Heart's Inferno (Fallen Guardians 4) Page 11

  The warning prickles abrading his psyche grew stronger. If it were the shadowy bastard from the alley tracking him, Týr hoped the fucker would show himself. As much as he would have preferred to keep Kira out of this mess, the scum had probably marked her, too.

  He tramped to the backyard and moved around the generator shed, the chafing sensation disappearing as abruptly as it had appeared. All remained still once more as he made his way to the front of the cabin. A faint hint of Kira’s light fragrance drifted to him.

  That damn kiss!

  He glared across the icy lake, frustration and need crawling through him. Only for her to tell him to forget about it, dismissing a moment that had almost had him on his knees.

  In his millennia on this realm, he’d never kissed a female. He hadn’t cared for the intimacy of looking into someone’s eyes. Any encounters in the past had always been hard and fast, always about trying to fill the deepening pit inside him. But nothing ever had. Then her mouth touched his…just her mouth. It was as if she’d crept into his soul and released that innate light she harbored within herself into him, soothing those desolate places.

  Hell, he was dangerous, and shouldn’t even be thinking about her, but only with Kira, did the endless nightmares clawing at his mind ease, and he didn’t feel like shit.

  He could understand why the other warriors went gung-ho for their females, refusing to let anything stand in their way when claiming them as mate. But Kira wasn’t his to claim. No matter how much Blaéz taunted him, the Celt had no idea of the bitter truth.

  His obsidian dagger, the one only his so-called destined mate could summon once she touched it, remained with him.

  Týr slowed down near the edge of the frozen lake. The bitter cold didn’t bother him, and out here in the wilds, he didn’t have to pretend to blend in with humans. He scanned the area once more. But recalling those brutal slashes on her back, his gut clenched in anger.

  By the damn Fates, why would she do something so reckless as to put herself in danger’s way to protect him—a warrior?

  Because you can’t protect anyone. Not Jora, not Inara and her handmaidens, and certainly not the female you want, the cynical part of him mocked.

  He didn’t need a fucking reminder of his damn faults!

  Týr hunkered down near the lake and braced his arms on his thighs. Yeah, he’d made mistakes, and bad ones, too, but he couldn’t afford to do so with Kira. If anything happened to her…the very thought had his heartbeat faltering in terror.

  He glanced over his shoulder to the cabin. Soft light backlit the windows and glowed in welcome, like her.

  In his long life, he’d never met anyone who embodied sunshine. She was always smiling or laughing, with a spring in her step as if she were dancing when she moved…except for when she saw him.

  Since last night, there hadn’t been a single smile—just pain and tears. Because of him.

  He’d destroyed sunshine.

  But that’s what he did, didn’t he?

  His psychic senses stirred. A familiar shift of air, and Hedori, with several boxes and two bags, took form on the porch. Týr rose. Their butler stood there for a moment, probably checking the wards, then turned as he approached.

  “I have the things you requested. The wards here are intact and strong,” the Empyrean said. “Kira?”

  “She’s fine. I’ll keep her safe. Happy?” With that bark, he undoubtedly sounded like some demented idiot.

  Hedori’s startled expression morphed into a bland one. “I’m certain you will.”

  “Don’t start,” he muttered. He was already in a shitty enough mood.

  “Wouldn’t dare do so.” A twinkle appeared in the wiseass’s orange-green eyes. With a slight incline of his head, Hedori dematerialized.

  Biting back a frustrated growl, Týr piled the boxes together, tossed the bags on top, and carried everything inside. Kira got to her feet from the stone step, wearing his jacket and a towel. A vision that seared his mind—shiny spirally hair cascading down her back and those long, sexy, tan legs visible. And all he could think of was them wrapped around his hips…his head. Hell, he wanted to taste every damn inch of her, from those luscious lips always spewing shit at him to the heaven between her thighs.

  Her eyes widened. “Where did you get those?”

  “Hedori.”

  She frowned. “Why didn’t he come inside?”

  Týr cut her a terse look as he passed her. With her wearing nothing but a towel?

