Breaking Fate by Georgia Lyn Hunter Page A

recovered, she goes back,” Michael said, tone resolute.
    “Yeah, got it.”
    Blaéz stalked off. If Darci hadn't insisted on leaving, he’d be having a very different conversation with Michael. Resentment churning his gut, he headed downstairs. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d experienced this seething fury.
    Moments later, he shoved open the door to the kitchen, fragrant with baking. He paced around the island counter, brushing past Hedori, who prepped for their later meal while watching a cooking show on the small flat screen mounted in the corner of the kitchen.
    Týr, in the process of making his usual sandwich, the size of which could probably feed a third world country, raised an eyebrow. “You okay there, man?”
    Blaéz ignored him then stilled. Like mist, his anger faded into vacuity. No. He struggled to hang on to that feeling. But without Darci close, he was a husk again.
    He eyed Týr, who squeezed a ton of chili-mayo onto the meat. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
    Týr slapped his bread together and took a bite. Leaning against the counter, he studied Blaéz as he chewed. “There’s something different about you.”
    “I imagine you spend a great deal of time thinking about me, then.”
    Týr chuckled. “Yeah, it’s all I do.” He crossed to the fridge, grabbed a Red Bull and carried his food over to the table.
    Blaéz opened a cupboard, pulled down the Blue Label, snagged a squat glass from another cabinet, and poured a shot. He sucked back his whiskey. The amber liquid glided down his throat, burned a short-lived fiery trail into his belly. He poured another.
    Hedori set a freshly baked tray of biscuits on the counter. The older Empyrean, who’d been Aethan’s bodyguard millennia ago had followed the warrior when he was banished from his realm. In this world, he was quite happy to play butler since he wasn’t a Guardian. The male had a thing for the cooking channels, but the food tasted good, and that was all that mattered.
    Hedori looked up as Blaéz approached him. “You require something, sire?”
    “Yes. Two. One, stop “siring” me. I have a name. Use it. And two, would you see that Darci gets something to eat? I'm going back on patrol.”
    Hedori’s expression remained stoic. “Of course, my lord.”
    Týr snorted.
    As Blaéz turned to leave, the door opened. Michael strode in, Dagan and Aethan followed. Dagan took his usual spot near the open French doors which led out to the trellised patio, his lean, sun-bronze features set in their usual granite cast, his waist-length hair pulled back in warrior braids. As usual, he ignored everyone there. He spoke only if he had to.
    Týr, he flat-out disregarded, their cold war legendary. The problem was, Blaéz knew nothing could fix that. Because when it came down to it, he was partly responsible for the fight that had caused their downfall three and a half millennia ago. The day Blaéz took on his duties as a Protector, he should have just told Dagan who he was and avoided the deadly fight that had broken out — one that allowed the worst evil out there to abduct the young goddess of life in a blood-spattered battle that had destroyed an entire Sumerian temple. She was never seen again.
    He shut off those thoughts as Aethan pulled out the chair opposite him and straddled it.
    “Before you all leave—” Michael’s gaze flickered over them. “A few things. First, Elytani. Seems she’s doing well with her training. She should be back in a couple of months.”
    “I can’t believe you recruited her,” Týr muttered then paused, eyes narrowing. “It’s far too soon for her return. She needs a good two years at least.”
    “Gaia’s shield-maidens assures me she’s almost done, we’ll see.”
    Blaéz couldn’t imagine the elegant Lady Elytani, Aethan’s ex-betrothed, as a killer. She chose not to go back to Empyrea after Aethan had mated Echo. Michael had snagged her with an offer to become a Guardian, which she eagerly