He needed to speak with Hartt.
Fuery pulled himself away from her, treading silently across the wooden floor, and eased the door open. He glanced back at her as he closed it behind him, silently promising he would be back.
He followed the winding steps down into the main part of the inn, and issued a glare at every male present, especially the owner. The large male swallowed hard, paling a little as he polished a glass for a customer.
“Anyone goes near her, they answer to me. Understand?” He growled and eyed all the males again, making sure they got the message.
They all quickly nodded.
A couple teleported away.
Good.
The less males near his female, the less likely he was to create a bloodbath in the inn. None of the males were warriors. It would be a massacre, and Shaia would hate him for it, and he would hate himself for it too, but gods, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.
Shaia was his.
What she had said to him in the bathtub came back to him, and he grimaced as he felt the truth of it.
He always had been possessive.
But possessive wasn’t a strong enough word to convey the way he felt about her. He would slay the Devil himself for her.
He stalked across the span of cobbles between the inn and the guild, a tight feeling growing in his chest with each step further he went from her. It birthed a need when he entered the guild, one that drove him to return to her. He rubbed at his bare chest and ignored the looks the males in the reception room gave him as he stormed across it to the corridor that would take him to Hartt’s office.
He had to focus hard to get his senses to move from Shaia to what was ahead of him, but eventually they shifted. He scoured the room beyond the dark wooden door at the end of the black hallway as he walked towards it, and relief poured through him to ease his tension away when he sensed only Hartt inside it.
He didn’t bother to knock.
He pushed the door open, strode in as Hartt’s violet gaze lifted to him from the papers strewn across his ebony desk and sat down without saying a word.
“You did not return after completing the mission. I presume everything went well?” The worry Hartt felt coloured his voice so Fuery couldn’t miss it.
He nodded.
Hartt looked back down at his papers. “Is Shaia well?”
There was a smile in those words. A grin. Fuery scowled at his friend, hoping to make it clear that he wasn’t in the mood for teasing. Not today.
Hartt’s steady gaze drifted back to him again, piercing him with a demand to know the answer to his question, and Fuery realised for the first time that Hartt was becoming attached to Shaia.
Cared about her.
He bared his fangs at that as they punched long from his gums and the darkness rose within him, slithering upwards to swamp his heart.
“You know I’m only asking as a friend, Fuery,” Hartt said in a soft, calm voice, one he often used to soothe him.
Fuery managed to rein in his anger enough that he could answer. “She is fine.”
Hartt nodded towards his neck. “You have injuries.”
He looked away from his friend. “She took care of them.”
The elf male sighed. “And now you are struggling, unsure of yourself. Why?”
It turned out Fuery couldn’t speak to Hartt about it after all. Just the thought of admitting his dark desires to his friend had his mind conjuring pictures of Hartt in those positions with Shaia, and it had the hunger to bloody his claws rising inside him.
He stared at the black wall beyond Hartt, struggling with that terrible need, aware that even glancing at his friend before he was back in control would lead to him attacking him.
When Hartt moved, he closed his eyes and lowered his head, buried his face in his hands and thought about why he had come to Hartt in the first place.
To talk.
“You are afraid of hurting her,” Hartt whispered, as if he was reading his thoughts—his deepest fears.
Perhaps he was. Their blood bond tied them deeply, as deeply as the one he shared with Shaia. It would be easy for Hartt to sense his fear. He wasn’t exactly being guarded with his feelings. He was too tired, spread too thin, his mind leading him down paths that only wore him down even more.
He nodded.
“I thought I had killed her once…” Fuery raised his head and pushed his hands over his hair. “What if I…”
He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
Hartt sighed, his expression softening. “You will not. You would never hurt her.”
He wanted to believe that.
His friend leaned back in his chair, rested his hands behind his head and kicked his feet up onto his desk.
“I always thought it was my bond with you that brought you back from the darkness whenever you lost yourself in it.” Hartt’s violet eyes lifted to the dark wooden ceiling, and then lowered back to him as he said, “I was wrong.”
Fuery frowned at that.
“I have heard the things you talk about when you are lost, oblivious to the world around you, and I have long suspected that you are the one who pieces yourself back together. My link to you only gives you a chance to do that, as does Shaia’s bond with you… but it is your endless love for Shaia that gives you the strength to come back, and her love for you.” Hartt dropped his feet, sat up in his chair and rested his elbows on the desk between them as he leaned towards Fuery. “It’s that light she kept burning inside you all these years… the light that will save you.”
Fuery could only stare at him as he felt the gravity of that.
He reached for his bond to Shaia, warmth running through him as he felt the strength of it and realised that it had survived all the centuries, had endured the darkness within him, withstanding it.
A bond that tied them deeper than either of them had known.
He was sure of it now.
Shaia had kept it alive.
Her undying love for him was the only reason he had survived so long without losing himself completely and falling into the black abyss. She had never stopped loving him, she had told him that herself. All the centuries they had been apart, she had held on to that love, and she must have been subconsciously nurturing the weak thread that linked them, keeping it alive and giving a sliver of her light to him.
