Scorched by Darkness: Eternal Mates Series Book 18

by Felicity Heaton

  He chuckled at her. “Almost. I’m not sure when I last saw my balls though. I believe they are currently somewhere near my kidneys.”

  Her soft giggle warmed him. “I can help you find them later if you want.”

  Gods, as much as he wanted to take her up on that, he wasn’t sure he would ever defrost enough to want sex, not while they were stuck in this arctic hell.

  He shuddered as another blast of dangerously cold wind buffeted him and seemed to find cracks in his clothing to slip icy fingers inside.

  “Oh, gods, I take it back. I hate the cold. It’s worse than rain.” Mackenzie shivered and he felt bad for her as she pouted. “I can run hot, but not hot enough to counteract this if I want to keep my clothing intact. I don’t want to lose my precious clothing. I’m not getting out of these things once while we’re here.”

  He couldn’t agree more.

  His clothing was staying on.

  Unlike his mate, he couldn’t run hot at all. He didn’t have the luxury of being able to warm his body at will. Although, Mackenzie didn’t have that luxury either. She had confessed that her species felt the cold more than most did and that using her phoenix fire to remain warm was a drain on her strength and was therefore something she couldn’t afford to keep switched on. He agreed with that. He didn’t want her tapping herself out when a fight was liable to erupt at any moment.

  He knew whenever the cold got too much for her and she risked using her fire to warm her body though, because she got a dazed edge to her eyes that had made Rosalind ask her whether she had been relieving herself in her salopettes to keep warm.

  Mackenzie had blushed hard and sputtered at that.

  Prince Vail had gently admonished his mate.

  Hartt lowered his gaze to the compound in the distance, envious of the warm light that constantly emanated from it. It made him imagine roaring fireplaces and hot baths. His gaze shifted to his left, up the tree-covered slope to a ledge barely visible above the frosted tips of some of the pines. A tiny flicker of light struggled to chase back the darkness, a small fire in the heart of the cave that was all that they could risk without alerting the witches to their presence.

  Witches plural.

  Rosalind had performed another spell, one that had tallied everyone in the compound and revealed they were up against more than a dozen mages.

  The low number had been amusing to the vampires and Syn, until Hartt had told them that the witch they were after could create copies of himself, clones that were strong and could fight for him. Those dozen witches could easily create an army of one hundred.

  The mood had been low since then, partly because of his announcement and the discussion that had followed it, and partly because of the damned cold. Life in their draughty cave was taking its toll on everyone, but so far no one had opted to teleport away from the area to get warmed up and get some proper sleep. None of them were willing to leave just in case the witch attacked or ran while they were gone.

  All of them wanted in on this fight.

  Hartt grunted and pressed his hand to his chest, fought the twisting mass of darkness that writhed in his soul and reached for his bond with Fuery. He had sent his friend back to the guild when they had reached this location two days ago and he had seen how on edge he was. Fuery had been reluctant to leave, but Hartt still believed it had been the right move, something his friend only proved correct as the oily tendrils of darkness crept outwards in response to Fuery’s unrest. He breathed a little easier as they slowly settled again, as the darkness calmed in time with the feelings coming through his connection with Fuery.

  “Not going murderous psychopath on me again, are you?” Mackenzie’s voice warbled in his ears, light but laced with a wary edge, and he shifted his focus to her, felt her concern as it flowed into him.

  He grimaced and shook his head, wrestled the darkness back under control and straightened. “Fuery is still… Hopefully Shaia can calm him.”

  Because Hartt wouldn’t say no to his friend being here. He didn’t want to risk Fuery, didn’t want him fighting if it would only push him into the darkness, allowing it to seize him, but he also wanted to strengthen their numbers.

  He tensed as he sensed something, twisted to his left to face the cave and growled when he spotted the silhouette of two figures—one decidedly female, and the other an enormous male.

  He grabbed Mackenzie’s hand and teleported on another growl, rushing to join the others and help them fight the intruders.

