CHAPTER 27
Shaia felt it the moment Fuery snapped.
Icy cold swept through their fragile link, a dark tide that crashed over her and rocked her, battering her as their connection wavered and she fought to keep it open. Alive.
It was her fault.
She should have run when he had told her to, but she had known his words had been meant to soothe her, not a lie but not the truth either. He had wanted her to leave, and had said the one thing he had believed would make her do it—that he would be right behind her.
When he had intended to stay and punish those who had taken her from him.
The sight of him injured and the knowledge he was going to fight rather than come with her, had filled her with a need to stay. He was her mate. Her ki’aro.
Her love.
She couldn’t just leave him to fight alone.
But as his eyes blackened, his pupils began to transform into vertical slits, and a flicker of red licked around them, she knew she had made a terrible mistake.
He roared and moved faster than she could track, savagely attacking the male who had tackled him to the ground. She flinched away as he gripped the male’s sword arm and brutally yanked backwards, the sound of breaking bone turning her stomach. The male screamed, the sound garbled as his face screwed up and he tried to break free of Fuery’s unrelenting grip.
The male nearest to her immediately went to his companion’s aid, swinging hard with his sword the moment he was within reach.
Fuery snapped violet eyes up to him and bared his bloodied fangs as he blocked the male’s blade with his own, and the relief that poured through her on seeing the red that had been in them gone was short lived.
It flickered again, a corona of fire that turned her blood cold.
The tales of the lost were true.
They did lose all of their light and become shadows of their former selves, gaining the scarlet eyes of a vampire, a species born of the tainted the elves had left behind in the mortal world millennia ago.
Only the lost became monsters, a slave to their bloodlust, no longer conscious of the atrocities they committed, driven only by an unquenchable thirst that consumed them.
Fuery roared as he shoved upwards, springing to his feet and into the male, knocking him backwards. He growled and pressed the flat of his free hand against his blade, driving it against the male’s chest.
The male teleported.
Her mate turned on another low snarl, his black eyes scanning the darkness for his foe.
When they settled on her, she gritted her teeth and risked moving, reaching for him. Pain blazed through her, robbing her of her breath as she desperately clutched the deep wound across her chest with her other arm.
Fuery’s eyes narrowed on her.
On her wound.
She felt the rage in his blood, the darkness as it drove him, flooded their link and spilled into her.
“Fuery, no,” she whispered, trying to keep his focus on her face and not her wound—on her feelings and desires, not her pain.
She wanted him to come to her, wanted him to leave with her, now before it was too late for him.
He growled, the sound vicious and more beast than the elf she loved, and was gone in a flash, appearing behind the male with the broken arm.
She grimaced and looked away as he attacked with his claws, her stomach rebelling as the scent of blood in the air grew thicker and the male cried out again.
She had to do something.
Pain tore through her as she moved and she bit back the cry that burned up her throat and somehow managed to get onto her knees. Her hand shook as she gripped her thigh, breathing hard to bring the pain back to a manageable level so her head would stop spinning. Her stomach turned again, the warm wetness of the blood that covered her chest and her arm making her want to vomit.
Boots appeared before her.
Not Fuery’s.
She tipped her head back, her eyes watering as she struggled to breathe through the agony tearing her apart.
The second male.
He glared down at her and raised his sword.
She pitied him.
A clawed hand closed around the front of his throat from behind and savagely snapped his head up as it dragged him backwards, away from her. He bellowed in agony as Fuery raked those claws down his back as he spun the male away from him. The male arched forwards as he staggered across the stones to land on his knees near the other male.
Her eyes landed on the prone elf.
Blood glistened in a pool beneath him, spreading outwards across the packed dirt, still seeping from the lacerations that covered his face and body. Blank eyes stared straight at her.
Dead.
The male was dead.
“Fuery,” she whispered, and he looked over his shoulder at her. Fire. It blazed in his eyes. Burned right through her. She shook her head. “Do not.”
The injured male foolishly moved.
Fuery snapped back to face him and her heart lunged into her throat, propelling her onto her feet. She cried out as white-hot fire seared her chest but didn’t stop. She grabbed Fuery’s arm and pulled him back, refusing to let him kill the other male.
It would be too much for him.
He turned on her, flashing his fangs, and pulled his arm free of her grip. She sagged to her knees again, despair flowing through her as she realised he was already too far gone, slipped into the black abyss.
No.
She shook away her fear, refusing to succumb to it and lose hope.
She could still help him.
She glared at the damned shackle around her wrist. If she could get it off, she might have enough strength left to teleport. She only needed one shot.
Fuery needed Hartt.
He needed help.
She could get it for him.
She moved onto her knees and slowly crawled across the flagstones towards the well, and the male she had killed. Fuery’s snarls rang in her ears, his pain echoing on her body as he fought and the darkness pushing at their link, trying to seep into her. She held it back, refusing to let it overcome her too, but also refusing to close her connection to Fuery.
