Breaking Fate (15 page)

Anger gave way to the sharp pain of betrayal. “Of course, you do…” She laughed bleakly. “I'm so stupid. You never really wanted
me
, did you? You had no choice, anyone would have done. That’s why it was so easy for you to walk away this morning. You just needed someone to get off with, a-a fuck buddy.”

“For chrissakes, Darci, drop it.”

“Why? Because it’s the truth, isn’t it?” She took a deep breath, struggled to speak through her hurt and the disillusionment. “I thought you were different. But you're just like the rest of them, emotions or not.”

Ice flowed into his eyes at her accusation. “Because I refuse to ruin the one thing pure in my life, I'm like the others? Like those mortal males you knew before me?”

“Thing?”
she repeated dully. His possessiveness just meant he wanted no one else to play with his toy. “I'm not some prized possession like your swords — your car,” she said, trying not to let her pain break free as her dreams shattered. “When I agreed to this, I expected a relationship, expected you to want me the same way I want you. I have feelings, Blaéz. Feelings that need to be fed, nurtured. Not just be a—a sex toy for you because I'm the only one that can give you an erection.”

“You have no clue what you're talking about.” A nerve ticking on his jaw, he sat on the chest, pulled on his socks and boots with rigid movements.

“Yeah?” she challenged. “What are your great plans for us then? Or do you intend for me to stay
safe,
trapped inside this gilded castle until I die?”

“No.” He pinned her with a flat stare. “Once those assassins are dealt with, you can go anywhere you want.”

Darci shook her head. No matter what promises she’d made, what Echo’d said, to fight for him, she couldn’t see how this would work. “I didn't agree to this kind of relationship—”

“Your promise to me is binding, Darci.”

I’ll never let you go.

He didn't have to say it. The words were there in his eyes, in the determined set of his jaw.

“Then you should have stated clearly what you wanted from the get go. Hey, I'm good with no strings attached sex,” she lied. “Hell, you sure are better than my other lovers—”

“Don’t.” He rose, his pale eyes sparking in anger.

She stood there for a second, struggling to breathe. Unable to stop the growing pain in her chest. What lovers? She only had one. Her life had been so empty the last few years. She had no idea why she’d said that, maybe because she just wanted a reaction from him. To break through that icy reserve he suddenly seemed to wear.

What would be the point? He didn't want anything more from her because if he had, he would have spoken to her, not closed up and shut her out.

Darci walked out of the dressing room, refusing to let the ache inside of her slip free. She’d followed a chance at happiness, only she hadn’t expected it to turn around and kick her in the heart. Or turn her into a sex toy for a fallen god.

Blaéz scowled at the empty doorway. His injuries from the cage fight a dull ache now, they barely registered.

Did you really think she wouldn’t come to know about your depraved needs?

His jaw clenched. How could he explain to her that as much as he needed her, he needed pain, too? He rode a blade's edge with the constant pull to give over to his dark side, especially when out on the street. Pain reminded him of who he was.

But her words bothered him.

Sex toy? Fuck buddy? Why the hell would she think that? Did she not understand anything? He didn't want anyone, just her… with or without a soul, he realized.

And other lovers? He wanted to go find those nameless males and kill them for daring to know her in that primal way. Irrational it might be, but he didn't give two fucks. She was his.

He left the room and went after her, only to stop in the foyer. He stared at the corridor leading toward the library. With the mood he was in, it would probably make things worse, so he made his way to the kitchen instead.

The tense air there had him glancing at the other occupants.

Echo was seated at the oak dining table, hunched over an open book. She cast him a quick, wary look. Aethan leaned against the counter opposite the table and watched Echo with a grim set to his jaw.

No, Aethan couldn’t have fucked up worse than he had.

The warrior sighed roughly. “Echo, you're fretting over nothing.”

“How can you say that?” She jerked to her feet and started to pace, rubbing her arms as if she were cold. “It’s not nothing, it’s really not. This thing — this awareness inside me has been growing in the last few days… Something’s wrong. I sense it.”

A pin drop would have shattered the sudden silence. Blaéz wanted to leave, except he had a bad feeling about this.

Aethan appeared beside her in a flash. He grasped her arms and stopped her erratic pacing. “Echo, look at me. Tell me.”

At his soft demand, she inhaled a shuddering breath. Her mismatched eyes took on an eerie glow. “Something’s pulling at me, I can't shake off this sense of urgency — I need to go.”

“Go where?”

Her hands flew out to encompass everything. “Same sensation like that first time when I was at Gran’s, then ended in the alley near Times Square—” Her gaze widened as if in realization. “There
is
another rift. And no one told me—”

Aethan tensed, said nothing. She turned accusing eyes at Blaéz.

