Breaking Fate

by Georgia Lyn Hunter

  Lucifer laughed, staring at the shimmery, silvery blue orb glowing in his palm “Well now, the soul of a god—”

  “Is mine,” a dark shadow growled.

  A sudden tremor tore through the grounds, Lucifer staggered. Rubble rained down as the soul flew from his grip. Blaéz stumbled and dropped to his knees. Sly laughter rippled in the crumbling cavern… only then did he see the demon who’d snatched his soul. No—

  Cool fingers touched his brow. “Shhh, it’s okay…” The soft voice like sunlight slipped through the storm raging inside him, anchoring him.

  ***

  Gray, early morning light crept through the undrawn drapes when Blaéz awoke — his head groggy, so sure someone had stuffed wool inside his skull. Something was off. He frowned and glanced around him in the obscure light. Two things registered at once.

  One, he was in a strange bedroom. Two, he felt different. He felt… and became aware of the stiffness between his thighs.

  What the—

  A soft, breathy sigh teased his neck. He tensed. A warm body, soft curves… A female lay curled up beside him. Her thigh thrown over his, her arm slung around his waist. Her scent was soft and mesmerizing.

  She stirred. Silky hair tickled his shoulder as she shifted and laid cool fingers over his brow, her touch overwhelmed him. If this were a dream, he didn't want to wake up.

  “Blaéz?” Her husky whisper licked over his senses.

  He pulled her hand away. Turning, he trailed his nose down her jaw and breathed her into him; she was the very air he needed to survive. She was the one he’d waited centuries for. The only one who broke through the void he’d been trapped in for millennia.

  He let his lips lightly touch hers, still unsure if she were a mirage of his desperate mind. He didn't want to ruin this with his lack of finesse. A soft sigh escaped her to caress his neck. He nuzzled her jaw then slid his lips to hers and let his instinct take over — do what he wanted to from the moment he met her — he sucked on her full lower lip. Soft, decadent, she tasted incredible. Her fingers threaded through his hair then moved down to his shoulders. He grabbed her hands, pinning her wrists over her head. He didn't want her touching the ugliness marking his back. He shifted over her for a better grip.

  At the impossibly sensual feel of her body beneath his, Blaéz stilled, absorbing the sensation… her hips cradling him… his cock pressing into the heated V between her thighs. A soft, pained groan escaped him.

  “Blaéz?” Hazel eyes lustrous with need met his.

  He covered her mouth with his. Her lips parted and she stroked his tongue. Her taste intoxicated him. His control fragmented. He deepened the kiss, sucking on her tongue and demanding everything she had.

  She yanked one hand free, her fingers sifting through his hair — images flashed in his mind. Voices intruded, unhinging him.

  “Finally, you are mine.” Maloch seized his long hair, showing him the glowing silvery-blue sphere with a delighted smirk. “I waited a long time to own you… so perfect,” he crooned.

  Never. Blaéz leaped for him.

  “Blaéz?”

  With a flick of his hand, Maloch pinned him down flat on the ground on his belly. He ran his fingers over Blaéz’s back, tracing the raw wounds. “Pity about the scars, but you forced me. Why did you think you could ever escape me?” His hands trailed down Blaéz’s hips, stroking and squeezing his backside over his thin, worn pants. Fury escalated. Maloch reached between Blaéz’s thighs and fondled his cock.

  Like a cork popping, Blaéz lashed out—

  A loud crash. Glass tinkled like rain.

  “Blaéz!”

  Thick fear slammed into him. Yanked him back from the stranglehold of his past.

  Darci?

  Fearful hazel eyes were fixed on him. “Blaéz, what is it?”

  He struggled to reel in his rage, memories overwhelming him. So fresh, like it had happened minutes ago. Worse, he’d frozen like some dead stiff on top of her.

  “Did I hurt you — are you in pain?”

  Pain? He tasted hatred again. He wanted to kill the motherfucker.

  Blaéz pushed off the bed. He needed distance, needed to find a way to shut down the past before it destroyed the fragile bond he’d barely formed with this female he wanted more than his next breath. In the still darkened room, he found his boots in the corner near the dresser.

