“How can you be sure that particular prophecy has begun?” Blaéz asked. He finally let his sword shimmer and settle back on his biceps. “This could be another foolish attempt for them to seek world dominion.”
“Gaia summoned me. She wants the mortal found.”
Aethan stilled at the name.
Gaia. That mystical force of nature, the creator of all they stood on, who saw to the protection of mortals. She was the Being they’d sworn allegiance to. The fact she chose to task them with this proved they had no choice but to wade into ancient crap. And clean it out.
“Talk about heading into shitsville,” Týr muttered, winding his way between the benches as he joined them. “Who was Zarias, for this to happen?”
“An immortal. The first to disregard a fundamental law and be executed—long before your time.”
Aethan tossed the terry cloth on the bench and glanced back at Michael. “Want to tell us why the Celestial Realm took this to Gaia?”
“They cannot ask us to deal with such prophecies without her approval. Our allegiance lies with her now. But Zarias’s descendant is mortal. So either way—”
“We’re still drawn into the cesspit,” Blaéz said.
Michael nodded, bracing his arm on a treadmill. “If you like. More importantly, hers is a bloodline far more powerful than you can imagine. It’s imperative she is found and brought here to the castle. Before you say anything, I get that it’s going to be difficult to have a human female underfoot—”
“You don’t hear me complaining,” Týr drawled, sitting on a bench. He picked up a free weight and began to work his right biceps. “Having one of the forbidden, fairer sex living under our roof should liven things up a bit.”
Aethan got up and put away his sword. The Norse might want to rile Michael, but he understood far too well the temptation mortal females presented. Thoughts of her had his restlessness growing in spades. He should’ve let her punch him yesterday—maybe her tiny fist would’ve knocked some sense into him.
In this realm, darkness shadowed the immortals that lived here in the form of the Absolute Law, which forbade liaisons between mortal and immortal. If caught, it meant a death sentence for both. The same law Zarias had broken and been executed for.
These males who now guarded Earth as warriors were once gods, stripped of their powers and banished from their pantheons for all eternity for whatever had happened there several millennia ago. And yet they were still bound by the archaic ruling.
Truth was, Aethan doubted anyone gave a damn, anymore.
The Absolute Law didn’t apply to him, since he came from the Empyrean Realm, because his cursed powers were a surefire way not to break those decrees.
He should know.
Hannah. The moment he’d seen her, he wanted her. Hell, he hadn’t known better. When his powers filled Hannah at the height of his passion, her writhing beneath him hadn’t been one of ecstasy, but death. He’d broken away so fast and tried to save her, but her mortal heart gave out, unable to survive the electrical surge of his powers flowing through her.
He regretted her death. One he would never allow to happen again. And no amount of taunting from Týr would make him forget that. He stuck to summoning immortal females from the pantheons the rare times he gave in to his sexual demands...and here he was back to threading dangerous grounds. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He had no desire for those empty liaisons from before, he wanted more. He wanted—shit! What he needed was a damn fight to get his head screwed on right again.
Týr’s voice dragged him back. “Arc, are you bringing the others in on this?”
Michael drew off his shades and pinched the bridge of his nose then glanced at them with eyes resembling fractured sapphires. The strange silver light glowing between the fissures in the wild blue irises made them all the more eerie. “Just one. The demons are gathering in forces searching for the female. It’s why I asked Dagan to assist.”
At the name of the other warrior, Týr became motionless. For an infinitesimal second, Aethan thought he saw regret flicker in his dark eyes.
Whatever had happened between them, Aethan knew in the three thousand years he’d been on this realm, Týr and Dagan hadn’t spoken a word to each other. With the violent lives they led, most males would beat the tar out of the other but not these two. Which made the silent war all the more deadly.
Aethan picked up his water bottle and drained it then said, “Why don’t you give him this job? It’s his kind of thing to sense power of any sort. And he doesn’t have to scan anyone. Makes life easier for us.”
