Breaking Fate (4 page)

“What happened?” Michael asked.

“An attempted abduction. Saved the female, but they’d already hurt her.” Vengeance grew, demanded justice when he remembered the fear in her eyes.

“Demons?”

“Humans. She’s a relative of the lad from the cage fight.”

Michael cut Blaéz a sharp look then lowered to his haunches and examined the scrapes and bruises on Darci’s face.

Did he have to be so damn close?

Jaw locked down, Blaéz stuck his fists into his pants pockets so he wouldn’t haul the archangel away when he removed the throw. Michael held his hand an inch above her facial injuries. A silvery-white glow seeped out from his palms and coalesced into Darci.

Blaéz paced to the window, unable to remain still. Or watch. Felt as if his skin were all that was holding him together, stopping him from unleashing his anger. He tried to sort through what was happening to him. From the moment he’d met her, emotions had trickled into him like a low-voltage bulb when he was around her, but the moment he touched her or put his lips on her skin… it became sharper. More intense.

At the sound of footsteps, Blaéz turned.

Echo entered the room. Concern crossed her angular features when she saw Darci, then her mismatched amber and gray eyes cut him a worried look. “Is she going to be okay?”

Blaéz nodded. He’d accept nothing less.

The door opened again. Týr and Aethan walked into the lounge. Týr dropped a pink tote on the armchair then stared in surprise at Darci. Blaéz wanted to knock the warrior’s teeth down his throat. Irrational, but there it was.

Aethan gave Darci a brief glance as he pit-stopped near his mate for a quick stroke of her arm and a kiss to her nape before he strolled over. Gunmetal gray eyes gleamed. “Found your signature trails,” he said, retying his multihued dark blue hair back into a stubby ponytail, revealing small silver hoops in his earlobes. “Torn car doors. Broken bones—”

“Those three fuckers?” Blaéz asked.

“Cops were already there. Guess they’ll be sent off to hospital.”

Týr walked over with a shit-eating smirk. “Damn, Celt, you're one brutal son-of-a-bitch. Good thing you play on our team.”

He had no idea. Týr’d probably rip free the sword tattooed on his biceps and decapitate Blaéz at the truth.

Michael rose to his feet and joined them. “A little rest and she’ll be fine. I’ve sent her into a deeper sleep.”

“Blaéz?” At the sound of Echo’s voice, he glanced her way. “Would you like me to see to her?” she asked.

“No. I’ll do that.”

Týr eyes widened in surprise then he deliberately cleared his ear with a finger, as if he had a damn rock lodged there. “You will?”

Blaéz ignored him. He crossed back to Darci, slipped his hands beneath her warm body and picked her up. He sucked in a harsh breath as he walked out of the lounge. Despite being prepared for the backlash of touching her, emotions charged through him again like a kick in the gut — anger, anticipation, and gut-searing desire. But worse, with it, came perception. Guilt at the truth of what he was. Something he didn't care to feel.

Moment’s later, in his darkened quarters on the second floor, he willed on one of the sconces near the bed and laid Darci on the dark covers then hunkered down beside her. The low light cast a soft golden glow over her tan features. As if compelled, he picked up her hand and against his big, callused one, hers was too slender, delicate. It made him want to gather her close, protect her from any danger. He had no idea why she affected him this way.

His gaze fastened on the grime on her hand then lowered to her ruined top.

Now what? Did he remove her clothes and make her comfortable? No, he had a feeling she’d probably become hysterical if she woke and found herself naked in a strange bed, especially after her ordeal.

Right, the clothes remained. He removed her shoes, dropped them to the floor then rose to his feet. The dried blood on her chin had him moving again. He cut through his dressing room leading into the huge black and gray marbled bathroom with its elongated trio of stained glass windows. From the rails, he grabbed two towels, but with no container for water, he dampened one and headed back for her.

Gently, he cleaned the dried blood from her cheek and chin. The cut on her mouth had healed with Michael’s help, along with the bruises on her cheek. Blaéz brushed away the wavy strands from her face and lightly ran his finger over the feminine lines of her jaw in awe. Emotions flowed through him again as if he were connected to a low voltage battery. Not the deluge from earlier, but gentler now.

Frowning, Blaéz dropped his hand. Was it because she was asleep and no longer in pain that emotions didn't barrel through him? With no answer, he collected the soiled towels and took them back into the bathroom. He dropped them in the laundry hamper when a thud broke the quiet.

