Untamed Hart Page 3

  Wide eyes filled with hate and fear seized Hart as the sorcerer raised his hand to the sky. “Hear me ancients, taste this blood in my mouth, feel this ache in my bones…know what this man has done to me this day.”

  Hart nodded. The male witch stumbled down the stairs. He was cursed no matter which path he took.

  “You will not sleep, you will not rest.” The witch grasped a clump of hair and yanked, fumbled words spilled like blood as trembling fingers knotted the strands. “Knots of anger, knots of hate, you have sealed your own fate…I tie this knot in two, bringing darkness over you…”

  Hart pressed the button on the bike. Overhead, dark storm clouds moved in, surrounding him while the engine of the bike drowned out the witch’s spell.

  The cuts on his wrists itched as he kicked out the stand and shoved the bike into gear. The witch’s curse crowded his head. He’d been cursed before—cursed by a better enchanter than a two-bit charlatan like him.

  He blinked into the first drops of rain as they hit his face. An empty day…a fucking wasted day wore at him like a rotten tooth. The sun dipped, casting bruised and bloody hues across the sky as he nosed the bike for home.

  He needed a seer to catch a seer. Thoughts skirted around Dante. Maybe the wolf had better luck. Hart focused on the road, catching sight of the corner where he’d lost his shit. Flashback images crowded his head. He could still see her long black hair riding the wind as she crossed the street. Still smell the sickening stench of her potions, still feel his skin crawl at her touch.

  His demons were coming for him. This was more than a curse of bad luck.

  Fate bore down on him like headlights in the dead of night.

  He glanced to his wrist—he’d never give in—he’d never surrender.

  He flew past the street corner. Shifters, witches, and orcs filled chairs and crowded tables, as though his little meltdown never happened at all.

  Merry’s words played on his mind. Find the Seer, Harvest. She’ll tell you what to know.

  He eased on the brakes, pulling up outside his apartment. The sky rumbled overhead, dark clouds gathered, choking the vibrant hues of the dimming sun.

  A storm was coming.

  And he was more than ready.

  A knock sounded at the door. Hart glanced up from his third coffee—the remnants of his breakfast had turned cold long ago. Sleep had taken him by force after hours of tossing in his darkened corner of the room.

  The knock came again. He felt the corner of his lip curl, and rose from the chair to cross the room and twisted the handle. Links gnashed as the chain snapped taut. He stared at the jittery eyes of Dante though the crack. What? lingered on the edge of his tongue. Tension crawled along his spine; no one came to this place. He seized the wolf’s amber gaze and swallowed his distaste. “Dmitri,” or Dante to those who knew him best “—I didn't realize we were on sleepover-close terms.”

  “Hey, I don't like it either. But I have a complication.”

  Hart leaned in as the bitter tones of fear slipped through the crack in the door. “A complication?”

  Dante shifted his weight from one foot to the other, dropped his gaze and nodded. “Yeah.”

  He didn’t like it, didn’t like Dante turning up at his place—didn’t like the constant itch under his skin.

  The Blood Moon’s call backed him into a corner—leaving him restless, hungry, and quick to hurt—for him that was a dangerous place to be.

  Concern sparkled in Dante’s eyes—concern and fear—and the dark part of Hart rose to the challenge.

  He reached for the chain and slid the metal across as excitement burned in his veins. “What kind of complication?”

  Hart climbed on his bike and followed the shady sonofabitch to a cabin in the woods. He climbed off the bike and let the snarl of the Harley die. Birds scattered with the sound and the somber silence of the woods closed in.

  He could scent the seer before he neared the door—fears and fur…and that musky stench of other clung to the insides of his nose and crowded his head. Dante flinched as he gained on the wolf, coming up behind him as Dante opened the cabin door and stepped inside.

  The complication sat straight up in the middle of the bed. Her gaze moved from Dante to him, and then her eyes widened.

  Dante moved aside, motioning toward the bed. “Ria Warren, meet Hart. Hart, she's all yours.”

