CHAPTER 6
Hartt was acting strange. Stranger than usual anyway.
Fuery stared at him where he sat on the other side of his huge ebony desk in his black-walled office, speaking with a male. One of their assassins. Fuery leaned against the black wall near the door, standing guard as he always did whenever Hartt met with a new client or one of their recruits, his skin-tight black armour in place, and his arms folded across his chest and the sole of his right boot pressing into the plaster behind him.
He didn’t like how closed off Hartt had been the past two days. Something was up and it nagged at him, setting him on edge. Hartt wasn’t normally so distant from him, rarely blocked him through their bond, and never passed a day without speaking to him.
That had happened yesterday.
He hadn’t spoken to Fuery from the moment he had left his quarters, feeling able to face the world again, until the time he had decided to retire. Hartt had led him to the guild’s library on the upper floor, and had left him there.
At first, Fuery had thought him too busy with meetings to speak with him.
When dinner time had rolled around, and Fuery had headed to the cafeteria in search of some fruit and vegetables to appease his appetite and keep his strength up, it had been blindingly apparent that Hartt was avoiding him.
The male had chosen to sit not in their usual place, but at a table of young recruits, and had spent his entire meal speaking with them. Fuery had watched him closely, becoming increasingly on edge as Hartt failed to smile and the sombre edge to his violet eyes didn’t lift. The second he had taken his eyes off his friend, Hartt had disappeared.
Definitely avoiding him.
Or at least he had been.
This morning, Hartt had come to his quarters and had asked him to sit in on the mornings meetings.
He hadn’t spoken a word to him since then.
Had he done something wrong?
Fuery pushed that fear aside and focused on his breathing to soothe the darkness as it tried to use his momentary weakness against him to seize hold of him.
It was likely guilt eating away at his friend, and a touch of anger by the feel of the emotions he could finally sense trickling through their blood bond.
Hartt was furious that he had sent Fuery after a female mark.
Female.
Fuery screwed his eyes shut and pushed that out of his head too, afraid that if he thought about it that it would dredge up memories he wasn’t strong enough to face right now. He was still shaken and weak from his fight against the darkness. It had been stronger this time, had swept him under swiftly when his mind had tricked him into believing he had smelled her.
Felt her.
His darker side snarled that Hartt should feel guilty, that he deserved to writhe in it for sending him after a female. The rest of him felt guilty instead, the root cause of his problem with hunting females rearing its ugly head again to torment him.
He drew down a slow breath, hoping to find some calm in it and some strength, enough to purge the darkness that was beginning to well up inside him again.
He tensed as he caught a female scent.
Aya.
The darkness was quick to seize him the moment his guard dropped, stripped from him by the smell of Harbin’s snow leopard mate as it swept through the building.
Fuery snarled and fought against it, struggling as black tendrils wrapped around his soul and burrowed into his flesh, and teased the edges of his mind. He shook his head, shoved his fingers into his shoulder-length blue-black hair and clawed it back as he ground his teeth and growled.
“No.”
He knew what came next, dreaded it but wasn’t strong enough to stop it.
An image flickered in his mind, a beautiful female drenched in crimson.
Ripped apart by his claws.
Those claws formed over his hands as his armour responded to the imagery and they cut into his scalp, sending fire streaking over his skull and filling the stifling air with the heavy scent of blood.
Blood. Female.
His female.
He tore trembling hands away from his head, cracked his eyes open and stared at them.
Blood glistened on them.
“Fuery,” Hartt whispered, and hands gently claimed his shoulders, fingertips pressing in and making Fuery aware of him where he now stood just inches from him.
The bond they shared opened to him, Hartt’s worry coming through it loud and clear, together with affection and a touch of fear.
Gods, he was too tired to fight.
He sagged in Hartt’s grip, aching for the male to take away his pain and stop his suffering, and then rallied and pushed away from his friend. It was hard to take that step back, to sever the connection between them, but he had to do it. He was tired. Soul-deep tired. In his current condition, it was too easy for him to lose his focus and allow the darkness to seize him.
If he couldn’t control it, Hartt would try to aid him.
It was bad enough that he had been responsible for one death.
He hated being responsible for another’s demise too.
“Look at me.” Warm palms framed Fuery’s face and he obeyed Hartt, opening his eyes and lifting them to meet his.
There was still hope in Hartt’s eyes.
Ridiculous hope.
Every day, Fuery slid closer to the abyss. It was only a matter of time before he fell into it. There was no redemption for him now. He was tainted beyond saving, and that was something he had lived with for a long time. Accepted.
Only his blood bond with Hartt was preventing him from slipping under the oily tide of darkness inside him. Without the bond Hartt had imposed on him, he would have been lost long ago.
That bond had saved him countless times, pulling him back from the maws of evil.
Gods, he had hated it when Hartt had forced it upon him centuries ago, because it had tied Hartt’s demise to his, tainting him too, but now he cherished it fiercely. He had done nothing to deserve it, or the depth of the affection Hartt felt for him, a friendship that meant the world to him.
