Guardian Unraveled_Fallen Guardians

by Georgia Lyn Hunter

  The killer struck again? the warrior asked.

  Yes. Two bodies.

  On my way.

  As Dagan rose to his feet, another scent teased his nose, fruity with a hint of spice…and something more. He drew it inside him, studying the new clue.

  Rage, so much rage…yet, beneath it all, like a mile of grit, despair and anguish abraded him.

  A familiar shift in the air and Aethan took form beside him. The cold moon highlighted the warrior’s multihued blue hair he’d pulled into a ponytail and glinted off the small silver hoops in his earlobes.

  Hands on his hips, Aethan surveyed the death scene, expression grim. “With this kind of power, we’ll all be at risk.”

  Didn’t he know it? With a nod, Dagan dematerialized, tracking the fading vibration.

  * * *

  Shae Ion blew away the strands of hair dipping into her eyes and stared through her viewfinder at the homeless man seated on an up-turned crate a short distance away. Several stray cats circled between his legs. The moon cast a pale light on the moment, giving the scene a raw, realness to it. Despite his poverty, the old man dropped crumbs of whatever he was eating for the strays. Her camera shutter whirred as she captured several shots for her Nightlife series.

  As a freelance photographer, she traveled to places the world forgot existed. Besides, National Geographic demanded the best, and she needed her work to be gritty and beyond exceptional to get their attention. More, being self-employed gave her the time she needed to search for her mother.

  She lowered her camera and rubbed her burning eyes. Six months had passed, and still nothing. Hiring a PI had been a waste of time. He’d come up with not a single lead. Now she’d been reduced to this. She only hoped Harvey came through for her.

  A gut-wrenching thought knocked the breath out of her lungs. Oh, God, please, don’t let her be dead—

  Rough hands grabbed her shoulders. Her Nikon crashed to the asphalt. Her heart slamming against her ribs, she jabbed her elbow into her assailant’s throat and spun around.

  The guy stumbled back. His eyes glowed, streaked with red. “What’s a pretty little human like you doing all by her lonesome in this place?”

  “Waiting to stake your ass.” She gave the demon a wide berth, the iron blade she’d concealed in the back waistband of her jeans now gripped in her hand. Oh, she knew what he was. Born with extrasensory awareness, it made her cognizant and wary of the demon-kind living in this world. Otiums, Harvey called them. They appeared human and preferred a quiet life. It was why they’d defected to Earth and away from the cruelty of their world. But then every species had assholes who terrorized the innocent.

  “Wanna play, little human?” he taunted and leaped for her.

  Going low, Shae struck out with her weapon, slicing him across the chest. Growling, he dove for her, knocking the blade from her hand. She countered with a flying kick. He grabbed her foot, yanking hard. Using his body as leverage, she flipped backward through the air, breaking his hold and landing on her feet.

  In a move she didn’t even see, his fist struck her in the solar plexus, sending her flying to the filthy ground. She lay there, unable to breathe, scalding pain scouring her body, so sure she’d fractured her ribs.

  “Shae?”

  At the horrified voice, she simply shook her head, eyes squeezed tight.

  “Hell, I’m sorry—”

  “I-I’m okay…will be…” she wheezed. Crap, even speaking hurt. Had this demon really been a malevolent one, he would have taken her blood, her soul, whatever he wanted from her by now.

  “Hold still.” Harvey, her best friend, laid his hand on her chest, and a slight warmth spread through her at his healing power.

  When her lungs functioned again, and it didn’t feel like her ribcage was being pried apart with a chest spreader, she opened her eyes and stared into a lean, handsome face. Red-tinged, caramel-hued eyes watched her anxiously.

  “Thank the dark gods! I’m really sorry about that last punch, I didn’t mean to hit you so hard.”

  She grimaced, rubbing her chest. It wasn’t something she’d willingly want to experience again. “It’s okay. I wanted to learn how to fight your kind, so I have to accept all the bruises that come with it. Thanks for the healing.”

  “No problem.” His expression still edged with worry, he tunneled his fingers through his dark hair. “With the places you go, and now what you want to do, I have to be sure you’re ready for anything.”

