by Lizzy Ford
She looked up, fear and anger flashing through her. The man was in his prime with silver hair and dark eyes, a handsome face, and a body as muscular as Talon’s.
“Stay away from my brother,” she rasped.
“Ah, you do have spunk,” he whispered, eyes glowing. “I’ll stay away from him if you do what I say. Exactly what I say. You understand me?”
Her eyes watered, and she ducked her head. His tone made her want to crawl back into the tub and remain Talon’s slave forever. There were worse fates than being dinner for a sadistic bastard like Talon, and she’d just met the man who was willing to show her what they were.
“Take her to the stash house on Broad,” he said, rising. “I have a meeting out of town. I’ll come get her when I’m back.”
“Yes, master,” Talon said with a smooth bow. “Pop, you promised-- ”
“Don’t call me that, shithead! And yes, I’ll make you a demigod, not because you deserve it, but because you did something useful for the first time in your life!”
The devil left, and an angry Talon hauled her up, sinking his teeth into her arm again. He drained her life until she was near blackness before he flung his head back with a contented sigh. He jerked her forward. She careened into the door frame, a flash of pain going through her head.
He dragged her into another room. Someone else grabbed her and flung her over his shoulder. She hung, helpless and exhausted, stuck in the in-between place until the pain of her head hitting something hard jarred her into consciousness.
She was in a car with one of Talon’s men, her crumpled body at an awkward angle jammed in the small area between the backseat and the driver’s seat. The floor smelled of mold. She tested her body, dismayed when her limbs felt too heavy to lift.
Her thoughts went to Jonny, and she closed her eyes as tears formed. She’d do anything for him, even if the devil took her soul! And yet, she couldn’t forget what she’d seen him doing-- drinking another woman’s blood as Talon did hers! What happened to her brother? Was this part of some phase or were these … people … really vampires as Kyle believed?
The idea that Jonny would turn out to be like Talon made her chest clench. She’d never let her kid brother end up like that sadistic bastard.
More tears came as she realized she couldn’t do anything for herself let alone Jonny if they kept her in such a state. She strained against her own body again, panic floating through her at her helplessness.
Before she could ponder too long on her weakness, she was yanked out of the car by Talon’s lackey. The thick Miami heat had never felt so good! The cool energy her body produced when she healed streamed through her, rousing her as it repaired the latest damage. By the time they entered the building, her arms and legs were responsive again.
The lackey tossed her onto a hard couch in the rear of the house opposite a closed patio door. She pushed herself up when Talon snatched her.
“Keep her drained and weak,” he ordered the lackey.
Pain shot through her as Talon bit into one arm. The lackey bit into her other arm, and she cried. Blackness crept into her vision. Talon shoved her back onto the couch.
“Put her in the garage,” Talon said.
The lackey picked her up and carted her to the garage, which served as a makeshift barracks filled with cots and sleeping men. He flung her to the ground near the far wall. She landed on a topless bottle of oil and spit the fluid out as it sprayed across her face. She squeezed her eyes closed, unable to move once again.
She felt the poison in Talon’s blood, but whatever poison ran in the devil’s body was inseparable from him. She couldn’t cure whatever it was, and she couldn’t make sense of it. There wasn’t something wrong with him; he was wrong!
Just like this place, filled with people who hurt her.
Just like being with Aaron.
The thought distracted her, and she both yearned to be with him and hated herself for not being able to shake the thought of him. Still, a life of betrayal with Aaron was nothing compared to a life as Talon’s slave! He really wasn’t so bad, when compared to here. Maybe, if she made it out of here, she’d go to lunch Sunday and do whatever felt right, like spend her life with him.
Or tell him to go to hell and never come back to Miami. She groaned. Was he really worth her attention on what may be the last day of her life?
The ground rumbled suddenly and the garage walls shook. Silence fell, and the scent of blood and fire wafted into the garage. The men around her were roused by the sensations. None had time to grab the weapons under their cots before gunfire exploded through the garage door and slammed into them. Blood splattered her as someone dropped from the cot beside her to the floor.
