Breaking Fate

by Georgia Lyn Hunter

  Damon smirked. “Needed a change of scenery. Here I am.”

  “If you want information on how your ward is coping after her transition and your desertion of her, you know where the castle is.”

  For a long second, Damon didn't respond. Then he shrugged. “As long as Echo’s happy, I'm fine with that. But you—” He cast Blaéz a pitying look. “Didn't expect you to suddenly develop a conscience. How is that going, by the way?”

  Blaéz regarded Damon with an even stare. The fact that he had taken Echo off the streets when she was a child and kept her safe was the only reason the warriors hadn't pounded the life out of him for letting another Guardian die. But the dickhead seriously tested those limits.

  “You have something to say?”

  A snort. “Of all the Guardians, you're the last one I would have thought to become that shithead’s chew toy — doing what he wants. Maloch? Seriously? There’s no way he’ll ever let you go. Whatever promises he’s made, he’s already found a way to bind you for eternity. You know he has a thing for males, right? Especially those of your kind.”

  “No idea what you're talking about.” Blaéz slugged back his liquor. Pushed off his stool and headed out of the bar, the whiskey a hard fiery ball bouncing about in his belly. Maloch was a parasite, one he would eventually annihilate. The bastard had the hots for him, and had whipped him instead of acting on that need. Blaéz had far preferred his skin melting off than being physically violated.

  “I mean, seriously, how far out of your mind are you?” Damon asked from behind him.

  Blaéz pivoted. What was it with this male? He prowled the Dark Realm like it was his home, yet he wasn't a demon. “If you have something to say, spit it out, instead of following me around like a hound.”

  “Why?” Damon straightened his white dress shirt like it was important it didn't wrinkle. Violet eyes glowed in the dark. “This is so much fun, watching you screw your life over — wait, or is that you being screwed with?”

  Blaéz lunged for him. He flashed out of reach. “Sometimes, I wonder why I bother with you lot. Seriously, Celt, what you seek is long gone. What you see is but a shadow of what once was.” With that cryptic comment, in a swirling shower of molecules, he vanished.

  What did that even mean? That Blaéz would never get his soul back?

  Somewhere in the distance a car honked as the familiar strains of darkness snaked through him. The clamor in his head grew along with the urge to move, in one direction only. Blaéz struggled against his soul’s pull.

  Imagine that. The one thing he wanted but fought against, because Maloch used it to haul him back to the Dark Realm. The only pull he wanted was the one Darci had on him. But this shit was his legacy with no way out.

  Darci was better off without him. All he did was hurt her. The Guardians certainly didn't need one like him tainting the work they did—

  An eerie, ruddy glow shimmered over him. He glanced up as the pale, silvery moon took on a red luminescence. And Blaéz knew there was little he could do to stop this.

  One second he was standing in the derelict backstreet, the next he was yanked deep into the old abandoned Delancey Subway. A casualty of a gas explosion a decade ago, now a notorious hunting ground for demonii.

  A damp smell permeated the place. Water dripped from leaking pipes in the ceiling, soaking the cement in the ominously dark tunnel. The air shifted and separated as if sensing him.

  Yesss… embrace us, warrior. We are what you need. We are one. Cooooome…

  A black portal shimmered open, and the sulfuric reek of Hell drifted to him.

  Chapter 19

  Darci stared blankly at the choked traffic as Hedori drove her back from visiting Grace at the hospital. Late afternoon sunshine spilled through the Range Rover windshield but did little to warm her.

  “He’ll be back, m’lady,” Hedori said quietly. “Sometimes he disappears, but he always returns within a few days.”

  Darci nodded. What could she say? That she’d driven Blaéz away? He hadn’t returned from patrol that morning. Or answered his cell.

  With shaky hands, she smoothed her dress. She hadn't meant to wound him with her actions. But she’d been hurting and needed time to come to terms with everything.

  No, she would never leave him, because he mattered to her. Besides, she could always fill the maternal gap in her heart with her nephew and new niece.

  Grace’s baby would be born whole and healthy. She refused to consider the alternative.

  Her cell rang. Hastily, she pulled it out from her tote. Disappointment filled her when she glanced at the display. She forced a cheerful note in her voice. “Hey, Nora.”

