Darkness Undone

by Georgia Lyn Hunter

  Glancing away, he set the treadmill for an uphill run. Not an easy thing, running with a six-foot wingspan behind him, but he needed the work out, to exhaust his mind and dull his endless pain.

  “Why do you think I cannot protect myself?” Aerén asked, reappearing in a shimmer near the free weights, wearing gray sweats and a t-shirt. “I can so easily overcome any adversity.”

  As if to prove his point, his body started to glow. The hairs on Reynner’s arms rose at the staticity—as if all the fiery energy in the realm had condensed inside Aerén and was minutes from releasing a deadly electrical storm.

  Shit! A miss, and he could bring down this mountainside. With a flick of his hand, Reynner obstructed the flare with a psychic block. “Rein in that godsdamn power. I happen to like my house where it is,” he growled. “Dammit, Aerén, you’re a bloody prince, one I’ve sworn to protect. Just stay here—you’ll be safe.”

  “Safe?” Anger darkened Aerén’s face. “You mean keep the spare heir safe, ready to take Daén’s place if anything happens to him. Is that what you think I want?”

  “It’s not a matter of want, it’s a must. You are the carrier of all that is light. It’s in your blood. You know this. Empyrea will be restored to what it once was, and you will go back.”

  In response, Aerén stormed out to the balcony and dematerialized.

  That went well.

  Inhaling an annoyed breath, Reynner tried to empty his mind of his problems while he ran, the power of each footfall adding to the burn in his thighs.

  He focused his attention on the frothy white waters of the roaring falls, but it did little to ease him. He dashed the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Still, his edginess didn’t ease as thoughts of her persisted. His mind couldn’t let go, couldn’t rid itself of the damn peach scent that seemed to have settled inside him. Or forget how her warm, feminine form felt against his. His body heated, his groin hardened.

  Shit! He scaled over the handlebars of the treadmill and sprinted out onto the edge of the balcony. Retracting his wings, Reynner dove in a free fall into the churning, icy waters of the plunge pool far below.

  ***

  A while later, Reynner left his room, coat in one hand and his cell phone in the other. If the female from the club was really the one they all were looking for, he had to find her fast, before the Darkreans did. They wanted rule of Empyrea, and they would do anything to get their hands on her. At the thought of those emotionless bastards taking her, his stomach knotted.

  No! She meant nothing to him except as a device to be used in his search.

  Scowling, he headed for the stairs leading to a well-lit circular foyer. His phone beeped. He glanced at the display and frowned at the reminder.

  David’s opening. Artist Inc. Gallery. DON’T BE LATE!

  What the hell—this wasn’t his phone.

  Reynner backtracked to the last time he’d used his cell…the previous evening in the club. His heart kicked up a notch.

  This was her cell. Their phones must have gotten switched when they crashed into each other, a meeting he’d orchestrated. He checked her voice messages.

  An annoyed female snapped, “Eve, where the hell are you? I called you several times today!”

  “Eve,” he breathed her name.

  Finally, something worked in his favor. He scrolled through her messages, a clear invasion of her privacy—like that’d stop him—and opened an unread text from David.

  Okay, not mad you haven’t answered my calls. Guess you're working, eh? See you at the gallery. Is later tonight still on?

  What the hell was going on later tonight?

  His gut twitched, jaw clamped—dammit. He had no business worrying about that aspect of her life. His first priority was to make sure she was the one he sought, and to keep her safe until she completed the task of awakening the scroll to find the Stone.

  Too bad for little green eyes, saving his world trumped her tryst.

  Reynner slipped the cell into his pocket, walked outside, and found Aerén there. He stood precariously on the edge of the balcony, hands shoved in his sweats pockets. He glanced back, his gaze sweeping over Reynner’s leathers and the coat he’d hooked with a finger over his shoulder. The bleakness in his eyes scored a layer off Reynner’s closed-door attitude.

  “I may have found someone who can awaken the scroll,” he said. He had no clue if this Eve could rouse the ancient parchment. Just because her magic blood did strange things to his dick meant nothing. But the question of why settled in his head, gnawed a hole and refused to leave. Brutally, he shut it off.