She closed her eyes and held her breath against the smells of sulfur and blood. She couldn’t run, couldn’t move and she tried hard to convince herself to pass out as the garage door was wrenched open.
More gunfire deafened her in the small confines of the garage, and men screamed and fell. Tears wetted her face as men in what looked like black tactical SWAT gear entered the garage.
Police! She thought, hopes rising.
More gunfire and another smaller explosion went off somewhere else in the house. Two men in black darted through the bodies and into the house while two more hung back at the garage entrance. The sounds of violence stopped. The eerie quiet that followed amplified the ringing of her ears. She struggled to move again, to draw their attention so they’d help her.
“All clear!” one called.
She was silently thanking the heavens for rescuing her, until one of the men in black entered the garage and began shooting the downed men a second time around. Disbelief surged through her, and she clenched her eyes closed, praying they thought her dead enough not to shoot her as they did the others. She heard the gunshots getting closer, one body at a time.
There was silence, and she waited. She peered through her eyelashes at two armed men stopped in front of her. The one who had been shooting the others was as large as Talon and plainly Hispanic.
As handsome as he was, her eyes were compelled to the man beside him. His features were chiseled from golden granite, his blue eyes clearer than the Miami shallows. He reminded her of an ancient Greek god, his cold, hard beauty magnified by his sun-kissed skin and dark blond hair. The air around him hummed with energy and command. His hands were clasped behind his back, his muscular chest and flat abs drawing her gaze. He was dressed in black but not in SWAT gear, as if he knew nothing in this world could hurt him.
The Greek prince withdrew the gun at the small of his back, whipping it towards her. Her eyes snapped closed, her last vision that of the most striking man she’d ever seen.
She waited for the end to come. It was the longest second of her life, until she realized he wasn’t going to pull the trigger. Her eyes cracked open, and she was startled to see a petite blonde woman in dark jeans standing between them.
The Greek god was cold and intense, his gaze so piercing it made her shrink back even when he wasn’t looking at her. His reminded her of a cobra about to strike, though he’d pulled the gun up to his shoulder. He towered over the woman and glared down at her.
“No,” the petite woman ordered, her arms crossed.
They waged a silent battle, and Bianca opened her eyes, praying with everything she was worth that the small woman-- whoever she was-- would win. For a long moment, she thought the Greek god would kill the blonde first and then finish her off. As if sensing the same, the blonde bowed her head in deferment without moving.
“I saw something, ikir,” she said in a tone far softer and more respectful than her original. The Greek god didn’t so much as blink as he stared her down. Bianca’s eyes watered again. He didn’t have an ounce of mercy or humanity in him!
“If I didn’t love you, you’d be dead, kiri,” he spoke at long last, his low, even voice terrifying Bianca.
“I know,” the blonde replied.
He nodded his head towards the garage d
oor. She obeyed the command. Bianca watched her, wanting to scream at her to stay. The blonde slid sunglasses in place, and as she strode to the awaiting Yukon idling in the driveway she threw a glance over her shoulder. Her beauty was cool and classic, like that of the man before her.
“Take him, clean him up,” the Greek god ordered one of the men at the front of the garage. He indicated her with the gun before turning away without another look.
Relief and fear unleashed within her, and she was hauled once again to her feet.
“Sofia,” Dusty said in a tone he knew conveyed his displeasure. He slammed the Yukon’s door closed as he slid into the back seat beside her and pinned her with a look she refused to meet.
“I know,” she murmured.
“Pierre, if you let her do that again, you’ll go straight to behavior modification,” he warned her assigned bodyguard.
“I swear I’ll stop her even if it costs me my life,” Pierre replied.
“Dammit, Pierre!” Sofia snapped.
“Sorry, mon amour, but I fear him more.”