  She sat up and blew out a rough breath, disarraying the reddish strands of hair falling over her face. “Don’t judge me because I’m a girl.”

  “It’s not that. It’s because you’re human.”

  Right. Her lips twisting wryly, she took the hand he extended, and he pulled her to her feet. She picked up her camera. Darn! The casing had cracked, but at least the rest of the expensive equipment appeared intact.

  “Here.” Harvey handed her dagger back, then pulled on his leather jacket he’d left lying on the crates near the wall, covering his bloody shirt.

  Remorse flooded her. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “It’s nothing. I’ll heal.”

  She dropped her things into her backpack. “How did you find me?”

  “Where else would you be when RockinHell is in town? RockinHell.” He snickered at the band’s name. She smacked his arm. “Don’t be mean. Why don’t you accept the band manager’s invitation and play guitar for them?”

  He snorted. “You gotta be kiddin’ me. Play with that loser?”

  “Ash’s okay—”

  “Forgive me if I trample all over your rose-tinted glasses. The guy’s an asshole. He can’t see what’s right in front of him. He’d rather have a revolving door to his bed than you. Hell, if it was me, I’d tell the others to fuck off and come after you.”

  Grimacing, she glanced at her scraped knuckles then swiped the blood on her jeans. “It’s been a long time, and I’m okay, honest. C’mon—” She hooked her backpack over one shoulder and her arm through his. “Let’s forget this and go have a drink.”

  “S’pose it’s better than stalking.”

  She huffed out a laugh. “You give me crap about Ash, and that’s where you were this evening?”

  Harvey was head over heels for a human girl who had no idea he existed. And he was too terrified to even approach her because of what he was.

  “More like every evening. Pathetic, right?” Disgust etched his features.

  Smiling, she changed the subject. “Did you manage to get me a name?”

  “You sure about this?” Lines of concern creased his brow.

  “Stop worrying. Let’s face it, Harv, it’s been six months, and I’ve tried everything to find her…” She inhaled a shaky breath. The seedy places she’d gone to, flirting with men, demons, and Fallen just to get a lead. “This is the only way to find my mother.”

  “Fine. Remember, summoning an Edge demon isn’t only risky, if they like the way you look, some of them will demand a shag instead of your blood in payment.”

  She snorted. “All they’re getting is money, never that. If it’s my blood…” She thought about it. “It’s a small price to pay.”

  “Okay, then.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. Excitement hiked, causing the heat that had recently plagued her to surge in response. She ignored the latter, staring at the name. Finally. “Thank you.”

  “No prob—shit,” Harvey cursed, his gaze darting to the entrance of the backstreet. “Shae, forgive me but I must leave. It won’t end well for me, not with him here.” His body shimmered.

  “Harvey, wait! Who?”

  “You’re in no danger, just go back to the club…” His voice faded as he vanished.

  What the hell had scared him off? Harvey wasn’t the type to run. She stilled, prickles of awareness skating over her skin. It made her tummy dip, and not in a fearful way.

  Shae pushed the paper into her jacket pocket. The
sensation continued to assail her, growing sharper. Cautiously, she traversed the length of the alley then slowed. There. Deep in the shadows, a tall, dark figure slumped against the wall.

  Leave—run! Her cautious side yelled. A low, tortured groan reached her, reverberating through her mind and clawing at her to help. Aw, crap!

  Shae dug into her knapsack, found her blade, and slipped it into the back of her jeans. At least it wasn’t demons, or worse, their turned brethren, the soul-sucking demoniis. Taking comfort in the feel of her weapon, she inched closer.

  * * *

  Dagan cut into another gloomy backstreet. Aaand found himself back in the alley where he’d started his patrol.

  Farther up, more inebriated humans geared in their Halloween get-ups stumbled out of Club Nocte. The long line remained, partygoers braving the chill, waiting to get inside.

  He scanned the place, but the vibe he’d been tracking had gone cold. He bit back a curse. Just great. Except for the demoniis he’d killed earlier, there was nothing that pricked at his senses.

  He headed in the opposite direction, deeper into the alley, away from the noise, and staggered to a halt. A mouth-watering scent flooded his senses.