  “The mortal’s been found?”

  At the flicker of excitement in Aerén’s expression, Reynner wished he hadn't opened his yap so soon. “Don’t get your hopes up just yet. The scroll responds only to the touch of one whose blood will awaken it. I’d have to make sure she is the right female first, then find a way to convince her to help us.”

  Aerén cut him a dry look. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I recall the females haunting your halls in Ademéras, and your many assignations with them.”

  Seduce her to help their cause?

  “Yeah, should be a piece of cake,” he muttered, aware of his lack of enthusiasm.

  Why the hell was he hesitating over this one? He’d used females before. If Eve had magic in her, then he’d do what needed to be done. All that mattered was saving his world. His fingers curled around the delicate earring in his pocket.

  Once it was over, he’d just clear her memories and send her on her way…

  ***

  Eve wobbled in her vivid blue icepick heels, attempting her usual quick stride. Unless she wanted to fall flat on her face, she’d better slow down. She was already late, hurrying now made little difference.

  The stifling heat rose off the asphalt and moistened her skin as she fished for her cell phone in her evening bag to check her messages, surprised Brenna or Kataya hadn’t called to rant.

  Only to find it locked. And her password didn't work. Ugh, she’d just sort it out later.

  Dropping her phone back in her purse, Eve rubbed her damp palms over the hips of her blue-green strappy cocktail dress. Its flared hemline fluttered around her thighs as she pushed open the glass door into the snazzy foyer of the brick building where Artist Inc. Gallery was located. She sighed in pleasure at the blast of coolness against her skin. Thank God for air conditioners.

  While the ancient elevator chugged her up to the sixth floor, Eve drew on her black gloves. With this kind of crowd, she didn’t dare risk going in with bare hands.

  Soft voices and tinkling glass greeted her in the gallery, along with the nose-tingling scents of expensive perfumes and oil paints. Eve stopped, stunned, and stared at the canvases on display. David’s absentmindedness definitely hid a brilliant artist.

  “Hi,” she greeted the couple next to her. “His work is amazing, isn’t it?”

  The brunette threw her a cold look and turned away. Her male companion, on the other hand, smiled appreciatively at her.

  Odd. Eve shook her head and concentrated on the canvas titled “Life,” done in the Impressionist style. The enormous conglomeration of brushstrokes coalesced into a group of homeless people sheltering around a garbage can of fire. David had captured the very mood and nuances of his subjects while they enjoyed a simple pleasure. The sheer brilliance of his work boggled her mind.

  She spied Eric and David with a group of people on the other end and gave them a little wave before she wandered to another canvas. A jasmine perfumed cloud enveloped her seconds later.

  “There you are, you slacker,” Kataya growled into her ear. “You don’t answer your cell anymore?”

  “I’m so sorry, I was working.” She accepted a champagne flute from a passing waiter who gave her a thorough once over.

  Eve frowned. What was it with the lust-filled stares since she’d entered the gallery? Heck, Kataya was the looker with her pale skin and slant-shaped eyes. Tonight she was decked
in sleek black evening pants and matching bustier top. Her dark red hair flowed in a sexy cascade of corkscrew curls down her back.

  “I don’t know much about Impressionism,” Kataya said, her whiskey-colored eyes taking in all the paintings. “But everything sure looks good. So, are you and David heating up the sheets tonight?”

  Eve sputtered. Champagne sprayed, wetting her gloves.

  “Jesus, Kat!” She glared at her friend, found a tissue in her bag and cleaned off her damp gloves. “We’re merely having drinks later, nothing else.”

  “Hey.” Brenna glided over in a figure-hugging red dress. She looked at them both and raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”

  “Kat needs a distraction. Badly.” Eve snorted, squashing the used tissue into a ball. “Her mind’s in the gutters.”

  “Aah…” Brenna smiled, then her quizzical blue eyes pinned Eve. “You didn’t say you and David were an item.”

