CHAPTER 9
A bolt of white lightning suddenly shot through Fuery, driving back the darkness that was his constant companion and bringing him to his knees. The black gravel bit into his shins as he breathed hard, struggling as an onslaught of emotions rushed through him, clashing hard within him and tearing him apart.
He growled as the light pulsed brighter, sending sharp pain sweeping through him, a collision of feelings dredged up from his past and condensed into one searing blast that felt as if it would shatter him.
He couldn’t breathe.
Fuery grasped his throat, tugging at the scales of his black armour, fighting for air.
Something was wrong with him. Terribly wrong. Cold prickles swept over his skin beneath his armour, tightened his chest and chilled his blood. He needed to return to the guild. He needed to speak with Hartt. Hartt would know what was happening to him.
He wanted to teleport there, but he couldn’t, didn’t have the strength and couldn’t focus through the sensations detonating inside him, bombarding him and leaving him quaking. He would have to find the nearest public portal. He could make it. He needed help.
One of the demons chuckled low, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. Another joined him.
That had his mind sharpening even as pain wracked his body. Danger. He was in danger, open to attack as he was now. He needed to purge the pain. The light. Light part of him wanted to cling to even as the rest of him screamed to extinguish it.
He gritted his teeth and focused, fighting to subdue his muddled emotions and the agony they caused.
As the pain began to ease and he finally got his emotions back under control, the darkness pushed back against the light, more vicious than it had ever been. It swamped him, gripped him fiercely and pressed down on him, squeezing the light back out of him.
Stealing control.
He reached for the light, the reaction an instinct he had no power over and didn’t understand. It slipped through his fingers as the darkness responded to the need that went through him, rising to swallow him and seemingly determined to shut out the light again, as if it feared it might lose its grip on him entirely.
Gods, Fuery wanted that light back.
He wasn’t sure where it had come from, but it felt familiar.
Like coming home.
A roar rushed through him, screaming up his throat, and the darkness seized hold of him, squeezing him in sharp claws that penetrated deep enough into his soul that it shook the light from him.
He sank into it.
The first demon didn’t know what had hit him as Fuery launched to his feet, a blur in the low light. His long black claws met the large male’s throat and then blood spilled over his bare chest, thick and dark, and the male gargled as he went down.
The second demon, the one who had laughed at him, was quick to move out of his path, distancing himself from the dead male as he dropped to the black earth near the fire of their camp.
Fuery didn’t hesitate to shift his aim to the nearest male, a young demon who was now fumbling with an enormous sword, the firelight shimmering over his tight bronze leathers that hugged his thick legs as he spread them in a fighting stance. He had been a last minute addition to Fuery’s client’s list of marks, a mercenary in training. Unfortunately for the male, the first job the demons had taken after welcoming him into their team had been kidnapping a fae female for sale on the black market.
Her father was paying handsomely for her return, and the death of everyone involved in what had happened to her.
The young pale-haired demon swung the blade at him, a clumsy blow that Fuery easily dodged. He pivoted around to behind the male, faster than the brute because of his size. Demons were strong, but they were at a disadvantage when faced with one of Fuery’s kind. They were heavy-set with bulging muscles that gave them power but at the cost of speed.
Elves tended to err towards a lighter build, with compact muscles that gave them both power, and agility. Fuery had long ago honed that speed, learning to use it to his advantage against any foe.
He was behind the male in a flash as the young demon spun on his heel to face him, leaving him turning this way and that, hunting for him. He grinned and raked long black claws down the male’s bare back, tearing a satisfying bellow from his lips. The male arched forwards, staggering a step, blood swiftly rolling down his back from the four long slashes.
The second demon, the one Fuery had decided led the team, landed a hard blow on Fuery’s left cheek, sending him swaying to his right. He rocked back onto his toes and slowly turned his head towards the male.
The big black-haired male’s equally as dark eyes widened slightly as Fuery remained standing, a momentary show of fear that Fuery relished.
On a snarl, Fuery kicked off towards him. He ploughed into the demon’s bare chest and stilled for a heartbeat as he felt the fiery cut of the male’s blade across his left side.