Blaéz sped through the dressing room into the dimly lit bedroom and stopped cold, his gaze on the empty bed. Dammit. She shouldn’t have awakened, not with the deep sleep Michael had put her in. Wherever she was, he’d find her. She couldn't have gone far. Movement to his left caught his attention. He found her huddled in the shadowy corner of the room.

“What are you doing down there?”

Her hands flashed out. “Stay back.”

Well, that wasn't working for him. He had to know she was all right. He took another step.

“No!” Her guttural cry stopped him dead. She pushed to her feet, her gaze unfocused. Her fear slashing at him like razors. He held his hands up, hopefully in a non-threatening manner. She scurried backward, tripped, and hit the bedside table behind her. The obsidian dagger he’d tossed there, forgotten and rarely used, rattled. She grabbed it and held it defensively with shaky hands. “Stay away.”

Her words were a rough rasp. It made him realize how much she must have screamed. He hadn't heard her because he’d arrived a few minutes too late, busy keeping the damn city safe.

Anger infiltrated, fast and furious. Blaéz wanted to go back and break the humans’ bones all over again. “I did not hurt you,” he said quietly. “I would never hurt you. Those who did, they paid.”

“Where—” she swallowed, “Where am I? Who are you?”

She didn't remember him? “You are in my home. You know who I am.”

“I do?”

“Yes, Darci.” She stiffened at his use of her name. He willed on all the wall sconces. Light brightened the room. Her gaze widened in recognition.

“I am Blaéz.”

Blaéz.

The man who’d saved Daniel and who had come to the library to see her. Darci stared at him for a long second.
No, he hadn’t hurt her… others had…

Her breath caught in her throat, her mind releasing the terror it hid.

But he’d taken a car apart without touching it. He’d flung the men who’d attacked her on the sidewalk the same way. Panic took hold. He was even more dangerous than the others. She dashed for the door. He beat her there, blocking her way, a large looming presence.

“No — stay away from me!”

Her gaze darted around. Was there no escape from this prison? A cool breeze drifted to her. Panting hard, she made a run for the open windows and prayed they were on ground level. The windows slammed shut. She jumped back, her heart crashing in her chest and spun around.

“Don’t be a fool.” His tone would have had her scowling if she weren’t drowning in fear. “I didn’t just save you so you could hurt yourself again.”

Her back pressed into the windowpane, whispered, “I saw what you did. You tore off the car doors — you — you killed those men.”

His pale eyes roamed over her face. He didn't deny her accusation, merely said, “No, I didn’t kill them, which is a pity. They hurt you.”

“How did you do that? The car — the windows?”

A brief pause before those powerfully built shoulders lifted in a shrug. “My abilities. My mind.”

“Oh, God.” Darci rubbed a trembling hand over her face. “What did I walk into?”

He stepped closer. “My life.”

She clutched the dagger with both hands and thrust it at him, her heart in her throat. “Stay away from me.”

“I don’t hurt females. As for those men, the laws of your world prevent us from killing them, but it will be a long time before they think of hurting another again.”

How did he get so close? Trapped by his gaze, she breathed in his disturbing scent that clouded her mind. The heat from his body a soothing warmth around her.

Something warm and wet coated her fingers. She glanced down. Blood? She reared back in horror.
“Oh, dear God — I stabbed you!”

“It’s just a scratch.” He brushed it off, but the flicker of pain on his face didn't escape her notice. Remorse surged like wildfire. He pulled out the obsidian dagger embedded in his stomach, wiped it on his shirt and tossed the weapon on the bedside table. “I'm a fast healer.”

Fast healer? The man must have lost his mind. Blood, dark and glossy soaked the material. She looked around for something to stop the flow when he grasped her hands, grabbed the hem of his shirt and started to wipe the blood off them.

Her mouth dropped open. He was cleaning
her
fingers when he was the one injured?

“No. Stop —
stop!
” She yanked her hands free. “Let me help you — you're bleeding.”

Before he gave her another one of his unbelievable excuses, she pushed up his shirt then stared in confusion. Blood smeared his lightly tanned stomach, but the wound had closed — just a pink line remained. She gently traced the mark on his abs, and the rock-hard muscles beneath her fingers clenched. How was that possible? She glanced up. Faced with his rigid expression, she forgot her questions and hastily dropped her hand. Her face burned in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

A rap sounded on the door. Blaéz pulled his shirt down and went to answer. Had she lost her mind, touching him so intimately?

