Breaking Fate

by Georgia Lyn Hunter

When he found out she’d left the castle, his first thoughts had been on how bad he’d screwed up last night. Just as well, Michael informed him that he'd taken Darci to her brother’s house.

  Blaéz’s attention flickered back to the trellis. Bob had somehow managed to climb up the structure without his weight dragging him down. A dove flew off, but there was no sign of ravens or crows about. Or of The Morrigan, the only one who could probably answer his question since she was a conduit for souls. But like his entire life, when he needed her, she was never around. Predictable.

  However, there was one other he wanted answers from.

  ***

  Darci made her way to the kitchen after Michael had brought her back to the castle.

  She needed a drink, something strong to brace herself before she faced Blaéz. She found a whiskey decanter on the kitchen counter and poured some into a glass. A sip and she coughed as the scorching liquid not only burned her throat but also threatened to choke her.

  Movement outside the window caught her attention, followed by a plaintive meow.

  “Stop squirming, you big pile of fur,” Blaéz muttered, trying to free Bob who was stuck in the diamond shape of the ivy-covered wooden frame. “You're just making this more difficult. I cannot understand why you persist in climbing up there.”

  Darci’s gaze drifted over him. His tee rode up at his movements, revealing a side glimpse of washboard abs and his scarred back. She wanted to kiss every ridged muscle, every scar he bore — more, she wanted to go out there and just hug him.

  He finally freed the chubby gray feline from its prison.

  She set the glass on the counter, opened the French door and walked out onto the porch drenched with the fresh scent of thyme, mint, and a fusion of other herbs.

  “Go catch a crow or several,” Blaéz ordered Bob face-to-face before putting him down. “There’s plenty of that annoying species in this place.”

  Bob hopped from his hold and waddled back into the kitchen.

  “Dammit, cat, that’s not where the birds are—” He broke off when he saw her.

  “That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen,” Darci said softly.

  His mouth lifted at one corner, but the smile missed his tense gaze by a mile. He slid his hands into his pockets. “I can't imagine anyone else using those words to describe me.”

  “Probably not, but I see you…” she whispered. “I see beneath that tough-guy exterior.”

  Something flickered in his eyes as he searched her face. He closed the distance between them, drew her to him, and simply held her. Her arms tightened around his waist, she rested her head against his chest. It hurt to breathe as if a huge hand had compressed her lungs. God, she wanted a chance at a life with him, to hold him, to hug him a million more times before it was her time to leave this world. Not have it over in a blink.

  “I looked for you,” he murmured. “Michael said he’d taken you to your brother’s home. He’s okay?”

  She had no idea, hadn’t even thought to ask her brother if he was well after Blaéz had healed him. She ran her palms over his back, feeling the bumpy tissues there and her throat tightened with tears. Taking a deep breath, she drew back. “He’s fine. Blaéz, we need to talk.”

  How did she do this? Just say: I have your soul. No, she had to lead into it carefully.

  Again, he gave her that searching look. “You have that engagement party tomorrow night, right?”

  “What?” It took her a moment to process what he’d said. He thought she was worried about missing Irina’s engagement? If only. “Yes, we do, but that’s not what I meant. It’s something else.”

  “Can it wait a bit longer? I've an urgent matter to take care of — I was about to leave when Bob got trapped.”

  “Yes, of course.” A tinge of relief spread through her at her moment of respite.

  He gave her a lingering kiss and then dematerialized.

  God, she was such a coward.

  ***

  Blaéz headed for Dante’s bar downtown. He needed answers and Damon had made that cryptic comment about what he sought before he was yanked back to Hell a few days ago. He could elaborate on that statement, or Blaéz was quite willing to help him remember.

  He stopped outside the bar near a row of Harleys. And there, through the huge glass fronts, he found his quarry, playing pool with the bikers. As Damon leaned over the table and cued his shot, his violet eyes met Blaéz’s. He smirked, almost as if he knew why Blaéz had come after him.

  Blaéz walked in and made his way to the counter, got his whiskey from the bartender, and crossed to his usual table. With his back to the wall, he could survey everything.

  Damon strolled over, pulled out a chair and straddled it, his white shirt stretching over his shoulders as he braced his forearms on the backrest. “Guess you have your answer, then?”