One that had almost filled that black void in his heart where love had once been.
The large black-haired male sitting on the chair beyond Hartt turned curious cerulean eyes their way and rose to his feet, his black boots scuffing the polished stone floor. Tight black jeans and a matching t-shirt moulded over his heavy build, clinging to each muscle like a second skin that reminded Fuery of his own armour and how it hugged his slighter frame. The male ran an assessing gaze over him, and his lip curled slightly, relaying his feelings loud and clear together with the hint of disgust that laced his eyes.
Because he thought him weak.
Unfit to help run a guild of deadly assassins.
Fuery wanted to bear fangs at the shifter, but turned to Hartt instead.
“I am fine. Stop coddling,” he growled in the elf tongue, keeping his words private between them.
Hartt sighed. “I know you hate it when I do it in front of others, but the episodes are becoming more frequent… and it is growing difficult to help you in private.”
“Stop helping me then,” Fuery snapped.
Regretted the fuck out of it when Hartt’s violet eyes widened slightly before he recovered and Fuery felt the hurt that went through him.
Hartt had sacrificed so much for his sake, and he was a bastard for not appreciating that, and speaking of letting him drop into the black abyss so casually when Hartt’s life was also on the line, tied to his.
“You guys need some alone time?” the hellcat drawled, a quirk to his mouth and twinkle in his eyes that said he had found his own words amusing as he insinuated he and Hartt were having a moment.
Fuery felt like making him eat them.
Together with his fist.
“You want to rethink that question?” Hartt snapped, and the male backed down, taking his seat again, but didn’t apologise.
Fuery didn’t like him, and he didn’t trust him.
Fane was secretive and detached, more so than Fuery had ever been. Fuery didn’t like to leave Hartt alone with him, because he recognised a feral bastard when he saw one.
Hartt flicked a glance at Fuery, looked as if he wanted to sigh, and strolled back around his desk to resume his place on the other side. He pressed two fingers to a black folder and slid it towards the hellcat male.
“This den has all the hallmarks of the one you are hunting so this will be strictly off the books. Covert. Understood?” Hartt didn’t release the folder from his grip when the male tried to take it. He kept hold of it until Fane nodded.
When Hartt surrendered the file, Fane flipped it open and Fuery peered over his shoulder at the white pages.
There were markings etched on them in red ink, symbols that reeked of witchcraft.
He lifted his gaze to the hellcat’s when he felt Fane’s eyes on him and glared right back at him. He refused to back down when Fane continued to stare at him, his blue eyes glowing brighter. In a fight, Fane wouldn’t stand a chance. The bastard knew it, but it still took him long seconds before he finally backed down and stopped challenging Fuery.
Fane snatched the file and stormed from the room.
Hartt stared after him. “Why do you push him so hard? You know he’s a feline shifter and he finds it difficult to back down from any challenge issued to him.”
Fuery shrugged and kicked the door closed. “The male is a feline shifter and should know about prides, and therefore he should know his place in this one and not challenge me.”
Hartt leaned back in his leather chair and sighed, and then his eyes slid back to the door and he quietly said, “I do not think Fane understands anything relating to such things anymore… not since his family sold him into slavery.”
Before Fuery could respond, Hartt spoke again.
“Enter.”
His friend looked weary now, but Fuery didn’t tell him to take a break. Hartt wouldn’t like it. They were similar in that respect. Hartt hated being coddled as much as he did. It was late though, and Hartt had been handing out new orders, receiving reports, and meeting with clients for over twelve hours.
At the very least, Fuery needed to convince him to eat.
A big gruff brunet shifter stomped in, as packed with muscle beneath his fitted black t-shirt and combat trousers as he was in his bear form.
Klay was their newest recruit.
He had done two missions for them so far, barely enough to prove himself. Fuery had been the one to question him when he had applied to join the guild, and when he had asked why Klay wanted to become an assassin, the big bear had almost bitten his head off.
It turned out the male didn’t like explaining himself.
Was that a bear trait?
Fuery had thought so at first, but no longer. Klay was here for a reason, just as everyone else was.
He tuned out the bear’s discussion with Hartt as he was assigned another minor mission and given a report on how Hartt thought he was progressing, and tuned back into Hartt’s feelings. His friend was tired. After he was done with Klay, Fuery was going to force him to head to the mess hall with him to get something to eat.
Klay conducted his business quickly as usual, and was out of the door in less than five minutes. Fuery respected that about him. The male knew how to be expedient, possibly because he was always eager to take down his next mark and work his way up the ladder. For what purpose, Fuery didn’t know, but he would be keeping an eye on the bear.
Just in case.
“We are going to leave your office and eat something,” Fuery growled and kicked away from the wall, crossing the room to Hartt as he slumped into his chair and blew out a long sigh. “Or I will go up to the cafeteria and eat someone.”
Hartt slid him a black look, one that screamed how unimpressed he was, and bored of hearing that threat. Fuery made it every time Hartt refused to take a break. It hadn’t failed to get his friend moving yet, even when Hartt knew it was meant as a joke.
