Breaking Fate (3 page)

Blaéz let a goading smile take shape. He should give himself a medal for aping emotions. “I feel like a ride. I'm heading for the library.”

“Why?” Týr’s brow furrowed. “We have one right here with a shitload of reading material.”

“That we do. But it doesn’t have what I want… a rare edition.”

Týr popped more of the candies into his mouth, crunched on the sweets and shrugged. “Whatever. But I'm getting the Harley back.”

“You can try.” Blaéz headed for the door.

Týr snorted then yelled after him. “I will, you tricky bastard.”

***

The chill from the air conditioning blasted Blaéz in the face as he pushed open the door to the Renaissance styled library in East Village. Beneath the coldness, the musty odor of books wafted in the air. Black steel and mahogany shelves surrounded him and rose to the ceiling, crammed with paperbacks and hardcovers.

A hush descended as he stepped into the library. The shocked silence had little impact on him. He checked out the queue waiting at the front desk. Three people manned the square mahogany counter, a male, an older, dark-haired female, and a younger blonde one, but no sign of
her.

He ignored the cautious but appreciative looks he received from the patrons and speculated with morbid reflection if they would continue admiring him if they knew what he was. A damned male who killed with no remorse, a being on a set course straight back to the very place that had made him what he was today. They’d definitely run screaming in the opposite direction.

A sudden explosion of excited childish voices hit his ears. Blaéz stepped aside as a flurry of tiny feet stampeded his way and halted. Little faces stared up at him. Two young, female adults ushered them on but sent him coy smiles while trying to keep their charges in line. Seconds later, the door closed on their excited chatter.

Blaéz brought his attention back to scanning for her. He tried to pick up on her elusive lilac scent and wondered at the state of his mind that he’d actually found out the name of the flower whose fragrance haunted him. Hedori hadn’t blinked an eyelid at his question — guess the butler was used to all their weirdness.

Then the world around him slowed. His gaze fastened on the muttering female coming toward him from the far end of the library, carrying several hardcover volumes.

Even with the distance, her scent reached out and yanked him by the chest. As if he’d awoken after a long sleep, warmth flowed through him like the rising sun. Greedily, he absorbed everything about her.

A tight, black skirt an inch or so above her knees revealed long, tanned legs he wanted wrapped around his hips, his head — he really didn't care where, as long as they were around him. A simple, white, button-front top hugged her upper body and molded to her lush breasts. She’d put her curly hair up in a knot anchored with a pencil this time. Several strands had escaped their prison to frame a heart-shaped face he wanted to caress with his hands as he tasted her tempting mouth.

She looked up and went utterly still. Unforgettable sunflower eyes met his. Impossible desire heated his blood and flowed to his groin. With sheer will alone, he tempered his needs.

Then her eyes narrowed.

The little spitfire didn't look happy. Good thing he had a thick hide. He wasn't leaving without what he’d come for.

Her.

***

Darci stumbled to a halt at the sight of Daniel’s rescuer standing just off the library’s entrance. Her stomach fluttered at his intense, pale-eyed perusal. Jeez, butterflies at her age? Pulling herself together, she gave him a cool look.

What was he doing here? He certainly didn’t seem the type to indulge in reading — more like he’d be at home with thugs and assassins checking out guns, grenades, or whatever it was they used.

Come on, Dars, just because the man wears black doesn’t make him a candidate for the mafia.
For all she knew, he could be headed for the seminary.

Still, she couldn’t look away. No leathers today. He looked like he’d stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. Black tailored pants covered his muscled legs. The rolled up sleeves of his matching button down shirt revealed lightly tanned and powerful forearms. No matter the semi-formal attire, he couldn’t contain the air of peril he wore like a sexy second skin.

And she was ogling a possible would-be priest. Wonderful.

With heavy books weighing her arms down, she took a deep breath and got moving again.

Darci set the hardcovers on the counter and met her co-workers’ curious gazes. Maria, older and unflappable, merely watched, but Irina, the new girl who’d started a few weeks ago to replace Wendy, who’d gotten married, gave her the thumbs up sign.

