Unchained by a Forbidden Love

by Heaton, Felicity

  She wanted to say all that to him, to the prince who ruled this realm and had the power to make sweeping changes to their traditions, freeing females and allowing them to enjoy the same pursuits as the males of their kind.

  Only she wasn’t brave enough.

  Because she had already wounded him with her careless words.

  She felt wretched when he touched her left cheek, slid his fingers down to under her jaw and lifted her chin, and she saw the hurt in his eyes.

  “Do you believe I will punish you too?”

  She quickly shook her head. It was the truth. He had been nothing but kind to her, had helped her immeasurably, because even now she could feel an echo of Fuery within her. The bond to him was frightening, because it was so dark, like staring into a cold vast abyss, but gods, it was a relief to feel it there again and know that he was really alive.

  “I owe you everything,” she whispered to Prince Loren, and then pulled her courage up from her boots and found some strength to put into her voice. “I cannot thank you enough… and I feel terrible that I said those things about you… but I need to protect Fuery.”

  He regarded her for a few seconds, and then nodded. “I understand, because I too feel such a need. I constantly lie to my council, telling them I do not know where Vail resides, because I cannot bring myself to surrender my brother to them. I would do anything to protect him.”

  She could see in his soft violet eyes that he truly did understand her desire to protect Fuery from the legion responsible for hunting the tainted.

  “If I wanted all the tainted and lost dead, I would have sent the legion after Fuery the second I met the male in the mortal realm four lunar cycles ago.”

  It took Shaia a moment to take in those words. They swam in her head, shock making them ripple and distort, slow to come into order and sink in.

  When they did, they knocked her hard, had her wobbling on her feet as she stared at Prince Loren.

  “You… you have seen him?” Her voice shook as much as her legs.

  He nodded.

  Relief swept through her, powerful and potent, making the hope in her heart grow stronger because she was sure Prince Loren would never lie to anyone, and she believed him when he said he wouldn’t send anyone after Fuery.

  She could save him.

  Prince Loren shattered that relief and shook her hope when he spoke again.

  “I saw enough to know that if you do not move swiftly, you will not save your mate from the darkness. He will be lost forever.”

  CHAPTER 9

  A bolt of white lightning suddenly shot through Fuery, driving back the darkness that was his constant companion and bringing him to his knees. The black gravel bit into his shins as he breathed hard, struggling as an onslaught of emotions rushed through him, clashing hard within him and tearing him apart.

  He growled as the light pulsed brighter, sending sharp pain sweeping through him, a collision of feelings dredged up from his past and condensed into one searing blast that felt as if it would shatter him.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  Fuery grasped his throat, tugging at the scales of his black armour, fighting for air.

  Something was wrong with him. Terribly wrong. Cold prickles swept over his skin beneath his armour, tightened his chest and chilled his blood. He needed to return to the guild. He needed to speak with Hartt. Hartt would know what was happening to him.

  He wanted to teleport there, but he couldn’t, didn’t have the strength and couldn’t focus through the sensations detonating inside him, bombarding him and leaving him quaking. He would have to find the nearest public portal. He could make it. He needed help.

  One of the demons chuckled low, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. Another joined him.

  That had his mind sharpening even as pain wracked his body. Danger. He was in danger, open to attack as he was now. He needed to purge the pain. The light. Light part of him wanted to cling to even as the rest of him screamed to extinguish it.

  He gritted his teeth and focused, fighting to subdue his muddled emotions and the agony they caused.

  As the pain began to ease and he finally got his emotions back under control, the darkness pushed back against the light, more vicious than it had ever been. It swamped him, gripped him fiercely and pressed down on him, squeezing the light back out of him.

  Stealing control.

  He reached for the light, the reaction an instinct he had no power over and didn’t understand. It slipped through his fingers as the darkness responded to the need that went through him, rising to swallow him and seemingly determined to shut out the light again, as if it feared it might lose its grip on him entirely.

  Gods, Fuery wanted that light back.

  He wasn’t sure where it had come from, but it felt familiar.

  Like coming home.

  A roar rushed through him, screaming up his throat, and the darkness seized hold of him, squeezing him in sharp claws that penetrated deep enough into his soul that it shook the light from him.

  He sank into it.

  The first demon didn’t know what had hit him as Fuery launched to his feet, a blur in the low light. His long black claws met the large male’s throat and then blood spilled over his bare chest, thick and dark, and the male gargled as he went down.

  The second demon, the one who had laughed at him, was quick to move out of his path, distancing himself from the dead male as he dropped to the black earth near the fire of their camp.

  Fuery didn’t hesitate to shift his aim to the nearest male, a young demon who was now fumbling with an enormous sword, the firelight shimmering over his tight bronze leathers that hugged his thick legs as he spread them in a fighting stance. He had been a last minute addition to Fuery’s client’s list of marks, a mercenary in training. Unfortunately for the male, the first job the demons had taken after welcoming him into their team had been kidnapping a fae female for sale on the black market.

  Her father was paying handsomely for her return, and the death of everyone involved in what had happened to her.

