Blaéz exhaled roughly and eyed his fellow Guardian thoughtfully. “You need to get out more, Race. Seriously. Or those mountains will be all you end up with if you don’t find your mate soon.”
“Probably.” He lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug, but his eyes were like ruby stones. Cold. “Gave up on that eons ago. Now, I’m off. Darci, it’s been a pleasure. Celt…I’m out of your hair.”
His smirk in place, Race stepped back several feet, but the ebony scales rippling beneath his tan skin said otherwise. His dragon was close to the surface. In a seamless transition from man to an enormous, scaly beast, his massive tail swished, swiping away several saplings behind him. In a furious flap of wings, scattering the fallen leaves on the ground, he took off into the overcast sky.
“That was…unexpected,” Darci murmured.
Blaéz silently watched his fellow Guardian until he disappeared into the thick, dark clouds.
“You know, I think he came here for something more than to simply irritate you,” she said, her tone thoughtful.
“What?”
“For clarification… To see that love exists.”
Blaéz looked at her and shook his head. “You heard him.”
“So?” A feminine eyebrow rose in challenge. “If someone had told you the same thing before you met me?”
He stared at her for a long second. She was right. Since he hadn’t been in possession of his emotions back then, he would have probably told them to fuck off.
Blaéz smiled. “Point taken.”
Yes, he’d found Darci, found an extraordinary love with her. He wanted the same for his Guardian brothers. But they were too bloody stubborn and set in their revenge.
“C’mon. Or we’ll be late for your appointment.” He slung his arm around her shoulder and headed back for the castle.
Still, he hoped Race heeded his advice.
Chapter 8
Later that afternoon, as they took form on the terrace of the rec room, back from her dress fitting, Darci could feel Blaéz’s contemplative gaze on her.
“You’ve been very quiet since we left the bridal shop,” he said softly.
“Have I?” She hastily planted a smile on her mouth and rubbed her arms, not sure if it was from the chilly air or from what had happened a short while earlier. “I didn’t realize—I was just thinking…”
“About what?”
Oh, man, she really, really, didn’t want to talk about it. “Your brother,” she evaded.
His expression instantly hardened. “I’ll take care of him.”
That certainly halted Blaéz’s questioning, which was what she wanted, the ordeal at the bridal boutique too fresh in her mind to bear reliving. Thankfully, Blaéz had no idea what had occurred since he’d waited for her in the visitor’s sitting room while she tried on her dress.
“If you need to go into town again, let me know.” He pulled her out of her train of thought. “Don’t go with anyone else. I’m not taking any chances with Finnén around. Now, let’s go get some lunch.”
“No, you go ahead,” she said, her stomach churning at the thought of food. “I’ll have something later. There’re a few things I need to check on, we have so little time.”
As she hustled past him, he grasped her hand. “What’s going on?” His tone was mild, but his expression had hardened.
Biting back a sigh, she patted his tough chest, keeping her mind shields bolted, not wanting him to sense her disquiet. “Give your suspicious mind a rest. I’m just not hungry—too much excitement with how close we are to the wedding. Come on, it’s cold out here.” She grasped his hand, opened the door, and dragged him into the rec room.
Týr wandered in, tunneling his fingers through his wheat-colored hair. “Good, you’re back. A game of pool or a session with swords?”
“Go,” she encouraged. “I have to find Hedori. I’ll see you later.”
As she walked away, she could feel Blaéz’s stare boring into her. No, he didn’t buy her diversion tactic one bit. But there wasn’t much she could do about it. As she walked out of the room, she heard the word swords mentioned again and sighed in relief. Blaéz would be occupied for a while. She made her way to the back stairs and ran up to their quarters to change.
Two hours later, huffing out another breath, she gripped the handles of the elliptical machine and pushed harder, determined to finish the allotted time she’d set for herself. Her jaw clamped down. Sweat dripped off her brow and drenched her t-shirt.
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
Her head snapped up as Blaéz strolled into the gym. He frowned. “What are you doing?”