She was his light.
He needed her.
The darkness had him, but she wouldn’t give up on him. As long as she could hold the connection between them open, she would. As long as she could steal even a drop of his pain to help him, she would. She wouldn’t give up. Never. Not until she drew her final breath.
She reached the dead male and slumped beside him, fighting to catch her breath.
Fuery moved like a wraith in the darkness, toying with the poor male, making him turn this way and that, his sword cutting through the air in desperate strikes that hit nothing. His fear flowed over her, tainting the air together with the heavy odour of blood.
Her mate stopped behind the male and grinned as he shoved his hand forwards, driving his claws deep into the male’s side, ripping a scream from him.
She had to stop him before it was too late.
She mustered her strength, lifted her hand and searched the young male she had killed for his set of steels. When she found them, she sank back against his legs. Her hand shook as she opened the leather wrapped around them and she grimaced as she lowered her other arm away from her chest, relieving the pressure on her wound.
Her vision wobbled as she pulled out each steel and tried them, wriggling them in the lock, her frustration mounting as she failed to get any of them to work.
A bellow sounded.
Then silence.
She stilled, her strength flowing from her as she fought for breath and battled the pain.
Fuery grunted as his knees hit the ground beside the male he had just killed, breathing hard and fast, his chest heaving as he stared straight ahead, the flare of crimson around his eyes bright in the darkness.
But it was fading.
She wanted to cry as violet began to emerge again.
The need to reach him had her finding her feet and he looked at her. Her beautiful warrior. Blood and dirt covered his face, and rips in his armour revealed deep lacerations that she could feel echoing on her body through their bond. He needed her.
She staggered towards him.
A wall of black appeared in front of her and she bumped into it.
Slowly tilted her head back.
“No,” she breathed.
“It is time to come home.” Eirwyn grabbed her right wrist in a bruising grip. “It is time to end this foolish behaviour.”
She tried to twist free of his hold, but he only tightened it and she cried out as pain seared her bones and they felt as if they might break.
She called her dagger to her left hand and grunted as she swiped at him, cutting him across his right shoulder before he could block the blow.
He glared down at her, his violet eyes brightening as his pointed ears flared back against his ponytail, and growled as he caught her wrist and twisted it. She cried out and dropped the dagger.
He pressed forwards, into her, and snarled, “I can see I will have to keep you locked away until the day of the ceremony. You are the key to my future happiness after all… the key to gaining power and a position in the council that advises the prince’s elders.”
Shaia spat in his face. “I am not an object you can use as you please!”
He backhanded her and she dropped to the dirt, her ears ringing as pain swamped her and his grip on her right wrist growing tighter as he held her arm above her head.
Fuery’s vicious growl cut through the sound.
“Take your fucking hands off her.”
Eirwyn slowly turned to look at him, a smile curving his lips. “Come and get her.”
Her eyes widened as something hit her.
He was trying to drive Fuery into the darkness, was going to play on his need as her mate to protect her and use it against him.
If Fuery became truly lost, or better yet dead, then his claim on her would end and Eirwyn would be able to claim her. Prince Loren wouldn’t be able to condemn Eirwyn for taking her under his wing, giving her a shoulder to cry on and a place to call home.
“Do not do it, Fuery.” She shook her head. “He is playing you. Go to Hartt and get help.”
Fuery staggered onto his feet and bared his fangs at Eirwyn, and despair mingled with desperation swept through her. He wasn’t listening.
Her heart bled for him as he swayed on his feet and she looked at him, her beautiful warrior all torn up and on the verge of collapse, his armour in ruins and blood covering him, but still refusing to give up.
Still fighting for her.
Eirwyn’s smile turned cold. “It was not difficult to lure you here. Honestly, I wonder why you were ever given the rank of commander. You clearly lack the necessary intelligence.”
Fuery snarled at that. “Because I earned it… and was not given it… and you were the fool for setting a trap so far from help… one that easily became my trap for you.”
Eirwyn’s face darkened. “No… all you did was spare me having to waste my coin to take back what is mine.”
Fuery was gone when she blinked, appearing right in front of Eirwyn. Eirwyn teleported and landed behind Fuery, and her mate growled as a blast of telekinesis hit him in the back and sent him flying over her head. She squeaked and ducked, and flinched as he hit the wall on the other side of the fortress.
She scrambled for her dagger, snatched it up and roared as she sprang to her feet, mustering all of her strength as she launched at Eirwyn. He backhanded her again, sending her down hard, and her grip on her dagger loosened. It spun away from her.
Landing at Eirwyn’s feet.
He looked down at it, casually bent and scooped it up. He weighed it in his palm and grinned as his gaze slid back to Fuery as her mate found his feet again.
“Fitting you die by a blade you gave her… it was such a shame that you attacked her and she had to defend herself like that.” Eirwyn’s slow smile as he closed his fingers around the hilt of the dagger chilled her blood.
