Echo, Mine (4 page)

“I need to get stronger fast, Kira.” She had
a stubborn Empyrean to overthrow.

“Oh. Okay…” Kira wandered over to open the
fridge and poked her head inside as the door between the pantry and
Hedori’s quarters opened.

The butler walked in wearing sweats and
t-shirt. His steel-colored hair was pulled into a single neat
braid. He looked like he’d just been for a stroll through the park
instead of putting her through rigorous steps of training and
rebuilding her body earlier that day.

Echo scrunched her face at him. “How can you
look so…unsweaty?” she grumbled, raking back her new, short hair.
“I just came from my swim and still feel icky.”

His unusual orange-green eyes gleamed with
laughter. “I doubt ‘unsweaty’ is even a word, m’lady. But you did
well today.” He rubbed his jaw as if still feeling the lucky blow
she’d landed to his face during training. “And as for being ‘icky,’
could it be you have just had your hair cut—that can't be pleasant,
all those tiny hairs stuck to your skin?”

Echo rolled her eyes and drank more of her
Pepsi.

“Hey, Heds,” Kira called out as she shut the
fridge door with a hip bump, a grape soda in one hand and a
Tupperware container with pie in the other.

Wincing, he gave her friend that half-bow.
“Miss Kira.”

Kira scrunched her face in disgust. “This is
the twenty-first century, my dear Heds—I'm Kira—no Miss attached to
it.” She grabbed a side plate from the cupboard and popped her pie
into the microwave.

Echo’s phone beeped. She pulled it from her
pocket and glanced at the text.

Darn, Lore was early. Since her tutor had
discovered cell phones, he texted all the time instead of simply
announcing his arrival like any angel should, with a slight flare
of his power. “Ki, I have lessons now. I'm not sure how long I’ll
be—”

“Go—shoo.” She dismissed Echo with a wave of
her fingers. “I’ll hang with Hedori and cook,” she said with a
happy smile.

Hedori cut Echo a panicked look. She had to
bite her lip to stop from laughing. She didn’t want to hurt her
friend’s feelings. Kira’s heart was in the right place, but her
attempts at cooking were terrible.
Not that she
should judge. She beat her friend by a narrow margin, only because
she could actually make coffee
.

She left the kitchen. A quick shower first,
it would refresh and prepare her for whatever torture Lore had
planned for her tonight. She texted him,
Be there in
ten.

Lessons had started two weeks ago. And no
matter what Aethan said, there was no way she would cancel her
session, short of something cataclysmic happening.

“Damn, you're easy to beat today,” Týr
taunted as he rescued the small, checkered ball and dropped it back
on the foosball table. “Should have raised the stakes instead of
letting you buy me my next supply of candies.”

Aethan snorted, well aware he’d lost because
his mind was elsewhere. “Why would I bet you something I actually
like?”

Týr laughed. The door opened and Blaéz
sauntered inside, a book in his hand. The bruise on his jaw had
faded somewhat.

“Yo, Celt, a game?” Týr called out.

Blaéz glanced at him, his light eyes cool,
calculating. “Stakes?

“My Easy Rider against that pair of bronze
daggers you recently acquired at the auction.”

Aethan spun the foosball rod
once more and stepped back.
No way would Blaéz bet those.
He’d been after the weapons
for a long time,
and he’d paid about as much, maybe more than the price of Týr’s
Harley.

Blaéz handed Aethan the book and took his
place. “Very well.”

Apparently, he was wrong. The warriors liked
living on the edge. He ought to know since he’d done the same
before Echo came into his life.

Aethan left them to their game and prowled
past the leather armchairs and couches to the wet bar. Set in the
corner of the huge rec room near the French doors, it overlooked
the terrace where Echo’s overweight cat lay splayed out like
roadkill in the late afternoon sunlight. Insects buzzed around him.
Bob opened one amber eye, flicking his chimney-soot tail to chase
them away and nodded off again.

Blaéz and Týr slammed their way into the
game, the
bangs and grunts reverberating
through the huge room. Dropping the book on the counter, Aethan
retrieved a can of orange juice from the bar fridge, cracked the
tab, and took a long swallow.