  “We aren’t, Bren. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  How could she, when his face haunted her now? Their first encounter had been disturbing enough. Then her dreams had taken over. No way she could ever forget those sensual lips set in that stunning face, taunting her as he trailed the dagger down her stomach—

  “You go on with that mindset and the worms will be the only ones enjoying your virginity,” Kataya muttered. “I’m going for a smoke.”

  Brenna took her arm. “Come. I want you to see something.

  Eve frowned at Kataya’s cranky attitude. “What’s with her?” she asked, letting Brenna lead her. “Her editors giving her crap again?”

  “Either that, or she’s missing Jake.” Brenna brushed her inky bangs from her eyes. “And she’s smoking like a junkie, too—ta-daaa!” She flashed her arms open as they stopped in front of a painting. “So, what do you think?”

  Eve didn’t answer. How could she when her jaw had dropped to the floor?

  There she was on canvas. Larger than life. The narrow strap of her top had dropped off one shoulder to expose the curve of her right breast. Thank God at least her nipple was covered! Dreamy green eyes stared back at her. Her mouth looked like she’d lip-locked a bee. At the seductive expression on her face, heat fused her cheeks. “I never posed for that!”

  The painting was done in a multitude of delicate brush strokes that made her look…sexy?

  Sheesh, she had to be the least sexy person ever, when she practically lived in her sweats or threadbare jeans. Well, they were her work clothes. But, sexy? Her gaze veered to the title on the right. Eternity. Just as well he didn’t call it Seduction. Eve shuddered at the thought.

  “Like my surprise? Must say, I’ve received several offers for you,” David said from behind her.

  Eve whirled to him. “Why would you do this to me? Oh, Lord, now I understand the reason for the looks I’ve been getting,” she moaned, dropping her head into her palms. “And don’t say that! It sounds like you’re my pimp or something.”

  David rubbed her back. “It’s beautiful. And that’s how you look.”

  Her head snapped up to meet his grin. “No, it’s not. I know what I look like when I wake up. And when did you see me—” The memory surfaced in pixel clear clarity.

  She’d been sick one evening several weeks ago, and had taken flu meds before attending a get-together with the gang at David’s loft. She had dozed off.

  “When you awoke, you looked so…” David’s ears turned red. “Alluring. I had to capture you on canvas.”

  So being sick made her sexy? Oh, God! Eve snagged another flute of bubbly. “I need to drink and forget I saw that. Or that all the women here probably hate me.”

  “I wouldn’t worry. They’re just jealous that they can’t look as hot as you do, even when sick,” he teased, then turned when someone hailed him. He gave her another pat on the back and strolled off.

  ***

  It was close to midnight, people showed no sign of leaving, and Eve was still sober. Her feet threw a tantrum in her torturous shoes. She wished she could sit down and pull off the stilettos. With work and now this party, heck, even the floor looked inviting after sixteen hours on her feet. Stifling a groan, she took another sip of her champagne.

  Kataya joined her after another little excursion outside. A fresh wave of jasmine and mint came off her.

  “You okay?” Eve asked, studying her friend’s pale face.

  “Yeah, I’m good. Trying to give up ciggies is a damn pain-in-the-ass. I’m gonna call it a night. You want a ride home?”

  Ah, now she understood Kat’s crankiness. “Please.”

  “So, you dislike the painting, huh? Not happening with David, then?” Kat asked her as Brenna joined them.

  Eve wrinkled her nose. “The painting’s okay, I suppose. It’s not like I’m naked or anything. I’m too tired for drinks or to think about that tonight, so home it is. Anyway, we have a date for Wednesday… What?” she asked when her friends didn’t respond but stared behind her.

  The sudden silence was broken by startled gasps.

  “Would you look at him!” Fine lines creased Kataya’s brow. “Now, why do I feel like I’ve said this before? But Jesus, the man is beautiful.”

  Eve whipped around, her heart racing. Déjà vu hit her hard.

  So tall, he stood heads above everyone there. Black leathers covered his muscled legs and were teamed with a dark dress shirt and a long, black coat. His pale hair was tied back, revealing the stark lines of a face she never thought she’d see again.

