A brief pause before those powerfully built shoulders lifted in a shrug. “My abilities. My mind.”
“Oh, God.” Darci rubbed a trembling hand over her face. “What did I walk into?”
He stepped closer. “My life.”
She clutched the dagger with both hands and thrust it at him, her heart in her throat. “Stay away from me.”
“I don’t hurt females. As for those men, the laws of your world prevent us from killing them, but it will be a long time before they think of hurting another again.”
How did he get so close? Trapped by his gaze, she breathed in his disturbing scent that clouded her mind. The heat from his body a soothing warmth around her.
Something warm and wet coated her fingers. She glanced down. Blood? She reared back in horror. “Oh, dear God — I stabbed you!”
“It’s just a scratch.” He brushed it off, but the flicker of pain on his face didn't escape her notice. Remorse surged like wildfire. He pulled out the obsidian dagger embedded in his stomach, wiped it on his shirt and tossed the weapon on the bedside table. “I'm a fast healer.”
Fast healer? The man must have lost his mind. Blood, dark and glossy soaked the material. She looked around for something to stop the flow when he grasped her hands, grabbed the hem of his shirt and started to wipe the blood off them.
Her mouth dropped open. He was cleaning her fingers when he was the one injured?
“No. Stop — stop!” She yanked her hands free. “Let me help you — you're bleeding.”
Before he gave her another one of his unbelievable excuses, she pushed up his shirt then stared in confusion. Blood smeared his lightly tanned stomach, but the wound had closed — just a pink line remained. She gently traced the mark on his abs, and the rock-hard muscles beneath her fingers clenched. How was that possible? She glanced up. Faced with his rigid expression, she forgot her questions and hastily dropped her hand. Her face burned in embarrassment. “Sorry.”
A rap sounded on the door. Blaéz pulled his shirt down and went to answer. Had she lost her mind, touching him so intimately?
A slender, attractive woman with honey-gold features and a shallow dent in her chin entered the room. Her short, spiky black hair brushed her nape and fell across her forehead into unusual bi-colored eyes. One a pale gray, the other a fiery amber, they glowed warmly at Darci.
“I thought you might like something clean to wear.” She set the clothes on the bed then crossed to Darci, slipping her hands into the pockets of her cargo shorts. “I'm so glad you're okay. I'm Echo.”
“I'm Darci — Darci Callahan. I didn’t mean to be an imposition.”
“Oh, no. You're not,” Echo reassured her, but a frown creased her smooth brow. She played with one of the stones of a diamond chain she wore around her neck. Darci had the strangest feeling she was studying her.
Uneasy, Darci glanced at Blaéz and became trapped by his unwavering stare. Heat spilled through her veins, warmed her face and pooled lower. She tore her gaze from his and sucked in a shaky breath. So not the path to take after she’d nearly dissected him.
“If you need anything else, let me know,” Echo said, smiling. “I’ll be down in the kitchen.”
Blaéz closed the door behind the woman and walked back, stopping a short distance from her. Darci could read nothing from his expression. She watched him warily.
“You should rest. You’ve had a bad experience.”
At his words, her horror came racing back. The attack and what could have happened. She could still feel the man’s rough hands pawing her breast. Her knees gave way.
In a move that made her dizzy, Blaéz picked her up and sat her on the couch. He crouched in front of her, his gorgeous face calm, reassuring.
“I'm fine—I'm fine.” She rubbed her arms and knew he didn't believe her, not when she was practically tearing at her skin. “It’s just… recalling it again…” She shook her head, took another deep breath. “My bag? Did you see it?”
“I have you now, you're safe,” he said quietly. “No one will get a chance to hurt you again.” Then he rose and walked through the doorway near the fireplace.
Darci pulled her gaze away from him, and for the first time noticed the massive bedroom. A huge bed with a solid cherrywood frame and matching end tables took up space on the far side. A series of tall windows on one wall led to the circular, turret style sitting room where she sat on one of the leather couches.
Despite the modern furnishings, the gray stone walls reminded her a lot of a medieval castle. Along with all the old weapons — various types of swords and daggers fixed to the wall above the mantel. Two doors were set into alcoves on either side of an enormous fireplace that was opposite the bed. From the right door, Blaéz emerged with her pink tote. “Here.”
“Thank you.” She searched through her things and found her cell phone. She should report the attack to the police, but at the two missed calls from Grace, she forgot everything. Fear knotting her stomach, she hit speed-dial.
“Gracie? Is everything all right? You — Daniel?” Darci breathed in a rush the moment her sister-in-law answered.
“Yes-yes, we’re both okay, but Dan’s not happy with our decision. At least he’s safe in Texas now. My parents picked him up from the airport a few hours ago. It’s why I called, so you’d know and not worry.”
“Thank God.” Darci tucked back her loose hair with shaky fingers. “And Declan? How is he?”
“Still mad.” A long sigh escaped Grace. “I guess it will take some time for the fear to leave us — Dars, are you okay? You don’t sound like yourself.”
“I'm fine. Just a little tired. I worked late last night. I didn't mean to get you up—”
“It’s okay. The baby keeps me up with all with the kicking,” she said with wry laughter. “Take care of yourself, hun. I’ll see you soon.”
