Guardian Unraveled: Fallen Guardians

by Hunter, Georgia Lyn

  Hedori grabbed her wrist. “My lady, stop.”

  Jenna elbowed him in the belly, stupefying him. Her eyes pinned on Michael became charcoal-gray holes.

  Dagan leaped for her before she turned the Arc into a sack of skin. Except Michael straightened, the glow around him intensifying. She groaned, losing her concentration, and swayed, her eyes closing.

  Hedori swept her up into his arms and headed for the guest bedroom.

  “Someone’s not only tampered with her mind but also set you up as a target,” Dagan said.

  “I figured that.” Michael stalked out.

  The Arc had many enemies, especially of the winged variety, so this didn’t surprise him.

  In the kitchen, Dagan crossed to the Sub-Zero fridge, got out a bottle of water and a Coke, and tossed the latter to Michael.

  “There’re a few rogue angels I’ve been hunting,” he said, staring at the can in his hand. “They absconded from the Celestial Realm, thinking to avoid the final step.”

  Dagan unscrewed the bottle and sucked back half the liquid. Yes, the loss of their wings and powers as demanded by angelic law for falling would do that. He didn’t envy the Arc his deadly job.

  “You cannot let the seraphim pass judgment. They will demand Jenna’s death.”

  Michael cut him an irritated look. “You think I don’t know that? Why the hell couldn’t this job be straightforward?”

  “You can stay their verdict,” Dagan pointed out. No way would he allow his mate to be hurt again, just when she’d found her mother. “All she’ll need is a protector until her mortal life ends.”

  “You can’t be hers. Protecting one psi is a helluva undertaking, and being what Shae is, you’ll have your work cut out. As for Jenna, it’s unlikely the seraphim will be swayed.”

  “Not if I am her protector,” Hedori said, walking into the kitchen. He put the kettle on. “Before you say I’m not a Guardian, I’ll ask you to remember what I once was. And why the mage of Empyrea ordered me to keep an eye on its exiled prince. Aethan may no longer need me, but that doesn’t mean I cannot do the job.”

  Hedori was a damn good fighter and a male still in his prime. Hell, training with this Empyrean kept the Guardians on their toes.

  Michael nodded. “I will make your thoughts known when I meet with the seraphs.”

  “Make it known to them, too, that she is mine.”

  The Arc’s eyes narrowed. He slowly set his Coke down. “I see.”

  His features inflexible, Hedori started preparing a tea tray. “The moment I sensed her in the room at the penthouse, I knew.”

  Well, damn! No wonder he’d been so determined to be a part of this.

  “Explain something,” Dagan said, screwing the cap back on the bottle. “How did Jenna survive Gusion’s demise? A soul-joining always takes the remaining mate when death occurs.”

  Michael scratched his shadowy jaw. Yeah, he knew something, because he sure as hell hadn’t seemed surprised by Jenna’s revelation.

  “Gusion didn’t soul-join with Jenna,” Michael finally said. “Celestial angels can’t soul-join with anyone unless they fall. But spawn offspring? Yes, they can do that, just like the Watchers did.”

  Dagan remained silent for a moment then setting his water bottle on the table, he met the Arc’s shattered blue stare. His expression implacable, he laid down his decree. “I won’t let any harm come to Shae.”

  Michael exhaled a heavy breath. “I know.”

  Dagan headed outside to go back on patrol and stopped on the terrace. Despite the soothing sounds of the night insects, his mind churned. It was obvious Shae had no idea what her father was—what she was.

  A nephilim, one marked for death if the seraphs had their way.

  Not in his lifetime. And since his life was eternal, never.

  * * *

  Shae woke an hour before dawn in an empty bed. Dagan hadn’t returned from patrol yet.

  Rubbing her drowsy eyes, she looked out the darkened window. Mom!

  Darn it. She was supposed to check on her mother, not sleep for so long.

  A short while later, showered and changed, she ran downstairs.

  Hedori glanced up as she entered the kitchen, in the middle of preparing the morning’s meal—or more precisely, dinner for the returning warriors.

  “Good morning.” She gave him a quick smile. “I’m going to see if Mom’s up.”

