Guardian Unraveled (Fallen Guardians 3)

by Georgia Lyn Hunter

  She had to get out of here before he came back.

  Jumping to her feet, she ran for the door and tried the handle, not surprised to find the barbarian had locked her inside. Her teeth ground in frustration. She glanced around the barren place. Where the heck was she?

  A basement in a warehouse? Another state? This place could demand its own zip code. It was freakin’ huge. But getting that knuckle-dragging brute to tell her anything…hell, it would be easier if she simply wished for wings.

  The interior, though well maintained, had high rectangular windows that she had no hope of squeezing through. Recessed lights were embedded in the ceiling and rugged stone walls flowed around her. Yep, trapped.

  She paced the slate-colored tiles covering the floor. Sweat beaded on her brow and neck, the heat inside her rising.

  Why the hell was she feeling this way? Like a lit detonator about to go off?

  With trembling fingers, she retrieved a barrette from her jacket pocket and pulled her waist-length hair into a high ponytail, trying to cool down. Shae hurried to the small fridge and found it stacked with energy drinks and water. She grabbed a bottle of water, unscrewed the top, and drank some, fighting to calm down so the dizziness wouldn’t take over and make her black out.

  Wouldn’t that movie-reject be thrilled at how weak she was?

  As she stomped back to the black mat, his question bounced around in her head. Dead men? She didn’t recall any, but there’d certainly be one tonight when she got her hands on him and strangled him with his damn hair!

  Dagan left the basement, frustration riding him hard. Sending a telepathic message to Michael that he had the woman, he strode into the empty kitchen. With the other warriors still out on patrol, only their females and Hedori would be around.

  To be sure, he scanned and found Echo in the library with her tutor, and Blaéz’s mate in her quarters. Good. Or those two would go poking their noses in his business if they knew another female was here. They wouldn’t care that she could be a dangerous psi. Best the little hellcat remained in the basement. Once Michael confirmed what she was, then he would be done with this.

  His thumbs hooked in his back pockets, Dagan stopped at the open French doors and stared out into the moonlit night, inhaling deep breaths of cold air. Yet nothing could wipe out the tightness in his body or the compelling scent that seemed determined to haunt him.

  He rubbed his forearms where she’d scratched him. Hell, she’d bitten him, too! He checked his arm. The little hellcat’s teeth had punctured his skin but hadn’t drawn blood.

  His pocket vibrated. Pulling out her cell, he frowned at the abridged message. Ash Stiles. This had to be the human who was with her. I hope you’re okay, doll. How about lunch? Call me.

  At the shimmer in the air, he pushed the phone back into his pocket as Michael took form, his aviator shades perched on his head.

  “I have the female—” Who made me lose control. No need for Michael to know how he’d reacted to her or what he’d done. Or that he’d been on a short fuse ever since to go after an innocent human and break his neck. “Her name’s Shae. She has the conflicting vibes of a psionic and something else I can’t quite isolate. And someone took a shot at her.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Basement.”

  About to enter the kitchen, Michael paused, cutting him an amused look. “Yes, it would be safer down there.”

  Of course, it was. The Arc didn’t have to deal with the hellcat.

  They both flashed to the basement. Michael put on his shades, shielding his fractured irises he never revealed to humans. Dagan willed the locks open and stepped inside. A bottle came flying at his head, drenching him before falling to the floor with a thud.

  “You locked me in this damn place, you-you barbarian!”

  The urge to gag her grew. His lips thinning, Dagan swiped the water off his face then followed the Arc to where she was, realizing he was no longer the focus of her ire. Her attention had shifted to Michael.

  What was it about Michael that made the females go all gaga soft and shit? And not fight and scratch him? The Arc was dressed the same as he was, in leathers, but he wore one of his moth-eaten t-shirts, this one in a faded navy. Strands of hair had escaped his bunched ponytail, and a day’s stubble darkened his jaw.

  Suspiciously, she eyed the both of them. “Who are you people? What do you want from me?”

  The Arc lowered to his haunches as if that would make him less intimidating. She scooted back, pressing defensively against the wall behind her.

