At the stirring in his belly, Blaéz tensed. He could sense Darci coming out of the castle, probably looking for him. “Let’s do this elsewhere.”
They dematerialized and reappeared in the clearing of the forest on the far side of the estate, a place where Blaéz had trained with his fellow Guardians for centuries. Fading daylight filtered between the clouds through the treetops, casting a pallid glow over all.
Fitting for what would take place.
A bulldozer slammed into him. Blaéz crashed into the ancient trunk of the tall trees. Pain erupted along his spine as he pushed to his feet. Týr rammed into him again, Blaéz stumbled back several steps.
“Fight, you double-crossing bastard!” Another punch landed on Blaéz’s jaw, his head near separating from his neck. Blood seeped from his split lip.
He didn’t see the point. He’d broken his oath, and this call was their right. He was just glad Darci would be spared this. At the sticky wetness oozing down his chin, he swiped it away with the back of his bloody hand.
Dagan folded his arms over his chest and watched.
Týr stood inches from Blaéz, fury and pain, along with betrayal stamped his tight face. He’d thought of these males as brothers, bonded with them in the harshest clime of Tartarus, and he’d betrayed them, even if it was against his will. Had Nikkos and Race been here, doubtless they’d be on the other side, too.
Aethan, the only one who hadn’t been imprisoned in Tartarus, stood near him.
“You shouldn’t stand with me, I am everything he accused,” Blaéz told the warrior.
Aethan shot him a pissed look, gray eyes like storm clouds. “The fuck you are. Nothing with you fuckers is ever that simple.”
“I heard the demon asshole,” Týr snapped. “Did you take on the role of those bastards who tortured us? Did you do the same to humans? The very souls we are supposed to protect?”
Blaéz didn’t bother to correct him. No way could he tell them why now. He’d thought Maloch had his soul. But no, Darci possessed it. They could very well demand he take his soul back. And that he refused to do, not when he wasn’t sure what would happen to her. They could beat the crap out of him, torture him, he didn’t care. But no one touched her.
“Michael should deal with this,” Dagan said.
Týr ignored that. Demanded, “How long?”
How long since he’d moved to the dark side? “Do the math.”
“No way. No fucking way—from thebeginning?” His sword ripped out of his arm, the tip piercing Blaéz’s throat. No pain, just a warm flow of blood trickled down his neck. “Celt, tell me you’re lying and I won’t kill you. For heaven’s sake, tell me it’s all a damn fucking lie!”
Blaéz merely stared at him. Words couldn’t make up for his deceit, or the pain in Týr’s gaze. He wondered fleetingly what had happened to the warrior in Tartarus for the anger that still raged inside him.
“Noooo!”Darci’s scream ripped through the air.
Fear tore through Blaéz. He shoved Týr’s blade aside, barely noticing the burn on his palm as she darted out from the line of trees with Echo behind her and shot in front of him. Protective as a lioness with a wounded cub, she snarled at Týr, “What the hell are you doing?”
Blaéz didn’t want her to see this. He grabbed her by the arm. “You shouldn’t be here. This is between me and the Guardians.”
Her eyes glowed yellow in fury. “So I must just let him kill you?”
“I broke my oath, betrayed the code of allegiance to the Guardians.”
“No, damn you! It’s not all your fault.” She wheeled around, her back plastered against his front so no one would attack him, and glared at the others. “In this world, it’s innocent until proven guilty—and you will damn well listen to me. When Michael appeared to free you all in Tartarus, it wasn’t as straightforward as you all think—”
“Darci, let it alone.”
“No,” she barked at him over her shoulder. “They have to know.” She turned back. “That dark angel, Lucifer, took Blaéz’s soul as punishment for stopping another from being tortured. But the soul slipped his hold and Maloch snatched it. He hated your kind, the gods!” She flung out her hand, pointing to them.
Blaéz frowned. He hadn’t told her this, mostly because he didn’t remember much of that time.
“How do you know it’s the truth?” Týr demanded of her. “He could have lied.”
“He didn’t tell me. I saw it all—I saw every damn thing!”
Blaéz knew she’d dreamed of his torture, but not to this extent. He caught her flaying hand and turned her to him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