Dusty looked at his adopted sister again. She was the ikira, the Guardians’ queen, and a Seer, the mate of the White God, Damian. While the White God was off fighting the vamp infestation in Europe, he’d left his mate and brother in Dusty’s protection. With their similar looks and cool reserve, he and Sofia were often mistaken for brother and sister by other Guardians, a convenient cover they exploited when she moved to Miami.
“You’ve done many foolish things, kiri, but stepping between me and a vamp is a first.”
“I told you. I saw something,” she insisted. “I am an Oracle, Dusty.”
“What did you see?”
“Don’t look at me like that!” she growled. “I’m sorry, Dusty, but I had to do it and I can’t tell you why. You’ll understand someday! In fact, you’ll thank me!”
He sensed she wasn’t going to budge this time and relented. She’d been pissy for a couple of weeks, and he had an idea why.
“How far along is she, Pierre?” he asked.
“Dusty!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you dare, Pierre!”
The brooding blond bodyguard-Guardian driving the Yukon looked at him in the rearview mirror, torn.
“You’ve got five seconds,” Dusty said, unruffled. “Five-- ”
“Nine weeks,” Pierre grated.
“You’re so fired!” Sofia whispered with a sigh. “Dusty, you’re not supposed to know. No one is yet.”
“She’s saving it for when she gets in trouble again with ikir,” Pierre supplied. “Sort of like a get out of jail free card.”
“I am not!”
Dusty chuckled, glad for the distraction from his dark thoughts. Sofia pushed up her shades to display blue eyes rimmed with silver. His humor dissipated at the sight of the black circles under her two-toned eyes. Her mind was open to him, and he watched the thoughts passing through.
The visions in her head were dark and brutal, the memories of a man enslaved by the sadistic Black God for thousands of years. As the only Oracle and soul reader in existence, she was the only one who could repair the mind of her mate’s brother, the Grey God, who suffered a fate worse than death as a slave to Czerno. While she never complained, it was clear she needed Damian to visit again soon and heal the damage his brother did to her on a daily basis.
“Sofi, you’re not going to be able to handle helping Darian and being pregnant,” he said.
“I don’t have a choice,” she replied. “Darian isn’t stable. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said.
“No, Dusty, Darian needs me.”
He said nothing, his decision already made.
“Dealing with you is like beating my head against a brick wall!” she snapped.
“Then stop beating your head,” he advised. “I’m not Damian or Jule; you can’t sweet talk me into anything. You’re in my house. You live by my rules. You know I don’t compromise.”
“You’re a dictator.” She sighed and picked up his hand, placing it on her head. Dusty relaxed and smoothed her hair back like he might a child’s.
“Boss, you can send her to behavior modification training,” Pierre suggested.
Dusty wasn’t sure how Pierre ever made it through the Guardian basic training with his lip. While he made a good match for Sofia, Dusty had never met any Guardian with such a loose interpretation of discipline. For Sofia’s sake, he refrained from saying what he’d like to say to the Guardian.
“Boy or girl?” he asked, genuinely happy about Damian and Sofia’s first child.
“Boy,” Pierre volunteered.
“The next White God,” Dusty said. “Sofi, that’s awesome.”
She smiled, meeting his gaze. The silver of her eyes flared and swirled as she gazed at him, an indication she was reading either his future or his mind.
“No, kiri,” he chided. “None of that shit. You were late on purpose today so we’d happen to stop by the stash house.”
“Whatever, Dusty.”
“Don’t even try to lie, kiri,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve almost killed you once today.” He’d served as Damian’s executioner for thousands of years, a position he found fitting for his general dislike of the human capacity for evil. There was right and wrong, good and evil, and every human but the woman before him had fallen for some temptation of the dark side. After millennia dealing with the dark side of humanity, he didn’t think there was anyone else pure left.
“I know you love me,” she said. “And yes, maybe I did set today up.”
“Congrats,” he said. “I’ll be an uncle.”
“Yep.” He couldn’t help feeling thrilled at the prospect of Damian’s son. Damian himself would be overjoyed, and Jule-- the third adopted brother in their threesome-- ecstatic. He pulled out his phone to text Damian.