  “Where are you, girl?” her friend grumbled. “You’re so hard to get ahold of. I went to the library and Irina said you’d left. Got a better job offer?”

  “Yes to both,” Darci said with a wry smile. “I'm in town now and on my way to the cas — I mean home.”

  “Oh, wonderful. Please, please come out for a drink,” Nora begged. “I'll meet you at our usual place?”

  Her friend sounded frustrated. Nora’s brother must be on her back again. Besides, Darci really didn't want to return to the castle. The place was far too quiet with Echo in a healing sleep and Blaéz gone. She didn't even want to think of that, it hurt too much.

  “If you want to go, I can wait. I’ll catch up on my reading.” Hedori gave her a quick look of understanding. With their heightened hearing, he’d probably picked up the entire conversation. At her hesitancy, he said, “I’ll be close and you’ll be safe. I promise my fighting skills are not rusty. Or I’ll call Týr, if it’ll make you feel better?”

  She wanted Blaéz. But he wasn’t around. “No-no, that’s all right. And thank you.”

  Hedori may downplay his fighting skills, but she’d seen him train with swords, and recalled he’d been Aethan's protector back in Empyrea. Besides, Týr would probably insist on being present with her through her entire visit with Nora. At least Hedori would hang in the car and give her some space.

  A short while later, Darci opened the door to the cheery ruckus inside Hannigan’s pub in Soho. The strong aroma of malt and grilling meat filled the place. Several people huddled over the small tables, chugging back beer. More gathered at the long wooden counter manned by two bartenders and watched a ball game on the flatscreen suspended above the bar.

  Nora sat at a back table, frowning at a menu and munching from a huge bowl of cheese-drenched nachos. How she remained so slender with her addiction for those, Darci had no idea.

  Nora looked up and leaped to her feet, her grin flashing. “Hey, you.” She squeezed Darci in a tight hug. “I'm so glad you came.”

  A waiter appeared as Darci sat. Nora flipped back her dark, green-streaked hair and gave him a seductive smile. Then she lowered her voice, “I’d love a Screaming Orgasm. Two, please.”

  The young waiter’s mouth dropped open, then he blushed. “Right. Two SO’s coming up.”

  As the waiter hustled off, Darci laughed. “You’re wicked.” Yeah, her friend could do that, make her smile no matter how down she felt.

  “Yup, that’s me…” Nora drummed her fingers on the scarred wood, looking a little distracted. “He’s too cute and too innocent not to corrupt with my evilness.”

  “What’s wrong, Nora?”

  A sigh. “Same old. My brother. He thinks I can wave a magic wand and get the job done.”

  “Did you find what he wants — the vase?” Darci asked, playing with her cell phone.

  “Yes, but this will take some time to get. So…” Nora rested her arms on the table, “tell me about the job, your new hunk. Yeah, Irina told me. Come on, dish it out, girl. I want details.”

  The nacho Darci bit threatened to choke her at thoughts of Blaéz. The waiter reappeared with their drinks. She gulped hers and gasped. The vodka scraping layers off her throat, but it dislodged the food.

  Nora reached across and rubbed her arm. “What is it? What’s wrong? Is it Gra
ce?”

  Darci shook her head. At the warmth and concern in her friend’s eyes, the words spilled out. “It’s Blaéz…” She told Nora about meeting Blaéz, moving in with him, his “special ops” job, but not what Blaéz really was. She wouldn’t betray his secret, she just needed someone to talk to. “He matters a great deal to me, but he doesn’t do emotions.”

  “Why?”

  “His job…” Darci lifted her shoulder in a helpless shrug, had no idea what else to say. “The violence, it reminds him too much of things he’d rather forget.”

  Nora nodded and lowered her gaze to her still full shot glass. “I guess it’s like those soldiers stationed in war zones. Most have a hard time trying to live a normal life after that…”

  Darci didn't correct her. Nora would probably laugh her head off if she told her friend the painful truth. No, he’s not a soldier. My lover’s immortal. He doesn't do emotion because he doesn't possess a soul — you see why this is so difficult?

  Her friend would definitely strap her in a straitjacket and dump her butt in the nuthouse.

  Nora finished her drink, looked around. Snapped her fingers, and two more SOs arrived.

