I’ll be there. Seconds later, Týr took form on the temple portico, the sun gleaming off his light hair. He sprinted up the stairs and slowed when he saw Dagan, the twinkle in his pale brown eyes fading. “What’s wrong?”
“I had to dismiss another soldier.”
Týr shook his head, grunted, “Maybe I’ll just kill the next one who forgets his duty.”
“Keep her safe, Týr.”
“Always.”
Much later, the noon sun scorching him, Dagan swiped the sweat from his brow as he patrolled the boundaries. Eyes narrowed, he perused the area again, unease riding him. “Seth, Nikkos,” he called out. “Let’s go to the outlying lands. Something doesn’t feel right.”
They flashed to the remote terrain surrounding the temple. As they reformed, a cloud of dust in the distance had him stilling. Dagan shielded his eyes with his hand as a lone rider approached on a huge destrier.
“Who the hell is that?” Seth muttered, shading his eyes, too.
Dagan’s warning radar roared inside him like an alarm. “Halt,” he yelled, but the rider continued in blatant disregard.
Sword summoned, Dagan leaped into the air and straight at the rider, taking him down. Debris flew all over as their bodies landed with a hard thud on the dusty ground.
Cold, blue eyes met his. With his pale skin and shoulder-length, ebony hair pulled into a queue, he didn’t belong in the desert. Dagan wasn’t in the mood to interrogate, not when it came to his sister’s life. He attacked. The male met him strike for strike. The male’s countermoves held the precision of one well versed in war. He was powerful.
Before questions formed, the pale warrior cursed and leaped away, his gaze scanning the area in front of them. “I am Blaéz of the Celtic pantheon, assigned as protector to the Goddess of Life. We have trouble.”
Dammit. Of course! He’d been watching out for him. Trouble? Dagan pivoted, scanning the area. A sudden haze spilled over the place, and more figures appeared. Red eyes flashed. Dagan stumbled back. Demons. Here?
Fiery hellbolts whizzed past them. Dagan ducked. With his mind, he seized them, flinging them high into the air. His power was such that they didn’t reappear.
Blaéz flew into the horde, hacking off heads.
A hissing sound echoed in the fracas, and a bolt hit Dagan in the back. He stumbled. Fury exploding, he wheeled around and struck out with his mind, splitting the demons in two. Then it all suddenly stopped. The demons vanished, leaving only a thick, dusty haze behind.
Inara! Dagan flashed to the temple, panting hard. At the sight of the blood and the broken bodies of the handmaidens on the floor, a tortured cry ripped from his soul. “No—Inara!”
He raced to her room. More carnage surrounded him. Gore soaked the bed sheets dragged to the floor. Several slain soldiers lay there amidst the crumpled bodies of the handmaidens, their sightless eyes staring at nothing. It hurt to breathe. Tears glazed his eyes.
A groan pierced the pain in his mind. Dagan whirled toward the sound. A huge form pushed off the floor, climbing to his feet as if drunk.
“What the hell happened?” Týr groaned, rubbing his eyes.
Dagan dove at the warrior, slamming him into the opposite wall. “For all that is holy, Týr, tell me she is safe,” he pleaded. “Tell me you kept my sister safe.”
Bleary, pale brown eyes blinked and looked around. Anguish swept over his lean features, and Dagan knew. An agonized cry tore free. He swung his sword in a deadly arch and sliced the carotid of his best friend…
The tinny sound of a sword falling to the floor brought him back. Breathing hard, Dagan stumbled away, fighting to shut off the images that still haunted him to this day, eons later.
Heavens knew he’d paid the price for his crime by being imprisoned in Tartarus.
His gaze fell to the droplets of plasma spilled on the gymnasium floor. Týr stood there, blood seeping from deep gashes on his heaving chest, anguish distorting his usually perfect features. “Bróðir, forgive me.”
The Norse’s words hit him hard. They’d been best friends—brothers—once. Drawn together in the unforgiving world of their pantheons when they’d squired as young boys at the Gates of the Gods, the political powerhouse of all deities. Later, Dagan had shunned his old life to become protector to the new Goddess of Life, and Týr had, too. In all that time, he’d never spoken of his past or his kin. Dagan hadn’t pried.
