CHAPTER 19
Pain blazed through every inch of him, but Fuery forced himself onto his feet as he shut out the grim sight of the carnage that surrounded him. When he placed weight onto his left foot, fire blazed up his bones, and he clenched his molars. Something was broken in it. He eased his weight onto his right foot, and grimaced as he commanded his armour to peel away from his hands so he could check them.
Bruises littered his right hand. A vicious black and purple mark and grotesque bump in the middle of his left hand warned that he had broken something in that too. He swallowed, drew in a breath to steel himself and pushed his right thumb against the bump.
Agony, white-hot and searing, rolled through him and he threw his head back and roared as he forced himself to continue, to push the two bones back in line so they could heal.
The darkness threatened to sweep back in to seize him but something held it back.
Shaia.
He could feel the link between them as it grew stronger and drove light back into his heart, just enough to keep the darkness at bay.
He wanted to reach for her too, but couldn’t bring himself to do it when so much death surrounded him.
Death wrought by his hands.
The fight had been brutal, worse than his usual battles, and gods, it had been everything he had needed at the time.
But now?
He had emerged the victor, but it didn’t feel like a victory for him.
It felt like a victory for the darkness.
He had let it consume him again, had allowed it to steal control so he could only watch, a prisoner in his own body as he had taken the lives of his marks, another large group of demon mercenaries.
He didn’t remember passing out.
He only remembered the dream.
A dream that had brought light back into his soul, enough to purge the darkness from it again and give him the strength to wake, to claw himself up from the abyss once more.
Fuery lowered his gaze to his body, slowly growing aware of all the bruises beneath the tight black scales of his armour, and the cuts on his face and neck.
Gods.
He wanted to sink to his knees and remain there, wasn’t sure he had the strength to move, or the will.
He had never felt so weary.
So battered and bruised, and broken.
The light that echoed inside him pulsed brighter.
Fuery obeyed it.
He turned on his heel and trudged through the battlefield, boots slipping on parts of his foes as he picked his way through them, heading towards the portal he had taken to reach the stronghold. He lost track of time as he walked, his body struggling to heal his wounds, weak from his constant fight against the darkness.
It felt as if he was going to slip into it at any moment.
Only he wouldn’t come back this time.
He reached the portal near the mountains and stepped into it, and came out of the darkness in the town close to the guild hall.
Fuck, he wasn’t sure he had the strength to keep fighting, to go on existing like this.
It was taking its toll now.
He was weak, constantly on the verge of collapse, a slave to the darkness, and he was afraid of where he was going.
He feared the dark path he was treading.
He reached the arched entrance of the guild hall but didn’t stop walking. He kept going, following his feet.
His heart.
He needed to see Shaia.
He needed to see her, needed it in case this was the last time he came back, and in case Vail was right and she could do for him what Rosalind had done for his prince.
He didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want to become the beast all elves feared. He wanted to purge the darkness, to fight it and free himself of it at last, but he was bone-deep afraid that he wasn’t strong enough.
Could Shaia give him the strength he needed? Could she give him a reason to go on, to keep fighting? Could she do for him what Rosalind had done for Vail?
Gods, he hoped that she could, because he wanted that with all of his black heart.
He wanted her back in his life, from this point forwards until the end of time.
Fuery slowly clawed himself back from the darkness as he limped through the village, tracking her scent that was ingrained in him, branded on his soul.
He ignored the innkeeper as he entered the three-storey building opposite the guild, feeling Shaia there. The male demanded to know what he wanted and Fuery drifted past him, tracking Shaia, drawn to her as if she was the light. He mounted the steps, following them as they turned, and didn’t stop until a door blocked his path.
He stared at it, fear rising inside him, together with a voice that whispered to turn away, because the female whose heartbeat he could hear on the other side of the door was going to make him leave rather than welcome him with open arms.
She was going to push him away.
Because he was a monster.
That heartbeat was steady, a soothing tick in his mind, calling to his.
It remained steady even as she opened the door while he still struggled with his desire to remain and the need to leave.
Her violet eyes were soft, as if she was pleased to see him, but there was a flicker of fear in them too. “I am glad you came.”
Was she?
The fear he could sense in her rose as she ran her eyes over him, and that damned voice urged him to leave now, before she could wound him.
She reached for him, and took his right hand in hers, and he could only stare at her as she pulled him towards her, into her room, and closed the door behind him.
Relief crashed through him, vanquishing his fears, and he almost sagged to his knees on the wooden floor.
Her soft smile as she rounded him kept him standing though, gave him strength and courage.
Gods, he knew he was a ghastly sight, and his sweet mate should have been horrified by his appearance.
Only she wasn’t.
She lured him away from the door, her hand gentle on his, her awareness of his injuries touching him deeply, more deeply than she could ever know.
