Heart's Inferno (Fallen Guardians 4)

by Georgia Lyn Hunter

  Okay, good to hear that. But Týr’s tormented expression when she first walked into the living room still troubled her. Cautiously, she ventured, “When I came in here earlier, you looked like…death.”

  His silence took on a darker turn. A humorless laugh escaped him. “It is what I am, what I do. Don’t you know this?”

  At his typically careless response, she stifled a sigh. “Don’t do that, Týr. This is me. Like you said, we can’t hide from what we feel forever. Besides, you and I clashed more often than not whenever our paths crossed, which is mostly your fault, by the way…” A flicker of a smile. Sadly, it vanished just as fast. “But our time of butting heads has passed. Talk to me. I want to understand.” To help. More than anything, she wanted to ease the anguish she sensed in him.

  No, she didn’t think he’d like hearing just how much she actually saw. The man was a veritable rock and obviously didn’t like his emotions laid bare. Heck, he wore his snarky humor like armor.

  She teased, “Unless you like me thinking you’re simply a philandering, no-good, womanizing tomcat, and er, skunk…” She ran out of descriptors.

  Another smile as he continued with his caresses, but his arm remained over his eyes. “Tomcat?”

  “Yeah, well, I saw you in Anarchy that night a year ago…” She broke off. As she got to know him, she realized that she didn’t care about that anymore, as long as it was in his past. “And just so you know, I don’t share.”

  Finally, he dropped his arm behind his head. “It was long before you, Kira. It was the only way I could block this emptiness inside me and numb the nightmares for a few minutes. Then I saw you. I wanted your smile and laughter, even if it wasn’t directed at me, more than any meaningless encounter. There’s been no one but you since.”

  It eased her heart to hear that. The dozing pup whined a little but didn’t wake.

  “I thought you didn’t like me. Especially considering you used every opportunity you got to take a shot at me. Anger me.”

  “Not like you?” Wry laughter. “Yeah, I probably did and said things to irritate you, but I soon realized I liked sparring with you. I especially enjoyed how you reacted.”

  “Oh, no,” she groaned, recalling her biting and often cold comebacks. “I was so mean to you.”

  “Very,” he readily agreed with a smile, coiling a swathe of her hair around his finger. “You occupied my mind from the moment we met. At first, I thought I was okay with just those brief contacts with you, but I soon realized it wasn’t enough. I need more. I need you…”

  Her heart tripped. She wanted so much to believe everything would be okay, but the destined mate curse stood like a cliff between them. Before she could speak, Týr had moved on to what she’d asked him earlier. “I did get this cabin from Dagan, but not because I won it in a game. It was hefnd. A reimbursement from him.”

  “For what?”

  “For mortally wounding me eons ago.”

  Shock like a punch in her stomach stole her breath. If mortally wounded, wouldn’t he be dead? But he was a Guardian and immortal. They didn’t die easily from what she understood.

  Kira pushed up rather awkwardly, her back wounds pulling a little. “I don’t understand.”

  “I failed in my duty as protector and let my best friend’s little sister die—or so we believed at the time—after I’d promised him I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.” His hand settled on her hips. “Inara had just turned eighteen winters,” he said, his gaze fixed on the rafters above. “Still a child. Playful. I should have known better.”

  He explained about the attacks on the young Goddess of Life’s temple. About the tight security for her, and his promise to Dagan on that ill-fated day, as well as denying Inara’s request to go to the river.

  “She offered me wine…” He rubbed his face. “I hadn’t thought anything about it since she usually did whenever I stopped by to see her. I didn’t taste anything in the drink. With my heightened senses, I would have picked it up. Yet, I didn’t. And I lost consciousness…” His throat worked as if unable to continue.

  Kira waited, gently stroking his chest.

  “When I woke, it was to carnage I’ll never forget. The slain bodies of Inara’s handmaidens, the soldiers who tried to protect her and failed…because I was so easily duped by a child.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut, but Kira heard the desolation in his voice. “Dagan was devastated. Broken. I failed him.”