  The young pale-haired demon swung the blade at him, a clumsy blow that Fuery easily dodged. He pivoted around to behind the male, faster than the brute because of his size. Demons were strong, but they were at a disadvantage when faced with one of Fuery’s kind. They were heavy-set with bulging muscles that gave them power but at the cost of speed.

  Elves tended to err towards a lighter build, with compact muscles that gave them both power, and agility. Fuery had long ago honed that speed, learning to use it to his advantage against any foe.

  He was behind the male in a flash as the young demon spun on his heel to face him, leaving him turning this way and that, hunting for him. He grinned and raked long black claws down the male’s bare back, tearing a satisfying bellow from his lips. The male arched forwards, staggering a step, blood swiftly rolling down his back from the four long slashes.

  The second demon, the one Fuery had decided led the team, landed a hard blow on Fuery’s left cheek, sending him swaying to his right. He rocked back onto his toes and slowly turned his head towards the male.

  The big black-haired male’s equally as dark eyes widened slightly as Fuery remained standing, a momentary show of fear that Fuery relished.

  On a snarl, Fuery kicked off towards him. He ploughed into the demon’s bare chest and stilled for a heartbeat as he felt the fiery cut of the male’s blade across his left side.

  Not possible.

  He shoved the demon hard, sending him staggering backwards, gaining some space. His eyes darted to the blade the male gripped in front of his obsidian leathers. A black dagger.

  Made from the metal mined in the elf kingdom.

  The same metal as his armour.

  Fuery slowly lowered his head, his eyes dropping to the wound on his side, a long gash in his armour that seeped crimson.

  The only metal that could pierce his armour.

  The demon palmed the blade, a sure grin stretching his lips to
flash his fangs, and his black horns curled further around the curve of his ears, the sharp points flaring forwards in a show of aggression.

  Fuery eased his hand down, feeling nothing as he stared at the blood flowing from him. He pressed his fingers against the thick glossy trail and then pulled them away, brought his hand in front of him and stared at it.

  Blood.

  On his hands.

  Inky darkness bubbled up, chasing out the last remnants of the light as he sank deep into his memories and drowned in them.

  He threw his head back and roared as that darkness consumed him.

  Crimson burned across his vision.

  And then everything went black.

  Pain was the first thing he grew aware of as the darkness began to lift and he was pulled up from its depths, a battered and broken thing, soul-deep weary and hollowed out.

  Gods, he hurt.

  It felt as if someone had scoured his insides, clawed them all out and shattered every bone in his body in the process.

  His vision came back, slow to focus but when it did, he saw black earth and something fuzzy beyond it. He frowned and shifted his gaze there, his breathing shallow as he struggled against the tangled threads of darkness that refused to release him, clung to him as if they feared they would die if he shattered their hold on him.

  He feared he would die if he didn’t.

  The world beyond the patch of earth beneath his cheek came into focus. A village of tents made from the hide of the beasts of Hell. A dying fire in the middle of the circle of five tents. A smoking heavy iron pot suspended above it. The air filled with the acrid stench of whatever was in it burning.

  And blood.

  He froze as his gaze caught on something else.

  Bodies.

  Six males. Demons. They had been ripped apart, limbs scattered and flesh shredded. The one nearest him had his face caved in and his horns broken, torn from his skull and left on the black earth near him. That earth had been churned up, revealing how brutal the fight had been.

  A battle.

  He pushed his hands into the dirt, his arms trembling as he eased off his chest and into a sitting position on his knees.

  His whole body ached, fire consuming it, racing in lines over his arms and sides, his thighs and back. His head.

  He shook it as his vision lost focus again and it came back, sharper than before.

  Revealing something else.

  A fae female lay prone in the dirt just a few feet from him. Her clothes torn. Delicate body broken.

  Covered in blood.

  Fuery looked down at his stained claws.

  No.

  He roared out his agony and stilted darkness swept over him and dragged him down into it, but the cold of it kept him grounded this time, because this darkness wasn’t the one that lived in his soul and tormented him.

  It was a teleport.

  He fought to focus as his mind screamed that he had killed a female, an innocent, desperately trying to direct the teleport so he wouldn’t land on the roof of the guild this time. His battered body wouldn’t be able to take the fall. It would break him.

  Mercifully, he landed in the street.

  People shrieked and scattered, and he staggered onto his feet and lumbered towards the arched entrance of the guild.

  Hartt.

  He needed to see Hartt.

  He stumbled into the guild, his legs weakening with each step, wobbling beneath him as the pain rose back to the fore, the agony of his injuries tearing at his control. He breathed deep and fast, fighting the darkness as it tried to rise again, roused by his weakness and what he had done.

  He had killed another female.

  Her blood was on his hands.

  Relief so sweet that it brought tears to his eyes hit him as he caught Hartt’s scent and sensed the male ahead of him.

  He reached for their bond, needing the strength it gave him to shatter the fragile hold the darkness had on him so it couldn’t drag him back down into it.

  He rounded the corner and Hartt loomed ahead of him in the enormous reception room.

  “Hartt,” he croaked and reached his right hand out to the male.