  “You’re a pain in the arse.”

  “And here I thought you can't feel anything.”

  A dusky-skinned waitress sidled up to them. “Can I get you boys anything?”

  Blaéz ignored her and took a sip of his whiskey. With a shake of his head, Damon dismissed her.

  For a male who looked that good, and he’d sure give Race and Týr a run for their money, Blaéz found it strange that Damon didn't appear any more interested in the fairer sex than Blaéz had been… well, before Darci.

  “Not interesting enough, or does she not possess the right chromosome pairing?” Blaéz taunted.

  “Maybe I’m taking a page out of your book.” Violet eyes gleamed. “Wouldn’t you like to know how I came by that knowledge about your lack of soul?” Damon goaded.

  “How?”

  “Let’s just say I wanted to get even.”

  Blaéz swallowed more of his whiskey. Riddles again. Seems he’d have to pry out every word from him. “Why did you wait this long?”

  “Because I had no idea you didn't possess it, just thought you were a dick, until I heard rumblings of a demon searching for a warrior’s soul — the math was really simple then.”

  Of course, Maloch would be looking for Darci, too. He would use anything to get her and take possession of Blaéz’s soul. At the realization, Blaéz pushed to his feet. He had to get back to her.

  “Leaving so soon? And just when we were bonding.”

  Blaéz gave him a middle finger salute and headed out of the bar. Damon’s laughter followed him.

  Watery, noon sunlight peered through the thick, gray clouds as Blaéz walked toward a recessed doorway and dematerialized back to the castle.

  He found the library occupied, but no sign of Darci. Echo sat in an armchair, running her unsteady fingers through her messy hair. The redheaded, pain-in-the-arse angel, Lore, stood near the fireplace, his ruddy wings sweeping the floor as he spouted another history, or whatever the hell lesson he was giving, at a barely awake Echo.

  Blaéz turned to leave.

  “Blaéz, wait.” At the sound of Echo’s voice, he stopped.

  “You are distracting us,” the angel objected. “She’s missed a few days already.”

  Lore must definitely have a stick shoved up his arse. Blaéz cocked a brow. “I imagine you’ll make sure she pays in double time for the interruption so stop whining, angel boy.”

  Lore’s face pinched. Blaéz glanced at Echo, who hid her smile behind a bland expression. She still appeared a bit pale after coming out of her healing sleep. He sent a telepathic message to Aethan, who’d gone to train in the forest with Týr instead. Your mate’s up—

  Thanks. The mind-link shut off.

  “Don’t tell Aethan I'm having lessons,” she said. “He’ll freak. I just need to keep busy. If he knows, he’ll insist on me resting and taking it easy. Any more shuteye, and I’ll start to feel like Rip van Winkle.”

  The female sure had a way with words. “Too late. He knows.”

  She grimaced. “Okay, I guess that means he’s on his way.” She turned to the angel. “Lore, let’s continue this tomorrow?”

&
nbsp; Lore merely crossed his arms over his chest and didn't move at her dismissal. Well, if he wanted an arse whipping from the Empyrean, his problem.

  “Blaéz?” Lines puckered Echo’s smooth brow, her mind obviously on something else. “I heard there could be another like me in the city? Is it true?”

  “Who told you?”

  “Lore.”

  Seriously, Lore had no idea when to quit. The Empyrean wouldn’t be happy about this. Heaping more worries on his mate who’d just recovered from a hazardous healing of the rift.

  “We aren’t sure yet. Dagan’s on it.”

  She nodded then motioned toward the corridor with her hand. He followed. She turned to him, her mismatched gaze uneasy, but a dull flush rode her cheeks. “I'm sorry I told Darci about you that day — she looked so devastated, I just wanted to help.”

  Blaéz shook his head. That was the least of his problems. “It’s all right, the fault’s mine. I should have told her—” He broke off at the sounds of heavy boot steps echoing in the corridor. Aethan appeared seconds later, his gaze fixed on his mate.

  “You’re up and you didn't call me?” Grasping her shoulders, he examined her. Echo might be immortal now, but she still took too long to recover after a healing. Aethan brushed the shallow dimple on her chin in a tender gesture. “You okay?”

