Darci gasped in horror.
A horde of dark, looming shapes trampled the neatly trimmed grass she’d gotten used to seeing while working in the library. It was late noon, the rain had eased, but the sun still hid behind heavy gray clouds, and Darci could clearly see the demon horde.
Echo let out a deep sigh. “I really hope there isn’t another tear in the veils.”
“Why are they here?”
“I don’t know…” Echo rested her palms on the windowpane, her worried gaze glued to the brutal fight. “With that kind of horde, it must be something really huge for them to brave the wards and the Guardians to come here.”
Darci pressed a hand to her churning stomach, unease seeping through her. Her gaze skimmed through the fighting figures and fixed on Blaéz.
She had a bad, bad feeling about this.
Chapter 26
Blaéz dodgedthe demon bolt pitched at him. His sword swinging, he decapitated the scourge in front of him who reeked of sweet grass. The odor Maloch’s minions used to camouflage themselves was so wrong at the castle, destroying the once fresh, flower-scented garden.
Týr and Dagan took form. They dove into the horde, weapons flashing with power. Body parts flew, turning to dust.
Back to the soulless creature he’d been for millennia, Blaéz brought his sword down hard, slicing through the flesh and bone of the demon coming at him with an axe. The arm and weapon crumbled into dust.
He had to finish off these fuckers, fast. At a hissing sound, he ducked, evading a fiery red bolt and wheeled around.
“Come on, warrior.” The demon who’d flung the bolt smirked. “You know you can’t stop this. More will appear. We want the librarian.”
How the hell had Maloch found out about Darci, and so fast? He shoved into the arsehole’s mind and let his power explode. As if he’d just hand over his mate.
Blaéz lunged out at another. The demon jumped back. His whip lashed out, the tail end licking around Blaéz’s arm. Pain spread. Blood seeped. Blaéz shoved into the demon’s mind and detonated him, then changed hands with his sword, his palm too slippery to wield the weapon. He wiped his bloody hand on his tee.
“You didn’t think you could ignore me, warrior?” The rough words rolled through the clashing of swords, hissing whips, and grunts of the demons.
Blaéz spun around. Maloch appeared amidst the ruckus, a smirk riding his face. “I own you. Did you tell your brethren how many times you came to me, broke your Guardian’s oath to harm no humans? Tortured them to feed your need for pain?”
“What the fuck is he talking about,” Týr snarled, eyes like brown lasers. He leaped back, avoiding a deadly demon bolt, whirled around, and severed the head of the demon in front of him.
Blaéz didn’t respond. The damage was done. He scanned for Maloch, but the bastard had vanished like an apparition. A seven-foot, monstrous wyvern with slitted black eyes in its snake-like head took form. It hissed and lashed out its lethal tail. A shake of its long head and saliva flew all over. Spittle landed on Blaéz’s hand and neck. Like acid, it fizzled and burnt his skin.
He tried to shove into the overgrown lizard’s mind, but was blocked by some kind of mental wall, doubtless made by their dickhead overlord to protect its pea-sized brain—because all these things did was paralyze and devour their live prey’s flesh.
Blaéz didn’t want this to become a drawn out affair. About to telepath Aethan to end this, the warrior mind-linked with him:Shield, can’t have this fucking thing lose here.
Blaéz dematerialized and hovered invisibly above the castle. He felt Dagan and Týr nearby. But Blaéz knew shit would soon fly.
He watched as the white light left Aethan and consumed everything, leaving only dust in its wake. As he rematerialized on the ground, Týr was up his grill. “What did the asshole mean, Celt?”
Dagan moved closer.
Blaéz calmly met his stare. “What do you think?”
Anger and disbelief churned in the warrior’s dark eyes. His hatred for the species was well known, especially after their captivity. Indeed, this would be an absolute betrayal.
“You did not! Not with those depraved fuckers.” Týr punched him hard in the jaw, Blaéz’s head jerked back from the power of the blow, stars exploding in his head. Týr came at him again. “Did you join sides with them in Tartarus?”
“Dammit, Norse—” Aethan appeared and grabbed him, locking his arms behind his back. “What the hell’s going on?”
Bristling with rage, Týr tried to yank free of Aethan’s vise-like hold, spat, “He played us! Makes sense now why he always disappears for a few days, worrying the shit outta us. He’s joined forces with those fuckers. How much of the Guardians’ secrets did you sell to yourfriends?” He sneered the word.
Blaéz narrowed his eyes. He may have pissed on more boots than he cared to remember with his disregard of most rules, and especially with harm to his personal self. And he may have done things that would forever mark him, but he’d never sold or said shit to Maloch.
