Tall, Dark, and Deadly: Seven Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance

by Laura Kaye

  Lexine managed a smile and took a cookie from the plate in the center of the counter.

  “Maybe the dream will change again,” Ginger said. “Perhaps you and Jett can wait it out. Every little thing can change the future.”

  Lexine sipped her tea to moisten her dry mouth. “You didn’t see the look he gave me. I really hurt him tonight. I may have killed any chance of a future for us.”

  “He’s made of tough stuff, and I’m sure he understands your intentions. He’ll get over the blow to his ego if he’s worth keeping in the first place.” Ginger winked and sipped from her mug. She jerked, spilling tea. “Ouch—hot—shit!” She shoved the laptop computer, sitting open on the counter, away from the mess.

  Lexine grabbed the computer, and Ginger reached for a towel.

  The screensaver disappeared, revealing pictures of the exterior and interior of a house. Lexine stared, her mouth open, holding on to the counter to keep from pitching off the stool. One picture showed, in marvelous detail, the colorful, fish-themed mosaic floor from her dream. The one on which Jett had died.

  “What the hell is this?”

  Ginger glanced at the screen. “Oh. That’s the house where Lawrence’s daughter-in-law and grandson live. It was for sale briefly before the mother changed her mind, apparently, so Lark found those shots on a realtor’s website. Jett was looking at them to get familiar with the layout before he went in.”

  “This is where Jett has gone?”

  “Yeah.” Ginger tucked her hair behind her ears. “What’s wrong?”

  “That floor was in my dream. That’s where…” Lexine held either side of the laptop screen in a white-knuckle grip. It couldn’t be, yet there it was. Never had she seen an uglier kitchen floor, even if she hadn’t first seen it covered with blood.

  She shuddered and the back of her neck prickled. They weren’t mated, but now, seeing that floor, she knew that the future hadn’t been altered entirely. Knew it with a cold certainty that went straight to her bones. Mating or no mating, Jett was going to die on that floor. The only difference she’d made? Now, he’d die alone, or with his killer.

  But it didn’t make sense. How could the dream have occurred? If she’d accepted Jett’s proposal, would he have bitten her right then and there? Such a moment could have gotten out of hand, perhaps. They could have gone from proposal to sex, his mouth against her skin, the temptation too much. Yes, it was possible.

  However, he would never have brought her on the hunt for Lawrence, so how was she with him, in the dream? She scrubbed her face with her hands. Because, whether she’d accepted his proposal or not, she’d have sought Ginger out to confide in, and she’d have seen the computer and the accursed floor.

  Holy shit.

  She had to go after him.

  “Ginger, I need to get there. Where is this house?”

  “You can’t just—”

  “Yes, I can!” Lexine flipped through the browser tabs on the Internet browser and found a map with the address marked. She scribbled the info down on a piece of paper, studied the roads, and headed for the door. “How long ago did he leave?”

  “Over two hours ago.”

  “Damn it! I—” She paused with her hands on the doorknob. With his head start, he could already be hurt. No. Oh, no, she was not going to walk into the future the dream had shown her. She was not going to drive out there just to see him die.

  She had a much better idea. Jett would need a healer.

  She opened the door and rushed down the stairs, Ginger right behind. She stopped at the second floor and pounded on the locked door. Ginger reached over Lexine’s shoulder and entered the security codes. Rushing inside, Lexine headed straight for Raphael, who got to his feet, his feathers bristling.

  Lexine swallowed. She had no right to ask the archangel put himself at this much risk—flying into a human town, an enemy like Lawrence and who knows who else in the area—but she was going to, anyway. She summed everything up: “Raphael, I’ve been having prophetic dreams and I need you to go to Morgan, or Jett is going to die.”

  …

  Jett drove Andrew into Morgan, wishing there was some other place to leave the kid. But, even though it was best that Andrew wasn’t around when Jett made minced meat out of Victor Lawrence, the colony couldn’t hold on to the kid and risk backlash from the human authorities.

  “My grandfather is a bad person, isn’t he?” Drew stared out the passenger window.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I saw a video on his computer.” Drew turned. “I think you were in it.”