His chest and lungs tightened.
The sensation he’d had before returned, stronger this time. The reason he hadn’t lost himself, had never given up even when he could have embraced death, and the reason he had always come back, was his endless love for her and awareness that the bond was still there between them, tying them together, and hope that one day he would return to her.
Just as he had promised.
That hope kindled in his chest, becoming a flame that burned in his heart, bright as the light she had awoken in him when she had opened their bond again.
Hope that he could tame the darkness.
Because everything he had ever wanted and thought lost forever was back in his life, and he wanted the future they had dreamed of together.
That hope faded a little as the darkness within him pushed, snaking inky tendrils through his limbs, reminding him that they would never have the future he wanted, because he was different now.
He wasn’t worthy of her.
Not as he was now.
She seemed as bright and pure as she had been as a youth, and he was tainted by darkness. Gods, the irony wasn’t lost on him. He finally felt unworthy of her. Truly unworthy. He hadn’t felt it back then, lowborn and nothing more than a soldier, nothing of value to his name, not like her other suitors. When her family had called him unworthy, he had fought back against them, had kept his spirit strong and refused to see himself that way. He had looked at all he was doing to better himself, and he had seen he was worthy of her. He had listened to her words, and had believed himself worthy because she had chosen him.
He felt it now though, and it wasn’t even his p
osition as an assassin or the things he did as his work that made him feel unworthy at last.
It was the darkness.
Because she was so full of light, shining so brightly it blinded him.
He wasn’t worthy of her. Not as he was now.
But he wouldn’t give up, would never give in. Somehow, he would make himself worthy of her again.
No matter what it took.
No matter how long it took.
He knew where he needed to start.
He pushed out of the chair and nodded at Hartt, and the male’s clipped nod in return told him everything. It warned him to be careful, and wished him good luck, and asked him to come back soon.
He would.
Without looking back, he exited the office and strode through the guild building, heading back out into the town. He crossed the road to the inn, ignored the owner again as his legs swiftly carried him through it and up the stairs, taking him to where his heart needed to be.
He couldn’t leave without looking upon her one last time.
He needed to see her again, to brand her face on his mind and her scent on his soul, all to give him the strength to face the darkness.
He carefully eased her door open and slipped back into her room. She slept soundly still, curled up on her side where he had left her. He silently crossed the room to her and stared down at her, absorbing her beauty, together with the fact she was real. He hadn’t killed her, and he wouldn’t. He would make sure of that.
He would find a way to fix himself, so he could be with her without fear.
Fuery lifted his hand to his hair and unpinned the silver clasp that held the top half of it tied back. He lowered the delicate intricate band and stared at it, remembering everything about the day she had given it to him as he brushed his thumb over the swirls and patterns raised on the ring.
She had gifted him with it before he had left her that fateful day, a token of her love for him and a memento to remind him of her on his travels, but just like her, it shone too brightly for him to look at right now.
One day, he would be worthy of her again.
He was going to fight to make it happen.
Until then, until he felt worthy of her love, he didn’t deserve to wear the clasp she had given him.
He set it down on the blue pillow beside her hand, and whispered, “Keep it safe for me. I will be back for it. I will be back for you.”
He hoped.
He leaned over, drew down a deep breath of her sweet scent, and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then to her lips. She stirred, kissing him back for a brief agonising moment that tore at his will to leave before she sank back to sleep.
Fuery straightened, tied the top section of his overlong blue-black hair back with a leather thong, and stared at her.
More than ever, he needed to know how Vail did it. He needed to know how he was coming back from the darkness. He hadn’t believed it possible before, but he needed to believe it was possible now.
He turned away from Shaia, determination in his stride as he left the inn and the guild behind, his eyes fixed on the other end of the town and his destination.
A portal that would take him to the mortal world.
To his prince.
CHAPTER 22
The pretty thatched cottage looked just as Fuery remembered, always in a perpetual state of summer or possibly spring, with blood red roses blooming against the creamy stone walls of the one-and-a-half storey building and threatening to creep high enough to start clambering over the reeds that formed the roof. His gaze followed the line of the roof as it undulated in sweeping curves over each window on the upper floor. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, drifting high into the clear blue sky as it turned towards evening.
He drew down a deep breath and waited for his nerves to dispel, using the sight of the cottage and the flowers that bloomed in a hundred colours in its walled garden to soothe him. Nature. Pure, beautiful, nature. It calmed him as it always did, even though she bared her fangs at him if he tried to connect with her. He still loved her, still felt the deep draw to her that all elves did.
Even the tainted.
Those she despised.
Gods, he missed the connection to nature, one he now felt he had squandered, had never really appreciated until it had been taken from him by the darkness.
How many elves treated her the same way as he had, thinking that connection to her would always be there within them when they needed it to drive back the sliver of darkness all of his kind held inside their hearts?
How many elves now felt the same way as he did, as if he had been a fool, had treated nature with little respect and none of the reverence she deserved, and now she was gone, he would do anything to have her back in his life?