“Fine.” Hartt pressed his hands into his desk, pushed back and stood. “I have nothing left on my schedule anyway.”
That wasn’t as satisfying as making Hartt take a break when he was busy, but Fuery would take the small victory.
He opened the door for his friend and waited for Hartt to pass him before he followed him into the black corridor. The oil lamps at intervals on the wall lent a soft light to the hallway that he found soothing, and the scent of them drowned out the other smells in the guild. Including Aya.
He quickly shoved her out of his head before his mind could latch onto the female and strode beside Hartt, keeping pace with him as he yawned and trudged towards the main reception room.
They were barely two steps across it when he smelled someone unfamiliar.
“I need to meet with someone,” a male with tawny hair laced with gold threads hollered, getting everyone’s attention, including Hartt’s.
Fuery growled at the newcomer, and not only because he was about to stop Hartt from getting some much-needed sustenance and rest.
The male was strong, powerful, and a potential threat to his friend, and him.
“You the boss?” The male jerked his chin towards him.
Hartt stepped past him and moved in front of him, blocking the incubus’s path to him. He folded his arms across his chest, causing his black knee-length tunic to tighten across his back and over his arms.
“I would be the male in charge here,” Hartt said, capturing the male’s attention.
His green eyes, flecked with gold and blue, shifted to Hartt and something that looked like relief flitted across them as he moved towards them.
As he drew closer, Fuery caught his scent more clearly, and an image leaped into his mind, one of white cells splashed with red blood.
“I know you,” Hartt said at the same time as that feeling went through Fuery. “You were there the night we broke Harbin out of the hunter facility.”
The memory crystallised in Fuery’s mind, and he saw a replay of his fight against the mortals, cutting them down with his blade as Hartt worked to free Harbin. They had broken a dragon out too, one Harbin had wanted Hartt to bring with them, and one they had met again in a building.
One where he had crossed paths with someone he hadn’t seen in millennia.
Bleu.
Gods. The male had been a skinny youth barely strong enough to lift a damned sword when Fuery had known him, and had protected him in a fierce battle.
A battle that seemed fragmented now, twisted in his mind, some of the pieces not quite fitting. When he had ended up at Prince Vail’s cottage in the mortal realm, that male had warned him that the darkness had a way of distorting their memories, bending them into new shapes that satisfied it and made it easier for it to steal control of them, and that was the reason pieces of the battle no longer fit and seemed out of place.
“Archangel,” the incubus whispered, a lost look in his green eyes as the gold and blue swirled, a sign of his shifting emotions. “My mate now works for them… and I need to get her away from that wretched place. It’s poisoning her mind and making it impossible for me to make her see the truth.”
“The truth?” Hartt frowned.
“That she isn’t mortal.” The incubus raked fingers through his scruffy hair. “I just need to get her away from them, but her partner has too tight a hold on her… the whole damned organisation has brainwashed her on top of the spell she’s already under.”
Fuery could feel Hartt softening, and while he wanted to tell Hartt they already had too many jobs open, he held his tongue, aware it was pointless trying to argue with him.
Although he led a guild of dangerous assassins, dealt in death and had killed hundreds in his years of service, Hartt had a gentle side, one that often led to him taking on jobs out of pity and a need to help rather than the coin it would gain him and the guild.
“Your name?” Hartt said and moved a step closer to the male.
“Fenix.” The male offered his hand.
Hartt took it and gave it a hard shake. “We will help you, Fenix.”
Fuery couldn’t help but wonder whether it was because Hartt wanted another shot at Archangel, or whether he was hoping that someone would show up again to defend the mortals there as he had last time.
Someone neither of them should want to see.
Thinking of Prince Loren and his intervention when they had been at Archangel to rescue Harbin brought memories of Bleu back with him, and from there he ended up thinking about Prince Vail.
He was alive.
That knowledge still rocked Fuery to his soul.
Still seemed impossible, a dream, even when he had spent time with the male.
Vail.
A male he had served under, the one he would follow into the very pit of Hell and march beside to the fortress of the Devil himself if he asked it of him, was alive.
Not dead.
Gods, he had thought Vail was lost forever.
Now that he knew Vail was alive, Fuery wasn’t sure what had made him think he was dead. It was muddled. A product of the darkness, just as Vail had warned him when he had mentioned pieces of the battle they had been in didn’t fit?
Even now, when he knew that Vail was alive, part of him still believed that he was dead.
It was strange, unsettling, a weird sensation that often left him lost and adrift, staring into space as he tried to figure out what was real and what was an illusion created by the darkness.
It was so fucked up.
It had left him doubting his mind, and had left him feeling he had lost it and had gone insane.
If Vail was alive, was it possible his other memories were wrong too?
It hurt too much to think that, so he shut down that line of thought, ending it before it could seize him and only drive him deeper into despair. It wasn’t possible, and thinking in such a way would only torment him, giving the darkness a tighter hold on him.
The memories he wanted to be a lie were real.
He was a killer.
With his own hands, he had killed his beautiful mate.