  Blood. Fresh human blood.

  The seductive aroma seeped through him, tightening his body and saturating his mind like a compulsion. His jaw clenched, his incisors throbbed.

  He whipped around, scanning the alley. Pain stabbed his belly, shredding his gut. Hunger took hold. He fell against the wall, struggling against the temptation, eyes shut tight. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to plant his booted feet on the asphalt and not go after the faint ambrosia trail.

  Sometimes, he regretted killing that first damn bird which had bound him to his deadly thirst, but he understood too he couldn’t have deviated from that fated path any more than he could stop breathing.

  “Are you all right?” a husky voice asked.

  His gaze snapped to her. She was tall for a mortal, yet the top of her head barely reached his shoulders. He could clearly make out her alabaster features in the gloomy alley, and the noticeable, bumpy Y-shaped scar running down her cheek. He didn’t care how good she looked, right then, all he could think about was just how delicious she’d taste…blood infused with strawberries and spice. Decadent.

  Familiar.

  The predator side of him thinly leashed, he fought for control—battled not to sink his fangs into her carotid. “Leave!”

  “Look, I’m just trying to—”

  “I don’t need help!” Damn do-gooder humans.

  The coppery nectar tugged at his senses, tempting him to will her closer so her rich, warm plasma could slide down his throat. And there, on her left hand, he found the source of his doom. Blood smeared her scraped knuckles.

  His fangs dropped. Shit. He held his breath, reached into her mind, and willed her gone…but hit a wall.

  What the hell? He could compel anybody.

  With his control fading fast, he snarled, “Get the hell away from me if you want to keep breathing.”

  Stormy gray-gold widened. Then she stunned all hell outta him and glared right back. “Is that supposed to frighten me? A pair of fake fangs? Shouldn’t you be out there with all the other cretins scaring the innocents tonight instead of hiding in the shadows like some pleb?”

  At the taunt, Dagan didn’t think, he hauled her to him, raking those “fake fangs” down her neck, bruising the skin a little, a hair’s breadth past her carotid.

  The girl squeaked and slapped her palms on his chest. “What the hell?”

  His arm banded around her waist, and he sucked on her fast-beating pulse, his saliva already healing the bruised skin. Unable to let her go just yet, he settled for running his tongue over her silky, warm flesh. She smelled of cinnamon and strawberries, a taste he’d long forgotten. A light brush of her psychic powers skipped over him.

  She yanked free, surprising him with her agility, and drew back her fist. He saw the punch coming and let it, hoping it would clear the damn haze in his head. She nailed him straight in the face.

  Fuuuck! Stars exploded in his skull, stunning him senseless with the power of her blow.

  “Don’t ever fucking touch me like that!” Her slanted eyes glowered like a wildcat’s in the dark. Shaking her fingers, she stormed off, muttering in disgust. “What the hell was I thinking trying to help that barbarian? I should have just left.”

  Dagan stood there, dazed, his blood strumming.

  What the hell was he thinking? He hadn’t lost control like that in millennia.

  The urge to go after her, taste her skin again, and satiate his hunger rode him hard, except it would lead to her death. At the thought, something inside him bolted shut.

  He rubbed a shaky hand over his throbbing jaw, his damn twitching cock betraying him, then pulled out his cigar—and cursed. He’d left her with memories of his near lapse. Dropping the smoke back into his pocket, he took off after her fast-disappearing figure.

  As if sensing him, which surprised him considering he was thousands of years old and an immortal supernatural hunter, she spun around. Before she opened her mouth, he captured her furious gaze. Eyes the color of thunderclouds lit with gold specks lost their turbulence to stare blankly at him. The oddest sensation crept through him. This felt so wrong. He wanted her to remember him. Yet it didn’t stop him from what he had to do. First, he grasped her hurt hand and laid his palm over her bruised knuckles, letting his restorative power heal her. Then he scrubbed the unfortunate encounter from her mind.

  “Oh…” She blinked those stormy-hued eyes at him a moment later, her brow creasing in confusion. Then shaking her head, she pivoted and ambled off toward the noisy club, leaving behind her luscious scent.