Bro, come visit soon.
He hadn’t heard from either Damian or Jule in two weeks. He suspected Damian sealed the European region to prevent magic moving in and out. Even so, he should’ve heard from one of them by now. In all their years together, they’d never been out of communication more than a few days.
He sensed something wrong but kept it from the petite woman beside him, who had enough of her own issues to deal with. He’d have to track down Darian soon, though what the unpredictable, volatile Grey God was doing was beyond his ability to guess. He’d activate the GPS later and hunt him down if he wasn’t in the mansion that served as the Guardians’ headquarters.
The drive home was quick as he dwelled on his thoughts. He escorted Sofi to her room, and was surprised to find the Grey God in his room. He knocked once before entering.
Darian lay on his back staring at the ceiling with brooding golden eyes, his horribly scarred body hidden under turtleneck and gloves and socks, even in the safety of his room. The only skin not covered was his face and part of his neck, both of which were channeled and knotted by scars. Darian-- who was older than everyone but Jule-- was going through what Sofia called a teenager phase as he struggled to re-establish his identity after thousands of years as a brainwashed slave.
“Dusty, did you ever consider working for the Black God?”
“No,” he said without hesitation, accustomed to Darian’s odd questions.
“You would have been good at it. He hates humans, too.”
“I hate evil,” Dusty replied.
“But hate is evil, isn’t it?”
“I don’t give a shit, Darian. I don’t second-guess what I do, who I am, or who I serve.”
Darian rolled onto his side with a noisy sigh. Dusty couldn’t help but wonder how he’d gotten stuck with a pregnant Oracle and an equally moody teenager with godlike powers and no ability to control them. It definitely wasn’t because he was the most patient of the three brothers.
“I want to go sail boating,” Darian said.
“If you’re headed towards the tropical storm in the Gulf, you can’t take any human or Guardian with you,”
Dusty said, drawing a chair near the bed and seating himself in front of the Grey God.
“I don’t know how to sail!” Darian replied in irritation. “Who cares if I kill a stupid human?”
“It’s rule number one: protect humans at all cost. You know this. Rule number two applies to Guardians. I won’t let you sacrifice any of my Guardians so you can jump into the middle of a hurricane.”
“Fine.” Darian bit off the word. “Why don’t I have minions like the White and Black Gods? Damian gets Guardians, and Czerno gets vamps. It’s not fair.”
“I’m not Sofia. Don’t bitch to me,” Dusty said. “We need to talk about something.”
“Gods, what now? More fucking rules?”
“I’d like to ask a favor of you. Sofi’s pregnant.”
Darian sat up, joy crossing his ugly features. Dusty gazed at him, reminded of the man Darian used to be before he was destroyed by the Black God himself. He hoped one day Darian took his place beside the other gods. Darian wrung his hands like an excited child at the news.
At the very least, Dusty hoped Darian grew out of the terrible twos.
“Boy or girl?” Darian asked.
“Boy.”
“That’s so awesome!”
“Yeah. But Darian, she can’t help you and be pregnant,” Dusty said quietly.
Darian’s gaze grew pensive. “Dusty, I can’t deal with this on my own,” he said, gesturing to his head. “There are so many bad things in here …”
“You’ll have to try, Darian.”
The Grey God’s face grew stormy, and anger colored his features. “I’ll figure it out on my own,” he said resolutely. “If that means I go crazy and break the rules, you’ll just have to kill me. It’s okay, Dusty, I’ll accept that fate. You’re the only one allowed to kill Guardians. You can kill me.”
“Darian,” Dusty said with patience he didn’t quite feel. “Sofia needs you right now. You can help her.”
“How?”
“Right now she could use some company,” Dusty suggested. “She looks terrible.”
“I would never hurt her, Dusty,” Darian said and stood. “I’ll take care of her and the baby. I promise. I can deal with the mess in my head. I have to, because Damian’s going to be gone for another week and a half, and then a lot of bad stuff is about to happen, but whatever. I have to help Sofi.”