“Not strong?” Her voice rose. “I’m immortal, Aethan. You made me so and for a reason. This ismyjob—what I’ve been born to do. Would you rather this place be overrun by those monsters?”
Aethan looked ready to put his fist through something. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“You’re the Healer’s protector.” Her jaw firmed, tone cooled. “This decision is mine.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Not when your health—your very life could be at stake. Then it damn well is mine to make.”
Blaéz rubbed the tattoo on his biceps as the tension thickened. He stilled and could do little to prevent the images flashing through his mind…
Darkness…guttural noise… screaming humans disappearing into a flickering hole—
The vision faded. There was only one place he knew where this could happen. No use hiding it now. “Trouble downtown, where the rift is. It’s going to be bad if we don’t get moving.”
Echo spun for the door. Aethan stepped in her way. “No. You will remain here until the threat’s dealt with. I’ll bring you after—I won’t have you near an open portal with those fuckers pouring out.”
“Dammit, Aethan—” She stepped back. “Suddenly, I’m helpless and can’t fight? You forget I killed two demoniis recently.”
“And you seem to forget you won’t be fighting buthealingandunawareof your damn surroundings! It’s been barely a few weeks since I got you back. You fucking died, Echo, in my arms. Until I get that shit out of my head, yeah, what I say goes.”
Her mouth opened again then closed without a sound. Blaéz could see her struggle to contain her anger.
“Fine.” Lips compressing, she picked up her book and walked out.
Aethan didn’t follow but scowled at the empty doorway. “Let’s go deal with this shit.”
Guess he and Aethan were both wrong. Echo should have known and made up her own mind about this. With Echo about to walk into danger, Blaéz was just grateful Darci would never be put in harm’s way and had no psychic powers to draw these demon fuckers’ attention.
* * *
Blaéz took form in the alley downtown, and Aethan followed a few moments later, his anger contained beneath a mask of coldness. He didn’t speak but paced near the rift.
Týr leaped down from the rooftop of the building he kept watch on, shutting off the game he’d been playing on his iPhone. He shoved the device back into his pocket. “What’s going on?”
“We’re about to have company,” Blaéz said.
Týr’s eyes became brown diamonds. His virulent hatred for the species barely concealed. “Do these fuckers think we’d leave this rift unattended because it’s early evening?”
Blaéz didn’t answer. He leaned against the grimy wall. With the rifts open, the strains of his binding slithered around his psyche, tugging at him to move. He clamped harder on his mental shields, and still he felt the inexorable pull. He needed a fight—a brutal one, the only thing that would render him useless to move, unable to give in to the compulsion. But Darci hated when he got injured. After this morning, he didn’t want to be the reason for the pain, the disillusionment he saw in her eyes anymore.
As dusk rolled in, the rift shimmered. At the insidious change in the air, his tattoo hummed against his skin, demanding release. Several figures from the Dark Realm poured through the fractured veil. Spotting the Guardians, guttural growls erupted from them. Weapons appeared in their hands, they attacked.
Sword summoned, Blaéz flew into the horde, his blade plunging into a body, turning it to ash. Grunts and screeches, along with clashing swords filled the alley with a cacophony of sounds. Then the sweet smell of freshly cut grass filled Blaéz’s nose. He stopped dead, chest heaving, his sword suspended midair. Maloch’s minions. What were they up to?
A demon circled Blaéz, a red bolt forming in his hand. He sneered at the black sword, “Pretty toy.”
Blaéz spun around, and in a deadly arch, brought his “pretty toy” down, severing the demon’s fat, smirking head in a clean strike. The body fell and disintegrated into ash.
A thin scream yanked Blaéz’s attention. A demon hauled a struggling human wearing a red t-shirt and shoved the male toward the rift. Blaéz flashed, landed a vicious kick to the demon’s belly and sent him flying to the asphalt. The shrieking human stumbled into the dark rupture. Blaéz dove for the male, but the flickering darkness swallowed him into its greedy maw.
I have this.
At Aethan’s telepathic warning, he flashed some distance away, leaving Aethan amidst the horde. Týr had already dematerialized.
Blaéz pulled his protective shields tightly around him just as a white light emerged from within the Empyrean, turning him into a pulsing silhouette of whitefire. A power so dangerous, it could flatten the city and surrounding areas in seconds if the warrior lost control, leaving only ash in its wake. No, not good at all. Centuries ago, stationed in Europe during the so-called Dark Ages, Blaéz had seen how Aethan had razed demonii-infested villages to nothing but ash.
For a second, the demons stood still, caught in the light’s deadly beauty, then the truth struck. They scrambled in a dissonance of screeches to get away.
Aethan flung his arms out. Light exploded. In a wave, it spread through the alley, glazing the grime off walls and consuming all in its path… After a few minutes, the light dimmed and petered out. Aethan lowered his hands. Head bent. Spent.