  “I am Michael. I’m sorry that you are being held in our training quarters. I’d like to take you to a more comfortable place to talk. Can I trust you not to…throw things?”

  A faint flush tinted her skin. Was the wildcat embarrassed? Yeah, right.

  She nodded. “Hello, Michael. It’s good to know some of the leather posse has manners.” She shot Dagan a dark look, her antagonism back in spades.

  He didn’t react, merely watched her. If she was psionic, then her stubborn little ass was now Michael’s responsibility.

  “Good. Come.” In spite of Michael’s relaxed expression, Dagan sensed his amusement as he walked out of the arena. She followed him like some purring, happy little kitten. Claws hidden.

  Dagan followed the hellcat.

  She’d tied her jacket around her waist, revealing a black sleeveless top that exposed her pale, slender arms. As they took the stairs up, his gaze lowered past her short gray skirt to her long, sexy legs. On her feet, she wore a pair of battered, lace-up, steel-toed boots. Perhaps sensing his stare, she cut him a sharp look over her shoulder. He waited for her to say something, or to kick him down the stairway with those deadly boots.

  She did neither. Instead, she simply dismissed him with a toss of her head, her high ponytail flipping back and nearly whacking him in the face.

  He followed her into the massive kitchen lined with oak cupboards and a gray granite counter. A center island separated the dining area.

  Shae stopped abruptly when she saw Hedori. Only Dagan’s quick reflexes saved him from crashing into her. He sidestepped her and crossed to the open doors, hoping the brisk air would clear his lungs of her fruity spice scent.

  “That’s our butler,” Michael said. “Hedori, this is Shae—?”

  “Ion. Shae Ion.”

  Their all-around handyman, butler, and protector gave her a half bow. “I am pleased to meet you, Ms. Ion.”

  Her lips curved in response. “It’s Shae. You have pretty eyes.”

  Usually quite stoic, Hedori’s pretty eyes glowed, apparently, a goner for her. “Ah, thank you. Would you care for something to drink?”

  “A soda, please.”

  Hedori inclined his head and went to get her more ammo to fling at his head.

  Don’t rush her, Michael telepathed him. She’s on edge. Give her time to relax, lower her guards. She has extremely strong shields.

  Very well.

  “When you’re done with your drink, we’ll meet in my study,” Michael told her. She didn’t say anything as the Arc nodded at him and left.

  Hedori handed her a glass of fizzing, orange drink and was graced with another smile. She sipped her soda, then totally ignoring him, she wandered past him, stepped outside and stared into the darkened garden where insects chirped in dissonance. “This is so lovely, tranquil…”

  Her voice held yearning, and her shoulders drooped as if in dejection. Dagan wanted to go over and soothe her.

  “You’ll be safe here,” he said instead.

  Her back stiffened. She spun around, eyes spitting fire. “How am I safe when you abducted me, brought me here against my will—and where is here anyway?”

  “You should be thankful I did, or you’d have had a bullet in you.”

  “Oh, right. I’m supposed to believe this…this fanciful tale that someone took a shot at me when you did your mumbo-jumbo and put me to sleep?” She narrowed those feline grays at him. “Don’t ever do t
hat again! And how do you know the bullet was meant for me? With your charming personality, I’m sure there must be scores of people after you.”

  Just to shut her up, Dagan tore open his shirt. It was ruined anyway with the damn bullet hole. He felt a small measure of satisfaction at her wide-eyed stare…then her gaze slowly swept down his torso before gliding up again. And wouldn’t you know it, his damn cock stirred awake, not like it ever rested when she was around.

  He cut her a flat look and stalked from the kitchen, the bullet an annoying twinge between his shoulder blades. A shocked gasp left her. Good, she’d seen the bloody hole in his back.

  Dagan jogged upstairs to his quarters. In his huge, gray-and-black-tiled bathroom, he willed the slug out, and it clattered to the floor. With the ruined shirt, he wiped his back free of blood, tossed it aside, and picked up the bullet.