  “Me?”

  “And Raphael. He healed you. Raphael’s wing was covered in blood.”

  Jett tensed. Security footage from Thornton’s prison? Had to be. “Yeah, that was me.”

  “Raphael was a prisoner, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  Drew fell silent as another mile of road passed. “My grandfather did that?”

  “No. That was someone else.”

  “But my grandfather knew about it,” Drew whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “He did nothing to help.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  Drew fidgeted. “My grandfather helps people. He researches diseases like my mom’s. He does surgery on people who’ve been in accidents. Why didn’t he help the archangel?”

  Jett gripped the steering wheel. He wasn’t about to lie to the kid. “Your grandfather wanted Raphael to cure the sick and injured.”

  “Raphael said he can’t help everyone.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But my grandfather wanted to force him? Hold him against his will?”

  “Yes. When that didn’t work, he tried to kidnap Raphael’s infant grandchildren. He murdered three demons and kidnapped a five-year-old to try to achieve his goals.”

  Drew sniffed. “You’re going after him, aren’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, kid.”

  “That’s all right,” Drew whispered. “I don’t want him to hurt anyone. But do you have to kill him?”

  Ah, shit.

  Drew stared, his eyes wide. “Please, don’t.”

  “I have no choice.” Even if Jett could forgive the past, Lawrence would be a continuing threat in the future. There was no reasoning with the man. Jett had tried that many times, only to secure additional beatings. “I need to keep the archangels safe. It’s my job.”

  A mailbox with the reflective numbers Jett had been watching for came into view. He turned onto a gravel driveway. A little black sedan and a fancy white sports car sat in front of the garage.

  “That your grandfather’s car?”

  Drew said nothing.

  “Why don’t you go find your mother, kid. She must be worried about you.”

  Drew opened the door, jumped out, and ran toward the house.

  Jett sighed and rubbed his forehead. Nothing better than an innocent child to take the buzz out of a justified revenge killing. Damn it. He got out of the SUV and followed Drew to the front door.

  He picked up Lawrence’s scent. His blood ran cold and he growled.

  “Mom! I’m home!” Drew hurried inside.

  Jett eased into the mudroom, alert to every sound, scent, and movement. The kitchen—which had an astoundingly ugly tile floor with orange fish—was empty. Drew ran down a hallway.

  A scent neither Drew’s nor Lawrence’s nor the woman’s gave Jett pause. Leather and cigarettes. The scent of the man who’d shot Jett full of tranquilizer, taken Bryce, and abandoned the child in a garbage bag.

  Jett grinned. Excellent. Another asshole who deserved to die. This would be a fruitful night.

  “Jett!” Drew screamed, horror in the boy’s voice.

  Jett ran down the narrow hall to a bedroom. A woman and Lawrence lay on the bed, bound. Andrew stood, gaping, his eyes wide.

  Lawrence looked up and blanched.

  Jett heard the floor creak behind him. The stench of leather and cigarettes strengthen
ed.

  “Andrew, get out of here!” Lawrence struggled.

  Jett whirled to face a gun leveled at his chest. The wielder wore a black suit and the white collar of a pastor.

  “Finally.” Leather and Cigarettes smiled. “I get to kill another demon.”

  He pulled the trigger, but Jett anticipated and jerked out of the way. He pulled his own gun, but froze. The pastor grasped Andrew by the arm and pointed the gun at the child’s head.

  “Richard! Please, don’t!” Lawrence lurched into a sitting position. Blood ran from his shoulder. He’d been hit by the bullet intended for Jett. The woman sobbed.

  “Consorting with demons?” Richard sneered at Drew. “Unforgivable.”

  Jett exploded into a demon-fire torch, successfully distracting Richard. Jett leaped on the human. A gunshot went off and pain exploded from Jett’s leg. The agony brought relief: Drew hadn’t been hit. Jett sank his fangs into Richard’s neck.