  Yeah, no. “He has things to do at the castle.” Týr dropped his load on the counter, snagged her bag and backpack, and stomped up to the bedroom.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, following him.

  “Nothing. Your clothes.” He left her bag on the bed, and as he walked out, he heard her soft sigh.

  He bit back a harsh laugh. She wanted to help him, too. As if he needed saving.

  How fucking ironic when he apparently had the moral compass of a dead nail. He was a lost cause, couldn’t be saved. Didn’t she get that?

  But for the first time ever, he yearned for something more than vengeance—something his empty heart desperately longed for. Her.

  As Týr’s footsteps faded, Kira stared at the empty doorway, her brow creasing, not sure what to make of his mercurial mood.

  With a weary sigh, she shoved her curly hair away from her face and got out clothes. As she removed Týr’s jacket, her thoughts slid back to their sizzling kiss. As if she could ever forget. God. She bit off a groan as she changed, praying her rationality would be locked in place. No matter what Týr said, giving in to this attraction was a disaster waiting to happen.

  Her cell beeped. She hurried to the bathroom and got the device out of her ruined jacket. Tagg?

  Sorry for being a hardhead at the club. I’ll have the beat cops keep an eye out for the boy, ‘kay?

  Relieved, she texted back. Thank you. Keep me informed, please.

  Will do. Hope you’re okay.

  Kira read the concern there. I’m fine. She added a smiley emoji. Message sent, she glanced at the stairs, her stomach back to working itself into a lovely knot. Right. Inhaling a deep breath, she made her way down, phone clutched in her fist.

  Týr looked up from where he sat on the couch in front of the fire, a Red Bull in hand. His stare went over her like a visceral touch, making it so darn difficult to pretend a calmness she didn’t feel.

  “I made you hot chocolate. I wasn’t sure what you like.”

  Kira stumbled to a halt in shock. She hadn’t expected that after his moodiness earlier. But meeting those cool, light-toffee eyes that watched her over the rim of his caffeine drink, her fickle body warmed. Desire trickled.

  Heck, who was she kidding? It swept through her like a heatwave. Kira finally understood why she always retaliated whenever he teased her. It was because of this—this awareness, which constantly sparked between them. It had from the moment their paths first crossed.

  “Microwave,” he said when she just stood there like a stooge. Kira snapped her mouth shut and pivoted for the kitchen.

  Mug in hand, and to keep her sanity, because sharing the only couch with him, no matter how long or wide it was, just wasn’t happening. Týr was too dangerous to her shaky emotions.

  Besides, what could they talk about? Their convo-mode was to fight. And she really didn’t want to. She just wanted some peace from her fluctuating emotions but doubted even that was possible now.

  Kira made her way to the dining table near the scenic window, acutely aware of him, and gratefully dropped onto one of the two chairs there. She glanced out into the snowy moonlit night.

  Footsteps sounded. Her fingers tightened around her mug as Týr took the seat opposite her. “You should get some rest.”

  “I can’t…not until I know Tomas is safe.”

  “The others are looking out for him,” he said quietly. “We’ll find the boy, and I’ll deal with whoever attacked us.”

  She glanced at him. “I know y
ou will. You always take care of those around you.”

  His gaze lowered, his entire expression shut down. “Yeah.”

  But the haunting flash of darkness she’d witnessed troubled her. “So, this is Dagan’s place?” she asked, hoping to pull him back from wherever his thoughts had taken him.

  “It was. It’s mine now.”

  “Of course. Won it from a foosball game, did ya?”

  “No.” A smile ghosted his sexy mouth and then quickly disappeared. This, Kira realized, was the real him. Away from his fellow warriors, the facade dropped—not totally, but the cocky persona with the acerbic comebacks was nowhere in sight.

  “Go to bed. It’s almost four.”

  “I can’t.”

  He cut her a contemplative look then retrieved his cell from his pants’ pocket and tapped a number on the display. He set the device on the table, on speaker. A second later, the call got picked up. “Yeah?”

  “Nik, the boy, any sign of him?”

