Breaking Fate

by Georgia Lyn Hunter

  God, she still had to come to terms with him not being able to feel anything, except sexually. Her chest constricted in grief at the loss of a real — a normal relationship between them. That this would eventually develop into something more.

  Unable to avoid his gaze, she steeled her spine and looked at him, becoming entangled in the intensity of his stare.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  No, she wasn’t. She wanted him to hold her, reassure her all was going to be well between them, but she didn’t see how that would happen. “We need to talk.”

  “We will.”

  She could read nothing from his expression, and the cramp in her stomach grew worse.

  The steel partition rolled open. The acrid odor of disinfectant flooded her nose as she walked out onto the maternity floor. The horrible smell always brought home the stark reminder of the tragedies her family had endured.

  Soft voices and the sounds of a ringing phone drifted to her as they approached the nurses’ station, then utter silence as if a vacuum had sucked up the faint noise. A nurse hurried to them since it was past visiting hours, her rubber soles squeaking on the floor. Her stern expression shifted to a flustered one as she laid eyes on Blaéz. He spoke. Darci had no idea what he said. The nurse nodded and pointed to the left corridor.

  At the far end of the passage, Declan paced outside a room there, head down. His tie skewed, he shoved his fingers through his messy hair. Darci’s throat closed off with the urge to cry at his beaten-down appearance. He looked up. The torment on his face tore her apart. The thinly erected walls inside her cracked. She ran to him. “Dec—”

  He clasped her to his chest, his shoulders shaking.

  “She’s bleeding again, Dars,” he said, his voice thick with anguish. “How can this be? She was fine at the last check up. If she loses this baby, too, it will devastate her.”

  And you, Darci thought, her own eyes blurring. Grace had made it to sixteen weeks this time, and there had been hope. But now… God, please, please save this baby — save them.

  “It’s a girl.” Declan eased back from her and smiled amidst his tears.

  A wobbly smile touched her lips. Darci swallowed her sob and straightened his skewed tie. “That’s wonderful. But why are you out here and not with Grace?”

  “She’s sleeping… strapped to all those machines. I needed — I need…”

  He needed time alone, Darci understood, to pull himself together.

  Declan looked past her and his features tensed. He said nothing, gave Blaéz a barely perceptible nod and walked back into the ward.

  Darci turned to Blaéz, who waited a short distance away, giving her space. He was a god, had impossible abilities — she had to try. He watched her silently as she made her way to him. “Blaéz,” she forced his name past a suddenly dry throat, “can't you help? Make the baby stay in longer?”

  He slid his hands into his pockets as if to keep from touching her. “Darci, we cannot interfere in mortal lives.”

  Tears burned her eyes. “Please, Blaéz, please?”

  “Don’t cry.” He reached out and stroked her cheek. “Healing others is not one of my strengths. I will do what I can, but it will have to wait until your brother leaves.”

  Hope flared. “I’ll get him out.”

  Darci whirled around and hurried to the ward. She stumbled to a halt at the whooshing echo filling the room. The sound came from the monitor connected to Grace’s belly, recording the baby’s heartbeat. Several other machines blinked and beeped. Oh, Lord.

  Pulling in a deep, pained breath, Darci crossed to Declan, who stood near the bed holding Grace’s hand. A lump formed in her throat to see Grace lying there, the shadows beneath her eyes so dark, her face almost as white as the sheet. Even her blonde hair appeared to have lost color.

  Darci blinked her tears away, kissed Grace’s cheek then turned to her brother. “Dec, let’s sit outside for a bit, okay?”

  He nodded. In too much pain, he didn't see through her weak attempt to get him to leave.

  Out in the corridor, Declan crashed heavily onto one of the hard, plastic chairs lining the wall and dropped his head into his palms. Darci sat beside him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. Blaéz was nowhere around, but that didn't worry her. He probably didn't want Declan to see him enter Grace’s room.

  She stroked his bicep. “You have to have faith, Dec.”

