Darkness Undone

by Georgia Lyn Hunter

  Magic? In her?

  His heart thundered in his ears. Was she the one?

  If she could awaken the scroll and locate the Stone—he had to go back. Speak to her. And ask her for more blood. He needed to get a proper reading.

  Yeah, right.

  After terrifying her, she’d probably knee him in the balls and call the cops. But determination rode him. Despite the unexpected complication of his reaction to her, he would let nothing stand in his way. Saving his fading realm was all that mattered.

  ***

  Eve rejoined her friends, her mind reeling, grateful they wanted to call it a night.

  In the cab, she closed her eyes and stroked her neck which strangely didn't hurt. Her thoughts returned to the bizarre episode in the restroom.

  The only time she’d ever been more terrified than tonight was when she desperately tried to drag her parents from the burning car wreck so many years ago. Absently, she peeled off the Band-Aid from her fingers. She honestly had no idea what had set the man off. It wasn't as if she’d seen his thoughts or felt his emotions, for which she was grateful…

  Eve froze. Her heart banged against her ribs. She’d touched him—touched him with her bare hands—and all she’d felt was blessed silence. Not a jolt of an image, a whisper of a thought, not even color. Nothing. Except for his pain that had constricted her chest like a rubber band, before vanishing like it’d never been.

  Eve frowned and touched her injured lobe. Even that didn’t hurt anymore. How odd. But darn, she’d lost her favorite earring. She undid the remaining hoop and dropped it in her bag.

  No, Kataya was wrong. He didn't fry her brains. But he sure left her with a trembling need for something more. Ugh, maybe she was insane, but the man fascinated her. Dangerously sexy and utterly gorgeous, he looked like he could tear down walls with his bare hands, and yet those big hands had been gentle when he tended to her ear. A shiver raced through her.

  Well, that was before he’d wrapped his fingers around her neck in a deathly grip.

  Yep. She was definitely certifiable.

  ***

  Reynner scanned the chaotic club for the female with the green eyes, but it was a waste of time. He picked up nothing except a shitload of intoxicated emotions from the humans partying there.

  A hand drifted down his back where he stood on the landing. A sweet scent combined with liquor crowded his nostrils. He cut the busty, dark-haired female an impatient look and stepped away. He had to find green eyes, had to know for sure she was the one he sought.

  How the hell was he going to do that when she seemed to have vanished right off his radar?

  No matter, he would locate her. Besides, she was mortal. How much trouble could she be compared to the wily prince currently living with him, one who had a penchant for roaming mortal nightclubs?

  With Aerén’s trigger temper and his immense power, wiping out the city was a sure thing. Michael would definitely kick Reynner’s ass into oblivion. Or worse, make him a Guardian of the human race.

  Damn. He wasn't cut out to be anyone’s protector.

  Reynner left the club and headed down the alley, rubbing his chest where she’d knocked into him. Warm, feminine, she was—no, he couldn’t think about how perfect she felt against him. Something scraped his palm. Frowning, he freed the piece of metal caught on his shirt and stared at the small, gold, half-circle.

  Her earring. He ran a thumb around the misshapen loop, lowered his psychic shields, and tried to read her magic on the piece of jewelry. A slight tingle teased his senses. Dark green eyes flashed in his mind and his body hardened again.

  Shit, not the effect he wanted. Reynner dropped the earring into his coat pocket when a wavering shape took form beside him, snagging his attention.

  “Sire, we have a problem,” the ghostly figure of his houseman said. Izzeri's face appeared paler than usual, his copper hair disheveled, his apparition flickering in the dark alley.

  The fact that the male would contact him in this manner meant only one thing. Aerén had taken off again. Dammit!

  ***

  Eve shivered, desire coursing through her blood, her entire attention focused on the glitter of the cool blade trailing down her bare abdomen. Her stomach clenched when he glanced up at her from his hunkered position, the dim lights turning his pale hair into a shimmering halo.

  At the predatory look in his night-sky eyes, she sucked in a shuddering breath at the raw need he elicited from her. She tugged at her hands, but he’d shackled her wrists above her head to the wall.