Not possible.
He shoved the demon hard, sending him staggering backwards, gaining some space. His eyes darted to the blade the male gripped in front of his obsidian leathers. A black dagger.
Made from the metal mined in the elf kingdom.
The same metal as his armour.
Fuery slowly lowered his head, his eyes dropping to the wound on his side, a long gash in his armour that seeped crimson.
The only metal that could pierce his armour.
The demon palmed the blade, a sure grin stretching his lips to flash his fangs, and his black horns curled further around the curve of his ears, the sharp points flaring forwards in a show of aggression.
Fuery eased his hand down, feeling nothing as he stared at the blood flowing from him. He pressed his fingers against the thick glossy trail and then pulled them away, brought his hand in front of him and stared at it.
Blood.
On his hands.
Inky darkness bubbled up, chasing out the last remnants of the light as he sank deep into his memories and drowned in them.
He threw his head back and roared as that darkness consumed him.
Crimson burned across his vision.
And then everything went black.
Pain was the first thing he grew aware of as the darkness began to lift and he was pulled up from its depths, a battered and broken thing, soul-deep weary and hollowed out.
Gods, he hurt.
It felt as if someone had scoured his insides, clawed them all out and shattered every bone in his body in the process.
His vision came back, slow to focus but when it did, he saw black earth and something fuzzy beyond it. He frowned and shifted his gaze there, his breathing shallow as he struggled against the tangled threads of darkness that refused to release him, clung to him as if they feared they would die if he shattered their hold on him.
He feared he would die if he didn’t.
The world beyond the patch of earth beneath his cheek came into focus. A village of tents made from the hide of the beasts of Hell. A dying fire in the middle of the circle of five tents. A smoking heavy iron pot suspended above it. The air filled with the acrid stench of whatever was in it burning.
And blood.
He froze as his gaze caught on something else.
Bodies.
Six males. Demons. They had been ripped apart, limbs scattered and flesh shredded. The one nearest him had his face caved in and his horns broken, torn from his skull and left on the black earth near him. That earth had been churned up, revealing how brutal the fight had been.
A battle.
He pushed his hands into the dirt, his arms trembling as he eased off his chest and into a sitting position on his knees.
His whole body ached, fire consuming it, racing in lines over his arms and sides, his thighs and back. His head.
He shook it as his vision lost focus again and it came back, sharper than before.
Revealing something else.
A fae female lay prone in the dirt just a few feet from him. Her clothes torn. Delicate body broken.
Covered in blood.
Fuery looked down at his stained claws.
No.
He roared out his agony and stilted darkness swept over him and dragged him down into it, but the cold of it kept him grounded this time, because this darkness wasn’t the one that lived in his soul and tormented him.
It was a teleport.
He fought to focus as his mind screamed that he had killed a female, an innocent, desperately trying to direct the teleport so he wouldn’t land on the roof of the guild this time. His battered body wouldn’t be able to take the fall. It would break him.
Mercifully, he landed in the street.
People shrieked and scattered, and he staggered onto his feet and lumbered towards the arched entrance of the guild.
Hartt.
He needed to see Hartt.
He stumbled into the guild, his legs weakening with each step, wobbling beneath him as the pain rose back to the fore, the agony of his injuries tearing at his control. He breathed deep and fast, fighting the darkness as it tried to rise again, roused by his weakness and what he had done.
He had killed another female.
Her blood was on his hands.
Relief so sweet that it brought tears to his eyes hit him as he caught Hartt’s scent and sensed the male ahead of him.
He reached for their bond, needing the strength it gave him to shatter the fragile hold the darkness had on him so it couldn’t drag him back down into it.
He rounded the corner and Hartt loomed ahead of him in the enormous reception room.
“Hartt,” he croaked and reached his right hand out to the male.
Hartt turned and Fuery’s eyes widened as he saw someone beyond him.
A female.
Her violet eyes widened as she spotted him, her soft pink lips parting in shock he swore he felt ripple through him.
What fresh Hell was this?
He stared at her as his knees gave out, sending him down hard on the polished black stone floor.
“Shaia?”