Breaking Fate

by Georgia Lyn Hunter

Through the opened French doors, a cool, briny breeze drifted inside from the serene trellised garden. Night insects created a disharmony of sounds. She stopped near the island counter separating the kitchen and dining area. And realized they weren’t alone.

  Two men sat at the long oak table. One, goth-like in appearance with pierced ears, his striking hair in multihued shades from blue to black, was undeniably good-looking.

  The other was dressed in black, too, the color a perfect backdrop for his drop-dead golden looks. Tousled, wheat-colored hair brushed his shoulders. A smile lurked in eyes the color of melting toffee.

  A hand settled on her waist, startling her. “That’s Aethan with the hair,” Blaéz said from behind her in introduction. “And Týr. This is Darci Callahan.”

  Aethan snorted but nodded. “Darci.”

  Týr grinned.

  Staring at men that good-looking, Darci felt as if she’d stepped into an alternate world. A castle, handsome men in leathers—

  Echo walked in then, so normal and everything, despite her mismatched eyes, and stunned Darci speechless when she sat beside the blue-haired guy. His hand dropped to stroke her back, possession in his every gesture. Right, so they were a couple.

  “Darci, welcome to our humble abode.” Týr pushed to his feet. He sent Aethan then Blaéz a look of complete disbelief. “I cannot understand how you lot meet the most incredible females?”

  “Maybe if you gave Anarchy a miss, you would, too,” Aethan drawled.

  “Yeah, there is that…” Týr smirked, displaying slashing masculine dimples. He took his plate to the sink. “Right, I'm outta here.”

  “Darci?” At Blaéz’s low tone, she turned and had to remember to breathe when she met his intense stare. Sure, the other men were just as good-looking, but Blaéz made them fade into the background.

  “Coming, Celt?” Týr drawled.

  “In a minute.”

  Darci hastily stepped back and widened the space between them, heat scorching her face. For that brief second, she’d forgotten they weren’t alone.

  “You’ll be safe here. I’ll take you back in the morning,” Blaéz told her. “Sleep if you can. I’ll be gone for the rest of the night. You need me, call. Where’s your cell?”

  Without a word, since her throat was dry and she couldn’t speak anyway, Darci pulled the phone from her tunic pocket and passed it to him. His fingers flew over the keypad. His cell rang. Then he handed hers back and saved her number on his.

  A chair scraped on the floor. Aethan rose and brushed the shallow dimple in Echo’s chin with his knuckle. “I’ll see you later. Don’t push it, Echo, I don’t care what Lore says.”

  She rolled her eyes at his curt order. “I’ll be fine. Lore’s a dry old ang— man… He’s not really bothering you, is he?”

  He gave Echo a narrowed look before following Blaéz out. Smiling, she met Darci’s gaze and shook her head.

  Suddenly, the kitchen was too enormous, too silent. Darci crossed to the table and sat down beside Echo. A man, dressed in black pants and a gray shirt, came toward her carrying a tray. He appeared a little older than the others. His gray — no, his hair wasn’t the color of old age but a steel-tone, she realized — hung down his back in a ponytail.

  “Darci, this is our butler, Hedori,” Echo said. “He deserves a medal for putting up with us. Hedori, Darci Callahan.”

  His unusual orange-green eyes gleamed in amusement. “It has its… moments.”

  Butler? The man looked as if he should be out hunting terrorists or something.

  Hedori set the tray of steaming creamy chicken and pasta in front of her, along with juice, salad, and rolls. At the sight and scent of the mouth-watering feast, her stomach whimpered in hunger.

  “Ms. Callahan, my pleasure.”

  “Please, call me Darci.”

  Hedori gave her a small bow and headed back for the kitchen.

  She picked up her fork, twisted a tine full of tagliatelle and ate it. Chewing the delicious pasta, she glanced up to find Echo watching her with that same look of confusion again. Darci swiped at her chin. “There’s sauce on my face, right?”

  “Oh, no.” Echo hurried to reassure her, her expression sheepish. “I'm glad the clothes fit. They belong to my friend.”

  “Just about,” Darci said with wry grimace. “As long as I don’t perform squats, I'm safe.”