He kept his mouth shut. What could he say? So far, he’d been handling his relationship with all the finesse of a charging bull. He couldn’t see himself dealing with Echo’s anger any better than he had with Darci’s.

She glared back at Aethan. “How could
you
not tell me?”

“You’re not strong enough—”

“Not strong?” Her voice rose. “I'm immortal, Aethan. You made me so and for a reason. This is
my
job — what I've been born to do. Would you rather this place be overrun by those monsters?”

Aethan looked ready to put his fist through something. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“You're the Healer’s protector.” Her jaw firmed, tone cooled. “This decision is mine.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Not when your health — your very life could be at stake. Then it damn well is mine to make.”

Blaéz rubbed the tattoo on his biceps as the tension thickened. He stilled and could do little to prevent the images flashing through his mind…

Darkness… guttural noise… screaming humans disappearing into a flickering hole—

The vision faded. There was only one place he knew where this could happen. No use hiding it now. “Trouble downtown, where the rift is. It’s going to be bad if we don’t get moving.”

Echo spun for the door. Aethan stepped in her way. “No. You will remain here until the threat’s dealt with. I’ll bring you after — I won't have you near an open portal with those fuckers pouring out.”

“Dammit, Aethan—” She stepped back. “Suddenly, I'm helpless and can't fight? You forget I killed two demoniis recently.”

“And you seem to forget you won't be fighting but
healing
and
unaware
of your damn surroundings! It’s been barely a few weeks since I got you back. You fucking died, Echo, in my arms. Until I get that shit out of my head, yeah, what I say goes.”

Her mouth opened again then closed without a sound. Blaéz could see her struggle to contain her anger.

“Fine.” Lips compressing, she picked up her book and walked out.

Aethan didn't follow but scowled at the empty doorway. “Let’s go deal with this shit.”

Guess he and Aethan were both wrong. Echo should have known and made up her own mind about this. With Echo about to walk into danger, Blaéz was just grateful Darci would never be put in harm’s way and had no psychic powers to draw these demon fuckers’ attention.

***

Blaéz took form in the alley downtown, and Aethan followed a few moments later, his anger contained beneath a mask of coldness. He didn't speak but paced near the rift.

Týr leaped down from the rooftop of the building he kept watch on, shutting off the game he’d been playing on his iPhone. He shoved the device back into his pocket. “What’s going on?”

“We’re about to have company,” Blaéz said.

Týr’s eyes became brown diamonds. His virulent hatred for the species barely concealed. “Do these fuckers think we’d leave this rift unattended because it’s early evening?”

Blaéz didn't answer. He leaned against the grimy wall. With the rifts open, the strains of his binding slithered around his psyche, tugging at him to move. He clamped harder on his mental shields, and still he felt the inexorable pull. He needed a fight — a brutal one, the only thing that would render him useless to move, unable to give in to the compulsion. But Darci hated when he got injured. After this morning, he didn't want to be the reason for the pain, the disillusionment he saw in her eyes anymore.

As dusk rolled in bringing, the rift shimmered. At the insidious change in the air, his tattoo hummed against his skin, demanding release. Several figures from the Dark Realm poured through the fractured veil. Spotting the Guardians, guttural growls erupted from them. Weapons appeared in their hands, they attacked.

Sword summoned, Blaéz flew into the horde, his blade plunging into a body, turning it to ash. Grunts and screeches, along with clashing swords filled the alley with a cacophony of sounds. Then the sweet smell of freshly cut grass filled Blaéz’s nose. He stopped dead, chest heaving, his sword suspended midair. Maloch’s minions. What were they up to?

A demon circled Blaéz, a red bolt forming in his hand. He sneered at the black sword, “Pretty toy.”

Blaéz spun around, and in a deadly arch, brought his
“pretty toy”
down, severing the demon’s fat, smirking head in a clean strike. The body fell and disintegrated into ash.

A thin scream yanked Blaéz’s attention. A demon hauled a struggling human wearing a red t-shirt and shoved the male toward the rift. Blaéz flashed, landed a vicious kick to the demon’s belly and sent him flying to the asphalt. The shrieking human stumbled into the dark rupture. Blaéz dove for the male, but the flickering darkness swallowed him into its greedy maw.

I have this.

At Aethan’s telepathic warning, he flashed some distance away, leaving Aethan amidst the horde. Týr had already dematerialized.

Blaéz pulled his protective shields tightly around him just as a white light emerged from within the Empyrean, turning him into a pulsing silhouette of whitefire. A power so dangerous, it could flatten the city and surrounding areas in seconds if the warrior lost control, leaving only ash in its wake. No, not good at all. Centuries ago, stationed in Europe during the so-called Dark Ages, Blaéz had seen how Aethan had razed demonii-infested villages to nothing but ash.

