Breaking Fate (5 page)

Týr, he flat-out disregarded, their cold war legendary. The problem was, Blaéz knew nothing could fix that. Because when it came down to it,
he
was partly responsible for the fight that had caused their downfall three and a half millennia ago. The day Blaéz took on his duties as a Protector, he should have just told Dagan who he was and avoided the deadly fight that had broken out — one that allowed the worst evil out there to abduct the young goddess of life in a blood-spattered battle that had destroyed an entire Sumerian temple. She was never seen again.

He shut off those thoughts as Aethan pulled out the chair opposite him and straddled it.

“Before you all leave—” Michael’s gaze flickered over them. “A few things. First, Elytani. Seems she’s doing well with her training. She should be back in a couple of months.”

“I can’t believe you recruited her,” Týr muttered then paused, eyes narrowing. “It’s far too soon for her return. She needs a good two years at least.”

“Gaia’s shield-maidens assures me she’s almost done, we’ll see.”

Blaéz couldn’t imagine the elegant Lady Elytani, Aethan’s ex-betrothed, as a killer. She chose not to go back to Empyrea after Aethan had mated Echo. Michael had snagged her with an offer to become a Guardian, which she eagerly accepted.

“With the problems growing, we need the extra hands,” Michael said. “And with all that’s happened since last November — Zarias’s prophecy and Eshana’s resurrection, there’s been a stirring on the psychic plane. It could just be the normal spike of human psychics using their talents, but this makes me uneasy.”

“You think another of the Watcher’s descendants awakens?” Aethan asked.

“With your mate being the first, yes, more will follow. So keep an eye out for any unusual activity.”

The short meeting over, Dagan walked out.

Michael crossed to the mammoth sub-zero fridge, pulled out a Coke. As he took a drink, those shattered blues fixed on Blaéz. “Nothing yet?”

He knew what Michael asked; if he’d seen hair or hide of Maloch on this realm. After all, Michael had witnessed the demon taking Blaéz’s soul. The depraved fuck was the catalyst for Blaéz’s eventual slide into a place too dark for him to even seek redemption.

Blaéz wondered idly, what would happen if he just said:
“Yeah, sure, I see him every few months or so. After all, the bastard owns my soul and uses it to yank me back to Hell. A place where I seem to become more and more like those fuckers…”

He sipped his liquor. “No. Nothing.”

If Maloch ever stepped foot on this realm, maybe then he would finally get to kill him, because no one could touch Maloch while in the Dark Realm. Blaéz ought to know.

As he raised his glass to his lips again, a low stirring started in his belly and his senses flared awake. He stilled, his grip tightening on the crystal. Warmth seeped through him, filling the void inside. She was close, it was the one pull on his psyche he welcomed.

Setting the glass on the counter, he headed for the door, walked down the corridor to the foyer and went motionless in wonderment.

Darci stood on the top stair, her hair a sexy, curly cascade halfway down her back, her awed attention on the stained glass window. Her hands smoothed the loose, hip length cotton top she wore over three-quarter-length denim jeans. The sheer pleasure on her face and her slightly parted lips made him long to be the one responsible for the warm curve to her mouth. He didn’t want the abomination of what he was to mark her. And it would if he brought her into his dark, treacherous life. There was no escaping that fact.

After all, he was a male still chained to Hell.

Darci’s gaze darted around the second-level circular gallery, feeling like she’d stepped back in time.

What caught her attention wasn’t the domed skylight or the magnificent mahogany staircase. Or the bright, airy, and very spacious foyer filled with plants and elegant statues standing sentry over all. What really riveted her was the wall of floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows adjacent to the stairs, complete with scenes of angels and knights in battle, and some with their ladies.

The librarian in her loved all things old, and this place made her want to start examining everything in here. Rubbing her arms at the shiver sliding over her skin, she became aware of a burning stare. Only one person made her react this way.

Warmth curling through her veins, Darci looked down the staircase and met Blaéz’s pale eyes. He appeared as still as the statues surrounding him, an arm resting on the newel post there. He’d changed, too. Leathers covered his powerful legs, and a tee hugged his wide chest.

She made her way down to him and stopped a step above, bringing them almost eye-to-eye. Despite several inches between them, his sheer presence seemed to swallow up the air around them. She pulled in a deep breath.

“Better?” he asked.

No. Breathing in your scent is melting my resistance.
But he probably meant the shower. “Cleaner.”

He nodded and shifted. She stepped down and right into his hard, warm body, realizing too late he’d only dropped his arm from the banister. He wasn’t moving away. His hands settled on her waist, steadying her. Heat flared across her face, she hastened back a step, the sensation of his tough body leaving its imprint on hers. “Sorry.”

Dropping his hands, he shook his head and brushed aside her apology. A muscle ticked hard on his rigid jaw. He wasn’t as unaffected by her touch as he appeared. It made her feel a little better — hell, a whole lot if she were honest. The man was just too self-contained. Controlled.

“Come.” He motioned for her to join him with a tilt of his head.