  Echo laughed. Her cell beeped, distracting her. She drew it from her jeans pocket and sighed. “My tutor’s early. I was going to show you around.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Darci waved her fork, “go. I’ll be fine.” Then curiosity got the better of her. “What are you studying?”

  Echo rose and pocketed her cell. “Ancient history. Hedori can show you to the library. There’s also a great theatre if you want to watch a movie. I’ll join you later—” A low disgruntled growl interrupted them. “There you are.” Echo laughed. She scooped up a chubby feline the color of chimney smoke with a very distinct ginger ruff. His bushy tail flicked her arm. “Did Aethan send you to keep watch over me during my lesson, hmmm? Come, meet a new friend.” She brought the cat over. “Bob, this is Darci.”

  Darci reached out and stroked the animal. Amber eyes gave her the once over then she was rewarded with a rumbling purr. “He’s beautiful.”

  “My guardian gave him to me.” Sorrow tinged Echo’s words.

  “I'm so sorry for your loss,” Darci said hastily, remorse taking over at the fleeting flash of pain in the younger woman’s expression.

  Echo lifted startled mismatched eyes to her. “Oh, no, he’s alive. It’s just that I haven’t seen him since I er— moved in with Aethan.” At Darci’s confused look, she explained, “Damon and Aethan don’t exactly see eye-to-eye. It’s a long story—” Another sharp beep of her cell. “Crap, Lore is impatient, must dash. I’ll see you later.” Echo set the cat back on the floor and hustled off.

  Darci frowned as she ate, staring at the door Echo had disappeared through.

  Who took lessons at midnight? She got that these men worked for some kind of special ops organization. With their impressive sizes, it seemed logical. And then there were their incredible good looks and strange eye colors. Must not forget Blaéz’s unbelievable abilities… Something in this place just didn't fit.

  Darci took a sip of her juice, picked up her empty plate and made her way over to the kitchen. Bob weaved between her heels then dashed across the room as Hedori set a bowl of kibble on the floor and face-planted there.

  Hedori straightened and smiled at her. “Would you like dessert? There’s chocolate cake.”

  Just the word chocolate and she was ready to forget her questions. “No, but thanks.” She struggled past her craving and set her dishes in the sink. Her curves didn't need the added calories. “I'm full from that wonderful meal…” She hesitated. Dammit, just ask him.

  “Do all of them work the night shift?” Sheesh! What a stupid question. If they were special ops, they probably worked all kinds of hours. Honestly, she had no idea what it was she wanted to ask — what had her so unsettled.

  “Yes… it seems that the worst kind of evil roams the streets beneath the cover of darkness.” Hedori poured milk in another bowl then met her gaze. “I'm glad you are all right after that unfortunate incident earlier.”

  A shiver of revulsion and fear crept over her skin. She wrapped her arms around her waist at thoughts of her attack. “Me, too.”

  Hedori set the milk on the floor beside Bob. “You need anything else?” he asked politely.

  Darci shook her head. She had to let this compulsion go. Blaéz had helped her, brought her here to recover when he could have just as easily dumped her in a hospital. For that, she was grateful. At least it spared her family the worrying.

  She wandered to the open French doors and stared into the dark night, chirruping crickets breaking the silence. Sure, people had psychic abilities, not that she’d met anyone possessing them, but Blaéz had very, very strong ones to be able to t
ear doors off cars and self-heal.

  Who— what was he?

  ***

  “What exactly are you looking for, Celt?” Týr asked as they rode up the hospital elevator.

  “Retribution.”

  Týr’s brow shot up. Then he nodded. “Right.”

  Blaéz concentrated on the third level where his prey languished. So easy to break into hospital records via cyberspace and get the information he wanted on the three concussed humans brought in earlier that evening.

  The elevator door pinged open, and the sharp smell of bleach and disinfectant struck him in the nose — the silence in the place a shock to his heightened hearing.

  “I’ll take care of the nurses,” Týr said and detoured toward their station.

  Blaéz scanned the sea of rooms, his senses alert for the humans he wanted then headed down the bland white corridor. He found the room easily enough. As he entered, a patient occupying the farthest bed turned his way. The male’s pained gaze widened in panic.

