Breaking Fate

by Georgia Lyn Hunter

  Ugh, what an unexpected evening, she blew out a rough breath. Declan had shown up at the library after work, in full, overprotective big brother mode, all stern and determined. After last night at the club with Blaéz turning up, she should’ve known Declan wouldn’t leave it alone. The questions had started on the drive to his home in Westwood.

  Who is this man? What do you know about him? Where does he live?

  Declan was concerned, she got that. Still, she felt fifteen, going on a first date all over again. After his barrage of questions, whatever he saw in her expression — probably her desperation for him to understand how she felt about Blaéz, Declan had finally fallen silent.

  For the first time she felt hope, felt that deeper connection with a man she really liked. She just needed time, a chance to explore this newness.

  But Declan’s antipathy toward Blaéz worried her. She’d never expected her brother to be a stumbling block to her happiness.

  Sighing, Darci made her way upstairs.

  A quick shower later, dressed in jammies, she pushed her feet into her furry slippers and headed downstairs. As she heated milk on the stove for her hot chocolate, she called Blaéz, but it went to voicemail. A little disappointed that he hadn’t answered, she dropped her cell on the granite worktop, and as she turned, the glowing stove transfixed her…

  Flames erupted and sparked in the dark. A shadowy form appeared. Stars flickered like a chain and flew down in a slashing crackle. Skin split and unbelievable agony exploded—

  “You cannot escape me,” the looming figure whispered.

  Noooo! With a strangled scream, Darci jerked free, slamming into the kitchen counter. Pain shimmered through her spine, pulling her mind back. Oh, God! Panting hard, her gaze darted to the window. Rain continued to fall but in a light drizzle. No stars.

  A furious hiss sounded, boiling milk spilled on the hot plate. Scurrying over, Darci pushed the saucepan aside and switched off the stove. She rubbed her sternum, unable to shake off the chill burrowing in her. Her desire for hot chocolate dissipating, she cleaned up the spill and tossed the cloth into the sink.

  Back in the living room, she switched on the television and another episode of Buffy, hoping it would take her mind off the embers of her nightmare that burned awake once more. She watched Buffy finally give in to her unwanted desire for Spike…

  At the sudden rapping on her door, Darci nearly jumped out of her skin, the remote flying from her hand. She scrambled after the device and paused the video then hurried to the door. Peering through the security hole, relief flooded her.

  She threw open the door to find Blaéz examining the wet street. She looked too, saw nothing, and got a lungful of his sexy, masculine scent. Even damp from the rain he smelled so good, all leather and cool night’s breeze.

  He turned and his gaze roamed her face. Her heart thumped a little faster at his scrutiny. “You called — what’s wrong?”

  Darci knew he meant what had happened at her brothers, and not about her old, horrid nightmares. “Nothing. I wanted to let you know I was back.”

  His eyes narrowed. Nope, he didn't believe her. Before he said anything and she was forced to add to the friction between him and Declan, she added quickly, “Grace is not doing so well. Seems even a little outing is not good in her state. She’s back on bed rest.”

  He studied her for a moment longer, then glanced back at the dimly lit street before he ushered her inside and shut the door. “We need to talk.”

  Darci tried not to jump to conclusions, which, of course, was a natural reaction considering his words. He appeared calm, his expression revealed nothing. Yet the knot in her belly said differently.

  “O… kay.” She headed for the kitchen and put the coffeepot on to keep busy. As she turned for mugs, she found him leaning a shoulder against the kitchen archway watching her with a hooded stare. Just like that, desire flowed awake. So badly she wanted his hands on her again. Instead, she rushed into speech and tried to ignore the warmth sliding through her veins leaving her achy with need. “What do you want to talk about?”

  The heat in his gaze faded. He straightened and stepped into the small kitchen, taking up even more space. “What do you know about the supernatural?”

  “Just that I adore Spike.”

  He stilled. “Who?”

  It was the last thing she’d meant to say. Grimacing, she set the mug on the counter. “Nothing.”