  The sheets rustled as she sat up. “It’s okay, you just hit the lamp.”

  Hit the lamp?

  His gaze lit on the broken ceramic pieces scattered on the floor in horror. He could have hurt her — killed her in his anger. With rigid movements, he pulled on his boots.

  “You're leaving?”

  Grabbing the ugly jacket off the chair, he glanced at her. The hurt and confusion on her face had guilt searing him. He wanted to go to her, soothe her, but touching her was too dangerous right now, his entire being teetered on the edge with loathing roiling through him. He needed to calm down before he exploded and destroyed everything around him.

  “Yes. I’ll see you later,” he said, and headed for the door. The shit from his past a mantle he could never leave behind. It had ruined a moment that should have been perfect.

  Perfect? What a fucking joke.

  Nothing in his life was perfect… except her.

  ***

  Darci stared at the empty doorway, the desire from moments ago lost in her distress.

  One minute he’d been kissing her — the sweetness of his kiss unlike anything she’d ever expected from a hard man like him. The awe in his touch, his tenderness made her reel. He made her feel as if she were everything he desired. The next minute, he’d frozen on top of her and it all had fallen apart.

  She wanted to call him, to reassure herself that he was okay but changed her mind, deciding to wait for his call. If Blaéz wanted to talk, he wouldn’t have rushed off.

  Sighing, she flipped her heavy hair back and slid off the bed. The black fabric on the floor near the dresser caught her eye. She walked over and picked up his ruined shirt and, despite the blood, the smell of leather and another that was uniquely Blaéz filled her nose.

  A pang pierced her chest. She’d been alone for over two years. Preferred it that way after her dating disasters. But Blaéz had changed all that. She really, really hoped that there was a later for them.

  Chapter 9

  Blaéz leaned back in his chair in his study, the financial stock reports scrolling on the desktop screen in front of him. His computer beeped. He ignored the warning indicating shaky stocks. His mind stuck in replay, rewinding the events of earlier that morning. Of how close he’d come to hurting Darci. His past seemed to be having a field day making him relive everything in technicolor. Why now, when it never had before?

  He wanted to see Darci, but she was at work. After the way he’d left, the library was hardly the place to talk. He picked up his cell and hesitated. Would he feel the same connection as when he was with her?

  Only one way to find out. He tapped star one…

  She answered on the third ring. “Blaéz?”

  Her voice held warmth, concern. He heard it, just wished he felt it. His heart continued on that same slow beat, no excited thudding, no urge to touch her — to press his nose against her neck and breathe in her scent like it was his own personal oxygen. Nothing.

  He closed his eyes.

  “Blaéz, you there?”

  He didn't respond as the voices in his head grew. Mocking him. You’re a loose cannon, Celt.

  Like he didn't know that.

  He disconnected and set his cell on the desk. Ominous laughter overrode his consciousness and echoed in his skull, pulling him back to the emptiness of his life. With no reprieve, there was only one thing that kept him anchored and stopped him from falling into an abyss.

  He mind-linked Týr, Training. Swords.

  Blaéz changed into Gi’s and a tee then took the narrow back stairs down to the basement. He encountered Echo coming up them, carrying an a
rmful of books. He nodded and stepped aside, giving her way. But she stopped a stair below. “Do you have a minute?”

  Another nod.

  She ran her fingers through her short, choppy hair, messing it up some more. Her brow furrowed as if trying to understand whatever had her mind in a spin. She looked out through the small window that opened to the side of the castle then back at him. “Is Darci psychic?”

  He stilled. “Why do you ask? You should know better than I.”

  With her abilities to see auras, Echo could distinguish humans with psychic powers from those without. She could pick out immortals too, since, apparently, all species had different colored auras.

  “I know. I mean I know you — the gods — have a silvery-blue aura, the angels are silvery-white, and humans are a warm yellow… but Darci’s,” her frown deepened, “hers is different — a pale green.”

  “Perhaps you’ve misread it?”

  “No. It’s not a color I can mistake. It’s one I've never seen before.” Those mismatched eyes fixed on him like he knew the answer. “Do you think it’s something in her lineage? After all, mine was hidden from me for a reason.”