Darci followed him down the softly lit corridor decorated with more paintings and body armor. The wonderful aroma of something baking drifted to her. Her tummy protested in hunger, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since the measly breakfast bar she’d had at work.

Blaéz pushed open a door near the back and waited for her to enter. Unnerved by the way he watched her, Darci hurriedly stepped past him into an enormous kitchen of oak cupboards with gray granite counters.

Through the opened French doors, a cool, briny breeze drifted inside from the serene trellised garden. Night insects created a disharmony of sounds. She stopped near the island counter separating the kitchen and dining area. And realized they weren’t alone.

Two men sat at the long oak table. One, goth-like in appearance with pierced ears, his striking hair in multihued shades from blue to black, was undeniably good-looking.

The other was dressed in black, too, the color a perfect backdrop for his drop-dead golden looks. Tousled, wheat-colored hair brushed his shoulders. A smile lurked in eyes the color of melting toffee.

A hand settled on her waist, startling her. “That’s Aethan with the hair,” Blaéz said from behind her in introduction. “And Týr. This is Darci Callahan.”

Aethan snorted but nodded. “Darci.”

Týr grinned.

Staring at men that good-looking, Darci felt as if she’d stepped into an alternate world. A castle, handsome men in leathers—

Echo walked in then, so normal and everything, despite her mismatched eyes, and stunned Darci speechless when she sat beside the blue-haired guy. His hand dropped to stroke her back, possession in his every gesture. Right, so they were a couple.

“Darci, welcome to our humble abode.” Týr pushed to his feet. He sent Aethan then Blaéz a look of complete disbelief. “I cannot understand how you lot meet the most incredible females?”

“Maybe if you gave Anarchy a miss, you would, too,” Aethan drawled.

“Yeah, there is that…” Týr smirked, displaying slashing masculine dimples. He took his plate to the sink. “Right, I'm outta here.”

“Darci?” At Blaéz’s low tone, she turned and had to remember to breathe when she met his intense stare. Sure, the other men were just as good-looking, but Blaéz made them fade into the background.

“Coming, Celt?” Týr drawled.

“In a minute.”

Darci hastily stepped back and widened the space between them, heat scorching her face. For that brief second, she’d forgotten they weren’t alone.

“You’ll be safe here. I’ll take you back in the morning,” Blaéz told her. “Sleep if you can. I’ll be gone for the rest of the night. You need me, call. Where’s your cell?”

Without a word, since her throat was dry and she couldn’t speak anyway, Darci pulled the phone from her tunic pocket and passed it to him. His fingers flew over the keypad. His cell rang. Then he handed hers back and saved her number on his.

A chair scraped on the floor. Aethan rose and brushed the shallow dimple in Echo’s chin with his knuckle. “I’ll see you later. Don’t push it, Echo, I don’t care what Lore says.”

She rolled her eyes at his curt order. “I’ll be fine. Lore’s a dry old ang— man… He’s not really bothering you, is he?”

He gave Echo a narrowed look before following Blaéz out. Smiling, she met Darci’s gaze and shook her head.

Suddenly, the kitchen was too enormous, too silent. Darci crossed to the table and sat down beside Echo. A man, dressed in black pants and a gray shirt, came toward her carrying a tray. He appeared a little older than the others. His gray — no, his hair wasn’t the color of old age but a steel-tone, she realized — hung down his back in a ponytail.

“Darci, this is our butler, Hedori,” Echo said. “He deserves a medal for putting up with us. Hedori, Darci Callahan.”

His unusual orange-green eyes gleamed in amusement. “It has its… moments.”

Butler? The man looked as if he should be out hunting terrorists or something.

Hedori set the tray of steaming creamy chicken and pasta in front of her, along with juice, salad, and rolls. At the sight and scent of the mouth-watering feast, her stomach whimpered in hunger.

“Ms. Callahan, my pleasure.”

“Please, call me Darci.”

Hedori gave her a small bow and headed back for the kitchen.

She picked up her fork, twisted a tine full of
tagliatelle
and ate it. Chewing the delicious pasta, she glanced up to find Echo watching her with that same look of confusion again. Darci swiped at her chin. “There’s sauce on my face, right?”

“Oh, no.” Echo hurried to reassure her, her expression sheepish. “I'm glad the clothes fit. They belong to my friend.”

“Just about,” Darci said with wry grimace. “As long as I don’t perform squats, I'm safe.”

Echo laughed. Her cell beeped, distracting her. She drew it from her jeans pocket and sighed. “My tutor’s early. I was going to show you around.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Darci waved her fork, “go. I’ll be fine.” Then curiosity got the better of her. “What are you studying?”

Echo rose and pocketed her cell. “Ancient history. Hedori can show you to the library. There’s also a great theatre if you want to watch a movie. I’ll join you later—” A low disgruntled growl interrupted them. “There you are.” Echo laughed. She scooped up a chubby feline the color of chimney smoke with a very distinct ginger ruff. His bushy tail flicked her arm. “Did Aethan send you to keep watch over me during my lesson, hmmm? Come, meet a new friend.” She brought the cat over. “Bob, this is Darci.”