  “Your mother had a restless night,” Hedori told her gently. “Michael sent her to sleep. He thinks it better she rests.” He hesitated, then said, “It will take her time to recover, she’s been through…a lot.”

  “What did they do to her?” she whispered, dread squeezing her chest, her mind wavering between thoughts of emotional and psychical torture, and…rape? Oh, dear God! She pressed a hand to her cramping stomach. The warriors could have healed her bruises, but the trauma? The memories?

  “I don’t know,” he said roughly as if he were in pain. “Your name was the only thing that stirred her back to life back when we found her in the Dark Realm.”

  Her eyes burned with tears. Dagan hadn’t said much, just that her memories were blocked and she’d been locked in an empty house. And they’d killed the demons guarding her.

  “Thank you for bringing her back.”

  He inclined his head.

  Shae hurried into the dimly lit room and quietly approached the bedside to kneel on the floor. Her mother resembled a shell of the woman she’d once been. Her face gaunt, her tan skin appeared pasty and stretched tautly over her cheekbones, and her once beautiful auburn hair lay over the pillow like dull, lifeless weeds.

  Gently, Shae grasped the cold hand lying on the cover. Tears started to flow.

  More than anything, she wanted the bastard Samael to pay for hurting her mother. With an angry dash of her knuckles, she swiped her eyes, not wanting her mother to see her this way if she awakened.

  Sensing a presence behind her, Shae glanced back. Hedori approached, his features grave, but those striking orange-green eyes were soft with understanding.

  He set a tray on the table with cocoa and her usual cereal. “Thought you might want to eat while you waited for her to awaken.”

  More tears lodged in her throat. She couldn’t speak, but nodded.

  His gaze rested briefly on the bed where her mother slept, a shadow passing over his stern features. Quietly, he walked out.

  * * *

  The night had been endlessly long and far too quiet. Daybreak was a mere hour away.

  Normally, it would have made Dagan uneasy, because it just meant more shit would ensure when evil rose again.

  Right then, he didn’t care, restlessness taking hold as he traipsed the still dark alley downtown his mind on everything that had transpired from finding Jenna and the horrid outcome there, to Shae and the wonder of her.

  Hell, he should have trusted himself. He’d never hurt her. She was his very life. It took her thumping him to show him the truth. A corner of his mouth kicked up. Only she would dare.

  The smile faded, his mind looping back to Týr. A thought struck him like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath. He stumbled to a stop—no! No way!

  Exhaling harshly, he whipped around in the gloomy alley. He had to speak to him. He sent his senses out, found Týr, and dematerialized to Dante’s Bar. Several Harleys were lined up outside the all-night bikers’ bar.

  Týr’s latest haunt. Which he didn’t get since he’d heard about the warrior’s penchant for clubs and the females there. And this place? Mostly just bikers and their women hung out.

  The moment he entered, the noise cut off. Heads turned. Ignoring them, he made his way to Týr, who was engaged in a tense game of pool with a heavyset, bearded biker, who sported more leather than the Guardians did. And was surrounded by more of his leather-clad pals.

  You sure know how to make things come to a halt, Týr telepathed him, his tone bone-dry as he cued his shot.

  Dagan snorted. You done?

 
; In a moment, as soon as I get my hundred bucks from this human. Týr shot the last striped ball into the pocket and smirked. He didn’t even notice the waitress nearby eyeing him hopefully as he collected his winnings. They headed outside.

  “So. What’s up?” he asked, pocketing the dollars. “Thought you’d be tracking back to the castle and your mate. Wait, did Michael reach a decision about Jenna?”

  “No. Her mind’s too fragile for a mental search, so that’s on hold for now…” Briefly, Dagan filled him in at what had occurred earlier. About Jenna and Gusion.

  “Man, that’s the shits.”

  It sure was. “But there’s something else I need to talk to you about. Let’s head back to the castle first.”

  They took form on the kitchen terrace, heavy with the fragrant herbs growing there. The lights from the kitchen spilled out onto the paved patio and the wrought-iron table.

  Týr removed his biker jacket and tossed it on the table, cocked a brow, and waited.