  A nerve twitched at the edge of Hart’s temple with the words. The redhead trembled as he kicked the door closed. She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her middle. Faint white lines marred her skin from her elbows down. Wounds on the outside, but not as many as she carried inside.

  He licked his lips and took a slow step.

  The thrum of her heart shot adrenaline through his veins.

  All yours…sadistic needs rose to the surface.

  All yours. Hart was a junky, and this frightened female was his fix. Just a little time with her…she’d open up…she’d spill every dark secret. He inhaled on a shudder…the need to hurt her bloomed like a deadly flower. He wouldn’t hurt her much…just enough to take the edge off…just enough to get what he needed.

  Ria shoved her feet against the crumpled sheets, scooting farther up the bed. The mattress knocked against his shin as he hunkered down and crawled forward. One glance at the floor and he knew why she wouldn’t run. Chalk markings on the floor flanked every side. There was no way out for her. No where she could run.

  Defiance flared in her gaze for a second and his wolf sniffed the air and growled—eager with the challenge. He crawled closer, dragging the crumpled sheets from her hand. Her scarred skin was smooth under his hand, calloused fingers tangled in the strands of her hair. She was nothing…no one.

  Hart wrenched her closer, transfixed by the glistening whites of her eyes. There was something inside them, something trapped—desperate to be free. She tossed one frantic gaze at Dmitri. She was panicked. She knew something, and he knew he had her.

  A squeal tore from the seer’s lips, choked and strange, tearing along his nerves like nails on glass.

  The corners of his lips curled, as her tiny hand closed around his, until the glint of madness shone through in her gaze. The bitch was testing him. She was playing him. There was something not right…

  He turned to glance at the wolf over his shoulder. “Dmitri?”

  “Dmitri," the warped bitch mimicked.

  She was testing him, riding him…anger coiled in his belly ready to strike. He gripped the base of her throat. Fear mingled with madness in her eyes.

  Such a tiny candle…one snuff was all it’d take.

  “I'm not holding your leash,” Dmitri growled behind him.

  And he wasn’t. Corded muscles tightened under Hart’s grip. He lifted, feeling the weight of her lithe body pull in his back. She kicked her bare feet as he pulled her close and hurled her body through the air.

  Her head flew backwards as she hit the wall with a sickening thud and crumpled onto the bed.

  “My friend tells me you don't play nice.” Hart’s tongue snaked across his lower lip. “I think he just doesn't understand how to work with people. You want to work with me, don't you?”

  Her dark pupils widened with an unfocused daze. A tiny bead of blood welled in the corner of her lip, swelling as she whispered. “Yes.”

  “Show me, then,” he whispered, sliding his hand up to her chin.

  Hard fingers rode the length of her jaw. Pain creased her forehead as her bones rolled under his grip. The tiny hitch of her breath held him. The bottomless black of her pupil blew, widening until the reflection of a woman resounded from the deep.

  Pastel lilac hair shone, unveiling the sweet face of Allendra’s Fae. But she was different, a hardness consumed her, marring her perfect clear skin with thick black markings.

  “I see a woman,” the Seer murmured. “Demure.”

  Hart’s hands worked of their own accord as the Fae filled his mind. The seer knew more. He’d force her to reveal everything. H
e popped the top button off her shirt, filling her mind with sick possibilities as he growled. “But overdressed.”

  “Real punk-looking hair, colorfully dyed. Lilac.”

  “Stop.” He snatched the bitch by the throat and dragged her close. His wolf was rushing to the surface, desperate to be free. Blood welled under the sharp tip of his nail. “I'm not looking for fated romance—quite the opposite. We're looking to put an end to it. Not your fault, though. Chalk that up to Dmitri's poor people skills.”

  Hart yanked the crook of his claw free. The thin rivulet of blood raced along the groove of her vein. Don’t scare her…just be nice. Hart skimmed rust colored strands of her hair from her face with his other hand while holding onto her neck. “That's what we need from you.”

  Her throat lengthened under a little pressure as he squeezed and whispered, “We want to be friends.”

