“Do not move,” Hartt said, and at first Fuery thought he was speaking to him, but when he looked at the male, he was looking in the direction of the ghost that hovered before him.
A beautiful phantom and a terrible nightmare.
She shrank back a step, as if she had heard Hartt, and lowered her head.
Fuery laughed at himself and the ridiculous hope building inside him.
She wasn’t real.
She only responded because she was a figment of his tired mind, under his control, and he had heard Hartt’s words.
She had reacted because he had ached for her to do so.
Her lips parted, soft pink and tempting, and gods, he wanted to take those lips with his, to taste her and drown in her as he used to, spending hours worshipping them and stealing every kiss she would give him.
“Fuery,” she whispered.
Too much.
He growled and struggled against Hartt, the agonised sound echoing around the room to mock him. Hartt’s grip on him tightened, the pain of it a strange sort of comfort that he clung to, desperate to ground himself again.
The bond between them grew in intensity, offering more comfort to his weary soul, easing some of the pain in his heart.
Stripping away his defences.
What he had done came rushing back in to swamp him and the darkness seized it like a weapon, used it to weaken him as he fought to wrest control from it again.
“I woke in a village,” he whispered in the elf tongue as Hartt dragged him towards the corridor, his eyes locked on the ghost of Shaia. Desperation edged his words as he tried to purge the darkness growing inside him by spilling his sin as quickly as he could manage, confessing all to Hartt in the hope it would help as it had many times before. “I had killed many… I killed another female just as I killed you.”
Gods, he wasn’t confessing to Hartt.
He was confessing to her.
“Do not talk any more, Fuery,” Hartt murmured. “Save your strength.”
They reached the corridor and Fuery lost sight of his ghost, but he could still see the horrified expression that had settled on her beautiful face as he had confessed his sins.
“I am sorry.” Fuery stumbled along behind Hartt, his voice hitching as tears filled his eyes and his heart blazed, each step agony as his wounds stretched and felt as if they would burst open, and his bones burned and grated beneath his skin.
“Do not worry about it.” Hartt pulled him closer, turning him to face forwards and wrapping an arm around his side beneath his arms to support his weight. “I will go to the village. I am sure there is an explanation and that you did not kill a female.”
“Again,” Fuery said. “I did not kill a female again.”
Hartt muttered, “If you did, it would be the first female you have killed.”
Which made no sense to Fuery.
Hartt knew his black past, knew his sins and what he had done to the beautiful apparition they had left behind in the guild entrance hall.
They reached Fuery’s quarters and Hartt opened the door and led him inside. Light flickered to life in the oil lamp on the small table on the right of the room near the window, chasing back the darkness as Hartt moved forwards towards the double bed.
Fuery eased down onto the dark covers, his eyes not leaving Hartt as he tried to make sense of everything that had happened.
Hartt’s deep voice was soft, laced with affection and concern. “There is blood in the cooler. Drink some. You need it to heal. Swear you will remain in the room while I deal with a few things.”
Fuery nodded.
“Rest,” Hartt said softly.
He caught Hartt’s wrist when the male turned to leave, and Hartt looked back at him, the concern that had been in his voice shining in his violet eyes.
“I cannot,” Fuery whispered and clutched Hartt’s arm, unwilling to let him leave when there was more he needed to tell him. He needed to unburden his heart before he could rest. He needed to hear Hartt tell him that there was nothing wrong with him. Nothing more than usual anyway. “There was a light in me, Hartt. A flash of sunshine… and it blinded me. I keep seeing it wink in the darkness… an echo… but it is still there. I can feel it, Hartt. Someone put a light inside me.”
Hartt leaned over and smoothed his hair back with his free hand. “You are just tired. You need to rest.”
“I will try.” Even though he knew it was impossible because if he focused, that odd light was still there, casting shadows in his heart.
Hartt slipped out of his grip and headed for the door, and Fuery tracked him, part of him wishing his friend would stay and the rest needing him gone so he could have silence in which to think. To feel. He wanted to nurture that light that lingered inside him, needed to come to understand it somehow and learn where it had come from.
“Where are you going?” he rasped, his thoughts flitting between the strange light and the demons he had slaughtered, the two blurring together and rousing the darkness that now slumbered inside him, the pain echoing through his body keeping it at bay, rendering him too weak to fight as it always wanted him to.
It would leave him be now until he was healed, stronger, able to do its vile bidding. He had starved himself the first time he had realised it lost interest when he was weak. It had been a mistake, and one he had never repeated. When he had passed out from hunger, he had come around surrounded by a bloody scene and with his belly full.
Hartt looked back at him from the door, stopping halfway through closing it, and smiled at him. “I am going to look into some business for you, remember?”
Yes, he remembered.
He nodded. “The other female I killed.”
It had slipped his mind for a moment, but it came back in a flash, a brutal blast that tore at him and had him trembling again, sick to his stomach. The light that echoed inside him seemed to grow a little stronger in response, pulsing brighter, but still faintly.
It comforted him.
Even as it drove the darkness wild, made it bash against the cage he tried to keep it locked in and push to break free.