  He jerked to his feet, torment and anger warring across his face. “I'm damn sick of hearing that word. My wife has lost four pregnancies in the last ten years while I stayed helpless on the sidelines, watching the people I love fall. And you—”

  “Me, what?” she asked in confusion when he broke off.

  His mouth flattened, he shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Darci rose, too. “Dec — what is it? You know you can tell me anything?”

  He didn't respond, his gaze shifting behind her. Without a word, he strode back into the ward. Besides Grace being back in the hospital, something else was up with her brother.

  But Declan’s dislike of Blaéz troubled her deeply.

  Pushing aside her concern for now, Darci turned as Blaéz walked up to her. She met his shadowed stare, wanted to apologize for her brother’s rudeness, but didn't know what to say. Before she could speak, soft voices drifting to her from the open ward door caught her attention. Her gaze widened. Blaéz remained silent. Not daring to hope, she pivoted for the ward and stopped dead in the doorway.

  Grace, still too pale, had awakened. Declan sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand against his lips. The sight made Darci’s heart ache. She backed out of the room. She didn't care how little healing Blaéz had done, he’d given Grace hope. It meant more to her than anything else in the world.

  She stopped in front of him again. The fact that he’d done what she’d asked without hesitation — broke their immortal laws for her, tears crowded her throat. She had to force out the words. “Thank you.”

  Blaéz drew her to him, his arms a protective barrier around her. She felt him press his lips to her hair. “She’ll be fine for now. I stopped the bleeding, but I couldn’t heal her completely. I would do anything for you, but this is beyond me.”

  She shook her head and just hugged him harder. He thought she was in pain because of Grace? Yes, she was, but more because of him. It wasn't his fault he’d lost so much in Tartarus. She should have been more supportive instead of worrying about how this situation affected her.

  He stroked her back. “Do you want to leave?”

  She nodded and stepped away. Meeting his pale eyes, that sense of déjà vu stirred in her again, like she’d looked into them before.

  No—no, the color’s all wrong.

  They were blue… a painful, brilliant blue…

  “Darci? What is it?”

  At the sound of Blaéz’s voice, she blinked and the image dissipated. A chill slithered up her spine leaving her uneasy. She rubbed her arms and shook her head. “It’s nothing. Let me say goodbye.”

  ***

  Blaéz watched the doorway Darci had disappeared into. Despite the fact his precognition was about as silent as a doorknob when it came to his own life, it made little difference to him. In fact, he preferred it that way. All that mattered was this amazing woman who felt so deeply for others — who, it seemed, would do anything to ease their torment… Like she would for you, if you’d let her.

  His chest tightened at the thought.

  Earlier, he’d let her be, it wasn't the time to talk. No longer.

  The moment she walked out of the ward, he pushed away from the wall. She remained quiet as they made their way to the elevator. He was used to silence, but not one of this raw, hurting caliber that pierced him in the gut.

  Once they left the hospital, he led her to the shadowy side street when she stopped him and lifted anguished eyes to his. “I shouldn’t have said what I did earlier. It’s not your fault you lost your emotions.”

  He wasn’t prepared for that.
“What else did Echo tell you?”

  Slight color tinged her face that he knew who her informant was. “Just that—” Then she hastily defended the female. “She only told me because she saw how upset I was.”

  “I know. I should have told you myself. I didn't know how,” he admitted. “There’s something else…” he paused, uneasiness taking hold. But she had to know. He didn't want that distance between them again. “I don’t possess a soul. It was taken from me. That’s why I lost my emotions.”

  “What— why?” A shocked whisper.

  “It was my punishment because I dared to save another from a cruel torture,” he said, voice flat. “He was brutalized anyway.”

  “Who would do something so cruel?”

  “One screwed-up Fallen son-of-a-bitch. Lucifer.”

  Her mouth opened, then shut. Compassion flowed into her eyes. “I'm so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. With you, I have everything I need. You’ve given me what I lost and thought I would never again have.” He ran his knuckles down her jaw in a slow caress.