A slender, attractive woman with honey-gold features and a shallow dent in her chin entered the room. Her short, spiky black hair brushed her nape and fell across her forehead into unusual bi-colored eyes. One a pale gray, the other a fiery amber, they glowed warmly at Darci.

“I thought you might like something clean to wear.” She set the clothes on the bed then crossed to Darci, slipping her hands into the pockets of her cargo shorts. “I'm so glad you're okay. I'm Echo.”

“I'm Darci — Darci Callahan. I didn’t mean to be an imposition.”

“Oh, no. You're not,” Echo reassured her, but a frown creased her smooth brow. She played with one of the stones of a diamond chain she wore around her neck. Darci had the strangest feeling she was studying her.

Uneasy, Darci glanced at Blaéz and became trapped by his unwavering stare. Heat spilled through her veins, warmed her face and pooled lower. She tore her gaze from his and sucked in a shaky breath. So not the path to take after she’d nearly dissected him.

“If you need anything else, let me know,” Echo said, smiling. “I’ll be down in the kitchen.”

Blaéz closed the door behind the woman and walked back, stopping a short distance from her. Darci could read nothing from his expression. She watched him warily.

“You should rest. You’ve had a bad experience.”

At his words, her horror came racing back. The attack and what could have happened. She could still feel the man’s rough hands pawing her breast. Her knees gave way.

In a move that made her dizzy, Blaéz picked her up and sat her on the couch. He crouched in front of her, his gorgeous face calm, reassuring.

“I'm fine—I'm fine.” She rubbed her arms and knew he didn't believe her, not when she was practically tearing at her skin. “It’s just… recalling it again…” She shook her head, took another deep breath. “My bag? Did you see it?”

“I have you now, you're safe,” he said quietly. “No one will get a chance to hurt you again.” Then he rose and walked through the doorway near the fireplace.

Darci pulled her gaze away from him, and for the first time noticed the massive bedroom. A huge bed with a solid cherrywood frame and matching end tables took up space on the far side. A series of tall windows on one wall led to the circular, turret style sitting room where she sat on one of the leather couches.

Despite the modern furnishings, the gray stone walls reminded her a lot of a medieval castle. Along with all the old weapons — various types of swords and daggers fixed to the wall above the mantel. Two doors were set into alcoves on either side of an enormous fireplace that was opposite the bed. From the right door, Blaéz emerged with her pink tote. “Here.”

“Thank you.” She searched through her things and found her cell phone. She should report the attack to the police, but at the two missed calls from Grace, she forgot everything. Fear knotting her stomach, she hit speed-dial.

“Gracie? Is everything all right? You — Daniel?” Darci breathed in a rush the moment her sister-in-law answered.

“Yes-yes, we’re both okay, but Dan’s not happy with our decision. At least he’s safe in Texas now. My parents picked him up from the airport a few hours ago. It’s why I called, so you’d know and not worry.”

“Thank God.” Darci tucked back her loose hair with shaky fingers. “And Declan? How is he?”

“Still mad.” A long sigh escaped Grace. “I guess it will take some time for the fear to leave us — Dars, are you okay? You don’t sound like yourself.”

“I'm fine. Just a little tired. I worked late last night. I didn't mean to get you up—”

“It’s okay. The baby keeps me up with all with the kicking,” she said with wry laughter. “Take care of yourself, hun. I’ll see you soon.”

She ended the call and Darci stared at the display, misery and anxiety sweeping through her. She could never tell Grace or Declan of her near abduction. But she needed her family. She didn't want to be alone.

“You could always stay here.”

At Blaéz’s quiet words, her gaze rushed to where he stood near the turret window opposite her. She met his steady gaze. Yes, he would keep her safe, she knew that instinctively. Everything in her wanted to say yes. Blaéz made her feel things she’d never thought possible. But she barely knew him. No, she had to go. He clouded her thoughts, and she needed to think this through.

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine.” And because she had to know, she asked, “Who— what are you?”

The man was deadly, ruthless, and had formidable psychic abilities to be able to tear off car doors and throw men around with just his mind.

He stared at her for a quiet second then shrugged. “I keep the streets safe.”

From thugs like those who’d hurt her, hurt Daniel? He didn't look like a cop, even with that closed-off expression, muscular build, and short hair. “Are you in some kind of special force or something?”