  With Blaéz dressed all in black like death-incarnate, he certainly didn't inspire confidence that he was there for the sake of their well-being. Good. He sent the man to sleep and focused on the one he wanted. The human scourge rested comfortably on the bed, his arm in a cast.

  Opening his mind, Blaéz slipped into the man’s drugged one and sifted through the depravity he found. Some humans really were far more evil than those demons choosing to live a discreet life on this realm. The fact they would have raped Darci and thought nothing of it — Blaéz stopped the drip for his pain meds and willed him awake.

  With a low moan, the thug blinked open bleary eyes and focused on Blaéz. Then they popped wide with fear. He struggled to move but could do little, held prisoner in his bed. A whimper ricocheted through the room. The heart monitor beeped wildly.

  “You know who I am.” Blaéz strolled to the foot of the bed and folded his arms over his chest. “For hurting my female…” He grabbed the human’s fractured ulna with his mind and cracked it again. The man’s eyes bulged, his face contorted in agony. He screamed. No nurses came running to his aid. “If you ever touch another person, I will find you.” He shoved into the male’s thoughts and showed him exactly what he was capable of.

  The scourge cried out in terror and called upon his God, tears streaming down his face. Then he slid back into unconsciousness.

  Blaéz turned and found Týr waiting at the entrance. “I thought you’d be doing this so I hazed the surveillance cameras on this floor. Let’s get out of here.”

  He walked out. Blaéz followed, only to stop at the next room.

  “Or not,” Týr muttered from behind.

  Blaéz strolled into the next thug’s room. With lethal precision, he carried out his retribution again then he stopped off at the last one’s room…

  Several minutes later, they flashed from the hospital to downtown and trawled the streets. Traffic had eased in the early hours of the morning.

  “Why?” Týr finally asked. “They were humans.”

  “My Guardian oath prevents me from killing them, it says nothing about not making them pay for their crimes.”

  “This is about her, the female you brought back tonight?”

  “They hurt her.” He remembered the bruises on her face and on the tender skin of her breast. He longed for the sensation of anger so his vengeance would feel good. “They would have done worse.”

  “The human police could have handled it, if the female reports them.”

  Hands in his pockets, Blaéz sidestepped several stinky dumpsters in the darkened alley, his attention on a skinny tabby skulking along the grimy warehouse walls. “Why? When I can dispense justice for said crime.”

  “Yeah, s’pose so,” Týr agreed. “Now they’ll live the rest of their lives as babbling babes with whatever terror you instilled in them.”

  “Then the world’s a safer place.”

  “Why the interest in this female, Celt? When we’ve saved countless before?”

  Because she’s given me things I never thought possible. And she makes me aware of what a fucked-up bastard I am.

  “No reason.”

  Despite the fact he’d finally found the one person who’d made living bearable again, he couldn’t drag her into his wretched life. He was steeped too deeply in a hellish place, trapped in a nightmare. Being with Darci would only put her in Maloch’s crosshairs. The bastard would use anything to tighten his hold on Blaéz since he’d been able to resist the pull to Hell for longer periods now. But if Maloch abducted her, then he’d have Blaéz exactly where he wanted him.

  Trapped back in Hell.

  Chapter 6

  Darci pushed aside the dark gray covers and sat up. Lying in Blaéz’s giant-sized bed made sleep impossible, his tormenting scent too prevalent. The man was too distracting, even when he wasn’t here.

  With a tired sigh, she pushed off the bed and padded over to the couch in the turret living room and lay down. The leather beneath her a cool comfort against her heated limbs. Through the undraped window, the moon cast a silvery light on all it touched, forming deep shadows in the room.

  She blinked eyes heavy with sleep, a chill skating over her. The tiny hairs on her arms rose. Heart pounding, Darci struggled to push through the fog, but it held her down like an invisible band. A thick, swirling haze surrounded her. From the walls, a long wispy shadow lifted and transformed into a woman shrouded in black. She glided toward Darci, her face obscured by the very shadow that gave her form.

  I gave you ease as a child. It is time. See… you must see. Remember your promise, the whisper snaked through her, the urgency twisting Darci’s gut. The specter reached out with a pale hand and trailed her ghostly fingers down her face. Her lungs constricted.

