needed to be at full strength right now, all of his powers at his disposal.
He had a witch to hunt.
“Where did you meet with him?” Grave slid a look at Mackenzie.
One that made Hartt want to growl and claw his eyes out. He checked that need.
“In London. He sent an email requesting a meeting.” Mackenzie flicked the soft waves of her red hair over her shoulder, drawing his focus to the new clothes she wore.
A form-fitting black shirt and leather pants that had been delivered by a demoness who had shown up while Hartt had been in his quarters. According to Grave, the female had wanted to stick around and had inquired about Hartt with a look in her eyes that had left the male feeling she had wanted to remove Hartt’s intestines. Hartt wasn’t sure what he had done to anger the demoness.
“An email?” Grave frowned at her at the same time Hartt did.
“You were in the mortal world when he contacted you?” Hartt put it out there, because it was the only thing that made sense.
Although, she hadn’t said how she had contacted the demoness to order a delivery of clothes and makeup.
Her honey-coloured eyes brightened against the backdrop of reddish-brown she had painted around them again and had streaked towards her temples. Her mask was back in place, but he had the feeling that not all her walls had come back up since they had surrendered to their attraction.
Mackenzie leaned to her right and fished a phone from her pocket. “Nope. I was here, in Hell. I’m guessing you guys are both behind the times. There’s a witch in the Scottish fae town who hooked up a network in Hell. I can message anyone down here if they have a phone like this, and I can send messages to regular phones in the mortal realm too and receive replies. You all might want to look into getting one.”
She waggled it in the vampire’s face and then Hartt’s, a wicked smile teasing her red lips. Hartt wanted to frown at her, but his gaze got snagged on her mouth, and his mind blanked. Gods, he wanted to kiss her again.
Her hand slowly lowered and heat flooded her golden irises, making them glow.
Grave cleared his throat. She tensed. Hartt tensed too. Looked at the table and then the vampire, and then back at her when she glanced away from him. Crimson stained her cheeks, and her eyes gained a shy edge he found adorable.
Alluring.
“Where did you meet him?” Grave said, dragging Hartt’s focus back to him and his mind back on topic.
“At the guild. He came to visit when Fuery—”
“Mad bastard,” the vampire muttered, earning a glare from Hartt.
“Takes one to know one,” he bit out, unwilling to let Grave talk crap about his friend. His brother. “If you have a problem with Fuery, I can gladly tell him for you.”
Grave arched a dark eyebrow at him, an unimpressed edge to his blue eyes, and then huffed and pushed away from the table. He strode to the windows, clasped his hands behind his back and stared out of it. Apparently, the King of Death didn’t want Fuery banging down his door but wouldn’t admit it. Hartt could understand why. Revealing weaknesses was something he was reluctant to do too, mostly because it would tarnish his reputation.
“Describe what he looked like.” The vampire looked back at him and Mackenzie.
“He was blond,” Hartt said and frowned as Mackenzie spoke at the same time as him.
“Black hair—” Mackenzie broke off and looked at Hartt.
“Well, which is it?” Grave turned his back to the wall and leaned against it between two tall sash windows, folding his arms across his chest and pulling his crisp black shirt tight across his shoulders.
Hartt waved Mackenzie on when she looked unsure whether to go first. “I have the feeling that the reason Rosalind sensed magic on me is because he altered his appearance, and that you’re about to tell me he had neat, short black hair, a tall and slender build, and crimson eyes.”
“Not crimson eyes. They were blue.” Mackenzie frowned. “I’m guessing because we were meeting in public places. Stuck up English accent?”
He nodded, the weight in his gut growing heavier. “He didn’t bother to change his appearance dramatically for you because you’ve never met him. There was no need to pretend to be someone else. At least it confirms we’re dealing with the witch I fought in London. I don’t think it can be anyone