  Despite the chilly fall breeze coasting over him, Dagan barely felt the cold. But he had to start wearing a coat soon to blend in with mortals. “Something’s been on my mind since we spoke on the rooftop. That last day in the pantheon, when you were with Inara, did you drink anything?”

  He scowled. “I wasn’t drunk—”

  “No, I meant anything else. Do you recall?”

  “Of course, I remember. I’ve replayed that scene a zillion times since then, searching every detail of that day, trying figure out where it went wrong…” Týr frowned. “Inara offered me a drink like she always did, only the cup was different…a gold goblet. Why? What do you—?” His eyes widened. “Hell, no!” He staggered back, hitting the table, a vein throbbing violently on his brow. “She fucking laced the drink because I wouldn’t let her go to the damn river?” He slammed his palms on the wrought-iron table. “How could she?”

  Dagan felt like pounding something, too. But the anguish in Týr’s face, the pain there, garroted him. No words of apology could ever make things right—not with five hundred years of having lived the horrors of Tartarus between them.

  “How could she?” a tortured whisper.

  There was only one thing he could do. “Hefnd rite is yours. I will pay the debt for Inara, for what happened. And for what I did to you.”

  His words seemed to stir Týr from the dark desolation he appeared trapped inside. He straightened from the table, the furious color in his face ebbing to leave his usually tan skin pale. “You want me to take revenge on you?” he asked, tone flat. “Why? You weren’t in charge that day.”

  “Don’t give me that crap,” Dagan snapped. “Because of my sister’s actions and my anger, I mortally wounded you. If the ruling council hadn’t intervened, and we weren’t hauled to the Gates of the Gods in that moment for judgment, you would have died.”

  Týr sat on the edge of the table, his gaze on his boots. Asked instead, “Did you ever regret what you did?”

  “In that blood-drenched room, all I knew was that Inara was dead, and I was beside myself with grief. In Tartarus, I was still so angry…then my change occurred within weeks of being imprisoned, and all I could think of was my next feed. Sometimes, I think what happened to me there was just and fitting.”

  Týr’s brow rose. “Becoming a vampire?”

  He shrugged. “When we were sentenced, one of those persecuting gods telepathed my judgment into my mind. For the lifeblood you shed, it will be your downfall,” he paraphrased. At the time, I had no idea what it meant…”

  “Which one?”

  “The goddess Hel.”

  Týr surged to his feet and paced to the trellis, staring into the darkened archway.

  “Týr—” Dagan touched his arm, and an image shot through his mind. Endless gray skies, no sign of life, just ending heat and sands— No! He yanked free, bile rushing to his throat. Týr couldn’t have faced the same fate as he did. “You were trapped in Reapers Hell, too?” he rasped.

  Týr cut him an unreadable look before glancing away. “No.”

  What the hell had he seen then? His abilities never lied.

  The murmur of voices drew closer, breaking the thick tension. The other Guardians and their mates entered the kitchen. Shae would come looking for him soon.

  “Had I a sister, I probably would have done the same,” Týr murmured, sliding his hands into his pants pockets. “I already live with too many regrets. Furious as I am with her now, Inara was like a sister to me, too. But she was too young, probably didn’t realize the consequence of her actions. I guess the only way to know why is to find her.” His gaze shifted to the kitchen window and the other warriors there, the bright lights underscoring his taut features. “No one needs to know what occurred. Ever.”

  “You are much more forgiving than I. But you know what our laws demand. There’s no way around it. Retribution is yours. It’s been the ways of the pantheons for eons.”

  Týr shook his head tiredly. “Another bloody battle to the death? It’s all our lives have ever been—even here. You have a mate now. Would you so readily take her into death with you?”

  Dagan groaned, swallowing a curse. Grateful Shae wasn’t here to hear this. With their weak mate-bond, he’d probably die alone, leaving her vulnerable for that fucker Aza to stroll in and take her.

  “Thought not,” Týr drawled. Then said, “We may no longer be a part of the pantheons, but the hefnd fee is mine. You aren’t getting off scot-free.”

  Dagan narrowed his eyes.

