Unchained by a Forbidden Love

by Felicity Heaton

  They were quick to run.

  Fuery clutched his side, grimacing as fire throbbed there, the pain pushing him deeper into the dark tendrils snaking around him and threatening to pull him into the black abyss.

  He staggered towards the arched entrance of the guild, his chest heaving with each laboured breath as his heart beat hard and fast. He needed the dark of his room.

  He needed the silence.

  Each step took effort, every one more than the last, his progress slow as he fought to remain on his feet and not collapse again.

  “What’s wrong?” Hartt was suddenly before him, concern flashing in his violet eyes.

  A growl curled up Fuery’s throat and his eyes narrowed on the male.

  “A fucking female?” Fuery bit out in the elf tongue, just saying the words enough to conjure images of his target and the female who haunted him, mingling them together to send him dangerously close to plummeting into the abyss. “The mark is a fucking female?”

  Hartt paled. His eyes widened. “No. I did not know.”

  The horror in his friend’s eyes, and his feelings, said that he truly hadn’t known, and that he regretted what had happened.

  Fuery tried to cling to that, desperate to use it to calm himself, but the darkness was too strong and he was slipping, weakening as it took its toll on him. The memories he had been fighting rose, his mind and body too tired to fight them too when it was losing a battle against the darkness that surged and writhed inside him like a living thing.

  Never a female.

  He tried to pass Hartt, but his friend stepped into his path. He stilled as Hartt’s palms captured his cheeks, holding him gently, luring him into looking at him. He stared into the male’s clear violet eyes, and managed to focus on them.

  “You did nothing wrong,” Hartt whispered softly in the elf tongue, keeping their conversation private.

  A fact Fuery was thankful for considering the audience they had. Several members of the guild had stopped to watch, and a few stragglers from the crowd that had witnessed his fall outside were watching him too. None of them knew the elf language. His species had done their damnedest to keep it private to them, unknown by any other species.

  “Listen to my voice, Fuery,” Hartt continued, his eyes holding Fuery immobile.

  He’d had eyes like that once. Clearest amethyst. Now they were almost black, only a sliver of violet remaining in them. Soon, that would be gone too.

  Then, the red would start emerging.

  “Fuery,” Hartt murmured, shaking away that thought, and he forced himself to focus on his friend and his words, to listen to his voice and use it to ground himself.

  He could feel the connection they shared as Hartt reinforced it, a blood bond they’d had for centuries now.

  Blood.

  He screwed his eyes shut as he saw the female again, staring at him in horror, her violet eyes wide and lined with tears.

  “Fuery,” Hartt whispered and he heard her voice.

  Her sweet, sweet voice.

  His eyes burned, his nose stung, and he growled through his clenched fangs as his heart splintered into a thousand fragments for the millionth time. Gods. He missed her.

  “Fuery.” Hands shook him, and that male voice pierced his mind, shattering the illusion.

  He dragged himself back to the surface of the oily black water that churned around him and opened his eyes before he could drown in it.

  Violet.

  Could he ever have eyes like that again?

  “You did not hurt a female. Remember that. You did not hurt her.”

  But he had.

  Not the female in the square, but he had hurt the one before her.

  One he never should have hurt.

  He had been born to protect her.

  Instead, he had killed her.

  “Fuery, you are not listening.” Hartt rattled him again, and he shot back to him, the darkness falling away enough that he could focus again, the suddenness of it releasing its hold on him almost sending him to his knees.

  It lingered and lurked though, waiting like a shadow to strike again, to seize him if he let his guard down.

  “Breathe through it.” His friend had paled further, and sweat glistened on his brow as he breathed hard in time with him.

  Their hearts laboured in unison.

  “Breathe,” Hartt urged.

  Fuery sucked down one rasping shuddering breath, and then another, bringing the tempo of them into a match for the rhythm of Hartt’s, strengthening the connection between them just as Hartt had in order to shake him from the grip of the darkness.

  Black spots appeared in Hartt’s violet irises.

  Fuery shattered the connection between them and knocked Hartt’s hands away from his face.

  No. He wouldn’t be responsible for Hartt’s demise as well as his own. He wouldn’t allow his only friend in this world to take the darkness from him. It was his burden to bear.

  “I am fine now.” He wasn’t, he was far from it, but he needed to say something to convince Hartt that he no longer needed his help.

  Hartt nodded, but the look in his eyes said that he didn’t believe him, that he knew he was lying to protect him and he didn’t like it.

  The male’s eyes dropped to his arm, and then he turned away and started walking along the arched entrance hall of the guild. Fuery silently thanked him for not taking it as he wanted. As unsteady as he was on his feet, he needed to walk in unaided, because he was damned if he was going to let the other members of the guild see him as weak.

  He was tainted, almost lost to the darkness, but he was still stronger than all of them combined.

  Hartt looked back over his shoulder at him as they passed the first set of thick columns that were set into the walls and supported the elegantly carved black stone roof of the entrance hall. “Will you be alright?”