  “That was when he…he killed you?”

  A nod. “I would have died had we not been pulled to the Gates of the Gods at that exact moment for judgment. As protectors to the Goddess of Life, our swords are one of the few things that can end an immortal’s life. But I was healed.”

  “What happened?”

  “I suppose someone powerful enough restored me so I could face judgment.” A shrug. “The Sumerian temple where the goddess resided had been destroyed in the attack, and Inara was captured. We were found guilty of blatant negligence and incarcerated for life in Tartarus for the deaths of so many innocents, as well as for Inara’s abduction by the vilest evil in existence. Lucifer.”

  “Where’s Inara now?”

  “I don’t know. Michael freed her, and us, too. But she was never seen again. Dagan told me she came to him recently in a spectral form and said that she is where she chose to be—whatever that means.”

  Kira pressed a hand to her churning stomach. When she first learned about the existence of the Guardians, Gran had sternly warned her to never pry about them. Then she’d explained that they’d all been banished from their pantheons after a malevolent fallen angel had abducted an important goddess under their care. Kira hadn’t realized they’d been imprisoned, too.

  She stroked Týr’s arm, trying to soothe him, unable to bear his pain and helpless fury, wanting so badly to help him.

  Sometimes, even a Guardian needed saving.

  To get his mind off his past, she laid open her own pain. “I…I have a father.”

  It took a moment for Kira’s words to sink into his roiling head. Týr’s gaze snapped to hers. “What?”

  “I mean, of course, I do.” She pushed to her feet and started to pace, her features pale. “But my father is alive. You asked me earlier at the bar what was wrong. I just found out about him tonight.”

  Týr sat up. “What do you mean? I thought your parents died in a plane crash.”

  “That’s what I thought, too…” Her throat worked as if trying not to give in to her emotions. “It turns out he wasn’t on that plane but simply left me alone since I was a baby. Do you know, the only photo I have of my parents is so faded you can barely make out there are even people in it?”

  “Kira—”

  She shook her head, arms wrapping around her torso as if to hold herself together. “I could forgive him if he suffered amnesia or something, but nooo, he thought it was better for me this way, growing up an orphan. Now, he suddenly remembers he has a daughter and wants her back—” She pressed her lips tightly together, eyes gleaming with tears.

  “How did you find out?” Týr rose and crossed to where she halted near the fireplace. He stopped a foot away, giving her space.

  She lifted her wet stare to his. “He sent a messenger to deliver the news because he’s apparently too busy to do so himself. If he thinks I’m simply going to hop onto a plane and fly across the continents to see him, he is mistaken.”

  Týr didn’t say anything for a minute, his eyebrows pulled in a V. “Did you consider that it could be a ruse? Someone, and I mean an Other, must know you are under the archangel’s and our protection.”

  Kira stared at him, lines marring her brow.

  “That would be a no.” He led her back to the couch, then lowered and settled her against him once more, careful of her injured shoulder. “Look, don’t meet this messenger again without me, okay? We’ll get to the bottom of this. See if it’s legit.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not going.”

 
Yeah, Kira might decide not to go. But the fact that the asshole had sent a messenger instead of coming himself had all of Týr’s hackles rising. Kira trusted too easily.

  He trusted no one.

  Chapter 12

  Daylight had long since seeped into the living room, and the shadows moved along with the wan sunlight. Kira remained in an exhausted sleep, still lying half on him.

  Týr absently ran his palm over her back, absorbing the sensation of her body against his, her warmth enfolding him. After her emotional revelation about her newly discovered father and fretting about Tomas, it had been close to dawn when she finally fell asleep—with a little help from him. No, she wouldn’t be happy that he’d sent her to sleep.

  He frowned. Some humans abandoned their offspring. It could be nothing. But for her, he’d make sure this father was real.

  Absently, Týr stroked her hair, the sounds of wolves howling far off in the distance drifting to him. The pup stirred at the fireside and let out a low woof then its dark eyes flashed open. It stared unblinkingly at him.

  “What?” He arched a brow. “Tired of the warmth and protection of indoors already?”