  When he landed on the broad ledge with her, his senses blared a warning and he leaned back, shoving Mackenzie out of the path of danger. He grunted as a meaty fist swung at him, barely evaded the blow and sank to his haunches in front of Mackenzie as she hit the ground. He shielded her with his left hand, telling her to stay down, and issued a mental command to his armour, so it formed talons over his fingers as he prepared for a fight that looked as if it was going to be brutal.

  “Frey!” a high female voice snapped.

  One he recognised.

  The huge brute of a demon male who towered over him as he protected Mackenzie twisted away from him, revealing the female.

  Long snow-white hair, ethereal blue eyes, curves clad in cerulean leather that matched the trousers the demon wore.

  “Isla,” Grave growled before Hartt could think her name, rounded the small fire that blazed in the heart of the cave and stormed towards her. “I sent word telling you to remain away from here.”

  “And I received that word.” She turned on her mate, and Hartt shivered as the air chilled around her. “And here I am, come to ensure you do not dare issue me such orders in the future.”

  It was cold enough already. He didn’t need a phantom sucking what little warmth they had from their makeshift base of operations. He remained crouched in front of Mackenzie, acting as a shield between her and the six-eleven wall of muscle that cast another glance at him, a battle hunger shining in his pale blue eyes. The demon wanted a fight.

  Hartt wasn’t about to give it to him. He needed to conserve his strength for the battle that lay ahead of him, wasn’t interested in weakening himself by obliging the demon.

  “You brought backup with you. Expecting a fight from me, my love?” Grave eyed the demon, his ice-blue irises ringed with crimson.

  Isla folded her arms across her chest, her pale skin stark against her blue leather corset. “No. I tracked you, saw through your eyes where you were, and Frey offered to provide the transport.”

  “You agree with this plan of hers?” Grave peered past his mate to the demon.

  Frey grunted. “No… but you are well aware that once Isla has her mind set on something, there is no deterring her.”

  His mouth flattened, and then twitched into a half-smile when Isla glared at him. Hartt had the feeling he either liked courting danger or he often teased her like this, as if she was a younger sibling. He decided it was the latter when she sighed rather than beheaded him and turned her focus back to her mate.

  “I said I should have come here blindfolded.” The vampire turned to his brother as he ran a hand over his short dark hair, his aquamarine eyes holding an accusation. “But you said it would be fine and I was overreacting.”

  Night rolled his shoulders in an easy shrug beneath his thick black fleece. “Maybe I thought it would be better if she were here. Although, I didn’t expect her to bring her own one-man army.”

  Grave sneered at the demon. “Shouldn’t you be off back to your realm to run your kingdom?”

  Not just a demon then, but a demon king.

  Hartt assessed him. Long, blond hair tied at his nape with a leather thong. Pale golden horns that curled from above his pointed ears, following the curve of those ears, and were flaring and growing as he glared at Grave, beginning to twist around to resemble those of a ram. Cerulean leathers.

  If he had to guess, he would say the male belonged to the First Realm. One of the realms at peace with the elves.

  Prince Loren had formed a tre
aty with the First and Second Realms of the demons centuries ago. Those two realms bordered the elf kingdom and the treaty stopped them from participating in the constant battles that happened in the remaining five demon kingdoms, providing a nice buffer zone for the elves. Where villages had once been destroyed by the constant skirmishes along the border, towns now flourished, risen from their ashes to provide hubs for the demons and elves to trade with each other. All three realms were prospering because of the alliance.

  The other five kingdoms of the demons were still trying to destroy each other.

  “Take her home.” Grave turned away from his mate.

  “I do not answer to you,” Frey growled and moved closer to Isla, and Hartt had the feeling there was some bad blood between him and the vampire.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Isla moved deeper into the cave, following her mate, and her incredible blue eyes danced over the other occupants of it. “Will you not introduce me to my new allies?”

  Grave muttered something beneath his breath and then faced her, waved his arm out in a sweeping gesture and then motioned to his mate. “This is Isla.”

  “A phantom made flesh. We have met.” Vail’s flat expression revealed nothing as he moved to stand closer to Rosalind.