“We need to get you cleaned up.”
Those words leaving her lips brought awareness with them.
Awareness that there was a large tub in front of the fire, filled with steaming water.
Awareness that Shaia wore only a long blue silk robe, tied loosely at her waist.
His pulse picked up, hammering frantically against his chest, as she released his hand and turned to face him. She flicked a glance at him, meeting his eyes for only a split-second, just long enough for him to see that she had wanted him to come to her.
She had felt his pain, had been aware of his injuries, and she had made preparations in the hope that he would come to her rather than return to the guild.
He didn’t deserve such a wonderful female.
A courageous female.
If she knew of his injuries, then she knew how they had happened. She knew he had lost himself to the darkness, had probably felt the battle as it had happened, had experienced an echo of every one of his injuries through their fragile bond, and in response she had prepared to tend to those injuries.
To take care of him.
He stood mute, lost in her and the connotations of what she had done, as she stepped towards him.
“Can you remove your armour?” she whispered, no trace of nerves in her voice.
He nodded.
When he hesitated, afraid of what she would think of him if she saw him naked, saw all the bruises on his flesh, and the scars of his past battles, she offered a soft smile.
One that reassured him as much as her words.
“I only want to help you, Fuery. Please? Let me help you.” She edged her hands towards him, palms up, her expression soft and soothing, easing his nerves as her words sank in.
He nodded again, and this time found the strength to issue the mental command to his armour. Her eyes tracked it as the scales swept up from his feet, the concern he could feel in her growing as she charted the black bruise on his left foot and the ones on his shins, and then the scars on his thighs, hidden among the myriad of bruises.
She gasped as his armour cleared his stomach and she saw a deep bruise on his right side, just above his hip.
Her fingers leaped to it and he trembled as they made contact with his skin, sending warmth spreading outwards from that point.
“Gods, Fuery,” she bit out, a flicker of rage in her blood, anger towards the ones who had done this to him. Her eyes jumped up to meet his, her fine black eyebrows furrowing. “Does it hurt?”
He wanted to shake his head, but he had always been honest with her, open about everything, and she could feel his pain. Admitting it to her wouldn’t make him weak, or vulnerable. She wasn’t the enemy.
She was his mate.
He nodded.
Tears threatened to line her eyes, but she blinked them away and he could see the moment she steeled herself, drawing up her courage and refusing to give in to her fears.
His armour reached the bands around his wrists, and he grew aware that he was naked before her.
He had never been naked before her.
His pulse ticked up again, his pain forgotten as nerves swept in.
Those nerves only grew worse when Shaia untied her robe, rolled her shoulders backwards and let the satin slip from her to pool at her feet.
Gods.
She was achingly beautiful.
He tried not to stare at her soft feminine curves, at the sensual dip of her waist and the sweep of her hips, or her pert handful-sized breasts tipped with rosy nipples that peaked as she moved closer to him.
Her hand slipped into his, and he drifted with her as she led him towards the oval wooden tub. She stepped into it, and he hesitated. He wanted to be in the water with her, wanted it more than anything, but he couldn’t move.
Fear kept his feet planted to the wooden floor.
He was dreaming this. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. He was a monster, but his beautiful mate was looking at him as she had all those centuries ago, when she had told him that she had always been his, and would always be his.
When she had given him forever.
“Come, Fuery,” she whispered, and gently tugged on his hand.
His instincts as her fated male had him moving forwards, filled him with a need to obey his mate and do as she bid.
Because he would do anything for her.
He stepped into the tub, wincing as his broken foot hurt and body protested.
She eased into the water and lured him down to her, and he tamped down his nerves as he settled between her thighs. She gently coaxed him backwards, until his back rested against her chest and her warmth flowed into him, mingled with the heat of the water to soothe the sting of his injuries. He tensed, awareness of her sweeping through him, and he tried to keep his weight off her, afraid of hurting her.
She dipped a sponge into the water and was gentle as she washed his rigid shoulders and chest, her tenderness tearing at him and tempting him into relaxing.
Fuck.
He wanted to cry like an idiot.
“I was worried you would not come,” she whispered, and he heard the pain in those words, the fear that she had experienced, and also her relief that he was here now, and was allowing her to take care of him.
He didn’t deserve it.
That rang in his mind, and he did his best to ignore it and the other whispered words about him tainting her. The darkness pushed, but he pushed back, because he didn’t want this to end. He wanted to stay here in her arms, feeling her loving touch, hearing her sweet voice, and pretend that the last four thousand years had never happened.
This was how he had imagined his life—their life.
Coming home to her like this.
She ran the sponge down his left arm and carefully lifted it so she could reach his hand, and was gentle and careful as she cleaned it, not jarring the broken bones. He slowly relaxed against her, letting her move him as she pleased while he savoured the feel of her against him, and absorbed her whispered words that spoke of her affection and also how she had worried for him.