  Dagan watched her retreating form. And like his feet had a mind of their own, he found himself keeping to the shadows and following her. She thumped on the metal back door. It opened. Smiling at whoever answered, she slipped into a dimly lit corridor. With a thought, he kept it from locking and entered unnoticed.

  “I’m so glad you came, Shae.” A lanky blond sporting a mohawk hurried toward her and crushed her to him in a hug. “I missed you, doll.”

  Dagan’s teeth clacked down, his eyes narrowing at the male touching her.

  “I’m fine, Ash.” She smiled, stepping away from the human—which probably saved his life. Yeah, rules had to be followed, and killing mortals was a big no-no.

  She is not yours.

  No, she wasn’t. Could never be.

  Reining in the possessiveness that had sprung up out of nowhere, he dematerialized from the club. He didn’t mix with mortals, let alone stalk them. Undoubtedly, he was losing his mind from not feeding.

  He dematerialized to the Catskills Mountains. As he reformed in the dense forest, he instantly picked up the coppery odor of a wounded animal, its lifeblood pulling at him. He followed the trail, then it all turned fuzzy. He was at the cougar’s neck, incisors tearing through flesh and sinew. A red haze filled his mind as blood, warm and thick, flowed into his mouth. He ravenously gulped the liquid nourishment when a shuddering breath cut through the bloody miasma.

  No! He reared back, his heart thundering against his ribs in horror as the dying animal collapsed to the ground. Fuck! He scrubbed his unshaven jaw. Normally, he didn’t kill the creatures, but this scene drove him back to his blood-crazed past. Instead of the big cat, human bodies lay around him.

  Numbed to his very soul, knowing what he was truly capable off, he flashed to the rapidly flowing river nearby and dove into its icy depths. But nothing could wash away the guilt.

  He was a killer. It had become his way of life, a cycle he had no way of ending.

  Chapter 2

  An hour before sunrise, Dagan reformed on the castle’s portico on their island estate just off Manhasset Bay on Long Island Sound. Not because he would poof when caught in sunlight, but because it was time to knock off from patrolling.

  He opened the giant wood
en front door into the foyer. The recessed orbs highlighted the floor-to-ceiling stained-glass windows on his right. As he headed for the grand staircase, Blaéz appeared at the top, his mate tucked to his side. At her flushed face, it didn’t take a genius to know where the warrior’s first stop had been on his return from patrol.

  Once from the Celtic pantheon and now a fellow Guardian, the warrior’s precognition was unequaled. Blaéz nodded at him. It was still a shock to see those cobalt blue eyes when they were once the color of glaciers after losing his soul while imprisoned in Tartarus. But finding his mate had changed all that.

  Darci smiled in greeting, her hazel eyes a startling contrast to her tan face. The rare times their paths crossed, she was friendly. Always.

  He didn’t get that. Echo, Aethan’s mate, had avoided him like the plague when she first met him. Not this female. So he merely nodded and jogged up.

  “Dag, wait,” Blaéz called out.

  He glanced back.

  “Anything unusual occur tonight at Club Nocte?”

  Dagan narrowed his eyes.

  “I don’t imagine I’ll get a straight answer.” A smirk rode Blaéz’s face—one Dagan didn’t care for. “But I’ll hazard a guess that tonight was different. Later.” The warrior strode off with his mate, his heavy boots thudding in the marble hallway like a deadly omen.

  A pair of wild, gray-gold eyes set in a pale face surrounded by wavy, coppery-red hair seeped into his mind.

  Damn the Celt and his annoying mind games!

  That female was not an anomaly in his night’s work.

  Jaw clenched, he strode for his quarters on the third floor, in the wing opposite Aethan’s.

  There, in his dimly lit cavernous bedroom, Dagan shut himself away from the others—and the damn world.

  Undrawn, ebony drapes revealed the bank of windows opposite and the still dark sky. The wall sconces cast an obscure light over the circular turret living room, dimly illuminating the single couch and a flat-screen TV—one he never used, which for some reason Hedori, their butler, seemed to think he needed. The gloomy, silent quarters suited his mood.