  That dangerous scent of seer brought back memories. It hadn’t always been cruel with the Mistress. At night, he could still feel the slick oil against his skin and smell the midnight herbs that made his cock hard. Hart leaned in and dragged his cheek across her taut throat. The smell of blood mingled with sex as he growled. “We're friendly sorts.”

  He speared his fingers through her hair, grasping the back of her neck. Her tendons tightened. He liked the fight and pulled her close. “You want to be friendly, don't you?”

  A tremor replaced a nod. It was all he needed. He relaxed his grip and leaned in. “Then show me.”

  The seer bucked as he covered her mouth with his. Her lips mashed against her teeth. A trapped whimper slipped free, and then she was yielding, opening her mouth wider…letting him in.

  The image of Cradle Corner settled like a spell inside his head. Dark alleyways and seedy characters with dark corners and keep out signs. The scent of old echoed to him and the whisper of a name, Harvest.

  He licked the insides of her mouth, searching for the sweet tang of her blood.

  “This ends now.” Dante’s roar shook the room.

  Possession stained the fucking air. Hart tore his lips from the witch’s, catching the soft gaze of need in her eyes. The old Seer’s name still rattled inside his head, but the look of desire in this witch’s eyes held him transfixed. This one liked the pain…liked to be hurt…and he was more than willing to oblige.

  He turned his head catching the terror in Dante’s eyes and rose to the challenge. “Like hell.”

  He turned back to the seer, ready to bring true all her deepest desires as hands wound around his throat. The witch slapped his hold as the smell of her sweat filled the air.

  Dante tore him off her, shoving him across the room. Hart stumbled and hit a chair. The timber legs of the chair tangled in his, and then fell against the floor. His hands swung wild, trying to catch hold as he hit the far wall.

  Bones snapped and shifted under his skin. He wanted to pounce. He wanted to fight. He grasped the wall, holding on to his humanity as he tried to stand. “The hell do you think you are?”

  The tether on his beast slipped, turning his voice guttural and strange. His gaze narrowed in on the wolf. Bones shattered and fused, melding into place as Hart drew back on his haunches and lunged. He whipped his hand across his body, driving with enough force to gain some fucking respect…or fear.

  Knuckles met flesh, stinging with the impact as he drove Dante backwards.

  The wolf landed on the seer. Hair and ass turned end over end, the witch yelped as the two tumbled across the chalk markings on the floor and stilled.

  “You asked me here.” Hart advanced, his head filled with the savage desire for retribution. “You asked for this.”

  Dante slowly rose from the floor, keeping his head low and subservient. Hart sucked in hard breaths, riding the wave of fury as the other wolf circled like a predator, or was he prey?

  His movement was quick, taking Hart by surprise. Gut-wrenching snarls filled his ears as they wrestled. Fingers turned into claws to pierce his skin. He wrenched back his fist and swung, feeling the crack of teeth under the blow, before he tackled the wolf and rolled.

  They hit the doorframe but bounced, landing in the front room instead. The wolf charged, barreling Hart into the couch. He rolled, then crouched and stood. His heart thundered in his ears, the taste of blood still fresh in his mouth. “I'm beginning to rethink our partnership.”

  “You'd be a fool not to after all that,” Dante growled. “It was my error.”

  The wolf glanced to the seer and then to the floor—he had a rival’s look of defeat written all over his face. But it wasn’t a defeat of strength, it was a defeat of emotions. The stupid sonofabitch liked the witch. He inhaled, staring at the awkward fucking expression and chuckled. “It’s good, then, that you realized it before I fucked you up more.”

  Dante nodded. “I’ll keep working Ria.”

  “And I'll look for another angle. She'd been sitting on that demure girl with the lilac hair for a while. If she ever sees anything of use, I'm not sure she'd share it.”

  The dank alleyway of Cradle Corner filled him, the stink of old dirt and older blood churned his stomach. That’s where he’d find the Seer, Harvest—of that he was sure. Soft lilac hair crowded in, the Fae had been hidden by smoky mirrors and a one-way trip to crazy town in the red-headed witch’s gaze.

  But the little Fae was coming, of that Hart was sure. He licked his lips and tasted blood.

  And he would be more than ready.