  A prickly sensation slithered through him as he studied the thing. This was no ordinary lead ammunition but a hollowed-out slug with a liquid center made to explode and immobilize the victim. Whoever was after Shae didn’t want her dead, but they didn’t seem to care if she was hurt.

  He’d see about that. Despite her annoying the hell out of him, he refused to have her harmed while under his watch.

  Snagging another t-shirt from his closet, he pulled it on and headed downstairs. Frowning, he glanced around the silent, deserted kitchen, then at the open French doors.

  Dammit! He sprinted outside and came to a dead halt.

  She crouched on the porch, stroking Bob, who lay like a furry rug on the tiled surface amongst the potted shrubs, purring and enjoying her touch. More irritation flowed that she’d scared the crap out of him.

  Inside the castle, she was safe. But outside? Not so much. Shit could fly right to their doorstep. He’d learned that when demons had followed Blaéz here several months ago, leading to a deadly fight, and Blaéz almost losing his life.

  The cat blinked its amber eyes, pinning him with an unwavering stare as if warning him not to interfere in his moment of bliss.

  “Are you done?” he snapped.

  “In a sec,” she retorted, “I’m petting the cat. What’s your name, my feline friend?”

  “Bob.”

  “Hey, you speak. But you sound an awful lot like him.” She stuck out a thumb behind her. “That’s too bad, ‘cause I like you.” Another scratch under the thick orange ruff surrounding Bob’s neck, then she rose to her feet and faced him. “Are you taking me back after this talk?”

  “So whoever took a shot at you can finish the job?”

  “You sure are a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

  Refusing to let her jibes prod a retort from him, which he was sure was her intent, he merely said, “You are in danger. Only a fool would disregard that. Follow me.”

  Shae glared at his retreating back, finding it hard to believe that anyone wanted her dead, but if that were true, then she’d barely escaped with her life. And he’d put himself between her and the bullet. Damn.

  Exhaling roughly, she hurried after him, through the kitchen and down a long, winding corridor. Fine, she’d listen to what they had to say, and hopefully, find out what the hell was going on because this year just seemed to grow worse and worse.

  Not wanting to think of that, Shae found her gaze drifting over his wide shoulders and down his tall figure. It was his swaying, ropey hair that held her attention.

  How long would it be if he left it untethered? Would it caress his tight ass?

  Oh, she’d love to see that. Just because he aggravated her like no one else could, didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate a sexy man. Ugh, she guillotined the thought.

  As if sensing where her gaze was, he cut her a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder. She gave him a disarming smile.

  Nope, no reaction from those austere features—his face would probably crack if he so much as smiled anyway. He opened a door into a small study and waited for her to enter. She stopped short in the doorway of a room loaded with testosterone and gaped.

  Michael was there with three other equally tall men. At her entrance, they turned. Man, these guys all had one thing in common. They were knock-you-on-your-ass gorgeous. Even her abductor fell into that category with his dark, brooding looks. Of course, being Others, they would be.

  “Shae?” Michael motioned for her to enter, still wearing his dark shades. “Please, sit.” He waved a hand to a leather armchair adjacent to the stone fireplace.

  Um, no way. No matter how good-looking they were, she refused to trap herself in a chair surrounded by these men.

  “I’ll stand, thank you.” She remained near the entrance, well aware that escape was an illusion. If her abductor were able to move as fast as he did, chances were, so could these guys. And didn’t that just make her want to—ugh, yeah, stay put—get this over with.

  He handed something to Michael then strolled over to the open door leading out onto the terrace.

  He hadn’t even told her his name, the louse. And she wasn’t about to ask.

  “Dagan, you know,” Michael informed. “That’s Týr.” He nodded to the stunning blond with eyes the color of melting toffee. “Aethan, with the hair. And Blaéz,” he indicated the guy with the buzz cut and deep blue eyes.

  Day-gun? Her gaze flickered his way, and she found him watching her, arms folded across his chest. His expression remained cool, remote, but his eyes burned with a dark heat that made her tummy dip… Maybe it was the heat of hate. She hadn’t exactly been nice to him. But then he seriously needed an attitude adjustment.