Michael shook his head and rested his arm on the bar of the treadmill. “Dagan cannot be in every place at once. I want all of us working on this.”
“What’s the real reason the Celestial Realm wants her?” Blaéz asked, raking a hand through his short, sweat-slicked hair. “Sure, a human with godlike or angelic powers would be a catastrophe in the making. But why pyre and rime...what is it about her powers?”
“Would make life easier if I had that answer, wouldn’t it?” Michael responded.
“How is it, Arc?” Týr asked. “You have access to all the realms and you still can’t tell us anything?”
“Nothing is that simple. It’s bloody hard work schlepping the realms, trying to find the remains of a prophecy that came into being long before any of you were born. I’d gladly exchange places with one of you.”
Týr snorted. “We just want answers, man, not your lifestyle. Celibacy is not for me.”
Michael ignored him. “I will check the ancient archives for anything relating to this prophecy. In the meantime, whatever catches your attention, check it out. If you find her before I get back, inform me immediately. The spiking on the psychic planes means her powers are awakening. We must find her before they escalate and she catches the public’s attention.” He put on his shades. “The psychic vibration remains within this city, so concentrate your search there.”
“Gotcha, Arc.” Týr grinned and set down the weight. “Find the girl. Call you. No playing with her.”
“Exactly,” Michael agreed with a cool look. “Now, about the rift in Demon Alley?”
“Had a few incidents,” Aethan told him. A fracture in the psychic veils between the realms had opened in a backstreet off Times Square several days ago. The rift allowed demoniis to enter at will, giving the warriors no choice but to guard it at all times. “But we’ve managed to keep them at bay.”
Aethan rose, unable to sit still any longer. He had to get out of here.
“Good. Find the girl, fast. I’ll be in touch.” The air shifted. Michael shimmered and dematerialized in a scatter of silvery-white sparks.
***
Cursing, Aethan stepped into the shower. He hoped the icy needles of water pelting at him would set him back on track. But no such luck.
How the hell could he look for the prophesized female when every molecule in him demanded he go after another? One he shouldn’t even look at, let alone touch.
And talks of Gaia had brought back black memories scored deep in his soul. Aethan braced his fist against the tiled wall, head bent, as the water sluiced down his body. Pain, fresh as if it had happened yesterday, bled into him.
They’d not allowed him near his sister when she died. Instead he’d been banished from Empyrea. He’d roamed this world, wreaking havoc in his pain and anger, and destroying all he came across. He hadn’t been able to think past the agony of Ariana’s death for the first century.
Not until Gaia, a Being unlike any he’d ever seen, rose from the very grounds he destroyed, in all her furious beauty. With hair like the sun, her skin bronzed like the earth, and the green markings swirling around her brows, she resembled the very things she protected.
Gaia’d demanded propitiation for his senseless damage to her realm. Doubtless, she’d wanted to kick his ass to oblivion. Instead she’d taken his allegiance and then thrown his worthless hide into a horde of demoniis coming out of a portal. When a s
word appeared in his hand, he hadn’t cared how it came to be. He fought to rid himself of the pain.
Much later the truth of the blade hit him.
He’d never forget the first time the sword shimmered then settled onto his arm in the form of a tattoo. He’d been horrified by Gaia’s gift. He’d tried to get it off him and damn near lost his mind in the pain. That was a lesson learned in agony, never to summon the blade without cause.
Aethan shut off the shower and rubbed his biceps where the blade remained silent for now. Naked, he made his way to the dressing room. He pulled on a pair of leathers, selected a T-shirt off the shelf, yanked it on, and finished dressing. He raked a hand through his damp hair and tied the flowing mass with a leather thong before he headed to the back of the room.
He pressed a concealed button on the wall and the wooden paneling slid open to reveal an arsenal of weapons. His gaze settled on the iron dagger he nipped from her. He’d known the minute she nicked his and had been amused because the obsidian dagger could not be stolen, taken, or given away. Ever.
