“Give me your cell.”
At Michael’s voice, she glanced blankly at him as he held out his hand.
Darci retrieved the phone from her jacket pocket and handed it over. His fingers flew over the keypad. The rain had eased, but the wind still blew, snagging the archangel’s hair free from its tie. Ebony strands swept across his face. He appeared formidable, even in his old gray tee, jeans, and biker boots. Magnetic. But not as compelling as Blaéz. No one was.
Michael passed her cell back. “Call and I’ll be here.”
“Thank you.” Slipping the phone in her pocket, Darci buttoned her denim jacket and walked the short distance to her brother’s house. Slowly, she made her way up the paved pathway toward his white two-story home with blue trim. She really, really didn’t want to face what was to come.
The door opened as she trudged up the two steps. Her brother filled the entrance, worried green eyes searching her face. He stepped aside and waited for her to enter then he shut the door.
She turned on him. “Why, Dec—why didn’t you tell me?”
His tone lowered. “What are you talking about?”
“She—The Morrigan paid me a visit.”
He stared at her for infinite seconds before his face crumpled, grief lining his features.
“Why, Dec? Why didn’t you tell me?” she cried again. “How could you keep such a secret from me?”
“I tried to protect you.” His expression distraught, a tick beat savagely on his jaw. He ushered her toward the kitchen. Glasses rattled. Declan set two on the table and poured brandy into the squat crystals. He handed her one.
“I want the truth—tell me,” she demanded, setting her glass on the counter.
He stared at his dark amber liquid. “It rained that night. Grace was seeing to Daniel, who had the flu. I was in the kitchen getting a drink for him when I heard the vase break. I thought it was Mr. Tibbs, Dan’s cat. Before I even got there, you’d already opened the front door and ran out…I was too late. I can still hear your screams tearing through the night—” He squeezed his eyes tight, “—the thud as the car hit you. You were bleeding so badly from your injuries, I was terrified you’d die when this woman appeared. She said she could save you. Then she told me who she was, and some bizarre tale of our bloodline being the keepers of a god’s soul. I didn’t care about that crap, I just wanted you to live, so I agreed that if you and the Celtic warrior should meet, I would not interfere. She healed you…” Declan stopped and took a swallow of his drink. “As the years passed, I forgot for a while. But when you didn’t fall in love, I began to worry—”
“And you brought your friends home, hoping I would? If I already had a boyfriend, a husband, then this prophecy wouldn’t happen?”
A dull flush rode his lean cheeks. “Yes, I wanted you to have a chance at a life…then I saw him that night at the club and I suspected. When he healed me, I knew.”
Hearing it from Declan didn’t make it any less painful. She realized then that The Morrigan hadn’t told Declan everything. That Darci would have died giving birth when she had a daughter. It was inevitable.
Too upset to say anything, she walked out from the kitchen.
“Darci, please.” He grasped her upper arm. “Talk to me.”
“What do you want me to say, Dec? Everything is falling apart…” The words lodged in her throat, thick with tears. Logically, she knew it wasn’t his fault, but emotionally, she was a wreck, and couldn’t deal with Declan’s despair when she was crumbling to pieces herself. She patted his chest. “I need to think, Dec…I need time.”
Time? Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat. She didn’t have that luxury, not when two lives hung in the balance. She walked away from her brother, who cried for her, and slowly made her way down the road back to the playground.
In the shelter of the trees, she sat on the bench and stared at the damp patch of sand beneath her feet, numbed to the marrow of her bones. With The Morrigan releasing her memories, more came. She saw that last day in Tartarus, too. Blaéz being strung to the girders and whipped for attempting to escape, and despite the immense agony he must have been in, it was Michael that he’d tried to help before his soul was ripped out.
God. She rubbed her sternum and stared blankly into the trees, feeling as if she’d hit a wall with nowhere to turn.
* * *
Blaéz stalked into the kitchen after he’d changed into dry clothes. All the time he’d wasted waiting at the cliffs, and The Morrigan hadn’t shown. She would avoid him now? What was she up to? He planted his palms on the counter and stared through the window, watching as Echo’s smog-colored cat attempted to clamber up the ivy-covered wooden trellis.
Blaéz still reeled from his discovery.
Darci possessed his soul.
How was that even possible? And yet, it was the only thing that made sense, why he’d reacted to her the way he had. At least he knew his emotions—his feelings for her were his own because he was possessive as hell when it came to her. Darci didn’t havethatstreak which ran through him like a fault-line, making him just as dangerous.
When he found out she’d left the castle, his first thoughts had been on how bad he’d screwed up last night. Just as well, Michael informed him that he’d taken Darci to her brother’s house.
Blaéz’s attention flickered back to the trellis. Bob had somehow managed to climb up the structure without his weight dragging him down. A dove flew off, but there was no sign of ravens or crows about. Or of The Morrigan, the only one who could probably answer his question since she was a conduit for souls. But like his entire life, when he needed her, she was never around. Predictable.