  “Tell me what you want, Eve.” The husky taunt of her name on his lips stretched her taut nerves further. Arousal burned higher. He was playing with her. He knew what she wanted. For him to touch her, finish this off instead of tormenting her—

  “How much longer, Evie?”

  Brenna’s voice threw ice water on images that wouldn’t leave her alone. Christ. Unfulfilled sex dreams had kept her awake last night, and now they seemed equally determined to take over her day. Eve forced her mind back to her work and off a stranger she had no business dreaming about in the first place.

  “Another ten and I'm done,” she told Brenna.

  Afternoon sunlight streamed into the warehouse, flashing off the assortment of metal sheets, wire, and narrow steel pipes. She’d rented this place a block from her apartment since it provided the right amount of space. The huge windows made it perfect when she worked, without the need for extra lighting.

  “This isn’t like painting, I don’t have to stay abso-still, right?” Brenna flexed her foot where she lay in her underwear on the makeshift daybed near the window. “It’s almost three P.M., Evie. I still have to get home and get ready for tonight. David’s opening, remember?”

  “Hmmn, yes,” Eve murmured. She warmed the copper strip she held between her palms then bent the metal and attached it to her sculpture to shape the outline of Brenna’s supposedly relaxed foot, now tapping to the soft strains of Debussy drifting from the CD player.

  Of all of Eve’s friends, Brenna was the only one who seemed to sail through life with her ready smile and charm paving the way. Despite the fact that her family had gone back to Scotland a few years ago, Brenna was content. She dated, but never got seriously involved with anyone.

  “Are you excited about your showing?” Brenna asked. “The big day draws closer.”

  Eve struggled to contain the sudden flutter of butterflies in her stomach. “I try not to think about it. But I sure don’t regret giving up painting yellow ducks on nursery walls,” she said with a wry grimace, thinking of her unsatisfying job as a mural artist and the menial tasks her ex-boss usually dumped on her.

  “Well, Eric raves about your pieces he’s seen.” Brenna sat up on the bed. “He’s the owner of a successful gallery and only his opinion counts, right?”

  “Absolutely.” Eve smiled at her friend’s loyalty as she ran her fingers over the sculpture. The hum of the metal made up for her lack of human contact, almost like it sang to her. She’d never explained this phenomenon to anyone. They would think her nuts. But it helped her put the parts together. Almost like a musical opus as they formed the fluid shapes she wanted.

  The intertwining of copper sheets and wire worked well with this piece. Backing up, Eve studied the fusion of metal that made up the reclining life-size sculpture.

  “Being a nude, it looks female—for which I'm grateful—but I don’t see the resemblance,” Brenna said, coming to stand beside her.

  “It’s an allusion, not meant to be realistic.”

  Her friend knew as little about art as Eve knew about...sex. She rolled her eyes at the thought. Then blew out an anxious breath. “This has to work, or else I'll be living on the street come month end.”

  Brenna slipped her arm around Eve's waist and hugged her, careful not to touch her hands. “The sculpture’s beautiful, hun. And you can come live with me anytime. Maybe I get to see you a little more then. You work far too much, you know.”

 
“Soon, Bren, after the show, we can all get together. Since I have another home to go to, you're released from captivity,” Eve teased, returning Brenna’s brief embrace. “I’ll see you at the gallery.”

  A rustle of feathers and cooing sounds came from her worktable, alerting them that they weren’t alone. Brenna pulled on her clothes then made a detour to the dove Eve had rescued outside her apartment several days ago. “Hey there, little guy. You ready to leave the roost, or do you like your new home too much?”

  “Like he understands you.” Eve snorted. She reached out and stroked the bird’s gray, pearlescent feathers. A light, almost incandescent joy seeped into her. Animals were far safer to touch, no painful emotions at all. “I tried to get him to fly. He does everything but that. I’m hoping for a miracle. I don’t mind, though, I like his company.”

  “You’re in good hands, then,” Brenna told the dove and picked up her bag from the table. “See you later, Evie.” She wiggled her fingers in goodbye and left the studio.

  Eve went back to her sculpture, and when she thought of what was at stake, she pressed her hand to her knotting stomach.