She ended the call and Darci stared at the display, misery and anxiety sweeping through her. She could never tell Grace or Declan of her near abduction. But she needed her family. She didn't want to be alone.
“You could always stay here.”
At Blaéz’s quiet words, her gaze rushed to where he stood near the turret window opposite her. She met his steady gaze. Yes, he would keep her safe, she knew that instinctively. Everything in her wanted to say yes. Blaéz made her feel things she’d never thought possible. But she barely knew him. No, she had to go. He clouded her thoughts, and she needed to think this through.
“Thank you, but I’ll be fine.” And because she had to know, she asked, “Who— what are you?”
The man was deadly, ruthless, and had formidable psychic abilities to be able to tear off car doors and throw men around with just his mind.
He stared at her for a quiet second then shrugged. “I keep the streets safe.”
From thugs like those who’d hurt her, hurt Daniel? He didn't look like a cop, even with that closed-off expression, muscular build, and short hair. “Are you in some kind of special force or something?”
“Or something,” he murmured. His gaze lowered. “There’s still blood on your hands. Why don’t you go get cleaned up? Have a shower. Echo left you a change of clothes.”
So he didn't like talking about himself? Okay, she got that. A little disappointed, she rose and rubbed her arms.
“Who’s Declan?”
At the unexpected question, Darci glanced back and met his cool, determined stare. Was he…? No, of course not. A man like him wouldn’t be jealous. Heat spiraled low in her belly at the thought. She found her voice and answered. “My brother. Where’s the bathroom?”
He nodded to the door on the right of the fireplace. “Through the dressing room.”
Darci took the clothes from the bed and escaped. If she stayed and continued looking into those burning pale eyes, she’d probably agree to anything he wanted.
***
Why wouldn’t she stay? Hell, females came on to him all the time, so why would she say no to his request?
Blaéz rubbed a ha
nd over his sternum, trying to rein in emotions that had him feeling as if trapped in a cyclone of sensations, and encountered the damp slit in his shirt. Absently, he fingered the rip.
He understood supernatural evil wasn’t after her. He couldn’t make her stay like Aethan had done with Echo when she’d become a target for demons hunting psychic females. But then the Empyrean’s mate was something totally different.
And Darci? She was just human.
He dropped his hand from his bloodied shirt and headed back into the dressing room. As he changed his clothes, the woman in the bathroom drew him like a magnet. All his senses attuned to her. At the sounds of the rustling shower, an image of water sliding down her deliciously sexy body filled his head.
Ah, Christ. Why the hell was he torturing himself this way?
Celt?
At Michael’s telepathic intrusion, Blaéz put his thoughts in lockdown and walked out of his quarters.
The archangel approached from down the corridor, all hard-eyed. “She’s okay?”
“As much as someone who’s been traumatized can be.” Blaéz shut the door behind him. He fully understood why Michael had shown up, and concern wasn't the reason.
“Say what you have to, Arc.”
“She cannot stay.”
Blaéz’s mouth flattened. He remained silent.
“There is no cause. Once she’s recovered, she goes back,” Michael said, tone resolute.
“Yeah, got it.”
Blaéz stalked off. If Darci hadn't insisted on leaving, he’d be having a very different conversation with Michael. Resentment churning his gut, he headed downstairs. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d experienced this seething fury.
Moments later, he shoved open the door to the kitchen, fragrant with baking. He paced around the island counter, brushing past Hedori, who prepped for their later meal while watching a cooking show on the small flat screen mounted in the corner of the kitchen.
Týr, in the process of making his usual sandwich, the size of which could probably feed a third world country, raised an eyebrow. “You okay there, man?”
Blaéz ignored him then stilled. Like mist, his anger faded into vacuity. No. He struggled to hang on to that feeling. But without Darci close, he was a husk again.
He eyed Týr, who squeezed a ton of chili-mayo onto the meat. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Týr slapped his bread together and took a bite. Leaning against the counter, he studied Blaéz as he chewed. “There’s something different about you.”
“I imagine you spend a great deal of time thinking about me, then.”
Týr chuckled. “Yeah, it’s all I do.” He crossed to the fridge, grabbed a Red Bull and carried his food over to the table.
Blaéz opened a cupboard, pulled down the Blue Label, snagged a squat glass from another cabinet, and poured a shot. He sucked back his whiskey. The amber liquid glided down his throat, burned a short-lived fiery trail into his belly. He poured another.
Hedori set a freshly baked tray of biscuits on the counter. The older Empyrean, who’d been Aethan’s bodyguard millennia ago had followed the warrior when he was banished from his realm. In this world, he was quite happy to play butler since he wasn’t a Guardian. The male had a thing for the cooking channels, but the food tasted good, and that was all that mattered.
Hedori looked up as Blaéz approached him. “You require something, sire?”
“Yes. Two. One, stop “siring” me. I have a name. Use it. And two, would you see that Darci gets something to eat? I'm going back on patrol.”
Hedori’s expression remained stoic. “Of course, my lord.”
Týr snorted.
As Blaéz turned to leave, the door opened. Michael strode in, Dagan and Aethan followed. Dagan took his usual spot near the open French doors which led out to the trellised patio, his lean, sun-bronze features set in their usual granite cast, his waist-length hair pulled back in warrior braids. As usual, he ignored everyone there. He spoke only if he had to.
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.
Chapter 5
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.
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