“Then it’s only fair I warn you, I’ll probably drive you crazy.”
Amusement lightened his gaze. “You have been doing so from the moment I met you. Now, I need the words.”
Of course, he’d want it in black and white. She couldn’t resist. “Despite the fact you like your own way far too often and brought me here like some caveman, which you could be, considering how old you must be.” His eyes narrowed at her teasing, but the heat there stole her breath. “I’ll forgive you that. So yes, I want to be here with you—”
“Old, am I?” He yanked her to him and covered her mouth in a scorching kiss, cutting off the rest of her words as he stroked her mouth with his tongue. Desire spread through her veins like a lit fuse. The man sure knew how to kiss. He backed her against the windowpane, his erection grinding into her center. He deepened the kiss until she thought she’d combust.
“Blaéz,” she whimpered, needing more.
“You.” He brushed her lips with his once. Twice. And again. “Are addictive, and I have to go.”
Darci blinked, then stared at him in disbelief. “Go? You’re leaving me like this? Now?”
He stroked her cheek with his knuckles. Smiled. “I’ll be back soon. I wish I didn't have to, but the streets are too silent, which isn’t good in our line of work. Besides, I've rift duty.”
She sighed and leaned into his touch. “You said that before. What rift?”
“It’s a fracture in the mystical veils that are found between the realms. One formed several days ago in a backstreet downtown. The rift allows demoniis and other evil to enter at will.”
That pulled her out of her lust-induced stupor. “Demoniis?”
And she first thought maybe it was a rift in their job — someone playing double agent. Never this.
“It’s what demons become after they steal a human’s soul,” Blaéz said. “They consume them for that all too brief rush of experiencing the light a mortal carries…” He explained about their dark souls dying, and the ancient curse that had made sunlight their death sentence. “It’s punishment for stealing what doesn't belong to them. They cannot survive without a soul, and the stolen one dies within days, so the cycle’s repeated constantly. Those bastards can be really vicious while hunting prey.”
“God, that’s terrifying.” Darci then stared at him long and hard. “Is that how you got hurt that night you came to me?”
He shook his head, a wry smile tugging his lips. “I tell you about the sheer evil out there and you're concerned about how I got hurt.”
“Of course, I'm concerned,” she huffed. “Blaéz, you didn’t see you that night. You were feverish, had this horrible, bloody hole in your chest—”
“I can't die from those wounds. But if you were hit by a demonii bolt, it would be lethal. It’s one of the reasons I don’t want you out alone at night, that’s when they hunt.” His expression turned grim. “I sensed them close to your home earlier — and they would sense me — it’s why we made that hasty departure. Demoniis are pests to humanity. With this rift, it makes entry into this realm all too easy. We have to guard it twenty-four seven. Echo’s not yet strong enough to heal it.”
“Echo?” she repeated. “I don’t understand.”
He wound a lock of her hair around his finger. “She’s the Healer of the Veils. We need to guard the rift until it heals naturally or Echo can do so.” Hair trapped, he tugged her close and laid his lips on hers. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Be safe for me.”
“I'm in this castle, I can't see anyone daring to try anything here.”
“Perhaps not. But evil has a way of filtering through when you least expect it.”
After Blaéz left, Darci sagged into the armchair there. Both elated and a little scared at the enormity of what she’d learned and done. And a whole lot overwhelmed.
She’d just agreed to change her life for a man she’d met over a week ago, who’d cracked through the walls of her heart and had taken root there. A man not of this world.
Chapter 13
“You seem a little out of sorts there, Celt,” Týr drawled as they strode down the sidewalk in Chinatown, avoiding some of the stragglers scurrying to get home at the late hour. “You okay?”
“Darci moved into the castle,” Blaéz said, absently. He’d gone and locked up her brownstone, but there was something else he should have done… then it struck him. Of course. Darci would need clothes.
As he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, he met Týr’s incredulous stare. “What?”