  Jett straightened when Richard stopped writhing and twitching. Extinguishing his flames, he turned his head to find Lawrence, free, Richard’s gun aimed steady in Jett’s direction. Andrew had freed his grandfather. The kid knelt by his mother, working on the cord around her ankles with a pair of scissors.

  “Demon. I never dreamed I’d see you again.”

  “I brought your grandson home,” Jett said, forcing a calm voice. He could leap on Lawrence and tear out his throat. In that moment, he didn’t give a damn if Lawrence managed to shoot him in the process. He did care that the woman and Drew would see. It was bad enough he’d killed the pastor in front of them.

  The woman had fainted.

  “Yes, you did. Thank you for that.” Lawrence scratched his chin with his free hand. “So unpredictable. I doubt I’ll ever understand demons.”

  “Because you’re blinded by your bigotry.”

  Lawrence turned deep red. “Don’t you dare talk to me that way.”

  For a moment, time seemed to reverse and Jett felt the cold air of the lab on his skin, felt the sting of the leather from the whippings he’d receive after speaking out of place. A hard blink brought Jett back to reality. Lawrence no longer held any power over him, even with that gun.

  “What the hell was that?” Jett jerked his chin toward the body.

  “That was Richard Elks. Pastor. Demon hunter. Poacher, though his religion motivated him, not money. I hired him for his skills and enthusiasm. But he turned on me when he figured out I wasn’t in it to kill the archangels but to use them to heal the sick. He accused me of doing the devil’s work.”

  “Well, you’re no saint, that’s for certain.”

  “You’re just a demon, what do you know?” Lawrence’s eyes narrowed. “The only goal I ever had was to ease human suffering. I failed to find a way to harness the rapid healing ability you, as a demon, possessed, so I turned to the archangels. When I learned of Raphael, I knew I’d found the answer.”

  “Raphael is not a tool to be used. Neither are the infants. You’re a murderer and a monster, everything you accuse demons of being.”

  “You do not talk back to me, demon. Remember your place.”

  “I’ll talk to you however I damn well please, and you deserve a far more violent death than the one I can give you in front of your grandson.” Jett leaped off the floor.

  Lawrence fired the gun.

  Ignoring the pain that exploded from his leg, the same leg that had already been shot once, Jett grabbed the human by the shirt and hauled him out of the room. He dragged the struggling piece of shit down the hall and into the kitchen.

  “You had me kidnapped during an attack that killed my father. My mother has never recovered from her grief. You treated me like animal. You sent more men to the colony recently, murdering and kidnapping again. If there is a hell, there is a special place in it for you.” Trusting that Andrew hadn’t followed, Jett made a fist and struck Lawrence in the jaw.

  And struck him again.

  And again.

  “I can’t even begin to make you suffer the way you deserve.” Jett delivered another satisfying punch. “I just want to be done with you. I’m going to kill you and move on with my life. You never broke me.” One last punch.

  Lawrence slumped against the wall and sank to his ass on the floor.

  Jett, not wanting him to die quickly from a bite, grasped the bastard’s neck and squeezed.

  The skin on Jett’s arms prickled. He must have stepped too close to a mental edge, facing Lawrence like this, because he had the distinct sensation of heavy hands on his shoulders. Warm, comforting hands.

  “Juneau.”

  Jett released Lawrence’s neck and spun around, searching for the source of that voice, as the human gasped and choked.

  “Jett.” Drew stood in the little archway between the kitchen and hallway.

  Jett forced back a string of profanity. “Go help your mother.”

  Drew’s lip trembled.

  “Drew. Go.”

  “No!” Drew shouted, staring beyond Jett. “Grandfather, don’t!”

  Jett turned back to Lawrence. The bastard had a small gun in his hand. He pointed it at his own head, not Jett.

  “If I’m going to hell, I’ll see you there, demon. But you don’t get to kill me.”

  He pulled the trigger.

  Jett dove for Drew, shielding the child’s view. Drew wailed. Jett held him, carefully keeping his body between the boy and the corpse.

  His vision swam and the floor tilted. What the hell?

  He leaned back, blinking, shivering. He sat in a pool of blood. The bullets he’d taken to the thigh must have clipped an artery.