Hartt muttered something as he closed the door, but Fuery caught the words.
“The only female you killed.”
CHAPTER 11
A bolt went down Shaia’s spine, lighting her up inside, and she tensed, her gaze leaping towards the entrance of the guild building and her argument dying on her lips. Before her, Hartt went rigid, his eyes sliding to his left, telling her she hadn’t imagined the feeling that had arrowed through her.
Fuery was here.
“Leave,” Hartt growled, his voice blacker than she had ever heard it, and reached out to grab her arm.
To teleport her away?
“No.” She evaded his hand, refusing to let him order her around or make her do something against her will. “I know where I went wrong now, and you said I could see Fuery if that happened. I want to see Fuery.”
“Believe me, you don’t want to see Fuery. Not as he is now. It will be too much for you, Shaia. He is not the male you knew. It will be too much for him.”
That almost had her doing as he wanted and leaving, but the need to see Fuery with her own eyes and know he was alive was too strong, easily suppressing her desire to go and spare Fuery the pain of seeing her.
“I need this,” she whispered, and then with more conviction added, “You cannot make me leave this time.”
Hartt’s violet eyes leaped from the entrance hall to her, and the emotions that flickered in them warned her that he wasn’t embellishing things, that he honestly believed this meeting between her and Fuery would prove too much for both of them.
He pressed a hand to the breast of his black tunic. “He is not well. Something is wrong.”
She could feel it too. It was the same feeling she’d had when speaking with Prince Loren, when he had helped her open the link between her and Fuery. Darkness. Pure darkness.
And pain.
So much pain that it stole h
er breath.
She ached to take that pain away, to ease it and Fuery’s suffering, to bring light back into his soul somehow and save him.
The sensation grew stronger, sliding down her spine, wrapping around her limbs and tightening its hold on her.
He was coming.
“Last chance,” Hartt muttered, an edge to his tone that told her to take the out he was giving her for her own sake.
She shook her head even though he couldn’t see it. She wouldn’t leave now, not when she was on the brink of seeing Fuery again, not even when she feared what he would look like now.
When Hartt turned and she caught sight of Fuery at the entrance to the black-walled reception room, her breath left her in a rush and her legs weakened.
But it was Fuery who fell to his knees on the black flagstones the moment his eyes landed on her.
He was more beautiful than she remembered, more breathtaking, and the pain of missing him swept through her, so intense that she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, was left shaking and wrecked.
He was a mess, his eyes appearing black and his pale skin covered in blood, his armour torn in places to reveal vicious wounds, but gods, he was still her Fuery.
Her ki’aro.
She had mourned him for millennia, and now she wasn’t sure how to process the fact that he was still alive, but sick. Terribly sick. She could see it in his eyes as he stared at her as though she was an apparition sent to haunt him or torment him. She could feel his pain, his fear, his suffering through their weakened bond. Pain that had nothing to do with his injuries. It pulled at her, and she needed to do something for him.
But she could only stand and stare, too shell-shocked by the sight of him to move and act, reeling from every emotion that flooded her, both her own and Fuery’s.
“Shaia?” he breathed, and her knees almost gave way, a chilling sort of weakness sweeping through her that brought tears to her eyes as she heard his voice again, her name on his lips for the first time in four thousand years.
His breathing quickened, becoming laboured, and he raked claws over the obsidian stone tiles as he stared at her, his black eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
And then he lifted his hands from the floor, turned them palm up, and stared down at them, his eyes wide. Pain flooded her, so intense her breath lodged in her throat together with her heart.
His pain.
She didn’t hear a word he said as he lifted his head again, his lips moving silently as her ears rang and she fought the fierce onslaught of his emotions, the terrible darkness that pushed at her, trying to seep through their connection. She held it open despite the danger, refused to close it when Fuery needed her.
Hartt moved to him, and she stared as he pulled Fuery onto his feet.
Her Fuery.
He was as tall as she remembered, his build slender but powerful, slimmer than Hartt’s. He kept looking at her, the disbelief mingled with pain in his eyes tugging at her, together with the injuries he bore. He needed her. She needed to take care of her male.
He reached for her.
His armour still formed sharp obsidian claws over his fingers, but she wouldn’t hesitate to place her hand into his as he wanted, because she knew he would never hurt her.
When she reached for him, the pain that flowed from him into her grew stronger, and he lowered his hand, a flicker of something like guilt crossing his handsome face.
“Do not move,” Hartt said, his violet eyes dark and his tone brooking no argument.
She moved back a step, showing him that she would do as he wanted, because now she could see that he had been right.
Seeing her again had been too much for Fuery.
He was slipping. She could feel the darkness rising inside him, and knew if she went after him as she wanted that she wouldn’t be helping him. She would be helping that darkness take hold of him.
“Fuery,” she whispered, filled with a need to go to him and desperately fighting it for his sake.
He needed time to recover from his wounds, and to calm his mind.
But it was hard to remain where she was as Fuery growled, the agony in it tearing at her as he fought Hartt’s hold on him. Hartt’s knuckles blazed white as he tightened his grip on Fuery and pulled him towards the corridor.