So, why the hell didn’t it return to him when he willed it back? Did she chain the blade to her side?
Aethan picked up the dagger and ran a finger down the lethal edge. A thin line of red appeared. He stared blankly as the wound knitted together, his mind lost in the taste of her warm silky skin beneath his tongue—
Dammit! He set the blade back on the shelf then grabbed a few throwing stars and dropped them into his pockets. He picked up a pewter dagger, sheathed it on his belt, and strode out of his room.
A day ago, his life had been simple. Find demoniis and eradicate them. Find prophesied female with powers of fire and ice and hand her over to Michael.
Now, his life was knocked of its axis because he’d followed a damn demonii to church.
***
Later that night, Aethan was heading toward the Bowery, on his way to recon with Týr and Blaéz, when his cell vibrated. He pulled the phone from his leathers, saw the name on the display, and answered.
“Yeah?”
“We need to talk,” the male said.
“Fine, meet me at the usual place.”
A quick scan of the alley revealed no signs of life around him. Aethan dematerialized. A moment later, he took form again in a backstreet in the Lower East Side. Beneath the stench of stale piss and overflowing dumpsters, the faint odor of sulfur drifted to him. His informant was already here.
Riley had taken a chance, meeting Aethan out in the open. It meant certain death for the demon if one of his kind was seen with a Guardian. So he kept to the shadows cast by the flanking buildings.
Aethan unlocked the barred door with a thought and waited for Riley to enter the musty building. Aethan followed. Theirs was an unusual relationship. He’d saved the demon’s ass from being annihilated by his own kind a millennium ago. He had no idea why he’d done so. Maybe his own nightmares, his guilt, had him saving the life of one that most wouldn’t give a damn about.
“What’s so urgent?” he asked the demon.
The male like the rest of his species was good-looking, with brown hair and sharp green eyes.
“There’s movement in the Dark Realm,” Riley said. There was no small talk, no pacing from him. “It’s not good. A demon from the upper hierarchy’s gotten hold of a scroll—a prophecy. He searches for an oracle who can translate the cryptic writings.”
Aethan narrowed his eyes. Most demoniis were a damn nuisance, a pest to the mortal world. But demons, on the other hand, were a whole other curse. Especially those who dwelled in the Dark Realm and had their hands on a prophecy.
“He’s an old one,” Riley continued. “Can’t be demonii. They are banished to the Strata of the Damned when they turn. Since I haven’t been down under, I can’t be certain.” He raked a hand through his dark hair, his gaze growing wary. “There’s more—”
The air near them shifted and Týr materialized.
Aethan cursed. He’d hoped to do this meeting without Týr. No wonder Riley had been edgy. The moment Týr’s gaze fastened on Riley, residual rage like lava spilled out of him. He attacked.
For fuck’s sake!
Aethan grabbed the warrior’s arm a second too late. The coppery scent of blood invaded his nose. “Dammit, Norse! We don’t kill the innocent, no matter the species. Back the hell off.”
“Just honest about my feelings, man.” Týr jerked free of Aethan’s grip. “A demon’s still a fucking demon. You can’t trust these bastards.” Cold amusement laced his words. He stepped back, wiping the bloody blade on his black T-shirt.
“I’ll meet up with you later,” Aethan said—a warning which meant, Get the fuck outta here.
“You want to listen to his shit, it’s on your head.” Týr dematerialized.
Aethan turned, surprised the demon hadn’t hightailed it out of there. Riley didn’t bother to wipe off the blood dripping down his neck. But his green eyes were a blaze of color in the darkened building.
The demon stared at him, his expression unreadable. Cold. “The prophecy is about the angels,” he said and then he flashed out of the warehouse.
CHAPTER 4
The jarring sounds of the alarm going crazy on the bedside table jolted Echo awake. She fought to free her limbs from the tangle of covers as the remnants of her dreams held her in its grip, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Faint fingers of the breaking dawn crept between the gaps in the parted curtain, casting eerie shadows in her room.