  Fuery nodded as he clawed back a little more control, enough that his legs stopped shaking and finally felt stronger beneath him, his steps surer as they reached the main foyer of the building, an enormous black room with a corridor off to his right and left, and a door in the far right corner of the room that led to the offices.

  He bared fangs at a trio of young fae males lounging in the horseshoe of black velvet couches that encircled the monstrous marble fireplace to his left, all of them staring at him as if he had two heads. They quickly looked away.

  “I will speak with the client about it.” There was genuine regret in Hartt’s smooth voice, and a note of anger that Fuery couldn’t miss. “You are sure you will be fine?”

  He nodded again, even though he wasn’t, because he knew that while Hartt would speak with the client and give them hell for not mentioning that the mark was a female, he would still see the job fulfilled by another assassin for the guild.

  He was far from fine with that.

  Killing females was wrong.

  They took the corridor to the right and he squinted whenever he passed one of the oil lamps on the black walls, his sensitive eyes hurting at the brightness of them. He needed the dark. The silence. Hartt led him deeper into the maze of corridors, right to the end of the long wing of the building, to a place where few ventured. It had been decades since Hartt had issued the order that this part of the guild was restricted, and only he and Fuery could go there. Fuery could understand why he had done it, even when it had stung a little at the time. His friend needed to protect the males he employed and felt responsible for.

  From him.

  He was the reason this area was off limits, and the reason Hartt had moved into the rooms opposite his, always on hand if he needed him.

  Or on hand to stop him if he lost himself to the darkness.

  When they reached his door, Hartt opened it for him.

  “Try to sleep.” Hartt smiled at him, but the concern in his eyes lingered, worry that cut at Fuery because he didn’t want to be a burden on his friend.

  The more Hartt drained himself worrying about him, and helping
him, the weaker he was against the darkness that was stirring in him. Hartt denied it, but Fuery could see it. He could feel it. His friend was beginning to slip and fall, and it wouldn’t be long before the light began to leave him and he lost himself to the black abyss.

  He hesitated and then lifted his hand, grasped Hartt’s shoulder and pulled him towards him. He pressed his forehead to Hartt’s, but couldn’t find the words to say what he needed to say to him, to warn him to be careful and to beg him to look after himself.

  Hartt clutched him by the nape of his neck, pressing their brows harder together. “Rest, Fuery. I will check on you later.”

  He nodded, and released Hartt at the same time as the male’s hand dropped from his neck. He watched Hartt leave, heading back along the corridor, the oil lamps sending warm light flickering over him. It hadn’t slipped his notice that Hartt had come to him armed for war, his black armour in place, moulded to his body like a second skin.

  He pulled down a deep breath, intending to sigh.

  Stilled as a scent laced it and filled him.

  He stared blankly at the other end of the black-walled corridor, ears ringing as numbness swept through him, swiftly followed by strange warmth.

  He knew that smell.

  Lavender and crisp morning dew.

  His knees gave out, sending him slamming hard into the stone floor, but he didn’t feel the fiery lightning as it shot through his bones.

  What fresh hell was this?

  Tears filled his eyes as he drew another shuddering breath, convinced he was mistaken, and caught the scent again, stronger this time. It couldn’t be. He focused, but the darkness pushing inside him made it difficult. He gritted his teeth and growled as he shoved back against it, desperate to catch the scent again.

  This time, it was a feeling that hit him, a sensation that he hadn’t experienced in what felt like forever.

  It wasn’t possible.

  He snarled as he clawed at the flagstones, tipped his head back and growled at the gods, silently begging them to have mercy on him because this was too cruel.

  He couldn’t bear it.

  The visions of her that overlaid onto the present and the nightmares that haunted him each time he closed his eyes were torment enough. They didn’t need to do this to him. It was too much. He could already feel himself spiralling into the abyss, pulled down by the scent of her in his lungs, and the desperate need it birthed inside him, one he knew would never be fulfilled.

  He couldn’t see her again.

  Because she was gone.

  He shoved his fingers through his hair, tugging the long lengths out of the clasp at the back of his head as he dug his claws into his scalp. The scent of his own blood joined the sweet fragrance that lingered in the air, tormenting him.

  Gods, he was losing his fucking mind.

  He could smell her.

  Feel her.

  His mate.

  The female he had killed.

  CHAPTER 5

  Shaia shifted foot to foot in the dark-walled corridor, her thick brown leather boots silent on the polished black flagstones beneath her feet. She drew down one breath and then another, trying to settle her racing heart as she waited. She licked her lips and rubbed her damp palms on her trousers, and blew out another breath.

  It had taken her almost half a lunar cycle to reach this point, and she was tired, and a little afraid.

  More than a little afraid.

  Was this truly the place where Fuery now lived?

  Was he really alive?

  The thought of seeing him again had her trembling, her nerves threatening to get the better of her and stirring thoughts of leaving. She had done so on her first attempt to uncover whether Fuery resided in the monstrous black gothic building in the middle of a town in the central region of the free realm. She hadn’t even reached the imposing arched entrance before she had lost her nerve and had scurried back to her small room at an inn at the other end of the bustling town.