  She rolled her eyes. “After nearly four days of sleeping? I'm more than fine. Before you blow a gasket, I called Lore so I could keep busy until you got back.”

  Aethan sighed, pressing his lips to her brow. “Echo, don’t push it, we have eternity, me’morae.”

  She slid her arms around his waist. “I know.”

  Soft, distant footsteps caught Blaéz’s acute hearing. He moved toward it with preternatural speed. And stopped dead. Everything that was right in his life appeared down the corridor. Darci walked toward him wearing a navy skirt and a pale yellow strappy top over her black swimsuit. He’d never seen anything sexier or more beautiful.

  She glanced up. Her steps faltered when she saw him, then she smiled, warming the barrenness inside him. He closed the distance between them and ran his hands down her bare arms in a slow caress, breathing through the tightening in his chest that touching her brought, and tenderness filled him.

  “I didn’t expect you back so quick,” she said, her gaze searching his. “Blaéz, we have to talk.” She grasped his hand and tried to tug him with her.

  “In a minute.” He pulled her back and took her mouth in a desperate kiss, wanting to forget his shocking discovery. She shifted in his arms and pressed closer…

  “Celt?”

  At the sound of Aethan’s voice, Darci hastily pulled back, a blush darkening her cheeks. Blaéz growled. “Dammit, Aethan, whatever it is, can’t it wait?”

  “Not this. Don’t you feel it?” Aethan stopped beside him and seemed to be concentrating on something. Echo stood at his side, rubbing her arms as if she sensed it, too.

  “What is it?” Darci asked.

  “I'm not sure.” Eyes narrowed, Blaéz scanned on the psychic plane as he stroked Darci’s back. An icy malevolence slithered across his psyche. “What is it with those fuckers attacking us here again?”

  Several months ago, when Echo had first come to the castle, demons had come chasing after her. What the hell where they after now?

  ***

  Darci glanced around, she could see nothing, yet the hard-eyed expression both men wore worried her. “Blaéz, what’s going on?”

  He didn't answer but stepped away from her. As the air around him shifted, his gaze met hers. The tattoo on his biceps shimmered and slid down his arm to manifest into a six-foot-long sword.

  Darci hastily stepped back, knocking into an armored statue behind her. Wide-eyed, she watched in wary fascination as the symbols tattooed on Blaéz’s skin disappeared to merge into the hilt and the black blade of the sword. “It’s real.”

  His gorgeous features realigned into a cold and dangerous one. “Yes. And Darci, no matter what happens out there, don’t step outside.”

  That didn't sound good, but she nodded.

  Blaéz grasped her chin, kissed her hard then dematerialized along with Aethan, who possessed exactly the same kind of sword. Turning to Echo, still in shock, she repeated, “That sword is real?” Blaéz had never explained what it actually was.

  “It’s a gift from Gaia.”

  Darci’s mouth fell open. “What? As in Mother Nature?”

  Echo laughed wryly. “You're handling it much better than I did, but yeah. Come on.” She grabbed Darci by the hand and hauled her down the corridor.

  “Why did Gaia do that?” Darci huffed, trying to keep up. She seriously needed to up her sporadic bouts of jogging.

  “When they — the warriors — were freed from Tartarus, they landed on this realm. Banned from the pantheons, they had nowhere else to go. So Gaia recruited them as her Guardians, and in exchange for their allegiance, she gifted them with those mystical swords. It’s her way of always making sure they’re armed in the never-ending fight against supernatural evil. Of course, evil is more focused now on what it wants, mostly to end the Guardians, so they can have free rein and take over earth—” Echo pushed open the library door and hurried for the French windows. The faint sounds of grunts and clashing swords reached Darci.

  “Oh, hell,” Echo muttered.

  Darci gasped in horror.

  A horde of dark, looming shapes trampled the neatly trimmed grass she’d gotten used to seeing while working in the library. It was late noon, the rain had eased, but the sun still hid behind heavy gray clouds, and Darci could clearly see the demon horde.

  Echo let out a deep sigh. “I really hope there isn’t another tear in the veils.”

  “Why are they here?”

  “I don’t know…” Echo rested her palms on the windowpane, her worried gaze glued to the brutal fight. “With that kind of horde, it must be something really huge for them to brave the wards and the Guardians to come here.”