  4

  Ondine

  An unforgiving glare replaced the soft glow of the Seelie world. Dark shapes crowded around her. Towering buildings closed in. The pulse in her ears tripped and tumbled filling her with the sound of panic.

  The pearls in her fist shattered. Gold and yellow dust slipped between the cracks of her fingers to scatter on the wind. “No!”

  She lunged, grasping fragments as they fluttered to the ground and slammed into a wall of muscle.

  “Watch where you’re going.”

  She raised her head and stared into piercing brown eyes. The male’s auburn hair fell forward to frame his face. Flecks of brown and gold caught the harsh sun. The soft brush of feathers drifted across her mind…shifter.

  Full-flight, hard eyes…hungry. He was hungry, and he looked at her like prey.

  He licked his lips. Dark pupils narrowed in. His gaze darted right, and then left. “You lost?”

  She shook her head. Back away, do it now…and slowly. “I’m fine.”

  He followed her, bounding steps covering the distance behind her. “Where you headed?”

  She shook her head, please lingered on the tip of her tongue. But inside her head the Unseelie licked her lips. The dark part of her wanted to play… she wanted to see how fast the hawk could fly.

  Boots echoed like thunder behind her. “Where you going? You meeting someone? I haven’t seen you around here before…the Seelie don’t come here often.”

  Come here little birdy. Come and play…whispered the voice inside her head.

  Ondine lunged, cutting across the road. Horns blared behind her.

  Brightly lit cafés turned to designer clothes, and packed grocery stores. Witches and shifters crowded the paths. Ondine weaved in and out, risking a glance over her shoulder as she rounded a corner.

  Confused second-glances were the only things in her wake. Boots echoed, bit only inside her head, mirroring the thuds in her chest. She sucked in a breath, and scanned the buildings. The brightly lit shops were now sullen and gray, somehow amongst the frenzy she’d gone too far, turned too many corners and now…she was lost.

  Concrete walls surrounded her on all sides, smothering the sun’s brutal glare. A chill moved in, licking the warmth from her skin like a cold-blooded predator. Uneven cobblestones and slated tiled paths replaced smooth concrete. Ondine surged ahead, pushed by the frantic steps of those around her, until a gap between the buildings offered her salvation.

  She timed her steps and surged left at the last moment, stepping into the t
iny alleyway and leaving the crowd of immortals behind. The stone walls were cool against her back. Ondine leaned her head against the wall and sucked in a breath. Crazy people…crazy world.

  This world was not for her, but then again, which world was?

  Tiny fragments of pearl cut her palm like glass. She opened her fist, flecks of yellow mingled with specks of crimson blood.

  This world might not be for her, but the Seelie world had already decided she wasn’t welcome—and she had nowhere else to go.

  A peal of thunder ripped through the air. Ondine closed her fist and glanced at the sky. But the clouds stayed away from the sun, offering no peace, and giving no answers. Still the roar filled the air with a heavy throb, until the glint of chrome stole her gaze.

  A motorbike turned into the street and coasted to a stop near where she stood. Dark shadows swallowed her as she stepped back and watched. There was something familiar about him—a warning whispered, making the hair on her arms stand on end.

  Black hair glistened as the male climbed off his bike. At first the word raven filled her mind, until the patter of paws echoed though, steady, thundering, like the bike he rode. Not raven…but wolf.

  The Unseelie inside her head licked her lips. A soft growl vibrated her chest and echoed along the back of her throat. The man stilled, turned his head, eyes narrowed, and looked right at her.

  Go to him. She dug her nails into the cracks of the stones and hissed as the mark on her wrist flared. The shifter took a step toward her. She knew this man. The challenge reared inside her head, and the sting of betrayal followed.

  Allendra had called this man by name…Hart Devis. Ondine had seen the hate in his wolf’s eyes. She’d felt his rage like a slap to the face.

  The shifter turned away and took a step. He was dangerous. She knew that from a glance. He left the bike and strode away. A chill stole the steel in her spine; still she shuffled forward, peeked around the corner and stepped out.

  She’d been drawn here for a reason…and it seemed the reason was him.