Reaching out, she slammed her hand down on the alarm, and welcome silence filled her small apartment.
“It’s only a dream,” she whispered. Dragging in a shuddering breath, she sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. Soft light filled the room. The images of her nightmare faded, but Tamsyn’s voice still rang in her head. ‘It’s your fault! Your fault, I’m dead!’
Echo dropped her head into her hands, squeezed her burning lids closed. It wasn’t the first time she dreamed of Tamsyn. But her friend’s voice haunted her long after the dreams ended.
Sighing, she lay back on her bed, covered her eyes with her arm, and tried to push away her nightmare...only to have it replaced by images of another kind. One she couldn’t forget, no matter how much she tried—the glide of his mouth on her nape and desire flowing like molasses through her blood. Groaning, Echo rolled on her stomach and buried her face in her pillow. Argh! She shouldn’t feel this way about a man she didn’t even know.
A heavy weight landed on her butt, distracting her as a purring rumble filled the air.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Bob, get off me—Owww!”
Claws pierced her T-shirt, and dug into her skin for purchase, as he shimmied his way up her back to her head. Ignoring her grunts of pain, he let out a loud plaintive meow near her ear. His tail, gray as the smoke from an old chimney, flicked her face.
“I got you the first time,” Echo groaned, pushing him off her head. She might as well get an early start to her day. She rolled off the bed and stretched her arms above her head to find Bob glaring at her.
“What? I can’t even loosen up?” She arched a brow at her pet. “Come on, let’s go get you fed.”
The cat streaked in front of her, heading to the kitchen.
A half hour later, after a hot shower, Echo slicked back her wet hair and headed into her small bedroom. Walk too fast and she’d probably crash into the opposite wall. Her bed aligned against one wall gave her the illusion of space. Bright curtains fell from the single window in an explosion of yellow and blue flowers and cheered up drab beige walls.
The scent of brewing coffee, drifting to her from the kitchen, made her hurry. Good thing her job as a gym instructor didn’t require much thought when it came to dressing for work. She tugged on black sweats, a turquoise tank top, and gray hoodie, then grabbed her stones off the dresser, shoved them in her pocket, and headed for the stamp-sized kitchen.
Echo poured a mug of the steaming brew, took a sip, and hummed in pleasu
re as the life-saving beverage slid down her throat. The caffeine buzzing through her system powered her up and eased her frayed nerves.
The doorbell rang, ruining her moment of bliss. Bob stirred from where he lay asleep on the couch and cocked open an eye.
“It would help if you could answer that, since you’ve already had your breakfast,” Echo told the ball of gray fur. Setting her mug on the counter, she headed for the door and peered through the peep-hole before she opened it. “Damon?”
“Expecting someone else?” he drawled, amusement lighting his eyes.
“Yeah, right. No one in their right mind would disturb me at ten past six in the morning, ’cept you.”
He laughed.
But her mind rushed back to the sexy, blue-haired stranger like a heat-seeking missile. Ugh, she must have lost her ever-loving mind. The man was far too dangerous and she wanted normal. Normal, Echo, she reminded herself. Stepping aside, she let her guardian in. As usual, he was impeccably dressed in black dress pants, white shirt, and a long, rough leather coat.
She frowned. Damon being here this early wasn’t a good sign. She shut the door behind him. “I thought you were in San Francisco?”
He glanced around her apartment then turned to her. Inky black hair fell from a widow’s peak and framed his striking, but serious face.
“I was, but business brought me back, and I wanted to see you before I leave for Romania in a couple of hours. Here.” He handed her a brown paper bag. A light touch on her shoulder was his way of greeting. Damon wasn’t a demonstrative person but then neither was she.
She stared at the package. “What is this?”
His brow shot up as he removed his outer garment and dropped it over the armchair. “Coffee. What? You stop drinking the stuff?”
Her panic eased. She carried no scars or bruises from her nighttime activities. And he didn’t seem annoyed about anything, so all was cool. She hoped.
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