Frowning, Darci turned. Her heart nearly leaped out of her chest to find
him
standing right behind her. Hastily, she stepped back. Darn, he smelled incredible, like a cool night’s breeze with a hint of leather. His bruises from yesterday had disappeared. Not a mark remained. How odd.

“What are you doing here?”

His cool gaze traveled leisurely over her face. He didn't seem bothered at her belligerence. “Testing a theory.”

“What? That I'm difficult and bad-tempered?” she shot back.

“No.” A hint of humor warmed his gaze. He reached out and stroked her bare arm with a warm, callused finger, shocking the life out of her. A tingle zapped through her like wildfire.

She jerked free, hissed. “What the heck did you do?”

His fingers balled, his pearlescent eyes swirling into a darker blue. Lines bracketed his sensual mouth as if in agony. A tick pulsed fiercely in his jaw. He looked shaken.

Concern replaced her ire. “Are you okay?”

A nod.

Darci narrowed her eyes. He’d been hurting. She’d seen it. His stricken expression touched something inside her. She softened her tone. “You sure you're all right?”

“Define
‘all right’
,” he said, the pain lines around his mouth easing.

She cocked an eyebrow and nodded to the thousands of books around them. “Since you're in the right place, how about a dictionary? While you're at it, look up “macho-bullcrap” — should be right next to
all right
.”

A smile ghosted his mouth. It rearranged the hard lines of his face into something breathtaking. The man was utterly gorgeous. She had a feeling he rarely smiled. His gaze lingered on her lips. Her thoughts rushed right back to last night, of him trapping her against her door. Heat seeped through her and headed south as desired stirred. She swallowed, trapped by that knowing stare.

“Darci?” Her boss’s voice snapped her out of her hypnosis. Hastily, she spun around and met the head librarian’s annoyed expression. And sighed.

An inch taller than her, stocky, and with graying brown hair, Lester Barret disliked the staff socializing with patrons — or what he regarded as socializing. He persisted in running the library like boot camp.

She faked a sweet smile. “Yes, Lester?”

A low growl emitted from behind her. She shot a puzzled glance over her shoulder. Mr. Dark and Dangerous nailed Lester with a black look. So, he didn’t like anyone cutting in when he was talking? Then he stepped closer. He didn't touch her, but that possessive move had her heart skipping a beat.

Darci quickly faced front and found her boss smoothing his gray tie with a jerky hand.

“Get the rest of the new books from storage,” Lester rasped, suddenly sounding like he badly needed a drink of water. “They need to be catalogued and shelved. Today.”

Dammit. Another late night. One day soon, she consoled herself, she’d run this place and Lester would be packing books. She didn't get her degree in library science to do this. She was his assistant, not a damn skivvy. Stuffing away her annoyance, Darci turned to her lethal visitor. “Can I help you with something, a book perhaps?” she asked, heading for the storeroom again.

“What time do you finish here?” He followed her down the aisle. For such a big man, he moved silently, reminding her of a stalking jungle cat.

“Why?”

“So I can meet you.”

He was straightforward; she’d give him that. “I'm sure a guy who looks like you must have women queuing at your doorstep, why me?”

“For that very reason.”

What? That she resisted instead of running to him? She snorted but was darn grateful he had no idea of how her pulse raced at his candid response. Not even with her ex had she experienced this stirring expectancy.

“And you think I want you to come back?”

“Absolutely.”

That startled a laugh from her. “As you’ve heard, we’re working late.”

He grasped her wrist, surprising her, and pulled her into an aisle between the shelves. “Give me a time.”

His scent crowded her, urging her to agree. Darci fought to get her scattered wits to function. She pulled her hand free and stepped back, trying to rub away the prickling awareness his touch caused. Her gaze drifted over his chiseled features and settled on his far too tempting lips. Hurriedly, she looked away. Said off-handedly, “Eight, nine, midnight — with Lester in this mood, who knows?”

“I don’t imagine you want me sitting in this library, little sun, but I will. A time.”

Little sun?
That threw her off. She met his resolute stare and realized he was deadly serious. The time was wrenched free from a suddenly dry throat. “Nine.”