Swiping the sweat from his brow, he realized he not once asked Týr what had occurred all those centuries ago. He’d only understood that Týr was responsible for Inara’s death—or so he’d thought then. And in his anguish, knowing he’d failed in keeping his dying mother’s wish to protect his sister, he’d sliced the throat of his best friend, nearly killing him—which is what would have happened had they not been yanked out of the temple to the Gates of the Gods for judgment in that precise moment.
It tortured him daily, wondering what else he could have done to save his sister. Where he’d fallen short. But it was too late—too fucking late for anything. The desolation in him deepened.
“Dag—”
Shaking his head, he strode out before the pain roiling inside him erupted and he tore everything apart with his bare hands and hurt the people who mattered.
And the bastard, Týr, did.
He just couldn’t forgive him.
* * *
An hour later, showered and changed, Dagan took the stairs up to Michael’s quarters on the fourth floor, knocked, and entered.
“Dressing room,” Michael called out.
The Arc’s quarters had the same layout as his. He headed for the first door next to the fireplace. Michael stood in the middle of the room with closets on one side and a mirrored panel on the other. He re-hitched the towel slung low on his hips. A brow rose. “What’s up?”
“I found one of the demons who attacked Shae and me—the same one who took a shot at her. Took care of him. But the Fallen he was with escaped.” Dagan leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “It seems the Fallens are rallying together for something big. You know anything?”
Lines furrowing his brow, Michael opened his closet. His back bore two deep, lumpy, lengthwise scars where his wings should have been. “I’ve heard rumblings about them gathering here. I trolled through the city a few days ago, but nothing seemed amiss. At least not so far.”
“You do realize they could be hiding whatever it is they’re up to when you’re around?”
Michael had probably been behind a lot of those Fallen losing their wings. Revenge was always in the cards when it came to them.
A nasty grin broke over Michael’s face as he dropped the towel, got a pair of jeans, and dragged them over his muscled thighs. “Hmm, so their vendetta’s probably with me. We shall see… Besides, I don’t want to tip my hand just yet, I have bigger fuckers to reel in.”
Undoubtedly more runaway angels, but Dagan didn’t ask. He had a shitload to deal with right now, he couldn’t worry about the other aspect of his job. Shae was who mattered, and she had no idea of the danger nipping at her heels.
He got back to the issue at hand. “This Fallen wants Shae.”
“I’m not surprised. Kicked from Heaven and losing their more powerful abilities, they would look for ways to compensate—gain power again. Take Shae to Romania. It’ll be safer for her there, and buy us some time.”
Dagan rubbed his jaw. Hell, he wanted to leap at the chance to go back to the place he regarded as home, but his Guardian oath stopped him. “No, with trouble stirring again, you need me here. I’ll keep her safe, but it’s my duty to see this to the end.”
“Understood.” Michael’s fractured irises glowed as he pulled on a navy t-shirt. “But she’s far more important. They obviously know we have her now—we’ll keep an eye on the penthouse. You need to leave, trouble already heads this way. I’ll remain here for the duration or as long as it takes to end this. With the kind of abilities she wields and her burgeoning powers, she’s vulnerable right now.”
Dagan glanced behind him through the bank of windows. Weak, early-morning light seeped into the bedroom, daybreak mere minutes away. “One more thing.” He refocused on his leader. “Inara?”
When Michael freed them from Tartarus, he’d told Dagan he freed her, too. But she’d disappeared, never to be seen again.
The Arc exhaled heavily and shook his head. “Still nothing. It’s been three and a half millennia. Wherever she’s gone into hiding, she’s secreted herself well. She is the Goddess of Life, Dag, she won’t be found if she doesn’t want to be.”
He didn’t care. She was his sister, and he’d failed her once. Not again. “When this is all over, and Shae’s safe, I’m taking some time off. I have to find my sister, I need to know she’s okay.”
With a slight incline of his head, Michael acknowledged his wish.