Týr shook his head, a smirk riding his face. “No wonder you acted like the Empyrean does around Echo and went all annihilator on Darci’s attackers. I should have known.”
Blaéz ignored him, slid through the contact numbers on his phone, found what he wanted and made his call.
“Yes, Mr. Blaéz?” the store manager for Armani asked politely, despite the late hour. “How can I be of assistance? Do you require more leathers and t-shirts?”
“No, not me. I need clothes for a female.”
“What would she require?”
What would Darci need? He liked her in those short skirts. She had great legs. “Skirts. Tight ones.”
“Mini or pencil?”
Blaéz frowned. Pencil? With no idea what that was, safe was better, he decided. “Yes, both of those. And a couple of tops… er, everything a woman needs. I’ll send someone to pick them up.”
“Size?” the manager asked quickly.
Size? She was perfect — she felt perfect beneath his hands, his mouth — that’s probably not what the human meant. “Five-nine height and about a hundred and forty-five pounds. Shoe size… eight or nine — send both.” He ended the call and texted Hedori to pick up the purchase, then met Týr’s amused gaze. “What?”
“Did you just throw her over your shoulder and cart her to the castle sans clothes? Amazing, and you still breathe? You do realize humans have progressed past the caveman era, right?”
Blaéz cut him a cool stare. “Why are we still having this conversation?”
Týr grinned. “It’s good to see you fuck up for once like a normal person. Well, whatever the hell’s normal for you—” The taunt he would have tacked on died. His gaze narrowed on the two demon males farther down the sidewalk, rushing the human females along with them. “Those bastards are certainly in a hurry.”
With many of their ilk living in this realm, the Guardians had to abide by the tacit laws: can't kill them unless they hunt humans. However, no one said anything about not kicking their arses. But the acrid stench of sulfur drifting on the wet air stung Blaéz’s nostrils, triggering the cloying darkness inside his mind.
The duo cut into a dingy alley, shoving the women forward.
“Damn fuckers,” Týr muttered. “I got this. Go be with your female.”
“As soon as I take care of those scourges.”
Týr snorted. “Seriously, man. I know away from her you're back to being the pain in the ass we can't do without. Forget about the job tonight. Go. I’ll take your turn at the rift, too. Maybe I’ll get lucky and kick some demonii ass before morning.” He took off after the demons.
Denied a fight, Blaéz stopped on the sidewalk as the oily whisper filtered through his mental shields. You can't escape me… you want what I have…
It was hard to shut off the voices as his ties to the dark side yanked at him. He could go to the cages, but he didn't want to return to the castle battered and broken. Darci waited for him. She’d give him the anchor he so desperately needed.
Ducking into a gloomy doorway, Blaéz dematerialized and took form on the front terrace a few minutes later. As he made his way to the enormous doors, amidst the scent of briny sea breeze, a familiar one of clover and mint drifted to him.
Eyes narrowed, he spotted the raven perched on the branch of a potted shrub on the terrace. As if it were an invite, The Morrigan telepathed into his mind, Blaéz, you must hear me out.
Not in this lifetime. He headed for
the door.
It’s about the female you have. She’s the key.
At the mention of Darci, he pivoted. “Stay away from her. Or those feathers you’re so proud of will be stuffing a pillow.”
With a furious flutter of wings, she swooped in front of him before he could move, shimmered and took form wearing a dark green hooded cape.
“You want a reason?” she asked him, her blue gaze fierce. “Why I gave you away as a child? I foresaw your destiny. Had you remained with me, you would have died. You were my youngest. I refused to let death win. I did the only thing I could—”
“Indeed. You denied me, took the easy path and gave me away. You, the great queen, Goddess of War and Death, couldn’t protect a child.”
She lifted agitated hands to him. He stepped back. She sighed. “If I had a choice, I would have never let you go. You have the gift of foresight, is it really that simple to ignore it when you know the ones you hold dear will die?”
He didn't care if there was a grain of truth in her words. He’d already paid for her decree with blood. With his soul. “You should have left me as a servant. I was better off.”