  “Drink up, girl. After a good night’s sleep — and judging from the shadows I see lurking in your eyes, you haven’t slept much either — it will all be easier in the morning. Be patient. Hell, hump the life out of him. But seriously, he can't be completely devoid of feelings. It’s somewhere there, hidden. He’ll soon lower those walls and be all over you like spilled honey.”

  Darci found it hard to speak past the lump in her throat. If only it were that easy.

  “Hey—” Nora reached out and grasped her hands. “All will be good. Trust me. I've been around a lot longer.”

  Darci forced a smile. “Yes, an entire year longer than me—”

  “—is a looong time,” Nora said, laughing. “So. Did you get your dress for Irina’s engagement?”

  A change of conversation and two more Screaming Orgasms later, the afternoon passed in a pleasant haze. Yet nothing dulled the worry growing inside of her as she discreetly glanced at her cell again.

  ***

  Immense heat surrounded Blaéz as he was whisked through a space of churning darkness, the smell of sulfur burning his nose.

  Low moans of frustrated need, of sex, drifted to him from the gloomy flame-lit dungeon. Couples fornicated on every surface in twosomes, threesomes… orgies. Sex through pain, being tied and whipped, bled, burned — all for the ultimate search of gratification — indeed, another level of hell.

  Since his dick was on hiatus, those didn't appeal to him. Besides, he only wanted one person — even his cold heart knew that. He flashed past the hedonistic chambers and ignored the brief scene of immense demonic armies training in parched lands. His blurring journey through the portal always struck him like he was on a fast-moving tour bus, stopping at all the fun places before reaching his allotted destination.

  As he stepped out of the portal, the thick sulfuric miasma made him want to hurl even after centuries of being hauled to this place. And breathing through his mouth didn't make it any better as heat blasted his face. Sweat rolled down his skin, drenching his t-shirt within seconds. Yet, inside him, nothing warmed the icy emptiness.

  The tattoo on his biceps went unnaturally quiet; it always did when he came here. That had to be why Gaia had warned her Guardians against coming here and seeking retribution. They’d be useless without her enchanted weapons. But his choices weren’t many when drawn against his will by his soul trapped in this place.

  Drip, drip, drip. The sound resonated in the cavern, along with low, reedy moans drifting to him. Not Tartarus, but The Seventh Circle of Hell.

  Maloch’s domain reeked of horror. Pain from the dammed overflowed, seeping into him and feeding his own demons.

  Cooooome… The darkness stirred in that deep vacuum within. With no anchor to ground him, here in this place, the temptation to give in, to remain, took hold—

  “Finally,” Maloch said, emerging from the shadows. His dark eyes flashed red in annoyance as he circled Blaéz. “It has taken some time to get you here.”

  “Traffic.”

  Not amused, Maloch scowled and stopped in front of Blaéz. An inch taller, the demon’s narrow face appeared anemic in the gloom. He probably hadn’t quenched his plasma thirst or whatever got his rocks off.

  “Tell me,” Maloch said slyly. “Did you like your journey through Hell, decide which option you want? Only two choices, my lover or my Hand.”

  “I’d rather torture the damned.”

  Maloch’s eyes glowed fully red in displeasure. Then he laughed. “It’s what I enjoy about you. Your resistance—” his lustful gaze drifted down Blaéz. “Okay, since you want me to beg, how about a little trade? A year. You don’t fight me, do whatever I want, and I’ll give you back your soul.”

  He’d never agreed this easily before… what was he up to?

  Besides, one year in Hell was a hundred long human ones.

  Not interested in his game, Blaéz stepped into the wet, copper-reeking rocky cavern, thick with suffering, gore, and blood. The acrid odor of burned flesh made even his iron-cast stomach revolt. On the far end, several damned hung chained by their hands from the dripping ceiling, strung up like carcasses of meat as fire flared from the fiery veins below them and melted off their skin.

  The dense air rippled around him. Black soot-like rain fell in a deluge. Damned human souls unfurled and transformed into bodies. Maloch always brought out the new souls to get a reaction from him. Did he not realize by now how little Blaéz cared, that he felt nothing?