  Several months ago, she had quit her dead-end job, used up her small savings, and put everything she had into this. She’d been both terrified and exhilarated about taking charge of her life, leaving behind her safe job as a mural artist. But her show was fast approaching.

  Unable to concentrate, she rubbed her hand down her sweats, her troubled mind drifting to him once again.

  Last night hadn’t been a good one. The most erotic dream had drawn her into a place where she’d been manacled to a wall while he, just in his leathers, taunted her with a dagger. Helpless and under his absolute control, it hadn’t been fear coursing through her but unbearable desire. Her limbs had turned to molasses when his tongue followed the trail he made with the blade down her stomach… leaving her hot and needy.

  Christ! She had to stop this. Submission and domination games weren’t her thing. Jesus, she was still a virgin for crying out aloud. Eve rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands as if she could erase the images.

  Last night, she’d totally lost her common sense. The man, it seemed, was a hazard not only to her life but also to all things that made her a woman.

  Thank God she’d never have to see him again.

  Chapter 3

  Reynner took form on the terrace of his home, built on a high ledge carved deep into the rock face of the Exilum mountains. It was a place beyond the veils of the human realm, accessible only through a portal, and a sanctuary for exiled immortals.

  Railless balconies ran around the perimeter of all three levels. Reynner could see for miles on end. Not another soul in sight—just him, the cliffs, and the gigantic waterfalls. He liked it this way, preferred the isolation. Unfortunately, solitude was not an option with a moody prince in residence.

  Sliding the doors open with his mind, he walked into the sparsely equipped gym with its smooth granite floors, rough walls, and recessed orbs in the ceiling. He inhaled deeply, trying to ease the unexplained restlessness prowling through him since he’d left New York.

  It had nothing to do with her, he told himself, but with Aerén taking off.

  Usually, he didn’t care where Aerén disappeared to, so long as he wasn't trawling clubs on the human realm. But, dammit, he should have left a bloody note!

  At the thought, Reynner’s mouth tightened. He’d wasted the night in the city, then an entire morning here searching for the prince, only to find Aerén on the mountaintop, near the waterfalls. Brooding.

  He really wasn’t cut out for this babysitting chore, but he did it because of a friendship long lost. Besides, one didn't say no to the high ruler of Empyrea.

  A figure materialized on the balcony moments later. Aerén walked inside, having followed him. He stopped near the doorway, his features drawn tight. His damp trews and tunic clung to his body, and his pale blue hair hung limply around his shoulders.

  Two millennia had passed since Reynner had left Empyrea. The young, playful boy Aerén had once been had disappeared. In his place, a tall, muscular man stood, his lean face and tormented eyes bearing the tragedy that had ravaged his family.

  Aerén’s oldest brother had been banished for the tragic death of their little sister, and with the recent disappearance of his parents…yeah, Aerén didn't have much to smile about. His only kin left was Daén, the middle-born son and now ruler of Empyrea.

  “Are you training?” Reynner asked him.

  “For Urias’ sake, Reyn!” Aerén glared at him, his silver eyes burning with unleashed emotions. “Strife plagues our dominions, our magic grows weaker, and life declines. I can’t be left here doing nothing!”

  Reynner understood his concerns. Unlike other realms, the seven dominions of Empyrea resonated with arcane energy, siphoned from the seven mystical Stones of Light.

  Two thousand years ago, one of the Stones had vanished and the link was broken. Their realm would eventually fade and die unless the missing artifact was found and brought back.

  The green-eyed female had better be the one they sought. Heavens help them all if he was wrong.

  First, Reynner had to get his hotheaded prince to calm down before he could go after her.

  His body still far too tense, Reynner willed the door to open farther. He hoped the breeze would cool his ardor, but that thought got shot to Hades when his dick seemed hell-bent on reminding him of how he’d responded to her.

  “Do you know who you ambushed and almost killed before Daén sent you to me?” Reynner asked, trying to shut off desires that had no place in his life.

  “Rebels, who else?” Aerén’s lips curled in disgust. “Those insipid degenerates deserve nothing less than a slow, torturous death.”