“Blaéz, you became my Hand, the most skilled warrior ever born.”
“I was your slayer,” he cut her off. “Your assassin — say it. That’s why you chose me as Inara's protector.”
“No…” She pushed off her hood and held his gaze with determined blue ones. “Blaéz, I saw that your destiny would still follow you into the battlefields, I couldn’t ignore that, so I had you reassigned to the Sumerian pantheon.”
Blaéz stared at her. She — his own mother had sentenced him to a worse hell — to Tartarus. A place where he’d wished for death many times over. And she could see nothing wrong with that.
“Then you failed.” Death did win. Blaéz walked away. He really wished she would leave him alone, go back to her wars. Why would she start haunting his life now? The fact she’d drawn Darci into this — no. He would stop whatever plans The Morrigan had. No one was coming near his female. Ever.
Blaéz pushed open the massive front door and walked into the foyer. Soft light warmed the place, highlighting the floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows. As he made his way upstairs, he halted. An eerie sensation slid through him. He scanned the castle but all was quiet… no, not evil. Unable to make sense of it, he headed to the second level. Fear punched him in his gut — Darci!
He flashed to their bedroom, yanked open the door, and a body slammed into his, knocking him back several step.
“Darci!” He grabbed her.
“No-no—” she cried, hitting at him. “Let me go!” Her terror a thick cloud, suffocating him. Dammit, was she dreaming about her attack again?
“Shh, a leannan.” He swept her off her feet. “No one will ever hurt you. I have you.” He carried her back to bed and sat down, keeping her cradled on his lap. She shuddered, curled into him as if seeking his warmth. He pressed his lips to her head. “It’s okay.”
Her eyelids flickered open, irises a searing yellow of confusion, edged with pain. His chest constricted at the distress she was emitting.
“Blaéz?”
“Yes, it’s me. What’s wrong? A nightmare?”
Lurching upright, she stroked his face with frantic hands. “You were hurt—”
Hurt? This was about him? She scrambled off him, crawled to his back and yanked up his shirt before he figured out what she’d planned to do.
A horrified cry escaped her.
Shit. It’s not like he hid his scars — damn hard to do that, but he wished he’d spared her this. Maloch, the bastard had left his mark. Blaéz froze as her warm fingers covered his flesh, covered the ugly reminders of a past that could never be banished.
“Oh, God—”
He frowned. She wasn’t covering his scars, but tenderly wiping at them as if to take them off. He angled around to her and found her lovely eyes misty with tears. “Darci, that’s from a long time ago. See? I'm whole. Unharmed. Look at me, a leannan.”
Blaéz took hold of her wrist and brought her back on his lap, he doubted if she heard him.
Her breathing erratic, she grasped his face in her palms, her gaze darting all over him. Then she kissed him. He drew her close but the kiss, unfortunately, wasn’t one of seduction leading to the long, hot carnal playtime he’d waited a lifetime for, but one of utter fear. It seeped out of her and into her fervent kisses, the need to reassure herself he was unhurt clear in her actions.
She cared about him. None ever had before. The thought warmed him right through his ice-encrusted heart, melting more of his defenses.
As long as her mouth was on him, he was okay with that. He returned her kisses and gently stroked her back… Shit, this was pure torture. His rigid cock throbbed painfully trapped in his leathers. He didn't dare move his hands even an inch lower than her waist, or he feared he’d have her flat on her back, stripped, and be buried deep inside of her.
He squeezed his eyes tight and forced himself to focus. To find out what the hell had terrified her.
Blaéz slowed the frantic kisses and eased back then he cupped her far too pale face. The few freckles he adored scattered across the bridge of her nose appeared like bruise marks. “Tell me.”
“I-I had a headache so I laid down to rest. Then th-that horrible dream started again…” She squeezed her eyes tight as if to ward off the images. “It was so real… a man trapped in a dark place being whipped with fire—” She inhaled a deep shuddering breath.
