Echo, Mine (2 page)

She was his mate, the other half of his
soul, and he wanted her with a hunger that continued to grow. He
would never risk hurting her with his brutal needs. It was better
this way. She needed the rest.

Besides, no matter what he’d told Blaéz, he
had to find out what the scarred demon was up to.

“Yeah, I'll join you for a while.”
He pulled out his cell, needing information. A text
was worth a shot, even if he didn't get a response. A’Damiel, or
Damon as he preferred to be called, an immortal who’d once been
Echo’s guardian, could be a damn pain in the ass, and adept at
ignoring him
.

A demon with a distinct black and red scar
down the right side of his face, know anything? Goes by
Rahvert.

He hit send, pocketed his cell, and followed
Blaéz into the joint. The acrid stench of tobacco smoke, sweat, and
liquor thickened the air. Balls crashed into each other on a nearby
pool table, adding to the clamor. A seventies melody flowed out of
an ancient jukebox in the corner, and a few couples swayed to the
music. Leather-clad bikers in various sizes and shapes surrounded
the bar and the pool table.

A familiar figure sat at the back of the bar in the
shadows. Týr. The former Norse god—and fellow Guardian—sported a
frown instead of his usual smirk.

Týr, along with Blaéz and the other Guardians, had
once been protectors to an important young goddess who was adducted
by the worst evil out there in a blood-spattered battle that
destroyed an entire Sumerian temple. Banished from their pantheons,
they’d been imprisoned in Tartarus for five brutal centuries until
their escape.

Like Aethan, they were now Guardians of the mortal
world, having sworn their allegiance to the ancient goddess Gaia
eons ago to keep this realm safe from supernatural evil.

Blaéz sauntered over and straddled the chair
opposite Týr. “This place’s not your usual stopover, is it?”

“Did you ever think,” Týr murmured, studying his
obsidian dagger and ignoring Blaéz’s comment, “
that
these weapons belong to our mates, not us
?”

“Is that what you want? A mate?” Aethan cocked a
brow, taking the seat next to Blaéz.

Týr snorted. “Like a demonii bolt to the head.” He
cut Blaéz a smirk. “Anyone claim your blade yet?”

Blaéz leaned back in his seat. Shrugged. “Need a
soul for that to occur. So I'm covered.”

A silence descended; the austere
reminder of what the warrior had lost.
Týr replaced the
dagger with a pack of M&M’s from his pocket, poured some on his
palm, and selected the reds.

Aethan signaled the dark-haired waitress eyeing them
from the bar. She brightened and sashayed over with a sway of her
hips. “What can I do for y’all?”

“Whiskey, neat,” Blaéz said, totally uninterested,
taking in the smoke-filled place.

Aethan ordered water.

Her green eyes shifted back to Týr, her smile amping
up. “Ya need anything?”

None could mistake the invite in her tone.

Týr looked up and studied her for a second, his
expression unreadable, which in itself was strange. The warrior
loved the females and made it known. Týr shook his head.

With a bounce in her step, she left. Aethan had no
idea what she saw in the Norse’s expression because it was shut
tight and locked down.

Blaéz drawled, “Tired of Club Anarchy’s offerings?
This place hardly caters to your type.”

“I don’t have a
type
, Celt. Females are all
the same to me.” His brow furrowed. “You two reek of sulfur…” He
glanced at Aethan. “And you would have usually hightailed it back
to the castle by now. What’s up?”

Reveal just how afraid he was of hurting his still
recovering mate if his edgier needs snapped his control? Yeah, not
happening.

“Had a run-in with a scarred demon and his
horde in a warehouse.” Aethan explained what had happened.

“So, he’s after you now?”

Aethan shrugged and rested his forearms on
the scratched, wooden table. “What demon we cross swords with is
not
after us if they escape?”

Týr nodded. “Good point—”

The waitress reappeared. She handed out their drinks
then set a Red Bull Týr hadn’t ordered near his elbow and gave him
a warm smile. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No.” Short. Terse. Ignoring the new drink, Týr
retrieved the open can near his elbow and took a deep drink.

Her smile slipped, but it didn't stop her from
leaving a napkin near his arm. “In case you change your mind.”

Týr frowned at the cell number written there as she
glided off.