  “Nothing yet. The night’s been quiet so far. It’s a few hours to dawn, he could be holed up anywhere. I’ll call if I have news.”

  “Okay. Thanks, man.” Týr ended the call. And waited.

  At his penetrating stare, her heart tripped. Ignoring the tension between them was like ignoring a boulder rushing downhill. And she feared the eventual crash.

  Tension scaling through her, Kira rose, and rolled her shoulders. Her wound twinged and she bit off a wince. “Fine. I’ll go to bed. You’ll wake me up if you hear anything?”

  After he gave a slight nod, she picked up her cup and made for the stairs.

  “Use the couch,” he called out.

  “I’ll be fine. There are extra blankets in the closet.”

  God, she just had to find a way to move past the dangerous attraction she felt for Týr, because she if she didn’t, she would be the one left hurting.

  Won it from a foosball game, did ya?

  Kira had been teasing, but the truth was far more devastating.

  Týr shot to his feet, hands clenching and unclenching as he prowled to the fireplace and then back to the window again. Nothing worked. He had to get out of there and calm the hell down. There was only one way to do that since taunting one of the warriors into a fight was off the table.

  He sprinted up to the bedroom and stopped at the doorless entrance to inform Kira that he was going for a swim, but she appeared asleep. He pivoted.

  “Týr?”

  Just the sound of his name, it was as if she’d physically touched him. His body tensed, and his groin throbbed. Fuck. He slapped a palm against the doorjamb, keeping him from doing something reckless, like going over there, tearing off her clothes and sliding into her warmth until he didn’t feel like crap anymore.

  “What is it?” She sat up and pushed her tumbling mass of reddish-brown locks from her face.

  “I’m going for a swim. Wanted to let you know.”

  “It’s freezing out there. If you need a shower, use the bathroom.”

  Naked and mere meters from her? She had no idea what she was asking of him.

  He rapped his knuckles on the jamb. “You need me, holler. I’ll hear you.”

  Wheeling around, he jogged down to the sports bag Hedori had brought him. He grabbed a change of clothes, kicked off his boots before heading outside, and flashed to the far side of the lake. The water here hadn’t frozen over and appeared sludgy. It would do. Besides, he could see the cabin.

  On the bank, he stripped off his sweater and leathers. The scratches on his biceps stung a little, but he’d live. Naked, he dove into the bone-chilling water, finally numbing his mind and cooling the relentless desire swamping him…

  A long while later, exhausted to the bone and barely able to feel his frozen limbs, he climbed out of the lake, dried off with a thought, then pulled on his sweats. He collected his clothes and dematerialized back to the cabin.

  In the warm living room, he tossed his things on the table. Raking back his damp hair, he checked in on Kira. She was asleep. The scent of summer and flowers was stronger in the bedroom. The edginess inside him rose again, clawing at his skin.

  Groaning, he made his way back downstairs and dropped onto the warmed leather couch. No, there wasn’t any rest for the wicked. He ought to know.

  Exhaling roughly, he went horizontal and shut his eyes. And the past he would never forget seeped back in…

  Dagan had left to check the outlying lands surrounding the Sumerian temples, and Inara had sent for him.

  “You don’t drink wine anymore?” she teased, handing him a really ostentatious, jeweled goblet this time. Another gift for the new Goddess of Life. She received many. It was nothing new, she always offered him a drink when he stopped by.

  Sure, he hated the ugly chalice, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

  “So, can I?” she pleaded.

  “No, it’s too dangerous…” He took a mouthful of the tart liquid before he explained why again. A second later, he stumbled…

  “Týr!” Inara cried out as he hit the floor.

  He awoke, head groggy, and pushed to his feet. “What the hell happened?”

  “For all that is holy, Týr, tell me she is safe,” Dagan pleaded, slamming him against the wall, yellow eyes stark with terror. “Tell me you kept my sister safe.”

  Inara? A dense, coppery odor crowded Týr’s nose. He blinked and looked around, horror twisting his gut at the sickening carnage. Several slain soldiers lay on the bedroom floor amidst the crumpled bodies of the handmaidens.