  He shook his head, his mind inundated with questions.

  “Maybe it’s nothing.” She grimaced. “After being in that coma, my abilities are a little off-kilter right now. Anyway, I thought you should know.” With a rueful smile, she jogged up the stairs and disappeared.

  Frowning, Blaéz continued on his way down. Echo was the descendant of a powerful angel from a race long dead — her heritage was only discovered when the Guardians hunted for a psychic female last fall after they’d gotten news about a demon hunting for a mortal female possessing the powers of a long dead but powerful angel.

  And Darci? She felt too human. He didn't want her to be anything else. He’d wager his life that she didn't even know other species lived on this plane, too — well, she would soon — but that was beside the point. He would have to ask her.

  The sound of steel clashing in the practice arena opposite the gymnasium resonated dully in the enormous place. Blaéz pushed open the door into a vast sea of white walls and gray floors. An array of swords in two wooden stands flanked a small fridge on the far end.

  He watched for a minute as Aethan and Michael fought. Too fast, too deadly, they spun around each other. Yeah, it seemed about right.

  Considering the Empyrean’s mood, Týr must have delivered the news about the rift.

  Aethan’s fury was so thick his eyes glowed with that scary-arse whitefire power — a warning to take cover. The thing could incinerate even an immortal if let loose. As Guardians, they may have been granted certain core powers, but the Empyrean’s was all his own, and far too deadly. Blaéz wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

  Aethan lunged, his blade swinging in a furious arc. “She’s not mending anything — she’s not strong enough and you know it.”

  Michael growled, countered the thrust then held up a hand, calling a halt. “She is The Healer, it’s her job. No harm will come to her. You seem to forget she’s immortal now.”

  Echo had been shot several months ago. She’d died taking a hit meant for Aethan, a spelled bullet. Only Aethan’s sheer determination and an ability he had no idea he possessed had brought her back. But, she’d been in a coma — a long and arduous healing.

  Indeed, Blaéz could imagine Aethan’s frustration.

  “I forget nothing.” Cold, hard words. “Especially not watching her die. We will guard the rift, but Echo needs a few more days — gods, Michael, I just got her back, give us a little damn time.”

  “She took down two demoniis on your night out,” Michael pointed out.

  “It’s not the same fucking thing!” Aethan snapped. “This is her mind you're talking about — her blood that has to be used!” Sword in hand, he stormed out from the gym, almost bulldozing into Týr entering. The warrior jumped aside. He threw Michael and Blaéz a curious glance.

  “Dammit.” Michael raked back his sweat-damp hair and turned to Blaéz, his annoyance barely concealed. “Where were you?”

  “Detained.”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed, drifted over him, no doubt scanning for his injuries. Even if no one had ratted him out about the hellbolt hit he’d taken, the Arc would know.

  Michael stalked out from the gym without further questions.

  “What was that all about?” Týr asked, dragging off his tee and tossing it aside.

  Blaéz selected a sword and swung the blade in a deadly warm-up blur. “What gets the Empyrean in a knot?”

  “Ah, right. Maybe Echo should decide for herself if she can handle healing the rift or not.”

  “Sure. Go ahead, tell her.”

  Týr grinned, scratching his chest. “I’ll pass. Still think the Empyrean’s making a mistake keeping her out of the loop.”

  “Would you send your mate into a malevolent trap?” Blaéz lowered his sword. “Not knowing what lurks on the other side of the veils?”

  Týr paused, then shrugged. “A moot point. I have no plans to tie myself to a female. But no.” He picked up the other katana and sauntered back to the center. “Now, let’s get this dance on the road.”

  Blaéz circled him. “Given any more thoughts to the rainbow?”

  Týr scowled. “Forget it, just because she changes color, it means nothing — has nothing to do with me. As usual, your mind’s screwed up from tearing into those dead fuckers’ heads.”