  Darci jerked free and broke through the paralysis, gulping air into her burning chest. She rubbed her sternum at the pain there. Inhaling another shuddering breath, she glanced around the softly lit room, but all was quiet. With a shaky hand, she reached for her cell phone on the coffee table and checked the time. 5:12 A.M.

  Too disturbed to go back to sleep, she rose and crossed to the window. Night had given way to purple skies. Daybreak was just a breath away. Birds perched on a shrub nearby and welcomed the morning in a noisy raucous.

  Darci rubbed the goose bumps on her arms as she recalled those strange words from the smoke woman. See? See what? And what promise?

  Being in this strange and enormous castle had to be the catalyst for her odd hallucination, dream, or whatever that was. At least it wasn’t her childhood nightmare of a man flogging her with a flaming whip — God, she squeezed her eyes tight and hastily shut off those images.

  A half hour later, she showered and changed into her clothes someone had laundered and left for her on the bureau in the dressing room. The buttons on her top had been fixed, too. She had no idea who was responsible — probably Hedori — but was extremely grateful.

  Darci left the dressing room and made her way back to the lounge. It was better she called a cab. Blaéz would be tired after an all-nighter. She picked up her cell phone and stopped. Damn, she had no idea where she was.

  At movement in her peripheral vision, she spun around, her hand clutching her throat. Blaéz stepped out from the other door to the left of the fireplace and stopped when he saw her. Her fear eased, but her foolish heart tripped up at the sight of him, so tall and gorgeous clad in leathers and tee. He must have just come in while she was in the shower. “You startled me.”

  “It wasn’t my intention.” His gaze skimmed over her. He frowned. “It’s still too early to leave for the library.”

  “Yes, I know. But I have tons to do. I like getting an early start.”

  After a moment, he nodded. “All right. Ten minutes.”

  “Oh no, I can't impose. You’ve already done so much. I can get a cab.”

  He sauntered across to where she stood in the living room and, taking her by surprise, he gently traced a finger over the bridge of her nose
as if connecting the few freckles she had there. Those pale blue eyes drifted to her lips. Lingered. Tension crept into the stark lines of his striking face as if he were fighting some inner battle. Fingers clenching, he dropped his hand. “Ten minutes, Darci.”

  She stared for several long minutes at the empty doorway he’d disappeared through, her emotions all over the place. How could a simple touch unravel her so easily? Then Blaéz’s words hit her. Ten minutes? Damn it. She unglued her fingers from her phone, dropped it in her bag, and hurried to the dressing room for her shoes.

  She could hear the shower running as she hunted around for it.

  Cherrywood cupboards and shelves lined the walls on both sides, and adjacent, a floor-length mirror that reflected the entire room was mounted onto a wood-paneled wall. Darci found her pumps near the bureau and slipped them on. Setting her tote on the wooden chest, she searched through it for her travel-size moisturizer and quickly went through her facial care routine.

  As she tried to put some kind of order to her damp, curling hair, the bathroom door opened.

  Blaéz walked out. A towel draped precariously low on his hips. She gaped, speechless because what else could a girl do? Droplets of water rolled down his lightly tanned body. The man was a powerhouse of muscles. His sheer sensuality slithered around her and tightened like a silken trap.

  He raked his fingers through his short dark strands as he crossed to his closet near her. The tattoo on his biceps caught her attention. He was the epitome of big, bad, and dangerous, so it actually surprised her to see that he sported just that single piece of ink.

  The jet-black artwork appeared almost ethereal in design; a myriad of detailing and symbols made up the blade. “That’s an unusual tattoo.”

  He glanced at her. “It’s a sword.”

  She snorted. “I can see that.”

  His lips quirked as he pulled out a pair of jeans, then the towel dropped. Her breath caught at the side view of a perfect male backside.

  Jesus! Was he trying to kill her?

  She pivoted, grabbed a hair clamp from her tote and gripped her hair.

  Wait, were there scars on his back? Her heart pounding hard, she dared a look at him through the mirror, but he’d already pulled on a t-shirt. Perhaps she’d imagined those puckered, crisscrossing slashes? With everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours — her attack, the smoke woman, and a dire lack of sleep — she wasn’t surprised at her overworked imagination. Still, the images left a raw, clawing sensation in her stomach.