  In the bright lights of the gallery, he was even more stunning.

  “He could just stand there and pretend to be a statue of a Greek god or something equally divine,” Brenna said on a dreamy sigh, checking him out. “Definitely mandelicious.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Kataya agreed. Then she scowled. “That’s not even a word.”

  “But got you to agree with me,” Brenna snickered. “Bet he has gorgeous sapphire eyes to match the rest of him.”

  Midnight blue, Eve mentally corrected, even as her mind struggled to accept him being here, in the gallery of all places. Memories of her dreams, of the cool metal blade he’d trailed down her belly, swamped her. Arousal flared to life. Shit!

  “I need the, er, bathroom,” she told her friends. She didn’t wait to hear their response. Shaken by her strong feelings, Eve slipped out into the passage, but with women going into the restroom, she headed for Eric’s empty office at the back instead. The single light from the passage cast a soft glow into the darkened room.

  Eve set her glass down, pulled off her sticky gloves and dropped them on the desk, then rubbed a shaky hand over her fluttering stomach. I’m fine—I’m fine. She inhaled deeply, picking up the small sample sculpture of a vase she’d done for Eric, and let the humming of the metal soothe her…

  Her neck prickled. Eve stilled, a dart of wariness creeping up her spine.

  She wasn’t alone.

  Swinging around, she almost pitched on her heels. Her heart crashed against her ribs as her gaze fastened on the tall, shadowy figure filling the doorway, blocking her only way of escape.

  Chapter 4

  The lights flickered on in the office, Eve blinked at the sudden brightness. And fear took on a different heartbeat when she looked into unforgettable, midnight blue eyes.

  He’d followed her from the gallery?

  She eyed him warily. But he remained at the entrance, as if not to scare her.

  The sudden sharp pain in her finger had Eve hastily easing her death-grip on the metal sculpture. Her defense mechanism kicked in. “Are you lost? Or are you here to finish off what you started last night?”

  He went motionless at her words.

  Oh, yes. She’d obviously lost her ever-loving mind, reminding him of that.

  “You want the gallery, can’t miss it—” And she couldn’t seem to stop. “Go back through the short corridor on the left—double glass doors leading into this enormous room with paintings. That easy.”

  Something dark
and dangerous sparked in his narrowed eyes. He prowled closer, crowding her in the small office. Eve had to dig her toes in not to run, mostly because she had nowhere to escape.

  He stopped a foot from her, his gaze skimming over her as if searching for something. A tiny crease marred his brow. “You hurt yourself again.”

  Eve glanced at her stinging finger and saw the red stain. Ugh, she seemed to make a habit of hurting herself around this man. He reached for her hand. Panicked, she shoved the sculpture at him and backed away in horror.

  It was one thing for her friends to see her scars, but for him to see the shattered tissues and burn marks? Nope. Not happening. She balled her fingers into fists. People, she’d found out in painful clarity, didn’t like anything ugly. They either gawked in pity or tried to avoid accidently touching her hands, like her ex-boss had. As if her scars were contagious.

  “Eve, let me see.”

  His low, accented voice almost melted her resolve to stay detached from that tangible pull of him. Disturbed at the near lapse, she put the desk between them. “It’s nothing—a scratch. How do you know my name?”

  Cool, night-sky eyes flickered to the wooden barrier separating them. She doubted it would be much of a defense. He looked quite capable of tossing the desk away.

  “It doesn’t take a genius to find out your name with the painting of you on display.” His unexpected curt tone held a cold bite.

  Heat crept into her face at the thought that he’d seen her portrait. It was obvious he didn’t like it. She scowled. “What do you want?”

  “Are you always this difficult when someone tries to talk to you?”

  “Only to those with a hand around my throat.”

  His gaze shifted away from hers for a second then came back, unreadable as ever. “I wasn’t myself last night.”

  That was an apology? Her eyebrow arched, but on an inherent level, the knowledge trickled into her that it was the best she’d get from a hard man like him. She let it drop.