Dagan headed out, only to stop on the third-floor landing. He had no idea where Echo had put the little hellcat. He scanned the castle and instantly picked up her psychic vibration, the damn thing rolling through him like an inherent caress.
Mouth tight, he pulled out his cell, recalling her number—yeah, he’d checked after the human texted—and sent her a message. Come down to the rec room.
He jogged down to the ground floor and headed for the rec room. It was empty, but cheering from a recorded ball game playing on the flat screen echoed in the place. The Celt was probably around somewhere.
Dagan retrieved his spare cigar case from the wet bar in the corner and removed a smoke. He threw open the French doors, stepped outside, and sat on the top step leading out to the rolling lawns as day broke. Cigar lit, he inhaled a fragrant lungful of smoke and stared into the gardens, his mind on everything that had occurred.
A soft, furry slap flicked his side as he blew out a spiral of smoke. Dagan glanced down and cocked an eyebrow at the overweight, gray feline. “You hit me with that fluff of yours again, I’m going to shave off all your hair. Understand, cat?”
Bob ignored him. With another flick of his tail as if to show Dagan who was boss, the cat stalked past him and down the few steps, tail held high. He prowled through the plants, his focus on the birds perched on a low branch.
Dagan shook his head. Cat probably had snark for breakfast with that streak of bravery.
“Come down to the rec room. Really? Did it occur to you that this place is massive and I could get lost—which I did until I smelled your smoke?” Her husky but frustrated voice stroked his senses, shoving all his need receptors to the forefront. He shut his eyes at the effect this human girl had on him.
Another deep inhale, then Dagan killed his half-smoked cigar, pushed it into his pocket, and rose. “We’re leaving.”
“Again?” Her brow furrowed. “Why?”
“I’ll explain later, but we need to go, now.”
“Where?”
“To the Guardians’ other abode.”
She blew out a tired breath. “Great, more migrating. I should have been a bird. Fine, let me get my stuff.”
“No time. I’ll have your things sent over.”
Pulling on the last reserves of his psychic energy, he parted the mystical veils, and a shimmering gateway appeared. At her wide-eyed stare, he grasped her hand and stepped through the flickering portal.
Chapter 6
Shae disliked it when Dagan flashed with her, but stepping through an eerie opening splitting the air unsettled her more.
As she stumbled into sunshine, exhaling a relieved breath, the crack in the dimension closed with a soft hiss behind her. The icy chill here seeped beneath her jacket. Shae hastily let go of his hand and buttoned up her jacket.
Tall, spindly trees grew sporadically along a shallow riverbank, and the cool, earthy smell of damp soil drenched the air. Boulders covered with varying shades of lichen were clumped about. In the distance, a mountain range meandered into a forest and beyond. Heavy clouds enclosed granite peaks.
She searched the place for signs of habitation, a village, or even a hut. Nothing. “Where are we?”
“Romania.”
It made sense why he’d open a portal. “So where exactly is your house—” She broke off and peered at the mountaintops as the clouds drifted apart for a second. Far, far up, there was something. Shae gaped. “Is that it?”
He grunted.
The Guardians’ abode appeared like a disjointed series of blocks with towers which were stuck to the rock face of the soaring cliffs. Then the clouds merged, hiding the buildings once more.
“Whoa!” Laughter spilled free. She pivoted to him. “Are you competing with the eagles for home space?”
His mouth twitched, and her tummy tripped. She wished he’d stop doing that. She didn’t want to like his smile, too, not when his handsome face was already so damn distracting.
“C’mon.” He slid his hand around her waist and drew her close. Again, her body appeared to dissolve. Crap! Shae grabbed him, eyes shut tight. Moments later, they reformed on the sky-high courtyard. She bit back a moan, so darn grateful that he hadn’t let her go or she would have landed face-first at his feet.
Midday sunlight spilled over the building. From a distance, the place had appeared charming with its mismatched turrets and balconies meandering along the rock face of the mountains.
Up close? The abbey-like building didn’t welcome or captivate.
It loomed. Menaced. Made her want to hotfoot it out of there.