Darci reached out and stroked the animal. Amber eyes gave her the once over then she was rewarded with a rumbling purr. “He’s beautiful.”

“My guardian gave him to me.” Sorrow tinged Echo’s words.

“I'm so sorry for your loss,” Darci said hastily, remorse taking over at the fleeting flash of pain in the younger woman’s expression.

Echo lifted startled mismatched eyes to her. “Oh, no, he’s alive. It’s just that I haven’t seen him since I er— moved in with Aethan.” At Darci’s confused look, she explained, “Damon and Aethan don’t exactly see eye-to-eye. It’s a long story—” Another sharp beep of her cell. “Crap, Lore is impatient, must dash. I’ll see you later.” Echo set the cat back on the floor and hustled off.

Darci frowned as she ate, staring at the door Echo had disappeared through.

Who took lessons at midnight? She got that these men worked for some kind of special ops organization. With their impressive sizes, it seemed logical. And then there were their incredible good looks and strange eye colors. Must not forget Blaéz’s unbelievable abilities… Something in this place just didn't fit.

Darci took a sip of her juice, picked up her empty plate and made her way over to the kitchen. Bob weaved between her heels then dashed across the room as Hedori set a bowl of kibble on the floor and face-planted there.

Hedori straightened and smiled at her. “Would you like dessert? There’s chocolate cake.”

Just the word
chocolate
and she was ready to forget her questions. “No, but thanks.” She struggled past her craving and set her dishes in the sink. Her curves didn't need the added calories. “I'm full from that wonderful meal…” She hesitated.
Dammit, just ask him.

“Do all of them work the night shift?” Sheesh! What a stupid question. If they were special ops, they probably worked all kinds of hours. Honestly, she had no idea what it was she wanted to ask — what had her so unsettled.

“Yes… it seems that the worst kind of evil roams the streets beneath the cover of darkness.” Hedori poured milk in another bowl then met her gaze. “I'm glad you are all right after that unfortunate incident earlier.”

A shiver of revulsion and fear crept over her skin. She wrapped her arms around her waist at thoughts of her attack. “Me, too.”

Hedori set the milk on the floor beside Bob. “You need anything else?” he asked politely.

Darci shook her head. She had to let this compulsion go. Blaéz had helped her, brought her here to recover when he could have just as easily dumped her in a hospital. For that, she was grateful. At least it spared her family the worrying.

She wandered to the open French doors and stared into the dark night, chirruping crickets breaking the silence. Sure, people had psychic abilities, not that she’d met anyone possessing them, but Blaéz had very, very strong ones to be able to tear doors off cars and self-heal.

Who—
what
was he?

***

“What exactly are you looking for, Celt?” Týr asked as they rode up the hospital elevator.

“Retribution.”

Týr’s brow shot up. Then he nodded. “Right.”

Blaéz concentrated on the third level where his prey languished. So easy to break into hospital records via cyberspace and get the information he wanted on the three concussed humans brought in earlier that evening.

The elevator door pinged open, and the sharp smell of bleach and disinfectant struck him in the nose — the silence in the place a shock to his heightened hearing.

“I’ll take care of the nurses,” Týr said and detoured toward their station.

Blaéz scanned the sea of rooms, his senses alert for the humans he wanted then headed down the bland white corridor. He found the room easily enough. As he entered, a patient occupying the farthest bed turned his way. The male’s pained gaze widened in panic.

With Blaéz dressed all in black like death-incarnate, he certainly didn't inspire confidence that he was there for the sake of their well-being. Good. He sent the man to sleep and focused on the one he wanted. The human scourge rested comfortably on the bed, his arm in a cast.

Opening his mind, Blaéz slipped into the man’s drugged one and sifted through the depravity he found. Some humans really were far more evil than those demons choosing to live a discreet life on this realm. The fact they would have raped Darci and thought nothing of it — Blaéz stopped the drip for his pain meds and willed him awake.

With a low moan, the thug blinked open bleary eyes and focused on Blaéz. Then they popped wide with fear. He struggled to move but could do little, held prisoner in his bed. A whimper ricocheted through the room. The heart monitor beeped wildly.

“You know who I am.” Blaéz strolled to the foot of the bed and folded his arms over his chest. “For hurting my female…” He grabbed the human’s fractured ulna with his mind and cracked it again. The man’s eyes bulged, his face contorted in agony. He screamed. No nurses came running to his aid. “If you ever touch another person, I will find you.” He shoved into the male’s thoughts and showed him exactly what he was capable of.

The scourge cried out in terror and called upon his God, tears streaming down his face. Then he slid back into unconsciousness.

Blaéz turned and found Týr waiting at the entrance. “I thought you’d be doing this so I hazed the surveillance cameras on this floor. Let’s get out of here.”

He walked out. Blaéz followed, only to stop at the next room.

“Or not,” Týr muttered from behind.

Blaéz strolled into the next thug’s room. With lethal precision, he carried out his retribution again then he stopped off at the last one’s room…