  If he could, he’d keep her at his side twenty-four seven. He didn't care how possessive that was of him, and it wasn’t because of the surge of emotions flowing through him when she was near. He craved every bit of her, her smile, her luscious body, hell, he wanted to be the very air she breathed — wanted every fucking thing. But he knew better than to say it.

  “All that matters is you. You belong to me, Darci. Have done so from the moment I saw you.”

  Faint color crept up her face. “Do you have to actually touch me to feel?”

  And there was that, which would always come between them. He really didn't want to go there again. “Darci—”

  “Tell me. I want to understand.”

  A sigh. “I feel a bit around you, but it’s more intense with skin contact.”

  She didn't say anything for a moment as if assimilating what he’d said, then those damp hazel eyes drifted over his face and lingered on his cheek. She reached up and caressed his jaw with tender fingers. “You have a bruise.”

  Ah, Christ, there went that tightness in his chest again.

  “Yeah, the job,” he said, tone gruff. He turned his head, kissed her fingers. Then he hardened his gaze. “Never refer to yourself as a fuck buddy again. I intensely dislike those words.” He would never reduce her to something that demeaning when she was his own personal little sun.

  Unable to stop himself, he took her mouth in a tender kiss. Her short, breathy sighs made him unbearably hard, and before he forgot all common sense, he stepped back. With her face flushed and lips swollen from his kisses, at least he’d taken away the sorrow in her eyes.

  It had just gone past midnight when he dematerialized them back to the castle.

  “Blaéz,” she said as he shut their bedroom door behind him. “Michael mentioned psionics. What are— are they your enemies, too?”

  It was the last thing he wanted to talk about now that he’d gotten over one hurdle. Not that he gave two shits about explaining what psionics were, what concerned him was where that conversation would eventually lead. For her to understand, he had to tell her the rest. He had to open his personal Pandora's box and reveal more dark truths about his damn past that had left him a husk.

  ***

  Darci waited. Blaéz leaned against the door. “No,” he finally said. “They aren’t our enemies, but a whole other problem. It’s about the prophecies of the Watchers.”

  “Watchers?” Darci remembered reading about the angels that had died eons ago.

  He nodded. “We had to find the Healer of the Veils and protect her. If she died, it meant other descendants of the Watchers, the psionics, would awaken. A curse the leader of the Watchers had set in place. So, we had to protect the Healer, but with a demon after her ability, things became complicated. Echo was abducted. She died.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “Echo died?”

  “Yes.” Blaéz spoke, said something about Aethan bringing her back and who Echo was, but Darci simply stared at him. She’d barely adjusted to immortals living in this world and who Blaéz was. Now, she felt like she’d been thrown into an alternate universe as she tried to understand what he’d just revealed.

  Echo was a descendant of an angel — the Watchers. But she looked so normal, not counting her mismatched eyes.

  Blaéz continued, “It didn't matter that Echo awakened again, the prophecy came into being, allowing the Watchers’ descendants to rise. With the powers some of them would wield, they could wreak havoc on this realm. Think Apocalypse. It would be beyond imagining. Seems we’re into the next phase of its unraveling.” He straightened away from the door, crossed to her and gently squeezed her hand. “It is a lot to take in—”

  “You think?”

  Amusement gleamed briefly in his eyes.

  “So, Echo is the first descendant of the Watchers to come into her power, and now this other person could be one, too? A psionic?”

  “Echo, yes. As to the other—” He frowned. “We won't know for sure until we find whoever it is. However, not all were born with vast powers, we have to find those that are, and bind their abilities before all hell breaks loose on earth. Not only will evil be after them, but the human authorities, too. And that we cannot allow to happen.”

  Darci rubbed her brow. Two weeks ago, life had been so simple. She lived happily clueless as to what was happening right on her doorstep. “Bind them, how?”