  The whelp shut its eyes again.

  Talking to the pup had Týr thinking of Fenrir, his wolf friend and Narfi’s sibling.

  Even though they’d all grown up together and he had been best friends with both brothers, Fenrir hadn’t liked Narfi. In fact, Fen hadn’t liked anyone except Týr. He suspected Narfi had taunted his wolf-brother for not being able to change from his animal form to a humanoid one. But Fen was still a deity, and powerful in his way, too.

  Despite Narfi’s animosity toward his kin, both he and Fenrir had been there during Týr’s sentencing at the Gates of the Gods. Hell, the wolf had even tried to save him from being hauled through the portal into Tartarus. He’d grabbed onto Týr’s wrist with his deadly jaws and, in the process, Týr had lost his right hand.

  No, he couldn’t hate his friend for that. More, he loathed finding out a millennium later that Fen had grown too huge and dangerous and had been chained on the isolated island of Lyngve—

  A sudden rap on the cabin door roused Týr from his thoughts. Sensing who waited outside—and the fact that the Arc hadn’t mind-linked with him—yeah, shit was about to hit the fan. His jaw hardening, Týr eased out from under Kira.

  She sighed and settled on her stomach, her face buried in the pillow.

  Another impatient rap.

  The pup whined in fear, probably sensing the immense power surrounding the cabin. Dammit.

  “It’s all right. It’s my ass he’s after,” Týr soothed the wolf while pulling on his boots. He strode to the door and opened it, nearly blinded by sunlight reflecting off the freshly fallen snow—and faced the glowering archangel.

  Michael stood near the porch railing, hands in his leathers’ pockets. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Týr shut the door, then loped down the steps and headed away from the cabin, his boots sinking into the soft mush. Michael hard on his heels. If they were going to have this out, he didn’t want Kira disturbed or caught in the conflict. He trudged to the trees bordering the property some distance away.

  “She’s the Oracle’s granddaughter, and you just had to go and fuck this up by sleeping with her. What the hell were you thinking?”

  “Leave it alone, Michael.”

  “She’s under my care!”

  “Perhaps, but she is mine.” He faced his leader, forearms crossed over his bare chest, his stare cool.

  Michael went dead still, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Kira’s your destined?”

  “What the hell difference does it make?”

  “A huge fucking one! With your past rep, you honestly think the Oracle’s going to let her only family hook up with one of us and then return with a broken heart?”

  “I’m not giving her up.”

  “Norse, don’t force me do something we’ll both regret.”

  At the threat of taking Kira away—worse, taking away her memories of him—Týr’s barely suppressed fury erupted. He summoned his sword and charged his leader. Michael leaped back, a snarl reverberating, his own weapon taking form in his hand. He came at Týr in a flash, eyes blazing eerily.

  Týr blocked and twisted away. They lunged, parried, ducked and evaded, the sounds of their weapons’ vicious clanging echoing in the chilly noon air.

  “You think it’s that easy to walk away from a destined mate once your paths cross?” Michael snarled, sword swinging, probably ready to behead him.

  “She’d have to command my dagger first, wouldn’t she?” Týr spat, leaping through the air and avoiding the deadly strike. He landed on the other side, boots sinking into the mush. He grunted, too pissed to care. “And that’s never gonna happen.”

  No way would he give up the one person who gave him back a little of his sanity.

  “Hell—” Michael lifted a hand, halting the fight, his chest heaving. “I didn’t come here to be a damn martyr for you. I thought the others were bloody pigheaded when they first found their mates. You clearly ace this shit. And she isn’t even yours.”

  “I don’t fucking need to hear that again,” Týr wheezed.

  Michael slammed his sword into the snow. “I’m assuming she knows all this—about destined mates and the obsidian daggers connecting to them?”

  Breathing hard, he gave a stilted nod.

  Hands on his hips, the archangel glared into the forest. “If she’s agreed to be with you, then there’s not much that can be done. But know this, Norse, if she wants to leave, you cannot stop her. Free will is her right.”