For a second, the demons stood still, caught in the light’s deadly beauty, then the truth struck. They scrambled in a dissonance of screeches to get away.

Aethan flung his arms out. Light exploded. In a wave, it spread through the alley, glazing the grime off walls and consuming all in its path… After a few minutes, the light dimmed and petered out. Aethan lowered his hands. Head bent. Spent.

It would take the warrior a few minutes to recover. He was at his weakest right then.

Blaéz kept watch, glancing around the quiet alley where not even a vermin scuttled. The threat was annihilated for now. A slight vibration in the air and Týr re-appeared with Echo. Her gaze darted around, then settled on her mate. Her anger gone, she sprinted over and skidded to a halt. “Aethan?”

He didn't speak, just yanked her close and buried his face in her hair. Despite the couple’s earlier friction, their need for each other hammered home to Blaéz what mattered most. They let nothing stand in the way of their love. While he had nothing to fall back on with his present built on lies. So far he’d been making a damn mess of everything with Darci.

I have feelings that need to be fed and nurtured
, her words rolled in his head like scattering marbles. Indeed, he couldn’t have fucked up more.

A pained expulsion of breath slashed the unnerving silence, pulling Blaéz out of his thoughts and back to the alley. Echo shoved away from Aethan. He reached for her, but she shook her head. “No.”

Aethan’s features tightened into grim lines. “Echo—”

“You can't touch me right now.” She held him off with one hand, steadying herself with the other on the grimy wall. “It hurts worse when you do…”

Aethan’s fists clenched, he stared helplessly at her.

Blaéz had never seen Echo heal the veils before. Her eyes closed, she stood so still, but the agony on her face conveyed a helluva lot of pain. One he couldn’t tap into and draw into him because it wasn’t physical.

He glanced at his friend. “What’s happening?”

Anger and worry edged Aethan’s words. “All her energy — everything she is, is directed toward healing the tears.”

“How?” Blaéz asked. It made him realize how little he knew of Echo’s ability.

Aethan’s gaze never left Echo as he spoke, “The rift’s drawing on the magical properties of her bloodline. Its wound becomes hers, and it’s fucking hurting her. And I have to stand by and watch this torture—”

Another agonized gasp. Echo swayed. Her knees gave way. Aethan grabbed her before she hit the sludge-coated asphalt. “I have you,
me’morae
.” He swept her into his arms and dematerialized with his unconscious mate.

Blaéz scanned the veils. The shimmering weave, like a million sparkling raindrops, flowed smoothly once more. The tear had knitted. Healed. Echo had done her job. But at what cost?

He had to go back to the castle, see Darci and mend the rifts he’d unintentionally caused.

About to leave, Týr loped over to him, just as both their cells buzzed. He pulled out his and snorted at the text. “The Arc wants a quick meet.”

Blaéz dematerialized.

***

Blaéz entered the kitchen. He scanned for Darci and found her in the shower. Instantly, his mind went back to last night when he’d made love to her. Images flowed through him, but that breathtaking moment had all the intensity of a Polaroid shot. He felt nothing.

He pulled down a glass from the cupboard and poured a shot of whiskey as Týr walked in.

He circled the long oak table, dropped into a chair and faced him. “Does the Arc seem a little distracted to you lately?”

Blaéz leaned against the counter near the window and sipped his liquor, the burn a transient sensation, diminishing all too fast. He shrugged. Michael was the last person on his mind. “I imagine we’ll know soon enough.”

“Suppose so.” Týr drummed a restless tune on the wooden table as they waited. “We still have to keep an eye out for the Watchers’ descendants awakening. Why the hell don’t they have a name or something? Do we call them angel babes, nephilim — what?”

“Psionic,” Michael said, striding inside. Black Aviators concealed his eyes as usual. His hair had slipped the ponytail he’d taken to wearing. His face gleamed with sweat as if he’d come from a battle or a heavy bout of lovemaking — it couldn’t be the latter since he was of the divine angels, celibate and in service to their God.

“That’s the name the seraphim gave The Watchers’ offspring because of their impossible power,” Michael said, swiping a coke from the fridge. He tore off the tab and guzzled it like he’d been in the desert without water for decades. “Dagan summoned me. Seems we have a problem.”

“Demoniis?” Týr asked, titling his chair to balance on two legs. “Eliminated a horde of them just now at the rift.”

“Not sure.” Michael headed back to the table and set his soda down. “The rift’s dealt with?”

“Echo’s done her job if that’s what you mean,” Aethan said, stalking into the kitchen. He appeared ragged, his fury barely leashed as he dropped into a chair. “She’s unconscious — will remain so for who the hell knows how long this time. Just what the fuck is Lore doing? Wasn’t he supposed to help her handle this?”