  Darci pressed a hand to her churning stomach, unease seeping through her. Her gaze skimmed through the fighting figures and fixed on Blaéz.

  She had a bad, bad feeling about this.

  Chapter 26

  Blaéz dodged the demon bolt pitched at him. His sword swinging, he decapitated the scourge in front of him who reeked of sweet grass. The odor Maloch’s minions used to camouflage themselves was so wrong at the castle, destroying the once fresh, flower-scented garden.

  Týr and Dagan took form. They dove into the horde, weapons flashing with power. Body parts flew, turning to dust.

  Back to the soulless creature he’d been for millennia, Blaéz brought his sword down hard, slicing through the flesh and bone of the demon coming at him with an axe. The arm and weapon crumbled into dust.

  He had to finish off these fuckers, fast. At a hissing sound, he ducked, evading a fiery red bolt and wheeled around.

  “Come on, warrior.” The demon who’d flung the bolt smirked. “You know you can't stop this. More will appear. We want the librarian.”

  How the hell had Maloch found out about Darci, and so fast? He shoved into the arsehole’s mind and let his power explode. As if he’d just hand over his mate.

  Blaéz lunged out at another. The demon jumped back. His whip lashed out, the tail end licking around Blaéz’s arm. Pain spread. Blood seeped. Blaéz shoved into the demon’s mind and detonated him, then changed hands with his sword, his palm too slippery to wield the weapon. He wiped his bloody hand on his tee.

  “You didn't think you could ignore me, warrior?” The rough words rolled through the clashing of swords, hissing whips, and grunts of the demons.

  Blaéz spun around. Maloch appeared amidst the ruckus, a smirk riding his face. “I own you. Did you tell your brethren how many times you came to me, broke your Guardian’s oath to harm no humans? Tortured them to feed your need for pain?”

  “What the fuck is he talking about,” Týr snarled, eyes like brown lasers. He leaped back, a
voiding a deadly demon bolt, whirled around, and severed the head of the demon in front of him.

  Blaéz didn't respond. The damage was done. He scanned for Maloch, but the bastard had vanished like an apparition. A seven-foot, monstrous wyvern with slitted black eyes in its snake-like head took form. It hissed and lashed out its lethal tail. A shake of its long head and saliva flew all over. Spittle landed on Blaéz’s hand and neck. Like acid, it fizzled and burnt his skin.

  He tried to shove into the overgrown lizard’s mind, but was blocked by some kind of mental wall, doubtless made by their dickhead overlord to protect its pea-sized brain — because all these things did was paralyze and devour their live prey’s flesh.

  Blaéz didn't want this to become a drawn out affair. About to telepath Aethan to end this, the warrior mind-linked with him: Shield, can't have this fucking thing lose here.

  Blaéz dematerialized and hovered invisibly above the castle. He felt Dagan and Týr nearby. But Blaéz knew shit would soon fly.

  He watched as the white light left Aethan and consumed everything, leaving only dust in its wake. As he rematerialized on the ground, Týr was up his grill. “What did the asshole mean, Celt?”

  Dagan moved closer.

  Blaéz calmly met his stare. “What do you think?”

  Anger and disbelief churned in the warrior’s dark eyes. His hatred for the species was well known, especially after their captivity. Indeed, this would be an absolute betrayal.

  “You did not! Not with those depraved fuckers.” Týr punched him hard in the jaw, Blaéz’s head jerked back from the power of the blow, stars exploding in his head. Týr came at him again. “Did you join sides with them in Tartarus?”

  “Dammit, Norse—” Aethan appeared and grabbed him, locking his arms behind his back. “What the hell’s going on?”

  Bristling with rage, Týr tried to yank free of Aethan’s vise-like hold, spat, “He played us! Makes sense now why he always disappears for a few days, worrying the shit outta us. He’s joined forces with those fuckers. How much of the Guardians’ secrets did you sell to your friends?” He sneered the word.

  Blaéz narrowed his eyes. He may have pissed on more boots than he cared to remember with his disregard of most rules, and especially with harm to his personal self. And he may have done things that would forever mark him, but he’d never sold or said shit to Maloch.