  Yeah, he was well aware of that shitty free-will clause. Unlike a destined mate coupling, which bound the two for eternity. Still, relief flowed that the Arc had called a cease-fire.

  It struck Týr then that Kira hadn’t fully accepted him yet. Sure, she was drawn to him. The impossible attraction and the burning desire between them saw to that. It was why he’d been cautious and had not taken their intimacy from earlier any further. He wanted her to want him as much as he did her.

  But the truth was that while he desperately needed her, she could walk away if she allowed her fears to win. She was already so skittish around the issue of them being a couple, so he let it be for now. And that certainly wasn’t the kind of ammunition he wanted the Arc to have. So, he kept his mouth shut.

  “I don’t get you.” Michael impatiently shoved back a loose swathe of hair. “You’re back to having trouble with your abilities—hell! Right now you’re a damn wildcard, and yet you insist on being with her? Have you warned her about what could happen if you lose control?”

  He didn’t want to terrify Kira when their relationship was so new and tenuous. But Michael, it seemed, was determined to bring out all his shit in one go.

  “Pray nothing happens—”

  “To her, to anyone. Yeah, got the memo eons ago, Arc, when I pledged my oath. I don’t need a repeat. I know the damn risk, but she calms me.”

  The archangel stilled and then sighed, finally nodding in acknowledgement. His expression back to business as he refastened his loosened hair into a half ponytail “Whatever attacked you both last night? Any signs of it here?”

  Týr shook his head. “No.”

  “Okay. Be on standby for tonight. We’re preparing for chaos on the streets. The demon contact you were supposed to capture and interrogate escaped. I’ll send Lore to keep an eye on Kira if we need you.”

  Fates. Týr snapped his teeth in annoyance. He didn’t want that hardheaded angel around Kira. Lore would undoubtedly spew his shit at just how fucked-up the Guardians truly were—not that he would be wrong, but Týr didn’t need that kind of mess to deal with, too. “No need—”

  “Dammit, Norse!”

  “I’ll bring her to the castle. I’m going back on patrol.”

  Michael cut him a terse look before dematerializing in a spinning scatter of silver-blue sparks.

  In frustration, Týr flung h
is sword. The thing hit a tree trunk some distance away with a hard thunk, a tinny sound echoing in the air. He clenched his fists, and the searing heat that had started a few days ago rippled through his body again. He could destroy everything. If Kira came outside now—shit!

  Inhaling several deep breaths, Týr reached for the calm center within the power raging inside him. He slowed his erratic heartbeats, recalling the great martial arts masters in the East, where he’d spent a decade. He applied the same principles to reach into his inner core and calm down, to govern his berserker tendencies.

  Tendencies? Hell, he’d been born with a dangerous ability, but he’d learned to handle his pyrokinesis through the centuries. And now this shit would occur again.

  As he went through the slow, precise motions of each fighting sequence, using them to not only achieve control but also rebuild his mental shields, he sensed Kira moving about in the cabin. His concentration stuttered, his innate instincts warring with his need to go to her. But it was too damn risky.

  Teeth clamping down, he blocked her from his thoughts and focused.

  Go to the core of yourself. Center your mind and body. Compel it to obey your thoughts. Strengthen your shields…

  His mind slipped back to his first time in this world.

  Bruised and bloodied, he lay on the scorched grounds in Tartarus, dust swirling around him, the cheering in the arena deafening as he waited for the death strike. But the same dust churned into a tornado, picking him up like debris, the thwarted yells of his executioner echoing in the sandstorm. And Tyr suddenly found himself on this realm, somewhere near the cool Tatra Mountains in Eastern Europe. He’d had no idea then that it was the human world.

  Several males dressed in tattered clothing were there, too. He didn’t acknowledge them. Silently, they trekked through the forest, Týr lagging way behind, waiting for the killing blow. It had to occur before midnight, yet nothing happened.

  Screams tore through the night, startling him.

  He stumbled to a halt, heart pounding, then he sprinted toward the terrible sounds and into bloody chaos. Bodies lay broken on the ground.