Fuery’s eyes turned wild.
“I woke in a village,” he whispered in the elf tongue as Hartt dragged him away. His eyes locked on her, and his deep voice was as wild and desperate as his expression. “I had killed many… I killed another female just as I killed you.”
Killed her?
“Do not talk any more, Fuery,” Hartt murmured. “Save your strength.”
Fuery fell silent, and she jerked forwards as he disappeared from view, a new need rushing through her.
She needed to know what he had meant by that.
The pain she could feel in their bond grew, and she couldn’t bear it. She closed her eyes and reached for him, no longer caring that the darkness might try to seep into her. It was there waiting, oily and choking, but she pushed past it, strengthening her connection to Fuery in a desperate attempt to help him.
She needed to comfort him.
He was distraught and he needed her.
He grew distant on her senses, and she wanted to follow, but remained where she was, aware that if she dared to go after Fuery that Hartt would be angry with her and would kick her out again, and she needed to speak with him.
She needed to tell him that she knew where she had gone wrong.
Because she hoped that Hartt would help her with Fuery.
It killed her a little that Fuery would never be the same, and that Hartt had been there for him when he had needed someone the most.
It should have been her.
She had failed him, her beautiful warrior.
Now he suffered because of it, and was in danger of slipping into an abyss and never coming back.
Her heart bled for him as she stood alone in the grim black reception room, his words and his pain ringing in her mind and her soul.
Movement off to her left drew her gaze there.
Hartt.
He rubbed his right hand over his mouth, his expression drawn and solemn as he moved silently across the stone floor towards her, his boots making no sound.
She took a step towards him.
He lifted troubled violet eyes to her.
They quickly narrowed into thin, dark slits and he shifted course, heading straight for her. A cold wave rolled off him and crashed over her, and her instincts blared a warning.
“You have done enough damage,” he snapped. “It is time you left.”
“No.” She stood her ground on trembling legs. “I came here to see Fuery.”
Hartt growled in her face. “You have. Now you will go.”
Shaia shook her head. His expression darkened further and the threat of violence as the pointed tips of his ears flared back against his tousled short blue-black hair unnerved her, but somehow she managed to hold her ground.
“I have not seen Fuery yet,” she whispered, and the menacing edge to his expression and his body language softened a little. “I have seen another male… one akin to my fated one… but one who is not my ki’aro.”
Hartt’s voice dropped to a bare whisper. “That male died centuries ago. He doesn’t exist anymore.”
She looked beyond him, towards the corridor, her senses reaching out to Fuery and finding him not far away. He felt calmer now, and she took comfort from that.
“I believe he does.” She brought her gaze back to Hartt. “Somewhere in there. I need another chance to draw him to the surface.”
“No.” All of the warmth and softness instantly evaporated from Hartt. “It’s too dangerous for Fuery.”
Shaia closed her eyes, breathed deep and then looked at him. “I know. I do not want to hurt Fuery, but I cannot leave.”
He looked over his shoulder again, and this time when he looked back at her, the softness was in his eyes
again, mingled with hope. He was going to change his mind. She knew it. He was going to let her remain and help Fuery.
“You want to help Fuery… you can start by explaining what the fuck you did to him.” Hartt snapped his gaze back to her, and his tone lashed at her, drilling an accusation into her heart that left her shaken. “Because he said someone put a light in him… and that was why he lost it.”
Gods no.
All the pain she had felt in him, all the fear and the distress. It was all her fault.
Hartt grabbed her arm and she jerked as he yanked her in the opposite direction to Fuery, viciously pulling her down the corridor towards his office. She stumbled along behind him, ears ringing as she struggled to make it sink in.
The more it did, the fiercer the pain in her heart grew.
The door slamming shut startled her back into the room and she stared at Hartt as he shoved her down into a chair and rounded his ebony desk. Rather than sinking into his chair, he paced the length of the wall, his strides clipped and screaming of the agitation and anger she could sense in him.
“You told me to find out where I had gone wrong,” she said, unwilling to take all the blame for what had happened to Fuery. “I went to speak about it to someone I know and who is also recently mated, but when I reached the castle I lost my nerve. I rested near a stream outside it and a kind stranger came to check on me. I talked with him about it… and he helped me open the connection again by strengthening my one with nature.”
Hartt froze.
Slowly shifted his head towards her.
His wide violet eyes landed on hers.
“Do not tell me that you told Prince Loren about Fuery… do not tell me you chose the one male in the damned kingdom with the power to hurt Fuery… to sentence him to death.” Hartt rounded on her and slammed his hands down on the desk, causing her to jump. “Don’t you dare fucking tell me that you just told the male in charge of a death squad that Fuery is tainted.”
Before she could say anything in her defence, he threw his hands up in the air and growled, flashing long white daggers as his ears grew more pointed.
“Why not just kill Fuery yourself? It would be fucking kinder!” Hartt growled and shoved his fingers through the longer lengths of his black hair, tugging on it and ploughing furrows in it as he started pacing again. Quicker this time. “I don’t fucking believe you.”
Unchained by a Forbidden Love Page 11
