Breaking Fate (24 page)

Seven days.
Darci stared in dread at the lethal disc on the table, her fingers crushing the fabric of the t-shirt she wore, her heart twisting in pain.

“It’s always about balance.” The Morrigan cast her a pitying look. “Like I could say nothing to Blaéz once I gave his soul to your lineage to keep until you both met naturally or it would have been lost forever. Likewise, your ancestors accepted this deal knowing death would be the end result. It’s better this way. Mortals were never meant to be consorts to our kind. Dalliances? Yes. My son will eventually mate, but with one more suited. He is a male of worth.”

While she was nothing.

In a swirl of silvery blue sparks, The Morrigan vanished from the bedroom.

Darci tried to hold in her anguish, her shock. Her trembling grew at the impossibility of her situation. A dry sob racked her as she slid to the floor and rocked herself, staring at the disc on the table.

That little thing would give Blaéz a chance at a normal life, but it was one she could never share with him.

Darci rubbed her clammy palms on her jeans as she made her way downstairs what seemed like years later, even though just an hour had passed. She had to find Blaéz and tell him the truth, but didn't know what to say or where to start—

Darci faltered mid-step.
Declan.

The Morrigan had told her all those things, but she needed to hear it from him.

She ran down the last few stairs to the kitchen, looking for Hedori, but he wasn’t there. Hurrying out, she saw Michael striding toward her. He slowed to a stop. His gaze drifted over her. “Are you all right?”

How could she be when she knew the horrifying truth? The lengths Blaéz had been driven to, forced to hurt himself just to feel, and she had his soul the entire time.

She tried for a smile but it appeared she no longer possessed that ability. She rushed into speech. “I’m looking for Hedori, I need to go to Westwood. I have to see my brother.”

Michael stared at her with those fractured irises as if he could see into her soul. God, she prayed not. He didn't comment at her boldface lie, merely said, “I’ll take you. Ready?”

She nodded. A touch to her cold hand and he dematerialized them. Moments later, they took form in the park-like playground a few houses from her brother’s.

She pulled in a trembling breath. Now to face Declan.

“Give me your cell.”

At Michael’s voice, she glanced blankly at him as he held out his hand.

Darci retrieved the phone from her jacket pocket and handed it over. His fingers flew over the keypad. The rain had eased, but the wind still blew, snagging the archangel’s hair free from its tie. Ebony strands swept across his face. He appeared formidable, even in his old gray tee, jeans, and biker boots. Magnetic. But not as compelling as Blaéz. No one was.

Michael passed her cell back. “Call and I’ll be here.”

“Thank you.” Slipping the phone in her pocket, Darci buttoned her denim jacket and walked the short distance to her brother’s house. Slowly, she made her way up the paved pathway toward his white two-story home with blue trim. She really, really didn't want to face what was to come.

The door opened as she trudged up the two steps. Her brother filled the entrance, worried green eyes searching her face. He stepped aside and waited for her to enter then he shut the door.

She turned on him. “Why, Dec — why didn't you tell me?”

His tone lowered. “What are you talking about?”

“She— The Morrigan paid me a visit.”

He stared at her for infinite seconds before his face crumpled, grief lining his features.

“Why, Dec? Why didn't you tell me?” she cried again. “How could you keep such a secret from me?”

“I tried to protect you.” His expression distraught, a tick beat savagely on his jaw. He ushered her toward the kitchen. Glasses rattled. Declan set two on the table and poured brandy into the squat crystals. He handed her one.

“I want the truth — tell me,” she demanded, setting her glass on the counter.

He stared at his dark amber liquid. “It rained that night. Grace was seeing to Daniel, who had the flu. I was in the kitchen getting a drink for him when I heard the vase break. I thought it was Mr. Tibbs, Dan’s cat. Before I even got there, you’d already opened the front door and ran out… I was too late. I can still hear your screams tearing through the night—” He squeezed his eyes tight, “—the thud as the car hit you. You were bleeding so badly from your injuries, I was terrified you’d die when this woman appeared. She said she could save you. Then she told me who she was, and some bizarre tale of our bloodline being the keepers of a god’s soul. I didn't care about that crap, I just wanted you to live, so I agreed that if you and the Celtic warrior should meet, I would not interfere. She healed you…” Declan stopped and took a swallow of his drink. “As the years passed, I forgot for a while. But when you didn't fall in love, I began to worry—”

“And you brought your friends home, hoping I would? If I already had a boyfriend, a husband, then this prophecy wouldn’t happen?”

A dull flush rode his lean cheeks. “Yes, I wanted you to have a chance at a life… then I saw him that night at the club and I suspected. When he healed me, I knew.”

Hearing it from Declan didn't make it any less painful. She realized then that The Morrigan hadn’t told Declan everything. That Darci would have died giving birth when she had a daughter. It was inevitable.

Too upset to say anything, she walked out from the kitchen.

“Darci, please.” He grasped her upper arm. “Talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say, Dec? Everything is falling apart…” The words lodged in her throat, thick with tears. Logically, she knew it wasn't his fault, but emotionally, she was a wreck, and couldn’t deal with Declan’s despair when she was crumbling to pieces herself. She patted his chest. “I need to think, Dec… I need time.”

Time? Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat. She didn't have that luxury, not when two lives hung in the balance. She walked away from her brother, who cried for her, and slowly made her way down the road back to the playground.

In the shelter of the trees, she sat on the bench and stared at the damp patch of sand beneath her feet, numbed to the marrow of her bones. With The Morrigan releasing her memories, more came. She saw that last day in Tartarus, too. Blaéz being strung to the girders and whipped for attempting to escape, and despite the immense agony he must have been in, it was Michael whom he’d tried to help before his soul was ripped out.

God. She rubbed her sternum and stared blankly into the trees, feeling as if she’d hit a wall with nowhere to turn.

***

Blaéz stalked into the kitchen after he’d changed into dry clothes. All the time he’d wasted waiting at the cliffs, and The Morrigan hadn't shown. She would avoid him now? What was she up to? He planted his palms on the counter and stared through the window, watching as Echo’s smog-colored cat attempted to clamber up the ivy-covered wooden trellis.

Blaéz still reeled from his discovery.

Darci possessed his soul.

How was that even possible? And yet, it was the only thing that made sense, why he’d reacted to her the way he had. At least he knew his emotions — his feelings for her were his own because he was possessive as hell when it came to her. Darci didn't have
that
streak which ran through him like a fault-line, making him just as dangerous.

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.