  Their shrieks of horror remained suspended in the heavy sulfuric smog when the truth of where they were hit them. Without possession of free will, they were stripped and bound to the blood-soaked walls. The newbies’ gazes latched onto Blaéz, hope in their eyes.

  Because he was the only one who remained in the acceptable human form? Foolish sods.

  With a smirk, Maloch snapped his fingers and the whip with the fiery tails appeared in his hand. He tossed Blaéz the weapon. The thing crackled and hissed. “You know what to do.”

  Blaéz didn't respond. Or glance at the bodies suddenly strung up. His gaze fixed on the crackling whip, he idly wondered how long he’d be trapped here if he sliced off Maloch’s limbs instead. The first time he’d done so, he’d ended up wounded and trapped here for several weeks.

  “Something’s different.” Maloch strolled around Blaéz, studying him. He sniffed. “Your scent, it’s changed…”

  “It’s called a shower.”

  “Snark won’t help you, warrior, if I decide to let your brethren know what you truly are.”

  Blaéz ignored him. Flicked the whip. It hissed in the air, releasing fiery sparks. Why couldn’t he find a loophole to get out of this hellhole? It wasn't like he hadn't tried. Maloch yanked his string by using his soul, and he came—

  What you seek is long gone. What you see is but a shadow of what once was.

  Damon’s words from earlier rolled in his head. The male trawled easily enough through the Dark Realm.

  Last fall, when they’d had to rescue Echo after the demon had abducted her, Damon had been pissed, but only with his help did they find her. He seemed to know things most immortals wouldn’t.

  The cryptic words suddenly took on a new meaning.

  No way. But hope was a bitch, and a relationship that seemed impossible hovered on the horizon. One he’d do anything for. He turned to Maloch, who’d braced his arm on a protruding rock, his avaricious gaze pinned on Blaéz like a parasite.

  “You want a year, I want to see it.”

  A guileful expression settled on Maloch’s face. “Very well.” He lowered his hand to his crotch and unzipped his pants. His cock poked out through the opening like an anemic worm.

  Blaéz merely stared at him.

  “It will happen,” he promised, zipping up again. “You will come to me all on your own.”

/>   Blaéz hadn’t in three and a half thousand years, why did the fucker think he would now?

  No longer pretending not to understand what Blaéz wanted, Maloch snapped his fingers. A small, glowing, black metal box appeared in his palm. He stroked the outer casing. “I feel its power…”

  His dark irises bled into the rest of his eyes, morphing into black pits of evil. Flames flickered inside. “For making demands of me, with no payment…”

  Another snap of his fingers and a human appeared in front of them. The screams started. A scaly, horned demon nearby grabbed the male with a red t-shirt — the man Blaéz had seen hours ago — and chained him to the wall. The human wasn’t damned or dead. The monster’s talons lashed out. Fabric shredded. Strips of skin peeled off the male’s back. More soul-destroying shrieks layered the dense air.

  “Kill him. Set his soul free, or he’ll stay there. I’ll heal him and start the process again.”

  “Why? He’s not damned.”

  “Because I feel like it. And because you think you can order me,” Maloch retorted. “However, give me what I want and it all stops.”

  Say yes and become this prick’s fuck toy? Just so he’d have his soul back?

  Blaéz turned to the mortal and lashed out, the whip unfurled in a deadly crackle, severing the carotid. The poor bastard would at least have peace now.

  Maloch smirked, and it ignited something within Blaéz. For millennia, he’d been yanked here with no way out, taken innocent lives. Now, the one person he wanted he couldn’t claim because of his tie to this psycho. As those thoughts swirled in his mind, Blaéz broke through the hold that had stayed his hand since the first time he’d attacked Maloch and lashed out with the fiery whip. The tail end licked around Maloch’s arm. Flesh slid off in a chunk. Blood poured.

  Maloch roared and flashed away. The metal container fell to the stony ground in a thunk. The lid flew open. An orb of glowing light hovered in the air. Blaéz dove for his soul. Instead of coming to him, it fizzled and dissipated into the sulfuric air.

  Another truth settled inside him. “You don’t have it.”

  “Then how do I summon you?” Maloch blasted him back with a flick off his hand. Blaéz hit the wall, pain strumming up his spine. Maloch snatched the whip back. “Did you think I’d open the box with your true soul around you?”