She shivered and rubbed the goosebumps flooding her arms. “This looks like an abandoned…monastery?”
“It was. After a minor tremor destroyed part of the building, we convinced the previous residents, the good monks, to take the dwelling we’d procured at that time, and we moved in here.” He headed for the arched, black, wooden door.
Frowning, Shae followed him. It seemed they hadn’t bothered putting things to rights after the quake either. The courtyard sported spidery cracks in the dusty granite surface that crept into the main building. She entered the cool foyer and warily eyed the spindly fissure on the worn floors. “How long have you lived here?”
A shrug rolled off those broad shoulders. “Since the fourth century.
Whoa! “And you didn’t think to fix this place up in all that time?”
“Why?” He cut her a questioning look. “It’s been stable enough.”
Okaaay. Hopefully, the building wouldn’t slide off the mountain anytime soon. “So, where’s the church?”
“The worship place was on the other side of the monastery and collapsed after the tremor.”
Ugh. That wasn’t very reassuring. But if they still resided here, it probably—hopefully—was safe.
Shae slowed to a stop and simply stared. Soaring walls and a faded, patchy biblical ceiling fresco that had suffered some damage through the passage of time surrounded her. Sunlight streamed through the dome-shaped windows into an enormous split-level living room of sorts.
On a wooden coffee table lay a spilled deck of playing cards as if someone had started a game and left. A couple of recliner armchairs surrounded the table. Two arcade games, along with a foosball and a pool table took up space along on the opposite side. And the most important equipment for men’s survival? No TV. Nada.
“Who else lives here?”
“Two others. The kitchen’s in there.” He waved a hand to his right. “Down the hallway are the bedrooms,” he said, pointing left to the shadowy corridor, “and upstairs. We don’t usually have guests, so most of the unused rooms are uninhabitable. My room is the second to last one down this hallway. Use it until I get something sorted out for you.” He pivoted, then swung right back. “The other Guardians’ rooms are off-limits. I’ll see you later.” Then he shimmered and just sort of faded like a ghost.
Really? That’s it? She scowled at the spot he’d been moments ago. More rules, then he disappeared?
Damn man. But with exhaustion weighing her down, it wasn’t like she could simply leave and go book a room at a hotel. No matter how beautiful thi
s open mausoleum of a living room appeared, or inviting the leather recliner was, two other Guardians lived here. They could walk in anytime.
Resigned, she made her way down the dim corridor, warily avoiding the spidery cracks on the floor, and opened the door to Dagan’s room. Empty. Cautiously, she stepped into his personal space.
Dust motes swirled in the light slanting in from the narrow, arched windows. Opposite, against the faded white wall, stood an enormous bed with a dark headboard. A steel and ebony chest took up space near the small, unlit fireplace. And above the mantel, several swords adorned the wall. Yup, this place appeared austere and rigid, just like him.
Shae got rid of her jacket, kicked off her boots, removed her socks, and flexed her sore feet. The cool stone floor soothed her soles. Fatigue felled her like a tree, and she slumped face-down on the bed.
The open windows let in a brisk breeze, but she was too drained to move and shut them. God, it had been a hellish night…
A splattering noise disturbed the quiet. Shae jerked awake. A little disorientated, it took her a moment to recall her whereabouts. Then everything that had happened crashed through her like a tidal wave.
Jesus, she shut her eyes, wishing the last six months were a really bad dream. Shifting a little, she snagged her jacket from the foot of the bed and retrieved her cell. Three hours had passed? It felt like mere minutes.
Yawning, she dropped her cell on the nightstand and shut her eyes. Sounds of rustling water seeped into her consciousness. She stirred enough to lift her head and look for the source. Her gaze settled on one of the two doors adjacent to the bed. The shower. Dagan?
Instantly, images of his sexy, naked body filled her mind, chasing away sleep. Warmth stirred low in her belly—ugh! Unable to nap now, she slid off the bed and wandered outside onto the rambling balcony. She passed the wooden table and chairs there and leaned her arms on the granite balustrade. Whoa, they were so freakin’ high, the river snaking far below appeared like a silvery thread in the sunshine.
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