  He struggled to recall what had occurred, but his brain hurt. Everything remained trapped in a haze. He looked up as Dagan’s sword swung, seeing only his friend’s grief-stricken features as the weapon came down in a deadly arc—

  Týr’s eyelids snapped open, his heart thundering in his chest. Flames crackled and hissed merrily in the hearth, the only sound in the dead silence.

  Shit, he rubbed his burning eyes, hating when memories hauled him back. But this was his penance, remembering.

  Dagan had learned the truth just a few weeks ago and had told Týr. Inara had apparently spiked his wine so she could go to the river. He’d been oh so altruistic, promising Dagan that none of the Guardians ever needed to know the truth, to know that Inara had been responsible for their incarceration. It was only to cover his own ass. His shame.

  Bile crawled up his throat. He was the asshole who’d failed in his duty. He should have been more alert that day at the temple. But he’d drunk the damn wine and changed the fate of all the protectors to one of absolute horror. And his best friend had become a vampire.

  Hel, his foster mother, had been one of the prosecuting deities at the Gates of the Gods tribunal. She’d sought her vengeance on Dagan and had sentenced him to the withered wastelands of Reapers Hell for what he’d done to Týr.

  Fate! Týr flung an arm over his eyes, trying to block out the memories. But those slain bodies and the blood-drenched floors swamped his mind…and that tortured cry still garroted him to this day.

  Godsdammit! This place was too freakin’ quiet! He needed a damn TV in here, didn’t matter that he rarely watched it. At times like these, he desperately wanted the noise to keep his screaming mind from hauling him back to the darkness of his past.

  A muffled sound fissured through his churning skull. Instantly, Týr scanned the interior of the cabin and then outside but picked up nothing. It was probably his own demons fucking with his head again. Then the fragrance of summer and flowers, more potent than normal, caressed his senses. Barely discernable footfalls reached him.

  Kira. She probably wanted water or something. Not because she was attuned to him or sensed his nightmares or some shit.

  “What is it?” her soft voice reached out to him.

  “Nothing. Go back to bed. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep. I heard a noise…”

  “Probably the wind.” Týr shifted his arm from his eyes and found her h
overing a foot away from him, concern on her lovely face. Thick socks covered her feet. She wore a long-sleeve nightshirt now, the wide neckline slipping off one shoulder. Even in the glow of the low, spluttering flames in the hearth, she appeared pale.

  He pushed up, feet hitting the cool wooden floors. “Are you in pain?”

  “I’m okay.” She walked over to the fireplace and sat on the stone step.

  “Don’t feed me that bullshit. What’s wrong?”

  She sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I fell asleep and rolled to my back. Let’s just say it hurt a darn lot.”

  “Let me see.”

  “I checked in the bathroom mirror. It’s not bleeding or anything, just uncomfortable to lie on. I’ll be fine.”

  Týr cut her an even stare. “Come here, Kira.”

  At his demand, she glowered at him for a second, then trudged over. Without a word, he pulled her down beside him and pushed up her nightshirt. She went impossibly rigid. Because he could see her underwear? Týr shook his head.

  However, the crinkled gauze and creased tape covering her wounds made his jaw clench. “You changed the dressing, too.”

  “It bled a little, okay,” she muttered, hunching over and sliding more to the edge of the couch as if ready to flee. “I can’t keep running to you for every ache or pain. I can take care of myself.”

  He remained silent because if he spoke, he’d yell at her. She’d probably done more harm to her injuries, twisting to put on the damn gauze. Carefully, he peeled back the dressing. The lesions still appeared inflamed, but one continued to bleed. And she’d somehow lathered on more salve.

  “Happy now?” she asked as he re-taped the gauze.

  Týr didn’t answer. He gently caressed the edges of her dressing, reluctant to let her go.

  The moment he stopped, she shot to her feet. He snagged her wrist, prepared for her bolting. She eyed him like a cornered deer, her chest heaving. “You can let go. I’m going back to bed.”

  And give her a chance to erect those mile-high barriers between them again? “No.”

  For a moment, they simply stared at each other, tension arcing between them.