“You dare.” She tried to get onto her feet, but her legs gave out and she grunted as she landed on her knees, her entire body trembling as pain burned across her chest.
He slid her a black look that told her to be quiet and kicked off.
Fuery was gone before he could reach him, disappeared in stilted black lines. The moment he reappeared near her, he went flying again, spinning through the air.
Eirwyn chuckled where he stood with his hand outstretched, his palm facing her mate. “You really are predictable.”
Her link to Fuery grew increasingly agitated, the darkness in it growing stronger as he picked himself up again, and she knew with chilling certainty that he was falling into it.
Losing himself again.
She couldn’t let it happen.
She growled and found her feet, staggered across the courtyard of the fortress towards Eirwyn, and gritted her teeth as she held her right hand out towards him and pushed it forwards, hurling a blast of telekinesis at him.
He barely rocked on his heels.
She cursed in the elf tongue, the rattle of the chain between the manacles still attached to her other hand mocking her.
Eirwyn appeared before her, gripped her by her throat and hauled her up to him. “You continue to resist me and I will have to punish you.”
She raised her knee and landed a hard blow between his legs.
He grunted and dropped her, doubled over and then growled as he lifted his head and fixed her with a black look.
She didn’t have a chance to evade his blow.
The dagger cut across her stomach.
She looked down, dazedly watching the line of crimson that appeared in its wake just above her navel, and then shrieked as he hit her with a blast of telekinesis, sending her rocketing across the courtyard.
Her back hit the wall of the well and the air burst from her lungs.
She felt it the second the darkness consumed Fuery and he was lost to her.
The link between them flooded with darkness, oily and smothering, and then it was gone.
Leaving her empty.
“No,” she wheezed, and tried to move but she didn’t have the strength as the shallow cut across her stomach burned fiercely.
She refused to believe it was gone again. It was still there. She struggled to focus on it as Fuery roared and hurled himself at Eirwyn, his black sword clashing with the one the male had taken from the ground. He was faster now, his eyes burning crimson as he teleported in bursts of jagged black smoke, but Eirwyn blocked him at every turn, faster still.
Fuery.
She growled as Eirwyn managed to land a blow, his sword piercing Fuery’s shoulder and tearing a grunt from his bloodied lips. Fuery gripped the blade and shoved forwards, knocking Eirwyn back, and attacked again.
She tried to tear her eyes away from the battle so she could focus on restoring the connection between them, but it was impossible. She could only stare with her heart in her throat, a timid thing on the verge of breaking as Fuery fought with every last drop of his strength, taking blow after blow as he sought an opening. He whirled beneath Eirwyn’s sword to land on his knees and growled as he thrust forwards with his own blade.
Her heart almost stopped, breath hitching as she watched, waiting for it to hit.
Eirwyn swept his blade up in a swift arc, knocking it against Fuery’s, and her mate’s katana sailed through the air.
Fuery growled and looked in the direction it had gone as it clattered across the stones.
Eirwyn grinned and raised his sword.
Shaia roared, willed her portal and moved the moment the dagger whipped into her hand, hurling it point over end at his back.
It struck.
Bounced hilt-first off his shoulders and dropped to the flagstones behind him.
He slowly turned to look over his shoulder at her, his face a black mask of fury that promised pain.
He brought his blade down, aimed at Fuery’s throat as her mate fought to stand.
“Fuery!” She couldn’t watch.
Fuery threw himself forwards, rolled and snatched the dagger as he came onto his feet behind Eirwyn, and roared as he plunged it deep into the male’s neck. Blood burst from beneath the guard, spraying everywhere. Eirwyn’s face froze in a look of disbelief and horror, and she couldn’t drag her eyes away from his as the light left them.
When it had slowed to a trickle, Fuery released Eirwyn and watched him slump to the ground, no trace of emotion on his bloodstained face. He eased into a crouch, resting on his haunches, and prodded him, rocking him back and forth, as if checking whether he was going to spring back to life.
It struck her that he wanted him to.
Like a feline with its prey, he couldn’t understand that he had killed the male, was confused that the fight was suddenly over, and disappointed.
Something else struck her as his face slowly set in a scowl and he began shoving Eirwyn’s body harder, as if that would bring his foe back to life, and then started to rain blows down on the dead male’s chest, ripping at it with his claws.
His bloodlust wasn’t sated. It needed more.
“Fuery,” she whispered, desperate to stop him and unable to watch him ripping into the body in such a savage, brutal way. “It’s over.”
He stilled, tilted his head slightly towards her, his overlong wild blue-black hair concealing his face from her, and then rose fluidly onto his feet, twisting and coming to face her in one sweeping move.
It wasn’t over.
She could see it in his crimson eyes as they landed on her.
She could feel it in her soul as he advanced on her and she witnessed the hunger in him.
He wasn’t sated.
He needed more and she was the only one left alive.
The only one who could satisfy that hunger that ruled him.
The need for blood and violence.
A need for death.