Whipped with fire? Blaéz froze. His lungs burned as if all the air had been sucked out from the room. How — just how the hell had Darci dreamed about his past — his torture?
With a tiny moan, she rubbed her temples.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” He had no idea if he was reassuring her or himself.
Without pain pills to ease her, he did the only thing he could, he willed her to sleep. Breathing hard like he’d run several miles, Blaéz laid her on the bed, drew the covers over her. He stalked to the sideboard in the turret living room, his skin the only thing holding him together. Poured a shot of whiskey and downed the liquid in one gulp. But the burning sensation didn't give him ease. Christ. He sat on the coffee table and stared at the empty glass in his hand. Of all the things he’d imagined, he’d never expected this. Somehow, Darci had tapped into his past through her dreams.
What the hell had he done to affect her in this manner?
Guilt clamored through him, ones he had no way of shutting out. He rubbed his face, wishing for the millionth time that liquor could give him oblivion.
He had to get out of there, be back in that emotionless void so he could sort through his chaotic thoughts. Yet he didn't move, remained glued to the table, his gaze on the bed.
At Darci’s low moan, he dropped the glass, shot to his feet and was at her side in a flash. “I'm here, a leannan.” He stroked her arm, and she stilled.
Blaéz shed his clothes, slid in beside her and drew her close as he struggled to put up his fragmented shields. He could live with his own personal demons, had done so for centuries. But he never wanted her tormented or to know his hell.
Once in his arms, she seemed to settle, her body curved into his and her arm slid over his waist. He pressed his lips to her head. Her pajama-clad leg moved between his thighs, pressing against his erection.
Blaéz groaned, his body pulling his mind to another need.
After millennia of feeling nothing, a carnal hunger burned deeply. Since he could do nothing about it, he moved her knee away. With her soft breath like a thousand taunting strokes on his chest, it was indeed going to be a damn long few hours until morning.
Chapter 14
The next morning, Darci tightened the sliding towel around her body and winced at her wan reflection in the mirror.
God, what a disaster her first night at the castle had been. Her stomach still felt a little shaky from her horrible nightmare. Thank God, she hadn't freaked Blaéz out. It had ruined what
should have been a perfect moment of finally being with a man she was drawn to both physically and emotionally. She really wished Blaéz had stayed, but the bed had been empty when she’d awakened.
Exhaling a frustrated breath, she scraped back her damp, tangled hair. She had no clothes. Blaéz had brought her here in just her jammies. And she had to be at work in an hour! Darn it, now what did she do?
About to go claim one of Blaéz’s t-shirts to wear, she spied a pile of shopping bags on the wooden chest. Inside them, she found skirts and several tops. How was it possible to get clothes — and name brands, too, that late at night? Ugh, the man was immortal. He could probably do anything he wanted.
Her brow rose at the short charcoal gray skirt she pulled out. After the horrendous night she’d had, now seeing this — something so normal, it made her smile. Being a man, naturally, shorter was better. She found underwear — scraps of sexy, lacy things that made her face heat. Instinctively, she knew he expected to see her wearing them for him.
Pulling on the gray skirt and a black, sleeveless top, she hunted around for a hair tie but found a pencil in the bureau instead that she used to anchor her strands in a topknot. In another bag she found shoes, grabbed a pair of gray pumps in her size, and dashed downstairs barefoot, almost mowing Echo down.
“Whoa!” The younger woman grabbed her, a husky laugh escaping. She smelled of chlorine, and her normally spiky hair was flat from her swim.
“Sorry,” Darci breathed, stepping back. “I didn't see you.”
“That’s okay.” She didn't seem surprised that Darci was here. “Where are you off to so early?”
“Work. I'm going to be late, and Lester will sulk — he’s my boss,” she explained, slipping on the pumps. “The demon spawn will make me work late to cover the time, and I’ll probably end up dusting shelves on both floors.” She straightened and met Echo’s amused gaze.
“He can't be that bad.”
“Oh, he is,” she said with a wry smile. “You haven’t seen Blaéz around, have you?”
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