  She flexed her fingers and shook them, trying to stop them from trembling, and sucked down another breath.

  This had to be the place.

  The shifter in charge of the first assassin guild she had found in the free realm had been swift to usher her out and point her in the direction of this one when she had revealed the reason she had wanted to meet with him.

  Apparently, just the mention of Fuery’s name was enough to have a grown male, and powerful hellcat shifter, blanching and sweating.

  He had look terrified.

  What terrible things had Fuery been doing in their time apart to build himself such a fearsome reputation?

  She took to pacing the broad corridor, working off some energy as she waited. Gods, she had been here for hours now, surely? The male she had meant to be meeting, the leader of this guild, had exited the room at the end of the hallway to her left in a hurry, the loud slam of the door hitting the wall as it opened startling her.

  That had been almost fifteen minutes ago now.

  Maybe he wasn’t coming back.

  Just as she thought that, the male appeared at the end of the corridor and she finally got a good look at him.

  An elf.

  Her heart beat harder, faster, and her nerves rose again, undoing all of her hard work.

  If an elf led this guild, perhaps this was the place after all.

  Was Fuery here?

  The male muttered things under his breath as he stormed towards her, pushing long fingers through his short blue-black hair, ploughing furrows in it as a black tunic, trousers and boots materialised over his slender body to replace the armour he wore.

  Had he rushed from his office to fight someone?

  Had someone come to harm his assassins?

  The thought that she might have been in danger sent a surge of adrenaline through her veins and she looked towards the end of the corridor beyond him, a vision of a battle forming in her mind.

  Gods.

  It was all a little exciting.

  And perhaps a touch terrifying.

  When the male neared, she carefully smoothed her hair back beneath the black hood of her cloak, making sure the length of it remained hidden. She had tied it back, and she was sure some males had long hair like hers, but she didn’t want to give this male any reason to turn her away before speaking with her.

  In order to move easily, and unmolested, through the free realm, she had strapped down her breasts with bandages before dressing in a drab dark grey tunic and pair of tan trousers that she had stolen from one of the male servants of her parents’ household. She had paired them with her black travelling cloak, and had managed to make it across the free realm, and even through the interview with the hellcat, without rousing suspicion.

  Her disguise was amazing.

  No one suspected she was female.

  The elf male lifted his violet eyes and they widened, as if he had only just noticed her.

  “This is no place for a female… not right now. Leave,” he barked in a mortal language and strode past her, leaving her standing in the corridor staring in shock at the other end of it.

  She looked down at herself.

  Or at least she had thought her disguise was amazing.

  “Wait,” she said and slipped into the office before he could slam the door in her face.

  He huffed, narrowed his eyes on her and muttered in the elf tongue, “Your funeral.”

  “Why?” she responded in the same tongue, and he swiftly turned to face her, his eyes narrowing further.

  “What the hell is an elf female doing away from the kingdom?” He was quick to shut the door behind her, and she didn’t miss the way he peered into the corridor to check it before he closed it.

  Was he worried someone would see her?

  “I am looking for someone.” She pushed her hood back, and his expression only blackened.

  “Go home. We deal in death here, not the lost.” He jerked his chin towards the door, rounded the large ebony desk in the centre of h
is office, and slumped into the black leather chair on the other side, a sigh escaping him as he sank into it.

  He looked frazzled, worn down, and pale.

  What had happened in the span of time between him leaving his office and returning? Whatever it had been, it had clearly drained his strength. His hand shook as he tugged a drawer on the right side of his desk open, fumbled around and pulled out a metal canister.

  Blood.

  He unscrewed the cap and the air filled with the tinny tempting scent of it as he drank deep from it. She had taken blood a few times, when it had been called for, needing it to replenish her strength. Her stomach rumbled, the hunger she had been denying over the past few days rising back to the fore. A sip of blood would be enough to restore her lost strength, and would achieve it far quicker than consuming food.

  But the taste of blood reminded her of that day millennia ago, when it had been Fuery’s on her tongue, slipping down her throat, replenishing that which he was taking from her, forming an eternal cycle between them.

  And it hurt, the pain so intense she always felt as if she couldn’t breathe, as if it would kill her.

  When the male lowered the canister from his lips, he sighed again and leaned back in his chair.

  His violet eyes slid towards her. “You’re still here?”

  She nodded, hesitated for only a heartbeat, and then stepped towards him, approaching the desk as she pushed away her painful memories and forced herself to focus on the future. On Fuery.

  “You say you do not deal in the lost, but I have heard differently.” She resisted the temptation to twist her hands together in front of her, determined not to make herself appear weak in front of this male.

  His eyes narrowed again.

  She cleared her parched throat, and did her best not to fidget as her nerves rose, her heart slamming against her ribs.

  “I have heard the someone I am seeking is here.” She weathered his glare as he sat up and slammed the canister down on the surface of his desk.

  “So go and find them, and stop bothering me,” he growled.

  “I will… if you would be so kind as to point me in his direction.” Her voice warbled and she cleared her throat again, afraid he might view her nerves as a weakness and use it against her in some way. “His name is… Fuery.”