“Or something,” he murmured. His gaze lowered. “There’s still blood on your hands. Why don’t you go get cleaned up? Have a shower. Echo left you a change of clothes.”

So he didn't like talking about himself? Okay, she got that. A little disappointed, she rose and rubbed her arms.

“Who’s Declan?”

At the unexpected question, Darci glanced back and met his cool, determined stare. Was he…? No, of course not. A man like him wouldn’t be jealous. Heat spiraled low in her belly at the thought. She found her voice and answered. “My brother. Where’s the bathroom?”

He nodded to the door on the right of the fireplace. “Through the dressing room.”

Darci took the clothes from the bed and escaped. If she stayed and continued looking into those burning pale eyes, she’d probably agree to anything he wanted.

***

Why wouldn’t she stay? Hell, females came on to him all the time, so why would she say no to his request?

Blaéz rubbed a hand over his sternum, trying to rein in emotions that had him feeling as if trapped in a cyclone of sensations, and encountered the damp slit in his shirt. Absently, he fingered the rip.

He understood supernatural evil wasn’t after her. He couldn’t make her stay like Aethan had done with Echo when she’d become a target for demons hunting psychic females. But then the Empyrean’s mate was something totally different.

And Darci? She was just human.

He dropped his hand from his bloodied shirt and headed back into the dressing room. As he changed his clothes, the woman in the bathroom drew him like a magnet. All his senses attuned to her. At the sounds of the rustling shower, an image of water sliding down her deliciously sexy body filled his head.

Ah, Christ. Why the hell was he torturing himself this way?

Celt?

At Michael’s telepathic intrusion, Blaéz put his thoughts in lockdown and walked out of his quarters.

The archangel approached from down the corridor, all hard-eyed. “She’s okay?”

“As much as someone who’s been traumatized can be.” Blaéz shut the door behind him. He fully understood why Michael had shown up, and concern wasn't the reason.

“Say what you have to, Arc.”

“She cannot stay.”

Blaéz’s mouth flattened. He remained silent.

“There is no cause. Once she’s recovered, she goes back,” Michael said, tone resolute.

“Yeah, got it.”

Blaéz stalked off. If Darci hadn't insisted on leaving, he’d be having a very different conversation with Michael. Resentment churning his gut, he headed downstairs. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d experienced this seething fury.

Moments later, he shoved open the door to the kitchen, fragrant with baking. He paced around the island counter, brushing past Hedori, who prepped for their later meal while watching a cooking show on the small flat screen mounted in the corner of the kitchen.

Týr, in the process of making his usual sandwich, the size of which could probably feed a third world country, raised an eyebrow. “You okay there, man?”

Blaéz ignored him then stilled. Like mist, his anger faded into vacuity.
No.
He struggled to hang on to that feeling. But without Darci close, he was a husk again.

He eyed Týr, who squeezed a ton of chili-mayo onto the meat. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Týr slapped his bread together and took a bite. Leaning against the counter, he studied Blaéz as he chewed. “There’s something different about you.”

“I imagine you spend a great deal of time thinking about me, then.”

Týr chuckled. “Yeah, it’s all I do.” He crossed to the fridge, grabbed a Red Bull and carried his food over to the table.

Blaéz opened a cupboard, pulled down the Blue Label, snagged a squat glass from another cabinet, and poured a shot. He sucked back his whiskey. The amber liquid glided down his throat, burned a short-lived fiery trail into his belly. He poured another.

Hedori set a freshly baked tray of biscuits on the counter. The older Empyrean, who’d been Aethan’s bodyguard millennia ago had followed the warrior when he was banished from his realm. In this world, he was quite happy to play butler since he wasn’t a Guardian. The male had a thing for the cooking channels, but the food tasted good, and that was all that mattered.

Hedori looked up as Blaéz approached him. “You require something, sire?”

“Yes. Two. One, stop “siring” me. I have a name. Use it. And two, would you see that Darci gets something to eat? I'm going back on patrol.”

Hedori’s expression remained stoic. “Of course, my lord.”

Týr snorted.

As Blaéz turned to leave, the door opened. Michael strode in, Dagan and Aethan followed. Dagan took his usual spot near the open French doors which led out to the trellised patio, his lean, sun-bronze features set in their usual granite cast, his waist-length hair pulled back in warrior braids. As usual, he ignored everyone there. He spoke only if he had to.