  Hartt turned and Fuery’s eyes widened as he saw someone beyond him.

  A female.

  Her violet eyes widened as she spotted him, her soft pink lips parting in shock he swore he felt ripple through him.

  What fresh Hell was this?

  He stared at her as his knees gave out, sending him down hard on the polished black stone floor.

  “Shaia?”

  CHAPTER 10

  There was a ghost standing before him. Come to haunt him. Torment him.

  His ki’ara.

  His sweet Shaia.

  Fuery knelt on the stone floor of the guild reception room staring at her as she stared at him, her violet eyes as bright and beautiful as he remembered, and her sleek fall of wavy blue-black hair warmed by the oil lamps that lit the expansive space. Those lamps warmed her skin too, giving it a golden hint that reminded him of when they had met that summer over four thousand years ago.

  Before he had killed her.

  Had he passed out and this was nothing but another dream of her? She haunted his sleep, so it was possible. Whenever he closed his eyes, he didn’t find rest—he found her.

  There were the twisted, torturous dreams where he saw himself destroying her, completely ruining her—killing her—and then there were the more wicked dreams of her. In those dreams, he was the male he had used to be, the one before the darkness had engulfed him. Sometimes, those dreams pained him more than the ones of killing her.

  Dreaming of what might have been, and what had been, killed him.

  He stared at her.

  She wasn’t real. He wanted her to be, but she wasn’t. It wasn’t Shaia stood there staring at him with tears shimmering on her lashes. She was gone, had departed this world and it was darker for it. He was darker for it.

  His breathing quickened, heart accelerating as his throat closed. Tears stung his eyes and he clawed at the black stone beneath him, aching to rip through it and bury his hands in the earth, to sink deep into it and somehow restore his connection to nature. He needed the comfort, but she would reject him, as she always did.

  She loathed the darkness inside him.

  That made two of them.

  He hated it too, but he couldn’t shake it. He wasn’t strong enough. Gods, he wanted to be strong again, but it was hard to overpower the darkness crawling and slithering inside him, infecting his mind and his body, and destroying his soul little by little.

  It was easier to give in to it.

  He looked down at his hands, at his body.

  At all the blood on him.

  Not only his.

  He lifted his hands from the floor and turned them palm up before him and stared at them. It was the fae female’s blood too. He chuckled mirthlessly, a hollow bitter sound in the strained silence. He had killed her.

  That was the only reason he was seeing Shaia now.

  He had killed another female and the darkness had conjured her to torment him.

  It wanted to break him.

  He hesitated, fear washing through him, battering his strength. The desire that ran through him was stronger than fear though, and he found the courage to lift his eyes from his hands.

  He settled them on the vision beyond Hartt.

  Gods, she was beautiful.

  He had forgotten how beautiful she had been.

  Every instinct he had as her mate burst to life inside his battered body and screamed at him to rise back onto his feet, cross the short span of stone tiles to her, and gather her into his arms. He needed to hold her again. He needed to feel her nestled close to him, her warmth seeping into his skin, and her scent swirling in his lungs, comforting him. He needed it more than anything. More than life in his veins. Air in his lungs.

  A beat in his chest.

  He needed her.

  Tears blurred his visi
on as he stared at her and he blinked them away, desperate to keep her in focus, afraid she would disappear on him if he didn’t.

  “I never wanted to hurt you,” he whispered to himself in the elf tongue, to her, even though he was sure she was only a figment of his imagination and he was aware everyone in the room with him, Hartt included, would think he had completely lost his mind. “I am sorry… I am sorry…”

  Gods, he had lost his mind.

  Who was he kidding?

  He was seeing ghosts of his past, and the torture of it was too much. The urge to stagger onto his feet drove through him again, pushing him to obey it. He tried, but his broken body ached so fiercely that it sent him back to his knees, the pain stealing his breath and sending his limbs trembling. He could only kneel and gaze up at her. His love. His everything.

  His Shaia.

  “I missed you so much,” he murmured, voice strained as his throat closed tighter. “I am sorry… so sorry… that I killed you.”

  Hartt moved, coming to him and easing into a crouch before him. The ghost stayed where she was, her steady violet gaze locked on him, looking right into his eyes and holding him captive.

  He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, even as guilt and shame ate away at him, stealing more pieces of his soul and feeding it to the darkness. He wanted to look into those eyes forever, because she was looking at him as she had used to, back in those halcyon days, when all of her love for him had shone in her eyes and bathed him in warmth and light.

  He lowered his head and growled through his clenched fangs, his lips peeling back off them in a grimace.

  He couldn’t take it.

  He didn’t deserve her looking at him now. He was a monster. A fiend. He had failed as her mate.

  Hartt pulled him onto his feet and Fuery couldn’t stop himself from reaching for her as fear of being parted from her again crashed over him, battering him.

  Shock swept through him when she reached for him too, stretching out a slender hand towards him.

  A clean, perfect little hand.

  A stark contrast to his bloodied black claws.

  Fuery snatched his hand away, afraid she might touch it and he might taint her.