“Good.” He closed the space between them. Slowly, he trailed his finger along her jaw to caress her lower lip. “Until nine, then.”

The next minute, he was gone, leaving her with only the books on the shelves as witness to how a simple touch of his hand had left her stunned stupid.

Shaking the lassitude from her limbs, Darci hurried to the aisle to find him halfway across the library. How on earth did he move so fast? She touched her tingling mouth, her heart pounding in anticipation.

Until nine.

Blaéz hunkered on the rooftop of a warehouse in Lower Manhattan. Arms braced on his thighs, he scanned the backstreet. The stench drifting from the dumpsters lining the grimy walls several feet down ripened the muggy air.

Another quiet night… No, not quite. The muffled beat of music and the conversation from the bar farther up the alley floated to him along with the murmur of traffic. The faint odor of sulfur lingered in the air at this known demonii hunting ground.

No, evil never rested. He ought to know. It just regrouped to cause more destruction.

A cloud drifted over the silvery gleam of the moon, shadowing the alley.

Come, warrior…

He shut his mental shields tight at the voices clawing for obedience. Evil may be taking a break tonight, but for him, his nightmare never ceased. He didn't want to think about what rejecting the
call
would do.

Blaéz retrieved his cell phone and glanced at the display. Nine o’clock was minutes away. Time to make tracks. He’d parked the Veyron in one of the underground parking lot so he didn't have to worry about it. The memory of Darci made him recall the smile that she’d so easily brought to his face. Macho-bullcrap indeed. He’d sensed her reluctance to meet him. Too bad, he wasn't letting her go.

Blaéz tapped his cell against his palm — as usual, anticipation was just a word in the dictionary. He was a moving, living block of nothing. The only part of him that had any fun was the tattooed sword on his biceps. Right then, it stirred in warning. Pulsed in demand for his summons, for the bloodthirsty glide of decapitation. The mark of Gaia never failed to remind him when evil trolled.

The biting sensation of unadulterated malevolence crawled over his skin. They sure timed their arrival. He rose and slid his cell back into his pocket.

“Keep your knickers on,” he murmured, not inclined to cooperate with his pulsing weapon. With humans farther up the street, loitering outside a busy bar, an audience was definite if he summoned his sword.

He examined the shadows. A terrified whimper reached him. There. Against the looming building, three demoniis had cornered a human with his zipper undone. Idiot probably thought it safe to take a leak.

Blaéz leaped off the tall building and landed on his feet. His gaze trained on the trio. Their sulfuric stink overtook the reek of the narrow lane. Like most New Yorkers, shades concealed their eyes, but he knew the truth of what lay behind. Glowing red eyes, evidence of the human souls they consumed. The scourges deserved nothing less than death.

In a blur, their hands moved, stealing the earth’s natural energies and turning them into deadly bolts, and fired it at him. Blaéz dodged. They may have lost their abilities at their true death, but they still found a way to compensate. “I wouldn’t if I were you. Before your next one hits me, I’ll have you coating the asphalt in dust.”

The hands they’d held out to summon more energy stilled. The look of horror crossing their faces augured well for their continued life, even if it were only for the next few minutes. They shoved the human aside. “It’s the Detonator.”

They had a name for him? Well, now. He sauntered closer. “If you mean can I blast you to smithereens with just a thought? I'm game to test that theory. Are you?”

The demoniis shifted uneasily, sticking their hands in their pockets as if to make sure they didn’t give in to temptation and strike him. Pity.

Blaéz glanced at the human cowering against the wall, the faint whiff of liquor drifted from him. “Run.”

The male took off, wavering up the alley like a tipsy bullet.

One of the demoniis leaped at Blaéz. He evaded, grabbed his quarry in a chokehold, and dragged him into the shadows, away from the humans nearby.

A quick twist and he broke the scourge’s neck. Before he regenerated, Blaéz summoned the mystical sword tattooed on his biceps. In a tingle, it slithered down his arm and took the form of a six-foot-long obsidian broadsword. Etchings of ancient symbols marked the black blade. In his hand, it glowed to life.

