A fist smashed into his face. Blood sprayed.Agony exploded in a starburst of colors. Perfect.
What the hell are you doing?Michael snapped in his head.
At the unwanted mental intrusion, Blaéz shut down his mind-link and ignored his leader as another blow in the belly sent him reeling into the metal bars. This was his penance, his cross to bear.
Then the very air around him froze. All went still. As did his opponent.
Well, fuck. Playtime’s over.
Michael strode through the statue-like crowd toward the cage. The gate flung open. He entered and crouched near the unconscious lad. His expression grim, he laid an open palm on the boy’s chest. A silvery healing light emerged from Michael, encompassing the human’s entire being.
Moments later, Michael dropped his hand and rose to his feet. “He’ll live. I’ll see you back at the castle.”
Which meant time for a one-on-one chat. Yeah, something he really looked forward to. Not. Blaéz pushed away from the bars and shook his head to clear the fog. Chest heaving, he picked up his shirt. Pain rippled across his ribs. He had to have fractured some.
Michael strode out from the cage. Seconds later, the din resumed as his hold on the crowd vanished. The demon stumbled several feet. Eyes flaring, irises sparking red, he attacked. Blaéz shoved into the demon’s mind and knocked him out cold. “Playtime’s over, dumbass.”
Pulling on his tee, he turned. The boy’s eyelids flickered open, his disoriented gaze settling on Blaéz.
Michael, it appeared, had only healed his more serious wounds. Bruises remained around his right eye and jaw. With his mind, Blaéz pushed into the lad’s memories, cleared out the last two hours and instructed him to leave the arena then he followed. The boy staggered down the corridor. Using his tee, he wiped the blood from his nose. As he took the stairs to the exit, he missed one and stumbled back, knocking into Blaéz.
At the contact, a timeless haze took hold of Blaéz. He could do little to stop his precognition from kicking in. The mist parted, images formed…
Shadowy figures…a body crumpling into a heap, blood seeping from a torn throat...a rock group…
The vision faded. He always got these short flashes a few minutes before things happened. Instantly, Blaéz scanned, but he got no whiff of demoniis, and the mystical tattoo on his biceps remained still. What was with the rock group?
His gaze locked on the fair-haired boy lurching up the alley with the Metallica logo emblazoned on the back of his tee. Right. He’d just saved the little idiot’s life. He wasn’t going to let those dead scourges take it.
* * *
Darci Callahan rubbed her tired eyes and forced her achy limbs downstairs to her sparkling kitchen.
When she was upset, she cleaned. And watching one of her much younger coworkers get hitched the day before was a guaranteed way to get her brownstone in a tip-top, shiny-clean condition. More, it drove home the fact that she was almost twenty-seven, single, and fast on her way to acquiring a litter of cats at her impending spinster state.
At the thought, she blew out a disgusted breath.
Looping her hair into a topknot, she secured the heavy, curly strands with a chopstick she found in a drawer then put some milk on the stove. While she waited for it to heat, she leaned against the counter and gazed through the window.
The neighbor’s cat slinked past the flowerpots in the small courtyard. Insects buzzed in a frenzy around the single garden light… Life as a moth must be far more interesting than hers, she mused. The only thing in the plus column of her life, she had a job she adored, but on the personal side? It remained as empty as her heart with several big, fat zeros at her failed relationships. She sighed. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried.
Her last one had ended becauseshecouldn’t “commit.” Ben had flung that word at her before he’d walked out. Two years later, it still stung because she’d thought it so often. It left an achy pit in her stomach. She’d cared about Ben, but as much as she tried, she just couldn’t connect on that necessary, intimate level in their relationship—from her heart. She’d felt so removed from it all.
She must have been born with a defective love gene. Why else was it so hard to fall in love? Find a little happiness? Everyone did it at the drop of a hat. And those dinners Declan had invited her to with his friends in tow. Her own brother setting her up—God,thatwas just so wrong.
Her cell beeped, shattering her morose thoughts. Her heart tripping, she snatched it off the counter and prayed nothing was wrong with Grace. After her sister-in-law’s previous miscarriages and now this difficult pregnancy, Darci jumped every time her phone beeped.
Except, it was just some spam message. Did she look like she wanted more wallpaper?
Scowling, she dropped her cell on the counter and rolled her neck then stopped, unease prickling her skin. She rubbed her arms and glanced around the quiet stamp-sized kitchen and adjoining living room. Nothing. Yet the sensation of being watched grew.
Her gaze rushed back to the window. A black bird swooped down and perched on the sill. Its head cocked and bright blue eyes stared at her.
What the heck? Darci blinked. But the avian had hidden its head beneath its wing and settled for the night. A blue-eyed bird? Seriously? She must be losing her eyesight in her old age.
Snorting, she pulled out a half-eaten slab of plain Cadbury’s from her tote, unwrapped and dropped the chocolate into a mug, then poured the steaming milk over it. Spoon and mug in hand, she headed to the lounge. From her collection of DVDs, she selected her favorite Buffy episode and slipped it into the digital player.
“Okay, Angel, let’s see what you’re up to tonight?” She settled on the couch with her chocolaty drink and propped her feet up on the large wooden crate she’d painted black which now masqueraded as a coffee table. Licking the melting chocolate off her spoon, she watched Angel make Buffy’s life a living hell by leaving her gifts of drained bodies…