  “That’s Michael’s domain. He’ll probably summon one of the seraphim and they will bind the psionic’s ability so the human could live a normal, safe life.”

  “I read about that, about an entire race of angels who were annihilated for mating with mortal women. How sad.”

  His mouth tightened. “It’s how the Absolute Laws came into being. It may have started as an angelic one, but it now applies to the pantheons, too.”

  Her gaze whipped to him. “That’s why those assassins came after us? It’s not just about stopping immortals getting involved with humans, but to prevent possible pregnancies that result in children like Echo and this other person…” As the implications of what he’d said seeped into her, Darci shook her head, shock leeching her strength. “No. You cannot mean that — you can't.”

  The tic on his jaw pulsed harder. “I have no soul. I cannot bond with you. There will be no young for us.”

  No—no! Darci shook her head, stricken. She spun around and made straight for the dressing room, unable to think past what Blaéz had just revealed. His words reverberated in her skull like nails piercing and draining her last hope. She slid open the cupboard. He stopped her. “What are you doing?”

  “I-I need a shower.”

  Then she wanted to crawl into bed, and hoped that when she woke this would all be a bad dream. She pulled out underwear and a sleepshirt from the closet. Head lowered, she slipped past him to the bathroom. Or tried to.

  He stepped in her way. All she saw were his booted feet, leather-clad thighs, and powerful forearms. The corded tendons flexed taut like steel cables with his hands clenching. “Dammit, Darci, talk to me.”

  “You should have told me” — she fisted her underwear, not the sexy lacy silk things he’d bought her but her own white cotton, her comfort wear — “I accepted I would never have a normal relationship with you but this, this you should have told me.”

  “And say what? Had you known the truth when we first met, yes, indeed, you would have welcomed me with open arms.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “I will never be normal. This is what I am.”

  Darci inhaled a trembling breath. She had no idea what she would have done had he told her the truth then, she only knew she needed time — needed space to grieve the life that had been so suddenly ripped away.

  At the pained fury in his gaze, she whispered, “I can't do this now, Blaéz. I just can't.” She stumbled into the bathroom and shut the door, despair flooding her. Leaning against the wood, tears burned her eyes. She wanted to cry, to yell, but at
whom?

  Not only could Blaéz never love her — well, not in the way she wanted — but she wouldn’t have children to love either, have nothing to complete her.

  ***

  Blaéz thumped his head against the closed door, eyes squeezed tight. Even with the wooden panel between them, her anguish ate at him like acid.

  Let her go. You can never give her what she wants.

  The heavens knew it was the right thing to do… but at the thought of her being with someone else, with a human who could love her and touch her, Blaéz wanted to put his fist through the wood. Before he shocked her with his violence and destroyed everything around him, he walked out of the castle and dematerialized downtown.

  He stopped in a derelict backstreet. Voices drifted to him. He stared blankly at the flickering flames the vagrants nearby had lit in a trashcan. Darci’s shattered expression imprinted in his mind. One he doubted he’d ever forget. The look of devastation when she’d realized he could never give her what she wanted. Love — children. The latter, something he’d never thought of or wanted. Instead, she’d found herself tied to a shell of a man.

  He headed for Dante's bar up the street. He needed a drink to fill the coldness taking hold of him again. Hated the slide from roiling emotions to his usual empty shell.

  Moments later, he entered the bar. The clashing balls from the pool table drowned the jukebox playing an oldie. The odor of sweat and leather drifted in the air, along with the smell of liquor and burgers. However, it wasn’t the sight or scent that alerted him to another immortal in this place, but a prickle along his psyche. No, not a Guardian, but one he was all too familiar with.

  Blaéz didn't seek his usual table. Stopping at the wooden counter, he ordered his whiskey.

  As if he wanted the company, A’Damiel, or Damon as he preferred to be called, parked himself on a vacant stool beside him. Straight, jaw-length black hair swung forward, briefly hiding Damon’s expression.

  “Of all the bars in this city, you chose mine?”