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 her 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.”
She flinched again.
“You told me to learn where I went wrong,” she said, her voice smaller than she would have liked.
It shrank to a squeak at the end when he turned on her again.
“I didn’t fucking tell you to bring a death squad down on Fuery!”
She rallied and growled at him. “Prince Loren swears he will not tell the council. He lies to them about his own brother. He already knew Fuery was tainted and did not send the squad after him.”
Hartt slowed to a halt and muttered, “I suppose that is true. And just who do you know at the castle anyway?”
“A male, we grew up in the same village. His name is Bleu.”
Hartt’s violet eyes shot wide again. “Bleu? Commander fucking Bleu? The high almighty son of a bitch who idolises Fuery while he wants my fucking head on a spike?”
She wasn’t aware of that. “He knew Fuery when I knew him, back when he served in the legions.”
“I fucking know that,” Hartt interjected. “Fuery has a soft spot for him. Gods only know why. Bleu has no love for the tainted.”
“If you would let me finish,” she snapped and her own eyes widened at the tone of her voice, at the venom that had been in it. If anyone in the elf kingdom heard her talking to a male like that, she would be ostracised. She softened her tone. “Bleu is the one who told me Fuery wasn’t dead.”
“Fuck me.” Hartt slumped into his tall-backed black leather chair, as if all his strength had suddenly left him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed as he closed his eyes.
He looked pale again.
Drained.
“Is something wrong?” she said, keeping her tone soft and low, hoping to calm him.
He ground his teeth, the muscles in his jaw popping, and grimaced. “It is Fuery and our bond. Whenever he gets like this, it… it just makes me a little tired and testy.”
That was an understatement.
“It does more than that. It pushes you towards the darkness too.” She waited for him to deny it.
He didn’t.
She couldn’t help but wonder what damage he had done to himself with the blood bond between him and Fuery, and she also couldn’t thank him enough, because she wasn’t as stupid as he thought her. She knew that without the bond between him and Hartt, she would have lost Fuery long ago.
“You are not alone now.” She leaned forwards and placed her right hand on his ebony desk, stretching it towards him. “I will use my bond to help bring Fuery back and give him peace so he can begin to heal, and you can too.”
Hartt’s eyes narrowed again. “It was your bond to Fuery that drove him into this state. Fuery felt you reopen it and forge a stronger one between you.”
The guilt she had felt on suspecting as much flooded her again, a torrent that was stronger this time and threatened to carry her with it. She clung to the slender thread of hope that had kept her going over the past few weeks.
But even as she clung to it, hope began to leach from her.
What hope was there when her attempt to reconnect with Fuery had driven him mad and hurled him deeper into the darkness?
Hartt breathed a deep sigh, tipped his head back against the rear of his leather seat and closed his eyes.
“Give him time,” he murmured, sounding as tired as he looked. “A few days and he will be settled again, and maybe then you can see him… although I am not sure it will do much good.”
There was something he wasn’t telling her.
He opened his eyes and slid her a look that told her not to ask, and warned her he wouldn’t answer if she did.
But she needed to know.
“What is it you are hiding from me about Fuery?” Whatever it was, it felt as if knowing it was vital if she wanted to help her mate.
“We are done for now.” Hartt stood, his regal tone and cold air making it clear he meant it and she wasn’t going to get anything else out of him. He rounded the desk, caught her arm and pulled her out of the chair. He marched her to the door, opened it and pulled her along the corridor, not slowing his pace until he reached the entrance of the guild and pushed her through it. “I need to go somewhere and you cannot be here.”
“I will return in a few days.” Surprise danced through her when he didn’t tell her to leave, or not return, or push her away.
He just nodded, pivoted on his heel and strode back into the imposing black building.
Shaia took a few steps backwards, her eyes roaming up the height of it to the third floor where the façade rose in a steep triangle to meet in a point above a stunning circular stained-glass window that sat above the arched doorway. The towers that flanked the entrance rose higher still, spearing the dark vault of Hell, their conical tiled roofs reminding her of the castle in the elf kingdom.
She wasn’t sure she would be able to wait a few days before the need to see Fuery overwhelmed her, driving her to return to the guild.
She wasn’t sure she could go further than a few steps from this very spot, not without hurting herself. She needed to be close to Fuery. Her instincts had awoken at the same time as the connection they shared, and they pushed her to stay near to her mate, in case he needed her.
Because he needed her.
She looked around at the broad cobbled street that curved along the front of the guild, and the dark stone buildings that lined the other side, facing it. Some were private residences by the looks of them, large and regal affairs that were two or three storeys in height and had fine carving on their stone walls. A few were stores, the bottom level being the shop with large glass windows that displayed goods, and the second level having smaller windows, most likely used as the home of the shopkeeper.
One was an inn.
It was off to her left, a few buildings down, placing it closer to the side of the guild where Fuery’s quarters were, and one of the rooms at the front of the top two storeys would give her a good view of the entrance of the guild.
She strode towards it.
She would give Fuery a few days.
And then she would see him again.