  She greeted the others with a quick hello.

  The men nodded. She refocused her attention on Michael, who placed a small metal slug on the mahogany desk. Frowning, she stepped closer. About to pick it up, a callused hand grasped her arm, startling all hell out of her. “Don’t touch it.”

  Rattled at Dagan’s sudden appearance, she pulled free and wrapped her arms around her waist. “What’s going on? You snatched me from the club, then informed me that someone took a shot at me—which is highly unlikely, considering I’m nobody.”

  “That’s not just any bullet,” Michael said, picking up the cartridge. “It’s one only a supernatural being would use.”

  “Supernatural?” she repeated.

  “It wasn’t accidental,” Dagan said then. “It was meant for you.”

  Shae froze. After everything she’d been through this past year, she didn’t need any more talk in riddles. “What are you saying? What’s wrong with the bullet?”

  “It’s spelled, meant to immobilize until retrieval. It’s one demons are fond of using.”

  At Dagan’s blunt words, a sickening pit opened in her stomach. She grasped the backrest of the chair she’d declined moments ago. “Who—” She licked her dry lips, taking in the other men who hadn’t said a word yet. “Who are you people?”

  “We are warriors—Guardians of this world,” Michael said. “We keep mortals safe from supernatural evil and have done so for the past three and a half thousand years.”

  “Guardians of…” she breathed, feeling as if the air had been sucked out of her lungs. Instantly, her gaze darted to Dagan. No wonder he acted like the world owed him a favor. She glanced back at Michael. “Demons?”

  “Yes, though not all are evil, at least not those who now live in this realm. But demoniis—”

  “I know about them,” she finally admitted. “They steal human souls to revive their dying ones. My best friend is a demon, he told me. Why me?”

  “We have no idea. But we think there’s something about you that caught their attention. We try to protect mortals with strong psychic abilities. And until we can determine why they want you, it will be safer for you to stay here while we handle this situation.”

  God, all she wanted was to find her mother. She did not need evil demons after her.

  Shae rubbed a weary hand over her burning eyes, wishing this were all some bad dream. But six months was just too long to not wake up. And, yet, despite
her skepticism at what Michael had revealed, somewhere deep inside her, she felt the truth of his words. “I can’t just stay away, my uncle will worry.”

  “Call him. Make an excuse,” Dagan’s quiet voice cut through her cloud of fear. “Far better than making him a target, too.”

  Oh, Lord, if whoever wanted her dead was desperate enough, they could use Lem as bait. She refused to put the only family she had left in danger. “All right. But I have to go back, get my things and leave a note for him.”

  “Dagan?” Michael asked.

  Those cool, yellow eyes met hers. “Let’s go.” He tilted his head to the terrace and stepped out.

  Even though she’d rather run in the opposite direction from his arrogance and archaic ways, he was familiar, and he hadn’t gotten mad at her despite her dreadful behavior earlier.

  “Damn pestilence!” one of the Guardian’s muttered. “They should all be eviscerated.”

  “Indeed,” someone else added.

  “Then we’ll be out of a job,” the blue-haired guy, Aethan, drawled.

  Shae hurried past the annoyed warriors and onto the porch. Dagan took her hand, startling her. But strangely enough, it soothed her as well. Obviously, she must have lost her mind. The man was about as calming as a washing machine, all turbulence. Open the door, and he’d probably wreak havoc.

  “Wait.” She hastily untied her jacket from her waist and pulled it on.

  “Dag, you need company?” Aethan asked.

  “Nah, he’s got this one covered,” the buzz cut guy drawled.

  The blond, however, watched Dagan with a look Shae couldn’t fathom…remorse edged with pain?

  Dagan ignored them and grasped her hand again. “Address?”

  She told him. The next minute, everything became a swirling sensation as the looming mansion vanished.

  Ohhhh crap! Her stomach heaving, she grasped him tightly around his waist and buried her face against his chest, breathing in his unique and warm male scent.