His black heart said the elf that lived in this magical cottage in the mortal world, surrounded by nature and held deep in her embrace knew his pain, suffered as he did.
No. Not as he did.
Vail still possessed a strong bond with nature.
One that had a vile snake hissing in Fuery’s heart, and a need to turn on his heel and leave blasting through him.
He ignored them and marched forwards along the narrow country lane, soaking in the birdsong and the deep quiet of this remote part of England, his eyes roaming the distant green hills, and the verdant forests, and then drifting back to the colourful garden of the cottage.
He could see why his prince lived here.
Felt sure that if he was to spend only a few days here that it would do him some good, would drive back the darkness and perhaps even help him form the fragile beginnings of a new bond with nature. He could make it work. He had felt the benefit of visiting this place had been waning, but perhaps he had been drawing away from it, refusing to allow it to flow into him in order to stop hope from building inside him, hope that had been liable to destroy him when the darkness crushed it.
But now Shaia was in his life again, and with her she had brought a flicker of light, and he wanted to get better. For her. So he could be with her. He wanted to embrace that light and use it to drive out the darkness. He wanted to forge a new connection with nature and embrace her again, was no longer afraid to hope.
He reached the sun-bleached arched wooden gate that intersected the low sandstone wall and stopped with his hand on it. Magic hummed in the air, penetrated his skin and sank deep into his bones. Magic laced with nature.
It was that magic that had the flowers blooming out of season, and the trees to the left and right of the cottage ripe with fruit. He stilled and absorbed that magic as he watched bees flit from flower to flower, buzzing gently as they raced to gather nectar before the sun set. A bird dipped and bobbed in the air as it flew past, another chasing it through the hollyhocks and the poppies, disturbing the bees as they ambled around the lavender. The second bird twittered and chirped, and Fuery soaked it all in, sighed as it eased his nerves and steadied his racing heart.
He was welcome here.
He could feel it in his bones, deep in his troubled soul.
In this place, and only this place, nature opened her arms to him.
He pressed down on the rusted metal lever and lifted the latch on the gate, and eased it open. It creaked, and the air seemed to still, everything suddenly stopping.
The air shimmered in front of him.
A male appeared there, tight armour covering him from head to toe, the black scales flowing over his muscles and rising up to form a helmet that flared back into spikes like a crown and dipped to a point above his nose.
His violet eyes were bright, flashing with a need for violence that dulled as the male recognised him and he eased back onto his heels, the tension draining from his shoulders.
“Fuery,” Prince Vail whispered, a note of warmth in his voice that spoke to Fuery and told him that the male was pleased to see him.
His helmet disappeared, the scales filtering back down into the rest of his armour, clearing his wild blue-black hair and revealing h
is handsome face.
The door of the cottage burst open and Rosalind came bounding out, her knee-length black dress flapping around her thighs and her wavy ash blonde hair bouncing with each step. When she spotted him, she ground to a halt, bent over and pressed her hands to her knees, breathing hard.
She glanced up at him, her blue eyes sparkling.
“I thought you were an intruder.” She turned her gaze from him to her mate and scowled. “You bloody scared the shit out of me disappearing like that.”
Fuery looked between them, and his eyes slowly widened as he noticed that Rosalind’s dress was on backwards. Heat bloomed on his cheeks, and his mind swiftly filled with images of Shaia standing before him, naked and bared to him, desire flashing in her eyes and need flaring in his blood. Her need.
“I can come back,” he muttered, and went to turn away, shame sweeping through him as he pushed the fantasy of Shaia away and was faced with a very rosy-cheeked Rosalind and caught Vail staring at her with hunger in his eyes, a need to continue what they had started before he had disturbed them.
“Not at all.” Rosalind looked down at herself, a flash of horror crossing her face as she realised her dress was on the wrong way around.
She fixed it with a wave of her hand, and Vail scowled for a different reason as the hum of magic in the air grew stronger. She cast a watchful glance at her mate. He scrubbed a hand over his tousled hair, huffed and began pacing, his tension flowing through the air the magic tainted.
When his pacing grew more intense, she went to him, and stopped him by slipping her hand into his. He looked down at them, his eyes glassy, distant, and then up at her face.
She smiled softly. “We have a guest.”
He glanced Fuery’s way, and his violet eyes widened, and then he blinked and they cleared, growing sharp again. “Sorry. The magic…”
Fuery shook his head, telling his prince not to apologise. He understood, and knew he would probably react the same way, the darkness inside him pushing, if he had suffered the things Vail had.
If he had known all those centuries ago, when Vail had attacked his own men outside the town of Valestrum, the reason behind it all, he would have helped him. He should have known. He should have helped him. He had been Vail’s second in command, but he had been unaware of the male’s pain, had been blind and hadn’t seen the witch they had found and taken care of hadn’t been Vail’s fated one, but an imposter, a dark witch bent on casting a spell on him in order to seize his kingdom and set herself up as queen of the elves.
Unchained by a Forbidden Love Page 22