  “You have met?” Grave looked from Isla to Vail and back again, his dark eyebrows lowering and the corners of his mouth turning downwards. “When? And why did I not know about this?”

  “It was in the elf kingdom. A female dragon had a vision of the First Realm and the Second Realm assisting the elves in a war against her brother. I went with… I went with Melia to fight in that war.” Isla’s voice lost some of its strength and she rubbed at her left arm with her right hand as she sighed.

  Grave looked as if he wanted to go to her and hold her.

  “They allowed the mad prince back into the elf kingdom? Times must have been desperate indeed.” Frey’s deep voice gained a cold, hard edge as he stared at Vail.

  Hartt stood and growled at the demon in a warning. The things Prince Vail had done had not been his fault and he wouldn’t allow this demon king to punish him for what was in the past now. His prince was striving to make reparations with the elves and he didn’t need people trying to destroy the progress he had made.

  If this demon dared attack Vail, he would have to deal with both him and Hartt. Hartt wouldn’t let him fight alone.

  Rosalind waved her hand and the pebbles that littered the ground began to tremble, and then the rock floor of the cave began to shake, and Hartt couldn’t believe his eyes as the stone rose in dark spikes behind Vail.

  Forming a throne.

  Vail didn’t miss a beat, eased into it the moment it finished forming, rested his hands over the ends of the arms and curled his black talons over to dig into the stone. He eyed the demon, a challenge in his violet gaze as Rosalind came to stand beside his throne, draping her arm across the tall back of it.

  “That’s one hell of a power move,” Mackenzie muttered as she got to her feet and closed ranks with Hartt, her arm brushing his. “I don’t think we can top that.”

  “I’m not sure anyone can top it,” Hartt whispered out of the corner of his mouth, not taking his eyes off the silent battle playing out between Vail and Frey.

  The First and Second Realms were at peace with the elf kingdom, but while Vail had been under the control of a witch, he had frequently tried to cut his way through the demon realms to reach the elf one and his brother, intent on killing him. Thousands of demons had fallen to Vail’s claws, and Frey looked as if he wanted Vail’s blood as payment for all he had spilled.

  “He is our ally now, Frey,” Isla murmured gently as she came to the demon brute. “Remember that. You lectured me once about treading the same dark path of vengeance as your thoughts are. I offer you the same counsel now. An enemy can become a powerful ally, and we should not make an enemy of them simply because of our history with them.”

  Hartt shifted a few steps towards Vail, an urge to protect the male gripping him. Vail might have fallen from grace, but he was still Hartt’s prince, still an heir to the throne of the elves. He wouldn’t allow this demon king to lay a finger on him.

  “I really suggest you listen to the phantom.” Rosalind’s smile was sweet, but her blue eyes held a darkness that the demon would be wise to fear. “Unless you want to be dropped into, say, a volcano… or better… the Third Realm. See, I’ve been to your realm. I met your former king. Or should I say queen?”

  She glanced at Isla.

  “Your sister was noble. She didn’t attack those she viewed as allies, or those who were in league with them.” Rosalind’s eyes narrowed into bright blue slits as twisting ribbons of light curled around her arms. “King Thorne of the Third Realm was an ally… is an ally of your kingdom. We are an ally of King Thorne’s. Angering us would turn him into your enemy. Not only that, but it would threaten the peace you have with the elves. Oh, and let’s not forget that I’m good friends with the mate of the Second King. That would be three realms teaming up against yours. Think really bloody hard now… You really want that?”

  “Frey.” Isla placed her hand on his thickly-muscled forearm.

  The big demon sighed, his broad bare chest heaving with it, and stilled. His blue eyes widened as he looked beyond Rosalind and Vail, his horns flaring as they settled on the person leaning in the shadows there, casually inspecting her black nails.

  “I want in on that fight, Rosalind. I still owe his kind and I don’t care which realm suffers my wrath. After all… these demons are all the same.” The demoness uncrossed her legs and pushed away from the stone wall, strode forwards with a sultry kick to her black-leather-clad hips.