He brought his weapon down in a deadly arc that decapitated the fallen demonii. Black blood sprayed Blaéz with the stench of decay. Aware of the other two creeping closer, as if he were that easy to kill, Blaéz pivoted and pierced one in the chest. Then swung around and beheaded the other, closing in on him from the left. More gross plasma spurted out of its headless neck. The demonii fell to the ground, disintegrating into a gooey black mess before turning into dust.

The wounded one cannonballed right past Blaéz and up the alley toward the humans. Willing his sword back to his biceps, Blaéz flashed, blocking the demonii mid-way. “You really didn’t think you’d escape me, did you?”

Cornered, the dead sucker summoned another bolt.

With his mind, Blaéz pushed into the demonii’s thoughts and let loose his deadly ability. The scourge’s eyes bulged. Then, like the pop of a fizzy drink, he exploded into pieces; blood and gore turning to ash and raining back on the dingy tarmac.

Cooooome, warrior…

Held in the grips of his invasion, the oily darkness crawled around in Blaéz’s head. Compelling. Urging him to respond to the slick voices.

Drunken laughter erupted like a gunshot to his head. Cab doors slammed shut, yanking Blaéz back to cognizance. With no emotions to ground him, slipping into the demoniis’ tainted mind was always a risk, a one-way ticket to Hell. Why he rarely used that ability. He shook his head to clear the thick black haze, brushed the dust from his clothes, then he checked the time on his cell. 9:21 P.M.

He was late.

***

Darci left the library a few minutes after nine. She stepped out of the staff entrance that opened into a narrow thoroughfare. Within seconds, the humidity had her top sticking to her clammy skin. She scrunched her nose at the foul stench drenching the muggy air and glanced around.

He
was nowhere to be seen. She lingered for a few seconds. Ugh, she was seriously out of her mind to wait for a complete stranger whose name she hadn't even thought to ask.

Sure, he looked better than any guy she’d dated. Heck, he was outright good-looking, but that wasn’t what that drew her. It was, she thought with wry acceptance, that untouchable level of arrogance when he’d held her trapped against her door and had said she would kiss him if he wanted her to. Oh, his ego had ticked her off. But more, it was the way he wouldn’t accept no for an answer, his sheer determination in pursuit of her. He fascinated her.

However, he’d stood her up, that much was clear. Sighing, she headed down the lane, the dim lights barely illuminating the way, and tried not to think about why her heart sank at the fact that he hadn't shown.

She noticed Irina and Maria almost at the end of the alley and hurried to catch up. She didn't care for this gloomy road, but it got her to the subway and home much quicker. The hardcover book she’d borrowed slipped from her hand and fell to the asphalt. Dammit. She picked it up and dumped it into her tote bag, grimacing at the added weight.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Wariness prickled along her neck. Darci cast a look over her shoulder and quickened her pace, only to be grabbed from the side and shoved against the wall. The rough bricks scraped her cheek. Pain escalated.

“Well, now,” a crude voice rasped. Fear churning her stomach, Darci grabbed the arm fastened around her neck and tugged, but her assailant held on. She brought her heel down hard on the fiend’s foot. Snarling, he let go. She swung her heavy tote bag and hit him across his jaw.

A curse rang in the air. “You bitch!” A stinging blow exploded across her face. Stars burst through her darkened vision. Nausea rushed up her throat.

“
Hijo de puta!
No marking on her,” another growled.

A screeching of tires, and the next minute she was shoved into a vehicle. The pungent odor of sweat, stale aftershave, and liquor made her stomach heave. All the things she’d read about in the papers, in books, came screaming through her mind. They would rape her — kill her—

She clawed at the man following her inside. His fist lashed out. Her head hit the door, pain spread through her jaw. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. Another man got in on her other side. Doors slammed shut. Her wrists were wrenched behind her back. She cried out, the searing agony overriding the pain in her head. Rough hands yanked at her top. Buttons flew. He grabbed her breast, squeezed hard. “We’re going to have so much fun,
puta
.”