He picked up the remote lying on the counter
and switched on the huge flat screen mounted on the opposite wall,
National Geographic came on. Several whales glided through the deep
blue ocean,
blowing out a torrent of water into the
air
—

He raked his fingers through his loose hair,
his thoughts back on Echo
.
His power roiled within him,
demanding the calming effect only she could provide. He hadn’t
touched her in two days and he’d almost lost control outside—nearly
thrown out all his caution and just taken her right there, but
seeing that damn scar had halted his ardor.

Gods
, he pinched the bridge of his
nose. Images from last fall flooded him. She’d taken the hit—a
spelled bullet meant for him—blood flowing profusely from the wound
on her chest as she breathed her last and died in his arms. He
inhaled a harsh breath, his heart felt as if a giant fist was
squeezing it just remembering. Before the pain rendered him
helpless, he sidestepped those dark memories. His mouth tightened
with determination. No matter how annoyed Echo became with him, she
needed time. He’d give it to her.

But she was pushing herself to the edge in
her effort to become stronger faster. He had to do something about
that. Switching off the TV, he tossed the remote back on the
counter.

“I win,” Blaéz said. “The Easy Rider’s
mine.”

At the warrior’s cool statement, Aethan
glanced at them. The Celt appeared about as excited as the
furniture in the room.

“I don’t fucking believe it,” Týr swore,
tunneling his fingers through his messy hair. He glared at the
foosball men as if they’d betrayed him. “I lost my Harley.”

“Don’t bet what you cherish. Later.” With a
smirk that didn't reach his winter-pale eyes, Blaéz strode out of
the room.

Scowling, Týr crossed to the bar and got
himself a Red Bull. Popping open the tab, he strolled to the open
door and propped a shoulder on the jamb. “You look annoyed.”

Apparently, he’d already forgotten about his
loss. Aethan took another swallow of his juice and leaned against
the bar. “Do I?”

“Losing a game, glaring at the poor whales
on TV, and almost pulling out your hair, I’d say hell, yeah.”

“Fuck you,” Aethan muttered.

Amusement gleamed in Týr’s dark eyes. “Could
it be Echo has taken to this Healer thing like a duckling to water,
and your nose is put out of joint that she barely has time for
you?”

Aethan cut him an annoyed look. “Is that
what you think?”

“No, but thought it would get a reaction
from you. So, she’s pushing herself too hard?”

Seemed like everyone could see that except
his mate. She could never sit still. If she wasn't training, or
studying about being a Healer, she was in the kitchen helping
Hedori. She was wearing herself to the damn bone.

Aethan clamped his jaw, finding it hard to
push out the words through gritted teeth. “I don’t know how the
hell to get her to slow down.”

Týr shook his head as if resigned. “Look, I
get that there hasn’t been a female in your life for eons until
Echo. So, obviously, your brain has dried up in that department and
you’ve forgotten the social norms for what to do—”

“If you have some useful insights to share,
just fucking do it.”

Laughing, Týr stepped out and hunkered near
Bob. He scratched the cat’s back, pulling a low purr from the
feline. “Take her out, man. Away from this place and all this shit.
You don’t need me to tell you what to do after that.”

“You know, Norse, I wait for the day when
you're in this fix—” His heightened hearing picked up on soft,
familiar footsteps. Echo. He’d already sensed Lore’s arrival. She
was probably on her way to the library.

He set his can on the counter, his entire
being was tuned into her, hoping she’d walk into the room before
she went off to her lesson. Yet dreading it, too. Dread at seeing
his own mate? He rubbed his jaw; his head was so damn screwed up.
Six weeks and three days since she’d awakened from her comatose
sleep, looking so fragile. And that fucking scar marring her skin
would always remind him of how he’d failed her.

The door opened. She walked in wearing jeans
and a tee. Her damp hair—

He couldn’t breathe, felt as if someone had
kicked him in the sternum. It was déjà vu, like her old self was
coming back to him. She’d cut her hair. As if his feet had a mind
of their own, he was already walking, meeting her halfway. He
pressed his lips against hers and felt her breath catch in
surprise. She eased back. He traced her lush lower lip with his
thumb, unable to get a word out.

“Aethan?”

Her voice pulled him back, her eyes
searching his face.
Shit
—what the hell did he want to say?
Right. “Lore’s here early, are you cancelling?”