  A year ago, Blaéz had seen Týr in a vision, swamped in a black cloud and fighting. In that ominous storm, a rainbow had flickered. Blaéz hadn't known what it meant until he’d met Echo’s best friend. Kira Smith, with her ever-changing hair color. Indeed, the female possessed that frivolous ability and was a thorn in Týr’s usually thick hide. The fact that they seemed to hate each other’s guts mattered little. Blaéz knew his premonitions never revealed false information. Paths could deviate, sure. But lie? No.

  “If you say so.”

  “Celt, don’t make me kick your ass.”

  Blaéz smirked.

  Týr came at him, his sword arching dangerously. Blaéz deflected, but with a slight off-counter strike, and a deep slash marred his chest. Blood welled as pain flowed. He ignored it, couldn’t make this too easy or Týr would walk.

  As time passed, the cuts he collected just made him bleed. He needed more. Wanted true pain. Needed the bone-crushing agony to ground him. The cage fights only ran at night. If only he could find one that ran twenty-four seven.

  He lifted a hand, calling a halt. “I'm done.”

  Týr’s weapon froze in midair. “You—you're calling off training?”

  “Hardly. Just rescheduling for later.” He dropped his sword back in the stand and headed for the shower.

  ***

  The day moved in a trickle for Darci after that bewildering silent call from Blaéz. Her stomach twisted uneasily. She couldn’t shake off the feeling that something else was going on with him.

  She checked on Maria, who’d taken over story hour for the preschoolers after Wendy had left. At the kids’ rapt attention, Darci left the junior section of the library and made her way to the front, passing the tables occupied with teens pouring over open volumes of reference books, while a few older regulars were buried in whatever books had grabbed their attention.

  “Maria settled in with the kids?” Irina asked, logging in returned books. “She didn’t collapse from an over-abundance of love?”

  Darci laughed at their colleague’s fear of climbing kids. Faced with the long queue there, she moved around the counter to help with returns. “I knew she’d like it once she gave it a try—” She glanced up and saw her favorite patron. “Hello, Mrs. Jones, did you enjoy the book?” she asked the tiny woman stepping toward her.

  A beam crinkled the spry old lady's pale face. Edna Jones had an appetite for sweeping tales. “Darci, my dear, Clan of the Cave Bears you recommended is phenomenal. It pulled me right in from the first page. I want the next one. And bo
ok the series for me, would you, dear?”

  “Will do—”

  “Hey, you.” A melodious voice called out. “You're a display for broken eyes.”

  At the butchered phrase, Darci looked up and smiled. As usual, her friend’s flamboyant entrance had heads turning. An inch taller than Darci, Evernora wore a black tank top and tights beneath a loose, crocheted turquoise tunic belted low on her hips. Her favorite battered black Doc Martens on her feet.

  “Sight for sore eyes,” Darci corrected.

  “I like her version better,” Mrs. Jones said. With a little wave, she took the new books Darci handed her and wandered off.

  Grinning, Nora reached over the counter and hugged Darci. “It is good to be back.”

  Nora’s English was great and her Hungarian accent barely noticeable. Well, except for the phrases, which for some reason she could never get straight, and, of course, wicked innuendoes.

  They’d met almost a year ago in front of the library where they’d waited for the rain to ease. It had been Nora’s first visit to the states. And an easy rapport had formed between them.

  The fact the girl liked to read had cemented the friendship. Her friend was the polar opposite of her. Where Darci was careful — not counting that mind-churning kiss with Blaéz, Nora lived life to the fullest, dating any guy that caught her interest. Her dark brown eyes smoldered in her olive skin and darted about as if not to miss a thing.

  But her beautiful hair! Nora’s once waist-length ebony mane now brushed her shoulders, but she’d kept the green streaks in her over-long, wispy bangs.

  “Surely, visiting home couldn’t have been that traumatic?”

  Nora grimaced and leaned against the counter, her fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the wooden surface. “You’d be surprised. Oh, here.” She set the library book she’d borrowed on the counter.

  Darci logged it in. “I thought you’d be gone for several weeks?”

  “Do I look suicidal to you? Two weeks is more than enough. My family makes me swear off ever having one of my own.”

  “You must enjoy time with someone. What about your dad? Your brother?”