When she was done with his arms and his chest, she dropped the sponge and washed his neck and his face with her fingers, taking even more care now as she dealt with cleaning the lacerations.
He sank against her while she cleaned his hair, her fingers brushing through it in a way that stirred heat in his veins, tempered with tenderness that had him closing his eyes and giving himself over to her.
She finished, and he was relieved when she didn’t make him leave, when she wrapped her arms around him and held him to her. He rested the back of his head on her shoulder and pressed his temple to her right cheek.
Her soft breaths and the crackle of the fire to their left broke the silence, but he found the sounds melodic and soothing as he let all of his tension flow out of him and allowed peace to flow in.
“Who did you fight this time?” she murmured against his jaw.
“Demons,” he said, because he didn’t want any secrets between them.
“Demons?” She stroked her fingers across his chest. “How many?”
He sighed. “More than there should have been. More than I could count.”
“A contract?” Her fingers teased his collarbones, sending a shiver through him.
He easily gave up the answer to that question. “Yes. There was only meant to be ten of them.”
“Ten?” She tensed against him, sounding horrified. “Do you often take on so many foes alone?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes.”
She splayed her hands out on his pectorals, and whispered softly, “Do you not work with others?”
He growled at just the thought, and the darkness in his voice surprised him. “No. My marks are mine.”
He tensed now, fear rushing through him, and waited for her to make him leave, to kick him out for being so violent around her.
She lightly stroked her fingers lower instead, teasing the muscles of his abdomen and then lower still as she checked the deep bruise on his side. “You always were rather possessive. You never did like sharing.”
He growled at that too, because she was right, and he would kill anyone who tried to take her from him.
She was his.
Darkness rose inside him, swift and deadly, poised to strike.
She skimmed her hands back up to his chest, drawing warm water up with them, and he wanted to tell her to never stop doing that.
It was bliss, and it seemed to sever the hold the darkness had on him and drive it away. Was this how Vail felt when Rosalind touched him? As if that touch was purging the darkness from his soul and allowing light to flood back in?
“You feel weak,” she murmured close to his face. “Are you badly hurt?”
Fuery shook his head, because the hunger she could feel in him was a constant thing, never satisfied, and certainly never sated. He could drink forever and never assuage it.
She lifted her left hand and turned her wrist towards him.
He was quick to shake his head again.
Hurt lanced him, pain that came from her, flowed into him through their bond and ripped at his soul.
“You take blood from Hartt, do you not?” She withdrew her arm and rather than settling her hand back on his chest, where he wanted it, she gripped the edge of the tub.
There was hurt in those words too.
Fuery didn’t answer her, because she obviously already knew the truth—he regularly took blood from Hartt to sustain him.
“Are you going to leave me and take blood from him?” The dark bite in her tone lashed at him, and made him realise that he had done more than merely hurt her. He had wounded her. She had never raised her voice to him before, not like this, not with so much anger and pain lacing it. She withdrew her other hand from him, and almost growled the words. “Or perhaps one of the females that regularly visit—”
“No.” He tried to turn in the tub, needing to see her, but the damned thing was too small and he feared hurting her.
Gods, he was terrified of that.
It was the reason he couldn’t bite her.
“I don’t visit the females. I remained loyal to you, Shaia… even after I killed you.” He frowned and growled in frustration. “But I didn’t kill you… did I?”
He unleashed another snarl, his head hurting as he tried to remember what was real and what the darkness had placed inside him, and had made him believe so it could tighten its grip on him.
“Shh, Fuery,” she whispered softly and brushed her fingers through his hair, easing him back down against her.
He sank back and focused on the light sound of her breathing, the soft way her fingers stroked him, and the gentle lapping of the water as she moved.
“It never happened,” she murmured against his cheek. “I am here with you now, and you need to make yourself see and believe that.”
She lifted her other hand from the water and offered her wrist again.
“I miss our bond.” The water rolled down her arm and dripped from her elbow into the tub, punctuating the silence. “I need it back… as it used to be… can’t you feel that in me?”
He shifted his focus to her, and it hit him hard. Her need was staggering, stealing his breath and pulling at him, commanding him to do something about it.
His female needed him.
His mate needed him.
He couldn’t stop himself from gently taking hold of her wrist with his good hand, or stroking his thumb over the soft skin on the inside of it, his gaze boring into the veins there that throbbed and called to him. He wanted their bond stronger too. He wanted to taste her on his tongue again.
But he feared.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
She shivered in response to his touch and murmured, “You won’t. It will feel good.”
Gods, he wanted to do it.
His mouth watered, fangs itching. He didn’t want to do it because he was weak and needed blood. He craved it because he needed her.
He needed her more than anything.