She blew the damp strands from her face, or tried to, but it stuck to her forehead. It irritated her more when it didn’t budge. “Keeping…fit.” How the wheezed words came out through her gritted teeth, she had no idea.
“I see…”
So unfair. Her gaze trailed over him. He’d just come back from training with Týr, and even knowing how brutally they fought, he still appeared cool and sexy wearing his sweats and tee. While she probably looked like a drowned, sweaty rat, working off her butt.
We could let out the seams on the sides, the designer’s comforting voice echoed in her head. The last time, it had just been a little tight; now, the buttons wouldn’t fasten—grrr!
“What’s wrong?” Blaéz asked, stopping near her.
“Nothing.”
“O-kay. Maybe now we can go get lunch?”
“No. I have to do twenty more minutes on this machine.” She swiped the dampness off her brow again with the back of her hand. A towel appeared in front of her. She snatched it and scrubbed her heated face. Powerful arms swept her off the machine.
“Eeek—” a shriek tore out of her. The towel fell, and her arms flailed before she flung them around his neck. Blaéz carried her and strode across the huge gym as if she weighed no more than a feather. “What are you doing?”
He sat down on a bench and settled her on his lap. “Now tell me what’s going on.”
“Blaéz,” she protested, pushing at his hands, trying to get off him. “I haven’t finished.”
His grip tightened on her hips, keeping her there. “How long have you been on that thing?”
“Not long enough,” she muttered, hunching over her arms wrapped around her waist and feeling her puffy stomach. God! She was going to look like a stuffed sausage on her wedding day if she didn’t do something drastic.
When Blaéz remained silent for far too long, she cast him a wary sideways glance. Nooo. She bit back a groan, realizing he was trying to figure out where in the day things had taken a turn. “After breakfast, you went off to the library,” he murmured, his brow creasing thoughtfully. “Then I found you practicing your knife throwing. Later we—ah.” Understanding lit his gaze.
“Don’t say it,” she warned.
He watched her quietly for a moment before setting her on her feet. He grasped her hand and tugged her to the floor-length mirror on the opposite wall. Pulling her in front of him, he held her by her upper arms as if well aware of her inclination to run.
“Look.”
“Why? I know what I look like,” she grumbled, glowering at him through the mirror. Besides, he was much nicer to look at. But, Christ on a crutch! She really did look like a sweaty rat.
Her t-shirt stuck to her full breasts like a second skin, and her black yoga pants hugged her hips—revealing her curves and rounded tummy. “And that’s a right ol’ mess.”
“You are perfect, a leannan. Don’t you know that?”
“Of course, you’d say that. You love me, so you wear those rose-tinted glasses,” she huffed, sucking in her stomach. Normally, she liked her curves, but with stress adding a few extra pounds—it was so unfair!
A glimmer of a smile hovered on his mouth before disappearing. He ran his lips over her shoulder. A lick of desire curled through her belly. “True, but no need for the…ah, rose-tinted glasses.”
“Stop l
aughing at me.” She smacked the hand holding her. “My dress is tight, and the designer wants to let out the seams,” she moaned. “That’s why I’ve been working the elliptical like a darn hamster.”
“And you said?” His mouth trailed up her neck, and his warm breath hit her ear while his lips and tongue did something really distracting to her earlobe. She forgot his question. Her breath caught in her throat. His hands skimmed down her arms. “I love everything about you, a leannan. You are exactly how a woman should be, soft and alluring. I cannot keep my hands off you, even for a second…” He cupped her t-shirt-covered breasts and squeezed them gently. “So, what did you tell her?”
“Huh?” Her mind cloudy with desire, it took her a moment to connect back to their conversation. She wasn’t surprised at how easily Blaéz took control of her body with his words and hands. He tugged at her earlobe with his teeth. “Darci?”
“Er, absolutely not.” Yeah, that’s what she’d told the annoying woman.
Soft laughter feathered her cheek. “That’s my girl.”
He slipped his hand under her t-shirt and pushed up her bra to cup her breasts. As he rolled her nipples, as if they had a direct line to her core, arousal burned brighter. She bit her lip to stifle her moan.