“It means call her,” Blaéz taunted, taking a sip of
his liquor.

“I know what the hell it means—” Týr picked up the
napkin and hid it in his palm. It caught alight. The small flame
died, and he dropped the black crackly bits to the floor. He met
Aethan’s gaze. “Did you find out anything else—what the demon’s
looking for?”

“No.” Aethan unscrewed his water and chugged some
back. “He wasn’t very accommodating in that regard.”

“A demon targeting you is fucking bad news. You have
a mate. You don’t want her in danger again.” Týr pushed to his
feet. “Michael should know about this.”

Aethan’s jaw hardened as he rose. No fucker would
ever come near his mate again. This time, he’d take out everyone.
He didn't care who got caught in the crossfire.

***

Several minutes later, Aethan materialized
on the portico of the castle on the Guardians’ island estate just
off Manhasset Bay. As was his habit, he scanned the boundaries of
the grounds for any breaks in the protection wards. Not that he
needed to worry. Hedori, their all-around handyman and butler was
proficient at building those spells. But Aethan did it anyway, his
protective instinct in full force when it came to keeping his mate
safe.

As Blaéz and Týr headed for the kitchen,
Aethan made his way upstairs to his third-floor quarters. He
mentally unlocked the door and entered his suite.

A low rumble reached him as he crossed to
the bed on the far side. Echo’s cat raised his head from where he’d
once again claimed his spot on her pillow above her head. His
furry, soot-dark tail stroked the arm she rested beside her cheek.
She was asleep and lying on her stomach. Her raven hair had grown
past her shoulders. Silky black strands concealed parts of her
face.

“It’s good you keep an eye on her,” he told
Bob, who gave him a cool, amber-eyed stare before shutting his lids
again. Since Aethan had no plans to go to bed, he let the cat
be.

Echo had shoved the covers aside, and her
nightshirt had ridden up in her sleep to reveal those tiny panties
she favored. The sight of her honey-hued limbs and her tantalizing
bottom covered by the scraps of white silk had his blood heating
like a match to kindling.

Ignoring his straining cock, he pulled the
covers over her again. Unable to help himself, he lowered to his
haunches and swept the hair away from her face. Gently, he stroked
her cheek, skimming his fingers along the shallow dimple on her
chin.

It still left him breathless that she was
his, a miracle he never expected to find living on this realm.
While he hadn't been thrown into Tartarus for being responsible for
a tragedy of indescribable proportions, but banished to this world
after the death of his little sister, he’d been trapped in a hell
of his own, until Echo.

She stirred as if sensing him. Her gorgeous
mismatched eyes flickered open. One a fiery amber, and the other a
cool, pearl-gray, now bleary with sleep. She met his gaze, smiled,
and reached out a hand to stroke his jaw. “You’re back.” Her voice
was huskier with sleep.

“Yeah.” He turned his head and kissed her
palm. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay, I—”

“No, you need the rest.” Before she put that
lush mouth on his and shattered his rigid control, he pressed his
lips to her knuckles. “Go back to sleep. I have a meeting
downstairs.”

Aethan left the bedroom and headed back to
the main level. Moments later, he stepped into the small room on
the ground floor that was the archangel’s study. An L-shaped
bookshelf aligned the walls in one corner, and a huge mahogany desk
sat adjacent to it. Two leather armchairs took up space near the
small fireplace.

With just Týr, Blaéz, and their leader
present, the place was crammed. Aethan stopped at the entrance to
the room and rested a shoulder against the doorjamb.

Michael glanced at him. His eerie blue
irises reminded Aethan of a cracked mirror. Silvery light seeped
out from the fractures. Echo had once said it was as if Michael’s
soul showed through. His mate could see auras, so no surprise that
she’d made that call.

A frown marred Michael’s brow as he sat on
the edge of his huge desk. “This situation can become a problem for
us. I can't have one of those hell-bound demons causing chaos on
this realm. Yes, I know you can take him out,” he told Aethan, “but
who knows what other trouble he’s been stirring.”

“Then I guess our patrol just got
interesting,” Týr said, slouching in his chair. “Everything’s been
too damn quiet recently.”

Aethan’s cell rang. He pulled it out from
his pocket. Damon. He straightened from the jamb. “I have to take
this.”