  “What? Unlike you, I’m not all that noble and self-sacrificing. Your cabin in the Adirondacks is mine…” he paused. “And a life-size carving of myself.”

  The tension eased from Dagan a little. “The cabin, yes, and a blood debt I hope I can one day repay. But the sculpture…not happening.”

  The French door opened, and Shae walked out, the chilly winds stirring her waist-length, coppery hair. Hastily, she buttoned her jacket. “What are you doing out here, it’s so cold—oh, hi, Týr.” She smiled at the warrior.

  “Shae.” He nodded, snagged his jacket, and headed for the door, then slowed and cut Dagan a droll stare. “Too bad, you just missed out on having my awesomeness set in stone.”

  “It would have been wood and used as kindling after,” Dagan retorted.

  Týr’s chuckle drifted to them as he disappeared into the kitchen. Dagan’s amused expression morphed into remorse. He leaned against the table and exhaled wearily.

  Tender fingers stroked his jaw. “What is it?” Shae asked softly.

  Dagan just reached out and pulled her between his thighs, needing to hold her. Feeling as if he were shattering inside.

  After a long minute, when he could breathe again, he said, “My sister, Inara, spiked Týr’s drink with a sleeping draft. That’s why he was unconscious when she was abducted.”

  Her worried gaze searched his face. “You both okay?”

  Dagan doubted it would ever be okay, but he nodded. “I don’t deserve his decency. When I thought Inara was dead, I took my sword to his throat, Shae. And he forgave me.”

  “I know. But he’s alive. The heavens must favor him,” she said softly. “I like him.” Dagan cut her a dark look, his territorial nature racing to the forefront. She laughed. “He has a good heart.”

  A sigh. “I messed up badly and will always regret it.” His expression turned grim again. “By the stars, I could wring Inara’s neck! She had no idea what her folly would do. She wanted to go to the damn river on the day the attacks occurred. Týr refused, and she gave him the damn draft—hell!”

  “She was still a child, Dagan. She didn’t know any better.”

  “The warriors suffered, Shae. They all suffered.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his thoughts troubled, recalling his sister’s pale, thin features. “But she didn’t escape unscathed either. She’d paid a price, too, being trapped in Tartarus for five centuries. The heavens knew what kind of hell she’d endured with Lucifer.”

  Chapter 25
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br />   It was close to five when Shae left her mother and headed for her bedroom later that afternoon. The new living room door Dagan was behind remained closed the entire day, to keep the dust and paint fumes contained, he’d said.

  She understood it would take time for him to assimilate after learning the truth of what had occurred on that fateful day eons ago.

  Her cell rang on the nightstand rang. She snatched it. At the name on the display, she smiled. “Uncle Lem?”

  “Yes, my dear. You didn’t call, so I was wondering if you’re still coming tonight? Don’t tell me you’ve got other plans.”

  Aw crap. She bit off a groan, recalling the promise she’d made him a while ago about attending the election debate speech he was giving to kick off his mayoral campaign. “No, I don’t.”

  “Good. Do you still want to look over my speech?” he teased.

  She laughed. “I trust your judgment, you won’t embarrass us. I know you’ll knock them right into voting for you.”

  His chuckle floated through the line. “You sound…happier.”

  She heard the question, and Dagan had already cautioned her against mentioning that they’d found her mother until they caught Samael. She didn’t want Lem caught in the crossfire with this knowledge.

  “Yes. National Geographic bought my Nightlife series.” At least it wasn’t a lie.

  “Well done. All right, then, I’ll see you tonight at Cooper’s Union. At eight.”

  Rubbing her temple, she ended the call as Dagan walked out of the workroom. Perspiration beaded his brow, and his faded gray tee, darkened with sweat was stuck to his chest. Darn, the man simply smoldered sexiness, even in his clammy clothes.

  “Shae?” He stopped in surprise. “I thought you’d be with your mother.”

  “I was. I came up to check on you.”

  A dark eyebrow arched. “Me?”

  “Yes. That room got done faster than I blinked,” she teased. “It says a lot.”

  A wry smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He stepped closer and pressed his lips on hers. “I’m okay, Shae-cat.” Then he nodded to the cell in her hand. “Who was that?”