear, you tell a guy to bugger off a few times and then agree to help the persistent bastard, and he repays you by bringing every damned person to your door. I’ve had princesses, paupers, kings, hordes of regular folk and even an angel bothering me. I can’t remember the last time I had a day off.”
The witch waved her hand and a worn green velvet armchair scooted across the floor, stopping close to an old chaise longue. She patted the cracked leather seat of the recliner.
“Sit, sit… I don’t know how long we have before Vail goes Hulk on the vampires.” Rosalind sank into the green armchair.
Mackenzie edged towards the chaise longue and eased down onto it, and was glad when Hartt came to sit beside her.
“Now, let’s get a good look at you. I haven’t met one of your kind before.” Rosalind winked at her, the sort that was meant to reveal she knew a secret and was apparently keeping it, while blatantly telling everyone in the vicinity she knew it. “Which part of you touched him?”
Hartt growled at her. “Word things better.”
Rosalind gave him a sassy smile. “But it’s so much fun to poke the bear.”
“Won’t be much fun if I go back outside and poke your bear.” His lips curled into a slow smile as she scowled at him.
“Fine.” She huffed and tipped her chin up, angling her face away from Hartt and towards Mackenzie. “I’ll play nice.”
She held her hand out to Mackenzie. Mackenzie placed her wrist into it. The witch closed her eyes and muttered something, and Mackenzie stiffened as light chased along Rosalind’s arm beneath her skin, flickering with colour that changed as it moved, as it danced and swirled towards Mackenzie. It took all of her iron will to stop herself from yanking her hand away from the witch’s as she felt the magic growing in the air, as those lights suddenly rose out of Rosalind’s forearm and zoomed towards Mackenzie’s hand.
Hartt clutched her other one, anchoring her, the connection that his touch formed between them enough to have her remaining in place, accepting the magic as it swirled around her hand. As she began to relax, she started to find the tiny sparks of light fascinating, found herself tracking a particularly bright orange one as it danced around her hand, being chased by the others.
Rosalind continued to mutter strange words, her eyes slipping shut as the sense of magic in the air grew thicker.
Tiny pricks of light began to form in the air like motes of dust catching sunlight. They sparkled like stars as they hung in the air, slowly growing brighter until they glowed gold and illuminated the entire room, chasing the shadows back.
Beautiful.
Suddenly, they winked out of existence.
The warmth that had been steadily building in the air evaporated. She swore she felt the cold kiss of wind against her and smelled the tinny scent of snow.
And then it was gone.
Thick silence followed.
The fire crackled and popped, shattering it.
“Well, that’s a turn-up for the books.” Rosalind’s tone was bright, held a note that spoke of both amusement and excitement, and had Mackenzie looking at her. “Turns out my husband will be joining us on this expedition.”
Rosalind’s smile gained a darkness that sent a shiver down Mackenzie’s spine as it revealed a side of the witch she hadn’t realised existed, a side that looked as if it was going to enjoy this hunt.
Her blue eyes sparkled with sharp silver stars.
“Your witch is in the mortal world.”
Chapter 28
When Rosalind had told them that the blood mage was in the mortal world, Hartt had expected they would find him hiding in the heart of a busy city, somewhere he could easily blend in and disappear.
He hadn’t expected to spend four days trekking into a frozen hell somewhere in the remote north of Norway. Reaching the nearest airport in the tiny Alta hadn’t been difficult thanks to Grave’s connections in London. His cousins had given them access to a private jet that had just about handled the frigid temperatures and a somewhat slippery landing.
It had been the closest they
could land to the place Rosalind had sensed the witch was hiding, a point she had shown them on an atlas that looked as if it hadn’t been updated in around half a century.
Part of Hartt had hoped it was so old that there was a town where she had located their target now, but Mackenzie had looked it up on something called Google Maps and told him to brace for bitter disappointment.
Bitter was certainly the right word.
He huddled down into the thick winter jacket he had purchased in London before they had left, a black one that could thankfully withstand the cutting wind that scoured the bleak white landscape and battered him. It wasn’t the only layer he was wearing. A heavy woollen jumper and a thermal layer sat beneath his coat, and he had donned something called salopettes, black ones that the store clerk had assured him went with the jacket and would protect him down to a temperature that Hartt had thought adequate enough at the time.
Now, he felt it was nowhere near close enough to the level of protection he needed.
His feet were frozen in the heavy waterproof and insulated boots he wore, his fingers numbed despite the gloves that protected them, and his face felt as if the wind was attempting to flay the skin off it.
Hartt buried his nose into his scarf, tugged his woollen hat down to his eyebrows and his hood up higher, trying to stop the cold from invading.
Mackenzie looked as cold as he felt as she shifted foot to foot beside him, the snow the wind whipped up spotting her black clothing and her gloves as she peered through a pair of binoculars.
He lifted his head as he wrapped his arms around himself and fixed his gaze on the warm light that glowed faintly in the distance, near the base of a towering cragged mountain bathed in moonlight.
His breath fogged on the air as he stilled.
Incredible, colourful light danced above the mountain, shimmering shafts of green, blue and red that sent a chill running over his arms and down his spine.
“Wow,” Mackenzie breathed as she lowered her binoculars to take in the display nature was putting on for them. “That’s something. Almost makes freezing my tits off worth it.”
Scorched by Darkness: Eternal Mates Series Book 18 Page 25