He brought her wrist to his lips, kissed along it towards her forearm, and sank his fangs into her soft flesh. He waited for her to gasp, waited to feel her pain through their fragile connection.
She gasped, but it wasn’t pain he sensed in her.
It was pleasure.
Pleasure that blasted through him too as her blood hit his tongue.
He wanted to devour her, to drink deep and take all of her into him, but he forced himself to be gentle, to take slow sips of the sweet blood she offered him and offer reverence in return. The backs of his eyes burned, and his lungs felt too tight, as he took her blood, felt it slide down his throat and savoured the warmth that spread outwards from his aching chest, until it reached every part of him and left none of him untouched. He felt the bones of his hand knitting back together, and the fractures in his foot heal, and even the bruises no longer stung as he drank from her, taking the life she gave him through her blood.
Fuery squeezed his eyes shut.
He didn’t deserve this.
He knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself from taking her blood, from stealing this moment with her, even when he feared that she would change when he was done, would push him away or be tainted by this act.
Tainted.
The thought of corrupting her, infecting her with his disease as he had Hartt, had him pulling away from her and swiping his tongue over the puncture wounds as soon as he felt his foot and hand finish healing.
He drew her arm away from his mouth and stared at the marks.
His gaze lowered to her thigh where it pressed against the outside of his, and the pale scars on it that matched the puncture wounds he had just placed on her arm.
Her mating mark.
“I’m sorry… so sorry, Shaia,” he whispered, throat tight and voice scraping low as he struggled with the sudden surge of emotions that blasted through him, leaving him trembling as he remembered his dream and that moment they had shared all those years ago.
The darkness pushed, the taste of blood on his tongue bringing other memories to the surface, ones that tore at his control and had him sliding back towards the abyss. He dug his claws into the slippery slope and held on, refusing to allow the darkness to overwhelm him again, because he wanted to be lucid, needed to steal every moment he had with Shaia.
Gods, it was a struggle though.
It pushed him to his limit as he fought for the words he wanted to say to her, battled the darkness and tried to hold it back, not wanting her to see it.
“I wanted to come back.” He brushed his thumb across the puncture wounds on her arm, still marvelling at the fact she had offered her blood to him, and had taken pleasure from his bite.
He hadn’t hurt her.
He wished it would always be that way, that he would always be able to hold back the darkness when he was around her, but he wasn’t a fool.
It was an impossible dream.
One day, that side of himself would slip the leash and he would hurt her.
He sighed and pushed back against the darkness as it snaked smoky tendrils around him and tried to pull him down, focusing on his connection to Shaia to keep the flicker of light in his soul. It was stronger now, but it was still quick to waver as the darkness continued to rise, an unstoppable tide that he felt sure would pull him under at any moment.
He needed to be away from Shaia when it happened.
He wanted to stay though, needed that more. He wanted to remain here, wrapped in her arms, her warmth against his back, and her soft breaths filling his ears as she listened to him, giving him all of her attention.
“I wanted to see your parents’ faces when we announced that we were mated and that you were leaving with me.” He lifted her arm to his lips and pressed them to the marks, closed his eyes and frowned as that unfulfilled desire beat inside him, returning full force.
That stolen moment with her had been Heaven to him, had given him the strength to leave her knowing that she was his, and that he would return to her, and they would begin their new life.
Together.
He released her hand, gripped the edges of the tub and turned in the water to face her, coming to rest on his knees between her thighs, a need to see her driving him to obey it.
Tears lined her stunning amethyst eyes, glittering in the light of the fire that bathed her skin in golden hues.
The need to kiss her, to erase the time they had been apart and write a new history for them swept through him, so powerful he rocked forwards, compelled to take her lips with his.
His grip on the edges of the tub tightened and he held himself back, afraid of what would happen if he surrendered to the need rising inside him, cranking his body tight as it set his blood on fire.
He was different now.
He wasn’t the male he had been four thousand years ago. He felt it as he gazed upon her lush curves, and his body responded, mind filling with thoughts of taking her and making her his all over again.
He was darkness now, and his desires had grown darker with him, felt debauched as he looked at her and imagined flipping her on her front, spreading her thighs and spearing her with his cock, taking her in a hard and fast coupling as he gripped her neck, one that would end with her crying out as she shattered.
Fuery shook his head at that thought, refusing to surrender to it, afraid he would taint her.
Hurt her.
Water lapped at his thighs and his rigid cock as she moved, pulling him back to her and robbing him of his breath as she placed her hands against his chest. She gazed up into his eyes, no trace of fear in them or her feelings, only acceptance and need that echoed his own, and pulled him under her spell, just as she had forty-two centuries ago when she had triggered the bond between them.
His gaze slid down to her mouth, and then beyond it to her unmarked neck.
Gods, he had wanted to bite her there.
He wanted to bite her there.