  She stepped around him to get the milk from the fridge. He blocked her path. “Who is Spike?”

  She couldn’t stop her smile. This gorgeous man was jealous? “Want to meet him?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Don’t play with me, Darci. I’ve lived too long for these juvenile games.”

  What, all of twenty-eight or nine? That’s how old he appeared to her. Since he seemed edgy, she refrained from teasing. “It’s not a game, it’s — ugh, let me show you, okay?”

  She skirted around his grim figure and walked back into the living room, Blaéz right on her heels. Did he think she had a lover stashed in her living room? If only he knew just how lonely her life had been over the last few years.

  She halted in front of the television. Of course. Why not add a little embarrassment to my life? She’d paused the DVD right on the tangled bodies in the middle of a love scene — but no view of Spike’s face. Heat crawling into her cheeks, Darci picked up the remote from the couch and pushed play. Moans and grunts surrounded them as Buffy and Spike started going at it again. Wonderful.

  Stopping a few feet away from her, Blaéz cast a brief look at the screen then back at her. That piercing stare didn't waver. “You like bleached-haired, scrawny males?”

  She snorted. “If that was true, I wouldn’t be with you. It’s a TV show, Blaéz, and one that I like. That actor does a great job of portraying Spike, a tortured vampire in love. I'm sure you didn't come here to tell me to stop watching Buffy. Let’s have it — what’s wrong?”

  He stared at her for a long second, then said, “This isn’t about vampires, but demons.”

  Darci blinked, so sure she must have heard wrong. “Wait, you're not talking about a TV show, are you?”

  “No. When I patrol at night, they are what I go after, not humans.”

  Her mouth opened and shut. He was dead serious, she realized, and not toying with her as payback for the Spike thing. “You—you’re saying there are demons in this world and you are what? A hunter?”

  “Yes to the first, and the second needs to be discussed. But now is not the time.”

  “Make the time! You can’t just drop something like that on me and expect me to keep silent,” she snapped, anxiety twisting her stomach. “All you’ve ever told me about yourself is that you have psychic abilities — is that how you know about demons?”

  “Yes. My abilities are a part of it. Darci—” He grasped her hands, his thumbs stroking her palms as if to calm her. “What I do is dangerous. There’s always the threat of my enemies watching me. With me coming to your home, it’s risky. I don’t want anything to happen to you. It’s why I’d like you to move into the castle with me. You’ll be safe there.”

  What the heck was he talking about safe for when she couldn’t get past what he’d just said? He—he killed demons! Her knees gave way. She dropped down onto the couch behind her.

  Blaéz crouched in front of her, his pale eyes filled with concern. “Darci?”

  She shook her head. How could she reassure him that she was okay when she wasn’t? He’d just shoved her world right off its axis.

  Blaéz rose and disappeared. Dishes rattled. Soon the scent of coffee drifted to her, then he reappeared. He lowered to the wooden chest in front of her, thighs spread, caging hers, and held out a steaming mug. “Drink. It will help with the shock.”

  Her hand trembled as she took the cup. Coffee spilled. She yelped at the painful sting that broke through her fear. Blaéz grabbed the mug and set it on the wooden chest beside him. He reached for her hand. “Let me see.”

/>   “It’s nothing.” She cradled her throbbing fist to her chest. “Explain all of this, what you just said. And why you didn't tell me this before?”

  “When was there a chance to ever talk?” he asked, rising to his feet, his tone terse. “In the library? Or when you were attacked by those human trash? Oh wait, maybe when I was hurt?”

  Darci scowled. He had to point that out. She crossed her arms, wincing a little at the achy burn when her fist brushed against her body. “Fine, tell me now.”

  Chapter 12

  Blaéz paced the small living room his jaw clamped in frustration. He expected her questions, perhaps a little fear, but not her stubbornness. Dammit, he had to get her to the protection of the castle before Maloch’s minions got a scent of her.

  “Stop prowling like some caged animal, Blaéz, and tell me.”