  The sensation of heavy hands on his shoulders returned. The lights flickered. Or was that his vision? He couldn’t tell.

  “Juneau,” a voice said. Deep, male, familiar.

  Impossible.

  “It’s not impossible. I’m here, son. You can hear me, this close to death.”

  Was he hallucinating? He removed his jacket and tore his shirt, unable to shake the strange presence. Had to be a side effect of bleeding to death. He tied the fabric around the top of his leg, as tight as he could. “I’ve been this close to death before.”

  “And I was waiting for you to join me. But you survived, and you will survive again.”

  Jett pulled out his cell phone but paused. What was the point? No one from Sanctuary would get to him in time.

  A dry laugh escaped his lips. Well, Lexine’s dream had been wrong.

  What he would give to hold her one more time.

  “Jett?”

  In his daze, he’d nearly forgotten the kid was there. “Go to your mother.”

  Drew shook his head. He grabbed Jett’s jacket and pressed it against the wounds.

  “You’re a good kid.” Jett leaned back against the kitchen island. He sent a text message to Lark as the invisible grip on his shoulders tightened.

  “Lawrence is dead. I’m not going to make it back. Give Raphael my apologies, and send Lexine my love.”

  “Juneau,” his father said again. “In my office, there is a safe behind my journals. The code is your birthday and the contents are intended for you. I love you, son.”

  Jett shuddered, the cold overpowering. “I love you, too. Sorry, but I think I’ll be seeing you soon.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lexine held her breath, waiting for Raphael to speak.

  “There isn’t time to tell the whole story, but I’ve seen it,” she insisted. “He’ll die on that godforsaken mosaic floor.”

  Raphael shut his eyes.

  “Please.”

  Wren came over. He whispered, “We can’t.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t wish Jett ill, at all, but his job…”

  Lexine’s heart hammered. Yes, his job was to die for them if need be, not the other way around, and he was on a mission meant to protect them. But that didn’t mean they shouldn’t do every possible thing to keep that from happening. Right? She covered her m
outh with her hand.

  Raphael opened his eyes, his silver gaze sharp. “He’s not just our Guardian. He’s a friend.”

  “I know,” Wren said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “It’s dark. It’s a rural area. It’s a manageable risk.”

  “All right,” Wren said. “I’ll go. I’m faster.”

  “Absolutely not. You’ll stay here with your mate and your children.”

  “Father—”

  Raphael flicked his wings. “I can fly damned fast when I need to.”

  “That’s not what I’m really worried about.”

  “This is dangerous.” Raphael nodded. “But we must help, and I’ll be the one go.”

  Wren’s feathers stood on end, but he nodded. “Be damned careful.”

  “Thank you,” Lexine said.

  Raphael headed for the flight deck.

  “What about Lark?” Wren brushed his wing against Raphael’s.

  “No time to argue something he’ll never agree to. I’ll apologize to him later.”

  Lexine shivered and clasped her shaking hands together. “I can’t just wait. I’m going to get a car and—”

  Raphael turned and cocked his head. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Here.” Ginger held out a jacket. “This will fit you. You’ll need it.”

  “You’re serious?”

  Raphael returned and took her arm. “I can only carry so much weight. I won’t be able to fly Jett back. He’ll be unconscious from being healed. You’ll need to drive him, and it’s better if we don’t have to wait for you to get there by car. I won’t drop you. I promise.”

  “I’m not worried about that.” How many times had she wished for a chance to be carried by one of the archangels? She could have asked, but she didn’t, it seemed too personal a thing when Wren carried Ginger. Now she had the chance, but not for enjoyment—to save the life of the male she loved. “Yes, I’ll come.”

  “Good luck.” Ginger hugged her.

  Raphael led her outside as she pulled on the jacket and secured the hood over her head.

  Lexine clung to Raphael as he spread his wings, massive and stark white under the exterior lights. Her stomach flipped and crawled up her throat as he dove off, dropping ever so slightly at first, then rising. Fast. Faster. The beat of his wings filled her ears, the noise as loud as the air roaring over them.