Darci cried out, squeezing her eyes tight, fear and helplessness taking hold of her. She had to find a way out of this, if she didn't —
no-no,
she couldn’t bear to even think about what would happen…

***

Blaéz took form in the shadows of the buildings opposite the library. He crossed the street when the sound of a faint scuffle reached him, followed by a cry of pain.

With inhuman speed, he tore down the alley alongside the library. Two males were shoving someone into a car. Beneath the piss and dumpster stink, the faint scent of lilacs drifted to him. Thoughts of total annihilation filled his mind. They dared to touch
his
female.

He dematerialized. As the vehicle slowed down to turn onto the main street, he took form in front of it. The black Camry shuddered to a halt. Despite the dark interior and shadows, with his heightened sight, he could see Darci sandwiched between two males.

A window lowered. “Get outta the way, asshole,” an angry Spanish-accented voice yelled at him.

“Let. Her. Go.”

“He wants to order us.” Cocky now. “Why don’t you come and get her, eh?”

They thought to taunt him? Bad mistake. Blaéz lifted his hands.

A snicker followed. “You move us with your hands now, eh?”

With his mind, Blaéz ceased the engine then ripped the doors off of their hinges and flung them away. A tinny sound filled the alley as metal hit the building and landed in a heavy clunk. He seized the humans who touched the woman he’d claimed as his and flung them out of the car in opposite directions. They hit the walls skull first and landed in a heap… silence reigned.

Blaéz walked around the car to the back seat and reached for Darci. She scurried away from him, her fear so thick it left an acrid taste in his mouth. But with the door on the other side ripped off, she fell out of the vehicle — and cried out.

Blaéz flashed and grabbed her before she hit the asphalt. She yanked free from him, tears of pain dripping down her face. There were raw and bloody scrapes on her cheek. An ugly bruise had formed on the side of her jaw. Blood trailed from her split lower lip, down her chin, and dripped on her gaping shirt. Purple bruises marred her breasts. Breathing harshly, she pulled her top closed with trembling hands and watched him with terrified eyes.

Did she think him one of the fuckers who’d hurt her? The urge for vengeance grew, he thirsted for it, but a deep-seated need demanded that he see to her first.

Slowly, he reached for her again. “I won't hurt you.”

“No-no!”
she shrieked, hitting him. Her nails caught him in the neck. Blaéz grabbed her and crushed her to his chest, his protective instincts so strong, so unfamiliar. “Shh,
a leannan
, I have you.” He pressed his lips to her forehead—

A streak of pure agony shot through him as if struck by lightning. Pain, unlike anything he’d ever received almost brought him to his knees. His heart nearly crashed through his ribs. Unable to cope with the flood of emotions, he sent her to sleep and dematerialized, shooting a telepathic message to one of the warriors — he had no idea who — for clean up.

Moments later, he took form in front of the castle. Pain had him clenching his jaw as he stumbled inside and into the foyer. The butler appeared and rushed toward him in a blur, his inhuman orange-green eyes flashing with concern.

“Sire, allow me.” Hedori reached for Darci.

An animalistic growl escaped Blaéz. “No one touches her.”

Hedori pulled back, hands raised in a placating manner, his voice calm. “You will drop her and she’ll come to more harm. I'm sure that is not what you want?”

Did Hedori think him injured? The male had no idea of the truth — of the emotions coursing through Blaéz that had him weak and sweaty. Ignoring Hedori, he willed the lounge door open and staggered toward the couch. Gently, he laid Darci down. Her freed hair spilled out like honey-brown swirls on the black leather.

Michael entered a few seconds later. He must have picked up on the distress Darci was emitting. Good, he could heal her, instead of always being on Blaéz’s back about his proclivities for the extreme. He didn't trust himself right now with all the emotions barreling through him, a chaos of feelings he could barely handle. He needed to calm down fast.

Michael’s gaze went straight to Darci. Her ripped blouse revealed the darkening bruises on the soft curves of her breasts. Her skirt had hiked up and exposed her tanned thighs. Blaéz picked up a knitted throw that smelled a lot like Echo from the armchair and laid it over Darci, concealing her chest and bare legs.

“Heal her,” he said, stepping back. She was human, she could die so easily.
That
, he refused to allow.