Too late. He’d seen her reaction in the mirror. His eyes narrowed. She recalled then that he always liked hearing her whimpers and cries when he touched her.
With one hand keeping her pinned against his hard chest and his thumb flicking her hardening nipple, he lowered the other to slip into the front of her tights, beneath her panties and down to her damp cleft. With unerring accuracy, he found her clit and rolled the nub with his thumb. “Never deny me the sounds I elicit from you, a leannan, even if we are following tradition. Every sigh, every moan, and every drawn-out whimper belongs to me.”
“God, Blaéz…” she groaned, her head pressed back into his chest, his words amping her arousal. She wanted him—needed him—so badly.
You’re gonna give in? Lose the bet?
“Just say the word”—he ran his tongue along her exposed neck—“and I’ll give you what you desire, right here.”
It took a moment before the sexual haze parted and her muddled mind trundled back to reality. “W-what?”
His intense eyes trapped hers in the mirror, her wanton need clearly displayed. He stroked her clit again, and she choked back a whine, hating what she’d inadvertently set in motion with that silly article. She grabbed his hand, stopping its torment. “No.”
“So you think you can hold out, hmm?”
God, she bit her inner lip, wanting to yield. Her starving body begged her to wave a white flag in surrender. Instead, she inhaled deeply then smiled sweetly at him. “Of course, I can. Told you, I’m gonna whip your ass.”
A smile broke free, stealing her breath. It was so rare to see a full smile from him. Darci simply stared.
“Whip my arse? We’ll see…” He withdrew his fingers from her protesting body, held her gaze, and licked them free of her wetness. Her knees nearly buckled.
Ack! He was good, the sneaky immortal!
His eyes gleamed in amusement. “I’m going to shower. Join me…or not. I’ll see you in a half hour for lunch.”
Darci watched him saunter away and groaned.
The latter was a decree. Well, she could eat a salad, but the former? No, it was better to avoid a shower with him. Besides, she had to do twenty more minutes on the elliptical. She planned to be a goddess—nah, scratch that—but damn fabulous on her wedding day!
Fire crackled in the hearth, the sounds loud in the quiet library. But Echo barely heard the sputter, her eyes glued on the aged parchment of angelic runes spread out on the desk in front of her.
The first time she’d looked at it, the thing had drawn her in as if it would pull her into its magic. Most times, studying about her divine ancestors was a pain in the ass. But for some reason, classes on understanding how angelic runes worked fascinated her.
She ignored the usual goosebumps spreading over her skin and the peculiar sensation snaking through her every time she touched the scroll and peered closer at the sigils.
“It reacts to the divine blood that runs through your veins,” Lore reiterated.
What the—? Her gaze snapped up. How the heck did he know how she responded?
As he strolled to the French doors, the recessed lights overhead glinted off his deep red hair hanging about his shoulders. He stopped and stared through the glass panes at the snowflakes floating down to the ground, his hands clasped behind his back.
Unlike the archangel, Michael, who appeared utterly lethal in a devilish sort of way with his dark hair and shattered blue eyes—Lore had an ethereal quality about him, a golden glow that sometimes shimmered through, despite his six-foot span of sunset-hued wings being hidden.
Probably because he was divine.
And annoying.
The by-the-book angel didn’t believe in missing a lesson, and he’d insisted on an earlier one since he had something important to attend to, doubtless some heavenly duties. Whatever those were.
“This particular scroll belonged to Zarias, your direct ancestor,” he continued, still staring through the glass panes. Yeah, the leader of the Watchers. “The rune that speaks to you…claim it.”
What the—what? Her heart thumped in excitement. “How?”
He pivoted, and even with the distance, his eyes glinted like metallic green razors. “Must I do it all for you, human? Use that intelligence you’ve supposedly been blessed with.”
Echo scowled. If she killed him, would anyone miss him?
Gritting back her irritation, she opened her mind and concentrated on the symbols…
One moved as if rising out of the scroll to hover above it. Without thinking, she touched the glimmer, and it coasted along her arm, disappearing into her skin. A light buzz heated her blood, and she gasped. Moments later, it faded.