  He cut Darci a terse look. And there was his other problem. So damn close, he could barely think straight. He wanted to touch her, feel her luscious body sliding against his, her tongue in his mouth instead of talking!

  He ran his fingers through his clipped hair and his gaze lit on the TV screen. A muscle beating on his jaw, he picked up the remote and shut off the annoying image of that pale-haired wretch Darci liked and forced himself to concentrate. “I'm a Guardian of this realm. We deal with anything supernatural that’s a threat to mortal existence—”

  “Now that sounds like it should be a TV series,” she muttered.

  For some reason, her blasé response irritated him. “This is no bloody shits and giggles TV series, Darci. It’s fucking reality.” He leveled her a stony stare. “Do you really think I'm going to leave you here alone so those fuckers can get to you? Get your things together, we’re leaving.”

  “No.” Her chin angled in a stubborn tilt. “You just dropped this bomb on me. What did you expect? That I’d calmly leave, that I wouldn’t ask questions, demand answers?”

  Christ. The one female he wanted more than his next breath was so damn obstinate.

  Blaéz went motionless as an ice-cold trickle of malevolence slithered over his psyche. A sensation he was far too familiar with in his line of work. Demoniis. If they sensed him here, it would be disastrous.

  In a heartbeat, he appeared at her side and pulled her up. “We’re leaving.”

  “Darn it, Blaéz!” She tried to tug free. His arms tightening around her waist, he sent a quick telepathic message to Aethan to check out what he’d sensed, then he dematerialized them. Her panicked yell echoing in his ears.

  Moments later, they took form in his quarters back at the castle.

  She stumbled away from him, a hand pressed on her stomach. “What the hell did you do to me?”

  “By the heavens, Darci, you’d try the patience of a saint.” Blaéz fought not to shake some sense into her. “I brought you to the castle, my way.”

  Only then did she glance around. Color leeched from her face as the truth dawned on her. She reared back, flung out a hand when he took a step closer. Her fear peeled a layer off his irritation. “Who are you?”

  I'm nothing but a husk of a man who desperately needs you in his life.

  He said instead, “As I said, I am a Guardian. And have been for the past three and a half thousand years.”

  She swayed. He swept her up into his arms and strode to the bed.

  “Are you crazy?” she snapped, clutching him around his neck. “No one lives that long. It’s a myth.”

  “Do I feel like one?” He set her on the bed. Her wary gaze remained fixed on him then her eyes widened. And there he saw what he’d waited for. Her fear gave way and, like he’d predicted, she made the connection. Disbelief charged across her expressive face. “You’re—you're immortal?”

  “That I am.” Blaéz sat on the mattress beside her. She pushed back and leaned against the ebony headboard as if she needed support… or distance from him. The latter he didn't care for. He played with a lock of hair lying on her chest, needing the contact. “I imagine you have more questions?”

  “About a ton.” She pulled in a deep, shuddering breath. “God, Blaéz, I work in a library, I’ve read enough paranormal books, but that’s just fiction—” she broke off and scrubbed her palms over her face. “What am I saying? Of course, it isn’t — you're here, aren’t you?”

  She dropped her hands. Her gaze skimmed over his face again. He had no idea what she searched for.

  “Wow, you sure know how to woo a girl,” she murmured. “Flight through space in minutes… being invisible, heck, I'm all a flutter in excitement.”

  Despite her dry tone, he could sense her unease, so he let her be. She had to accept who— what he was. “But my way helps in quick getaways.”

  A tiny smile curved her lips. “I'm sure.” And there she went searching his face again. “Three and a half thousand years?” she repeated. “What exactly are you — you said a Guardian?”

  “I'm from the Celtic pantheon.”

  “Pantheon?” Her gorgeous sunflower colored eyes rounded. “You… you’re a god?”

  Yeah, right. They’d stripped off his godly status and left him without his powers, left him with nothing before incarcerating him in that hellhole. His expression flattened. “I'm merely a warrior who keeps this world safe from evil.”

  “Then why did you leave your pantheon?”