Stepping through the open French doors and
onto the small terrace, he answered his call. “Yeah?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about him,” Damon
said. “Rahvert is a bloody rabble-rouser, causes trouble wherever
he goes. He beat up his female, and she disappeared—”

“So he’s here searching for her?”

“That’s about it.”

“What does she look like?”

“Not really sure. Dark hair, blue eyes,
that’s all I got.”

Aethan hoped wherever she was, she continued
hiding. “Thanks.”

The male paused, remained
connected. His voice quieted.
“How is she?”

Aethan knew he wasn't asking about the
demoness. More, he realized there was no way Damon would make
contact with Echo again, despite the fact that she’d been his ward
for over a decade. No matter how many times Aethan asked him to.
“She’s improving. You know, if you’d see her, just for a minute, it
would make her happy.”

A slight pause that seemed endless. “Take
care of her.” Damon rang off.

Dammit. Aethan stared at his silent cell. He
had no idea what the hell Damon’s issue was with not seeing Echo
again. But there’d been a wealth of emotion in the male’s voice.
Aethan wondered briefly if the male was in some kind of
trouble.

Slipping his phone back in his pocket,
Aethan walked into the study. At least he didn't have to worry
about any dangerous demon on the hunt for him. This one should be
easy to take out.

She’d died once. Then beat death and
rejoined the living.

No way would a little thing like distance
defeat her. Echo took a breath, and with exhausted determination,
plowed her face back into the water. Darn. The pool edge was still
miles away, and her arm muscles burned like they were on fire. With
every meter gained, her strength dipped. Teeth gritted, she
propelled herself forward, slicing through the body of water to
finish the last lap.

To keep her mind occupied, she counted.
One, two, three
—
crap
,
how much longer?
Then
her fingertips brushed the rim.

Elation flooded her. She’d yell out her
delight if she could, but her chest felt like it would explode from
the exertion. Instead, she clung to the edge, puffing like a winded
old woman, pulling more air into her hurting lungs. Heck, she’d
finally completed her sixth lap. It had taken her weeks to get
here.

Nearly two months ago, she’d awakened from a
coma. She grimaced just thinking about that horrid time last fall
after she’d been mortally wounded. Although Aethan’s deadly power
of whitefire had brought her back to life, it had taken her several
months of healing sleep to recover, leaving her as weak as a baby
bird.

Hell, yeah. This was her own personal
victory.

Too tired to climb out of the pool, she
rested her chin on her arm, enjoying the afternoon sunlight pouring
through the glass walls and sunroof and warming her skin. The
castle’s gray stone walls backed one side of the pool area, but the
rest of it was enclosed with glass—or rather sliding doors that
were now open. The fresh green scent of forest with a hint of sea
air drifted inside from the Atlantic.

She enjoyed this secluded spot of the
castle. It was just the rolling acres of grass bordered by the
woods on the east side, and dangerous cliffs on the north that
overlooked the Atlantic. Sounds of water flowing into the pool from
the waterfall on the far end added to the serene ambiance. It was
mid-July. Summer. A perfect day with blue skies and puffy white
clouds. The Guardians’ island estate certainly had a tranquility to
it.

If only she felt that way.

Everyone treated her like she was suffering
from an ailing disease. Okay, fine, getting shot and dying was
horrible, but darn it, she was alive now. With a sigh, Echo raked
her fingers through her wet, overgrown hair. It needed a cut, but
she had too much to do—so much to understand about her new life
after her... rebirth?

Yeah, that’s the word. After all, she’d been
dead for several minutes. And had lived between worlds for more
than five months while in a coma.

“Why do you push yourself?”

At that masculine, lightly accented voice,
her head snapped around, her heart pounding like mad in her chest.
The man who claimed her heart and who’d refused to let her die
strode across the paved floor to her. Taller than most humans, he
was gorgeous and tempting as sin.

Chiseled features and powerfully built,
Aethan made her melt with just a look from those piercing gray
eyes. Well-worn jeans hugged his muscular thighs, and a navy tee
molded his tough body, one she was intimately acquainted with—heck,
he could probably wear rags and he’d still look equally
scrumptious. He’d secured his striking dark blue hair into a
ponytail, revealing the small silver hoops he wore in his
earlobes.