Snorting, she stepped back and glanced
around her. “No, I'm not. I was looking for Blaéz. I left my
notebook with him. He’s been helping me with some of the
translations. Lore likes assigning me tasks that make me run all
over the place searching for help.”

“He’s a damn idiot,” Aethan muttered, his
irritation climbing higher because she wouldn’t do as he suggested.
He crossed to the bar, retrieved the book and handed it over.
“Here. He left it with me. Anything I can help you with?”

She took it from him. A hint of mischief
sparked in her gaze and made his chest tighten. Her anger at him
from earlier when he’d refused to take their heated kiss further
had faded.

“All right.” She opened the book. “Here—what
do these mean?” She pointed at the drawings.

Aethan stepped closer. Resting his hand on
her hips, he lowered his gaze to the page and frowned at the
several symbols scattered randomly around the circle. Nope. He had
no clue what the hell it meant. At his silence, she glanced at him.
A laugh escaped her, warming his heart. “You don’t know, do
you?”

He shrugged. As long as she was happy, even
if she were laughing at him, he didn't care.

“It has to do with the
Tuatha de
Danaan
and the faerie world they’ve created,” she explained.
“You’re an Empyrean—an angel, not a god, so you wouldn’t be
familiar with those legends. Blaéz would.”

“Says who?” He cocked a brow. “Give me some
time and I’ll figure it out. Or I’ll get the Celt to tell me and
I’ll explain it to you.”

She bit her lip as if not to laugh again.
“It’s okay. Blaéz helped me this morning, said he’ll make notes for
the others we didn’t cover since I had to go meet Hedori at the
gym.”

Týr joined them, sporting a grin. “Like the
hair.”

“Yeah, I grew tired of having it long…” She
ran her fingers through the damp choppy strands and cut Aethan a
telling look. “Maybe now people will finally see past all the hair
and realize everything is just an illusion.”

What the hell? She’d been smiling moments
ago, then threw him that barbed line. Before he opened his mouth to
explain once more
why
, she pivoted and walked out.

“She looks good, but tired,” Týr murmured
from beside him.

“She doesn't seem to know the meaning of
slowing down.” A growl rolled up Aethan’s throat. Didn’t Echo
realize they had eternity together to do all the things she seemed
determined to cram into one damn day? Being so intimately linked
with her, her lethargy weighed him down like a boulder, one Echo
would never admit to.

Týr was right. He had to get her away from
here, for his own peace of mind before she crashed from sheer
exhaustion. He sent a telepathic message to their head honcho:
I
need to talk to you—it’s urgent.

What’s up?
Michael asked.

I'm going off patrol tonight.

A slight pause.
All right.

That settled, he glanced back at Týr, his
other problem sliding to the forefront again. “What would one get
for a female—I mean, as a gift?”

Týr stared at him blankly, Red Bull pausing
halfway to his mouth. “Why?”

“It’s Echo’s birthday soon. I need to get
her something but I'm hitting a damn wall.”

The warrior shook his head. “Seriously man,
I have no idea. Ask her.”

The Norse was no help at all. “It’s supposed
to be a surprise—at least that’s what I’ve heard.”

“Oh…” Týr muttered, his brow furrowing. Like
it was the most difficult math equation ever tackled. He rubbed his
jaw. “Yeah, still no idea. Get her a sword—we like shit like that.
Being the Healer, she’ll need weapons.”

Get his mate a blade? Yeah, right. “That’s
real helpful.”

He had a few days. He’d better come up with
something. Fast.

Echo stared moodily through the library
window at the rolling gardens and the distant green smudge of
forest. Late evening sunlight spilled into the enormous place,
casting an orangey glow to the towering bookshelves, yet doing
nothing to lighten her mood.

God, she was so over Aethan treating her
like she was made of spun glass and would break if he so much as
touched her wrong. Huffing out a breath, she rubbed her brow as
frustration piled on.

She missed the way he used to want her with
that all-out raw need, the one that made her pulse pound and her
heart feel like it might explode. More, she missed
him
.
Dammit, if that big lug of a gorgeous Empyrean couldn’t see the
truth—see exactly what it was she needed—then she would just have
to show him. Hell, she’d seduce him even if she had to tie him to
the damn bed.