  As if he could ever tell her the truth about his crappy life. Staring at the honey brown curl coiled around his finger, he gave her the facts. “I grew up as a servant. After I became a warrior, I was chosen as one of the protectors to an important young goddess: Inara. She’d just come into her cosmic power. At my arrival, a commotion broke out, and the very one we were sworn to protect with our lives was abducted by the worst kind of evil out there. And that cannot be condoned, not by a protector…”

  “What happened?” she asked, pulling him out of the dark time when he’d gone to the Sumerian pantheon. The other protectors, Dagan, Seth, and Nikkos had greeted him with an all-out fight because they had no idea he’d been the last addition to their little band. He couldn’t blame them when there’d already been one attempt on the goddess’s life.

  Unable to sit still, Blaéz rose to his feet and made his way to the window before he continued, “We were incarcerated in Tartarus as punishment for her abduction. Five centuries later, we were freed and ended up here, and became Guardians of this realm.”

  “What about this goddess, was she found?”

  “After Michael rescued us, he freed her, too. Or so I’ve heard. But she never returned to the pantheons. No one knows where she is, the search for her still continues.”

  ***

  Darci tried to wrap her head around what Blaéz was telling her. Of all the things she’d imagined, this wasn’t it.

  She’d always sensed that deadly edge to him. It was why she’d thought him in special ops. Hell, Blaéz wasn’t even human. He was an immortal for crying out aloud. Besides, she doubted any mortal possessed eyes like his.

  Hands in his pockets, Blaéz stared out into the dark, moonless night. He appeared remote, cut off from everything — from her — drawn back into his past. She didn't like that.

  Sliding off the bed, she crossed to him. “What happened in Tartarus?” she asked, aware it was some kind of prison for immortals.

  “Some are lucky to be imprisoned and forgotten…” His tone was utterly devoid of emotion. “Others, not so much.”

  No one could have that kind of dead look at being forgotten. And then she knew. Oh, Lord. Was it there that he’d gotten those awful scars? She’d felt them that night she slept next to him after he’d been injured. Her chest constricted at what he must have suffered. And because she could do nothing else, she hugged him. “I'm so sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  His tone may have been dismissive, but his arms tightening around her told her something quite different. The horror still lived inside of him. But his earlier words rattled around in her head. He grew up as a servant — not he was a
servant.

  “What happened to your parents?” she asked quietly.

  “I have none.”

  At the flat statement, Darci let it go, yet she had a gut-deep feeling there was more. She didn't want to push and hoped he would eventually talk to her. Her own mother had died a few days after she’d been born, even though she’d never known her, she still missed her.

  “Darci—” He eased back to look at her. “Who my parents were is not important — you are. With me always at your door, my enemies would soon find you, and that I refuse to let happen. I prefer you — no, I need you with me.”

  “What exactly are you saying?”

  He took her scalded hand and pressed his lips gently to her palm. “You are a dream I never believed possible.”

  And that one sentence thawed any reservations she had. Warmth flowed into her hand. Startled, she pulled free and stared at her fingers in wonder. The sting and the redness from her coffee burn had faded. “What did you do?”

  “It’s nothing, just a little healing. Darci, there’s something else… I have to tell you this, give you a choice.”

  At the edge in his quiet voice, her skin prickled uneasily. “A choice? I don’t understand.”

  “It’s all about free will. You are human, so I must.” His expression tightened. “You decide against this, now is the time to tell me. I will clear your memories of me and send you back to your life.”

  Instantly, something inside her rebelled at that thought. To live that solitary existence again, one she’d been okay with until she’d met him. No, she didn't want that life. About to answer, she noticed his stillness, the way he watched her as he waited. Curious, she asked, “Would you really let me go if I said no?”

  His entire body tensed. Then his shoulders relaxed, it had to be the smile she couldn’t hold back. He drawled, “No, I’d throw you on that bed then convince you to stay with my mouth, my hands, my body.” Her breath caught in her throat. “And know, too, Darci, you change your mind later, I won't let you go then either.”