“With your mate being the first, yes, more will follow. So keep an eye out for any unusual activity.”
The short meeting over, Dagan walked out.
Michael crossed to the mammoth sub-zero fridge, pulled out a Coke. As he took a drink, those shattered blues fixed on Blaéz. “Nothing yet?”
He knew what Michael asked; if he’d seen hair or hide of Maloch on this realm. After all, Michael had witnessed the demon taking Blaéz’s soul. The depraved fuck was the catalyst for Blaéz’s eventual slide into a place too dark for him to even seek redemption.
Blaéz wondered idly, what would happen if he just said:“Yeah, sure, I see him every few months or so. After all, the bastard owns my soul and uses it to yank me back to Hell. A place where I seem to become more and more like those fuckers…”
He sipped his liquor. “No. Nothing.”
If Maloch ever stepped foot on this realm, maybe then he would finally get to kill him, because no one could touch Maloch while in the Dark Realm. Blaéz ought to know.
As he raised his glass to his lips again, a low stirring started in his belly and his senses flared awake. He stilled, his grip tightening on the crystal. Warmth seeped through him, filling the void inside. She was close, it was the one pull on his psyche he welcomed.
Setting the glass on the counter, he headed for the door, walked down the corridor to the foyer and went motionless in wonderment.
Darci stood on the top stair, her hair a sexy, curly cascade halfway down her back, her awed attention on the stained glass window. Her hands smoothed the loose, hip length cotton top she wore over three-quarter-length denim jeans. The sheer pleasure on her face and her slightly parted lips made him long to be the one responsible for the warm curve to her mouth. He didn’t want the abomination of what he was to mark her. And it would if he brought her into his dark, treacherous life. There was no escaping that fact.
After all, he was a male still chained to Hell.
Chapter 5
Darci’s gazedarted around the second-level circular gallery, feeling like she’d stepped back in time.
What caught her attention wasn’t the domed skylight or the magnificent mahogany staircase. Or the bright, airy, and very spacious foyer filled with plants and elegant statues standing sentry over all. What really riveted her was the wall of floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows adjacent to the stairs, complete with scenes of angels and knights in battle, and some with their ladies.
The librarian in her loved all things old, and this place made her want to start examining everything in here. Rubbing her arms at the shiver sliding over her skin, she became aware of a burning stare. Only one person made her react this way.
Warmth curling through her veins, Darci looked down the staircase and met Blaéz’s pale eyes. He appeared as still as the statues surrounding him, an arm resting on the newel post there. He’d changed, too. Leathers covered his powerful legs, and a tee hugged his wide chest.
She made her way down to him and stopped a step above, bringing them almost eye-to-eye. Despite several inches between them, his sheer presence seemed to swallow up the air around them. She pulled in a deep breath.
“Better?” he asked.
No. Breathing in your scent is melting my resistance.But he probably meant the shower. “Cleaner.”
He nodded and shifted. She stepped down and right into his hard, warm body, realizing too late he’d only dropped his arm from the banister. He wasn’t moving away. His hands settled on her waist, steadying her. Heat flared across her face, she hastened back a step, the sensation of his tough body leaving its imprint on hers. “Sorry.”
Dropping his hands, he shook his head and brushed aside her apology. A muscle ticked hard on his rigid jaw. He wasn’t as unaffected by her touch as he appeared. It made her feel a little better—hell, a whole lot if she were honest. The man was just too self-contained. Controlled.
“Come.” He motioned for her to join him with a tilt of his head.
Darci followed him down the softly lit corridor decorated with more paintings and body armor. The wonderful aroma of something baking drifted to her. Her tummy protested in hunger, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the measly breakfast bar she’d had at work.
Blaéz pushed open a door near the back and waited for her to enter. Unnerved by the way he watched her, Darci hurriedly stepped past him into an enormous kitchen of oak cupboards with gray granite counters.
Through the opened French doors, a cool, briny breeze drifted inside from the serene trellised garden. Night insects created a disharmony of sounds. She stopped near the island counter separating the kitchen and dining area. And realized they weren’t alone.
Two men sat at the long oak table. One, goth-like in appearance with pierced ears, his striking hair in multihued shades from blue to black, was undeniably good-looking.
The other was dressed in black, too, the color a perfect backdrop for his drop-dead golden looks. Tousled, wheat-colored hair brushed his shoulders. A smile lurked in eyes the color of melting toffee.
A hand settled on her waist, startling her. “That’s Aethan with the hair,” Blaéz said from behind her in introduction. “And Týr. This is Darci Callahan.”
Aethan snorted but nodded. “Darci.”
Týr grinned.
