His scent crowded her, urging her to agree. Darci fought to get her scattered wits to function. She pulled her hand free and stepped back, trying to rub away the prickling awareness his touch caused. Her gaze drifted over his chiseled features and settled on his far too tempting lips. Hurriedly, she looked away. Said off-handedly, “Eight, nine, midnight—with Lester in this mood, who knows?”
“I don’t imagine you want me sitting in this library, little sun, but I will. A time.”
Little sun?That threw her off. She met his resolute stare and realized he was deadly serious. The time was wrenched free from a suddenly dry throat. “Nine.”
“Good.” He closed the space between them. Slowly, he trailed his finger along her jaw to caress her lower lip. “Until nine, then.”
The next minute, he was gone, leaving her with only the books on the shelves as witness to how a simple touch of his hand had left her stunned stupid.
Shaking the lassitude from her limbs, Darci hurried to the aisle to find him halfway across the library. How on earth did he move so fast? She touched her tingling mouth, her heart pounding in anticipation.
Until nine.
Chapter 3
Blaéz hunkeredon the rooftop of a warehouse in Lower Manhattan. Arms braced on his thighs, he scanned the backstreet. The stench drifting from the dumpsters lining the grimy walls several feet down ripened the muggy air.
Another quiet night… No, not quite. The muffled beat of music and the conversation from the bar farther up the alley floated to him along with the murmur of traffic. The faint odor of sulfur lingered in the air at this known demonii hunting ground.
No, evil never rested. He ought to know. It just regrouped to cause more destruction.
A cloud drifted over the silvery gleam of the moon, shadowing the alley.
Come, warrior…
He shut his mental shields tight at the voices clawing for obedience. Evil may be taking a break tonight, but for him, his nightmare never ceased. He didn’t want to think about what rejecting thecallwould do.
Blaéz retrieved his cell phone and glanced at the display. Nine o’clock was minutes away. Time to make tracks. He’d parked the Veyron in one of the underground parking lot so he didn’t have to worry about it. The memory of Darci made him recall the smile that she’d so easily brought to his face. Macho-bullcrap indeed. He’d sensed her reluctance to meet him. Too bad, he wasn’t letting her go.
Blaéz tapped his cell against his palm—as usual, anticipation was just a word in the dictionary. He was a moving, living block of nothing. The only part of him that had any fun was the tattooed sword on his biceps. Right then, it stirred in warning. Pulsed in demand for his summons, for the bloodthirsty glide of decapitation. The mark of Gaia never failed to remind him when evil trolled.
The biting sensation of unadulterated malevolence crawled over his skin. They sure timed their arrival. He rose and slid his cell back into his pocket.
“Keep your knickers on,” he murmured, not inclined to cooperate with his pulsing weapon. With humans farther up the street, loitering outside a busy bar, an audience was definite if he summoned his sword.
He examined the shadows. A terrified whimper reached him. There. Against the looming building, three demoniis had cornered a human with his zipper undone. Idiot probably thought it safe to take a leak.
Blaéz leaped off the tall building and landed on his feet. His gaze trained on the trio. Their sulfuric stink overtook the reek of the narrow lane. Like most New Yorkers, shades concealed their eyes, but he knew the truth of what lay behind. Glowing red eyes, evidence of the human souls they consumed. The scourges deserved nothing less than death.
In a blur, their hands moved, stealing the earth’s natural energies and turning them into deadly bolts, and fired it at him. Blaéz dodged. They may have lost their abilities at their true death, but they still found a way to compensate. “I wouldn’t if I were you. Before your next one hits me, I’ll have you coating the asphalt in dust.”
The hands they’d held out to summon more energy stilled. The look of horror crossing their faces augured well for their continued life, even if it were only for the next few minutes. They shoved the human aside. “It’s the Detonator.”
They had a name for him? Well, now. He sauntered closer. “If you mean can I blast you to smithereens with just a thought? I’m game to test that theory. Are you?”
The demoniis shifted uneasily, sticking their hands in their pockets as if to make sure they didn’t give in to temptation and strike him. Pity.
Blaéz glanced at the human cowering against the wall, the faint whiff of liquor drifted from him. “Run.”
The male took off, wavering up the alley like a tipsy bullet.
One of the demoniis leaped at Blaéz. He evaded, grabbed his quarry in a chokehold, and dragged him into the shadows, away from the humans nearby.
A quick twist and he broke the scourge’s neck. Before he regenerated, Blaéz summoned the mystical sword tattooed on his biceps. In a tingle, it slithered down his arm and took the form of a six-foot-long obsidian broadsword. Etchings of ancient symbols marked the black blade. In his hand, it glowed to life.
He brought his weapon down in a deadly arc that decapitated the fallen demonii. Black blood sprayed Blaéz with the stench of decay. Aware of the other two creeping closer, as if he were that easy to kill, Blaéz pivoted and pierced one in the chest. Then swung around and beheaded the other, closing in on him from the left. More gross plasma spurted out of its headless neck. The demonii fell to the ground, disintegrating into a gooey black mess before turning into dust.
The wounded one cannonballed right past Blaéz and up the alley toward the humans. Willing his sword back to his biceps, Blaéz flashed, blocking the demoniimid-way.“You really didn’t think you’d escape me, did you?”