Whoa, that was unexpected! She glanced back at the scroll. But the spot where the angular markings of the rune had resided now appeared like a faded print. What the hell?
A shadow loomed over her. “What have you done?”
Worried now, her gaze flew to Lore’s unreadable, slivery-green eyes. She really, really hoped she hadn’t destroyed or vanquished the rune to oblivion. “I was concentrating on the runes, and one came off the scroll and just…disappeared.” Into me.
“There is hope for you yet, Healer.”
“I’m so sorry! I’ll try and find it—and wait—what?” Her eyes rounded as she stared at the difficult angel in front of her. His expression remained nonchalant as if nothing moved him. Ever.
“It’s in you now. It’s a Locator sigil. When you feel the pull of a torn veil on your psyche, it will aid you in finding its whereabouts, though it won’t always be straightforward. Instinct should be a good guide. Trust it.”
Several months ago, there’d been a rip in the mystical veil protecting this realm from supernatural evil, and she hadn’t known. She’d been restless, feverish, wanting to keep moving, only she hadn’t been physically ill, but emotionally—the symptoms had intensified because she hadn’t answered its call—until Aethan had revealed its location.
So she understood exactly what Lore meant. This would make it so much easier to do her job.
She grinned. “Thank you!”
“Shore your excitement, Healer,” he said, strolling to the window again. “And work on understanding what it is you’ve just inherited.”
“Will I get more of them?”
“You aren’t worthy of the rest. They will come to you as the magic deems fit.”
“And you’re a pain in the ass.” But nothing could dim her excitement.
“Name-calling isn’t going to make you stronger,” he said dispassionately and faced her once more. “Now, call upon the Locater rune and hone it by looking for things lost. You need to know how to use it…”
She barely heard Lore as she searched her arm around the
spot where the rune had disappeared but found no imprint, just unmarred, honey-brown skin. Darn. She so wanted to crow to Aethan that she had mystical ink like his Gaian sword. But how could she brag when there was no evidence?
Her shoulders sagged, her elation deflating a little as the clock on the mantel above the fireplace chimed five times. Echo looked up. “Crap, I’m gonna be so late!”
She shot up from the desk. “Lore, can we continue tomorrow?” Not waiting for his answer, she bulleted out of the room and sprinted for the rec room. Blaéz and Darci would be waiting. They had the wedding rehearsal to work through, then dinner with Darci’s family in Westwood.
Man, this was going to be such an exciting evening.
Chapter 9
Darci tightened the sliding towel on her freshly showered body and drummed her fingers on the shelf, staring at her clothes. They had to be at dinner in an hour, but that wasn’t what had her mind in a tangle. She had to speak to Blaéz about his guest list.
Thankfully, the rehearsal meeting in the rec room had gone well, in a manner of speaking. Since Aethan and Týr had no clue about human customs regarding weddings and they were Blaéz’s best men, Darci had explained briefly what usually happened on such a day. But with Týr’s sudden “I’ve gotta go” and abrupt departure, Hedori had to partner Kira when she arrived as Týr’s stand-in, though she didn’t seem to mind.
Darci rubbed her brow and hoped that Týr turned up for the actual wedding. Given the haste he’d taken off in, she had no idea if he’d be at dinner this evening at all. Blaéz had said later that it was probably trouble on the streets.
She dropped the towel and pulled on black panties with a sexy lace trim around the top. As she picked up the matching push-up bra, Blaéz walked inside the dressing room and stopped dead. At the heated flare in his eyes, instead of putting on her bra her usual way, she slowly slid her arms through the straps and glided to him. “Do me.”
His eyes narrowed at the innuendo. Casting him an innocent look, Darci turned and offered him her back, biting off her smile. It took a moment before his warm hands brushed her skin and he finally hooked her in. His fingers lingered on her spine, and she shut her eyes, a shiver of longing running through her. A rough exhale caressed her nape before he stepped away.
For You, I Will Page 8