  Hartt wanted to think her words were all for show, that she was just trying to make an impression, but something in her eyes had him feeling she had a problem with Frey’s kind and it wasn’t the usual hatred that existed between the two demon species.

  As she stepped into the sphere of light from the fire, Frey tensed even further.

  She locked gazes with Isla.

  “The name’s Jasynder, but you can call me Syn.” She shifted her amber gaze to Frey, turning a cold look on him. “The tall, dark and disturbingly delicious slice of demon there doesn’t get to say my name.”

  Mackenzie sighed and issued her friend a look that had her on the verge of huffing.

  As it was, the demoness rolled her eyes.

  “Fine. He can call me Jasynder, but only if it’s really necessary… like… say…” She deepened her voice, imitating Frey’s. “Thank you, Jasynder, for saving my sorry, worthless life.”

  Frey scoffed at that. “I will have no such need, and do not expect me to save you when you will undoubtedly require it.”

  Syn laughed, threw her head back and really went for it, earning a black look from the demon, and a worried one from Mackenzie.

  “I will not! I’m a grade-A, top-notch assassin.” She dropped her chin and swept her hands down herself, a sultry pout to her lips as she motioned to her body. “I have skills—and curves—you can only dream of possessing. You’ll be begging me to save you because you’re a big… lumbering… idiot.”

  His horns flared further, twisted all the way around themselves to form dagger-like points by his temples. “Say that again. I dare you.”

  He took a hard step towards her, all glowering darkness that radiated anger the demoness would be wise to heed.

  But didn’t.

  She tipped her chin up and stared Frey right in the eyes. “Big. Lumbering. Idiot.”

  He snarled, flashing long fangs.

  “All your kind of demons are so puny and dumb.” Syn toyed with her hair and teased her short black onyx horn for a split-second. “You probably don’t know the sharp end of the sword from the hilt!”

  Frey chuckled. “Sharp end of a sword? The blade, since that is the sharpened part? Or did you mean the point? If you need a lesson in the anatomy of a sword, I am more than happy to give you an up close a
nd painful look at my one.”

  He held his right hand out above the rocky ground, his palm facing it.

  Hartt arched an eyebrow as the rock split and the round pommel of a sword emerged from it, holding a large blue crystal. The bound black leather grip followed it, and then the cross-guard, a thick but ornately carved bar of silver that cut across the base of the blade. That blade was broad, slowly revealing itself as the weapon continued to rise from the ground, lifting up towards the demon’s hand.

  A blade made for a demon.

  Syn’s amber eyes gained a strange light as she stared at the sword, as the blade kept going. Three feet long. Four. When it reached close to five feet in length, Frey twisted his hand, skimmed it down the grip, and curled his fingers around it. He pulled the point of the sword free of the rock, set it back against it and stared at Syn, blue fire shining in his eyes.

  The demoness edged forwards, her hands twitching at her sides, her eyes locked on the sword. She sounded dazed, or possibly bewitched or enamoured.

  “So big—can I touch it?” she breathed, reached for it and caught herself. She scowled at everyone, her expression blackening as she found all of them staring at her. Her tone gained an edge as sharp as the blade Frey gripped. “So I have sword envy. It’s a thing!”

  Her sparkly amber eyes leaped back to Frey.

  “How’d you get such a fancy one anyway?” The pout in Syn’s voice drew a smile from Mackenzie, had his mate shaking her head.

  “I am First King.” Those words were tinged with melancholy and regret, sorrow that only seemed to build as Frey lowered his eyes to the weapon he wielded, transforming into pain that looked as if it was tearing him apart.

  “Frey.” Isla softly placed her hand on his forearm again.

  He glanced at her as he released the sword and it sank back into the ground, drew a shaky breath and touched her cheek. “I need some air.”

  She smiled tightly.

  Frey lingered, shifted his hand and brushed his knuckles across her cheek, looked as if he wanted to say something more to her, and then his hand dropped from her face and he walked away from her, out into the frigid night.