  “No. Those were Darkrean males returning home after a stint of hunting. Had you killed them, the Darkreans would have retaliated, and you would have started another civil war.”

  “And you see a difference? Rebels, Darkreans, they are just leeches who will bleed Empyrea into oblivion.”

  Reynner nailed him an annoyed look. “They are still Empyreans, and as such, it is Daén’s job as ruler to deal with this situation. You need to stand beside your brother and help him. Not be a bloody hindrance.” He hoped his words landed with the impact of a boulder on Aerén’s hard head.

  He glared. Apparently not.

  “You’re high-lord of Ademéras. What are you doing to protect your domain?” Aerén demanded.

  “Ademéras doesn't need me, it has a ruler,” Reynner stated, his tone flat. “My mother can take care of her territory.”

  Aerén stared at him in disbelief. “Lucan’s right. You have become cold and heartless.”

  “It’s good you know that.”

  “Hell sure killed you,” Aerén shot back.

  “Be thankful you never have to live that shit. Now, get yourself in gear and train with me, or go vent your frustrations elsewhere.” Reynner stalked off to the other end and the small, roughly excavated space he used as a changing room, Aerén’s words following him.

  Cold. Heartless.

  They pounded in his head as he grabbed a pair of sweats and a tee from the wooden shelf. Pain, he could live with since it was his constant companion. But guilt ate at his soul, knowing he was responsible for Ariana’s death and for much of Aerén’s anguish.

  Scrubbing a hand over his face, he changed and headed back to the gym.

  Aerén turned from the window, regret crossing his face. “Reyn, my pardon. I should not have said that.”

  “It’s all true. I'm not what I once was.”

  Eons ago, he’d lived for the fights, fun, and females—in any order.

  “I guess none of us are. But I cannot be closed off here. I have to do something.” Aerén shoved an impatient hand through his damp hair. “Let me fight with you in the mortal realm.”

  Reynner understood Aerén’s frustration and helplessness all too well, but it was far too dangerous. “I kill
demoniis, Aerén. They're vicious, and they feed on the blood and souls of humans who cannot protect themselves.”

  Except it wasn’t really about protecting humans. It was the one thing that gave him purpose after his escape from Hell, to end every one of the soulless fuckers.

  “And for that you have to learn control, especially with the kind of powers we possess. Your shield slips even for a second, and you’d destroy more than just the city—you’d leave no survivors. You’d bring down the wrath of the archangel.

  “Trust me, you don’t want Michael on your ass. Or worse, Gaia, the ancient goddess who watches over that world. You’re pissed at everything right now. Learn to control your temper, and then we’ll talk.”

  Aerén’s mouth thinned.

  Good. For a hothead like him, it must have been difficult to lock down his jaw.

  Reynner pulled off his tee and tossed it on a bench. Aerén’s gaze honed in on the scar on Reynner’s left pec. He said nothing, but compassion flickered in his light eyes.

  Irritation surged. He should have kept the damn shirt on. He didn’t want anyone to see his branding of shame, a moment of weakness that had changed his life and left him with an eight-point star on his chest, proof of a randy goddess’s ownership.

  He’d been forced to reveal the truth when Aerén had come across him several months ago where he’d chained himself to the dungeon wall, out of his mind in pain. The only way he wouldn’t break free and give into Inanna when she summoned him by way of the mark on his chest. The pain she inflected was the price he paid for ignoring her calls.

  “Don’t waste your pity on me. I deserve what I got.”

  “To be owned by a whore goddess?”

  “A lesson well learned—never trust a female, never promise anything. Now, are you joining me?”

  Exhaling roughly, Aerén nodded and flashed out from the gym.

  Reynner rolled his shoulders. Loosening the tight muscles of his back, he released his wings. A grunt of relief escaped him. The rustle of feathers caused a light breeze to sweep across the gym. His image in the windowpane reflected the cream-tipped and bronze color of his extremities. Keeping them hidden while in the mortal realm was a pain in the ass, but immortals could never call attention to themselves. Besides, he didn’t care to have his wings on display. And even more, he hated them being touched.