Warders, Volume One

by Mary Calmes

  “How much blood?”

  “Malic!”

  “I’m just saying that if we really needed something, then––”

  “Eventually he’ll want it all, do you understand? He’ll want every last drop and maybe your body and soul along with it! Don’t be an idiot! Never, ever call him again.”

  “How would I even do that?”

  He growled at me. “You think I’m some novice to give you the key to your own destruction? Do not take me for a fool!”

  “No, c’mon,” I soothed him. “I don’t wanna die, I swear to God. I just––”

  “Don’t care if you live,” he rasped. “You have never understood your value. Never! You alone make me want to tear out my hair and have you tied up and flogged. I thought when you and Rindahl… I thought he would make you understand, but both of you need grounding, both of you are high-strung and volatile. That match could have been disastrous. I was happy when it first began because I knew no better, but then ecstatic when it ended,” he said brokenly, angry and sad at the same time.

  I watched him stand and pace beside the bed. I was back in his guest room again. I wondered how long he’d keep me before I could go home and sleep in my own bed.

  “I’m sorry about almost dying.”

  “I know, Malic, you’re always sorry.”

  Which made me feel about that big. I stared up at him. “Who wants to hurt you by hurting your warders?” I asked him.

  “Pardon?”

  “The woral that attacked me, he knew I was your warder. How come he wanted to hurt you?”

  His scowl was back from earlier. “Malic, I am the sentinel of this city. Every demon out there knows who I am and who my warders are. Just because this is the first one who has apparently called you by name, make no mistake. You are known and so am I. And every demon with a brain in its head knows that killing warders weakens a sentinel. When Grayson died, I… he took a piece of me with him.”

  And now I’d managed to remind him of the death of one of his warders. I was like the plague.

  “Malic!”

  I cleared my throat, my focus back on him. “Sorry… again.”

  He released a sharp breath. “Listen, when I met Julian, when we all did, I saw that Rindahl had found in him a man that would be his omphalos, his center. I want the same for you. A man… perhaps a woman who––”

  “A man,” I corrected him. I adored women, but the idea of being in bed with one left me cold.

  “Fine, then,” he told me almost sadly. “I feel that you will continue to take chances and do things that you know are ill-advised unless you find your hearth.”

  Ill-advised, near suicidal. God, I was driving him nuts. “I don’t do––”

  “No.” He cut me off hard. “It takes seconds to make a call on your cell phone. Even better,” he said sarcastically, “stand still and silent, think of me or the others, and we’ll feel it, feel the call, and then we’ll check with each other and figure out who’s in need.”

  “Yeah, I know, I just didn’t think.”

  “You… never… think. You just do!”

  “No, I––”

  “You fought one demon alone and then went blindly into the lair of another. All you had to do was call one of us, any of us. But you almost died, and I felt it and I called to see who could go. In the middle of my own fight, I had to stop and leave Jaka alone to call someone to check on you! What if Jaka had died? What if there had been no one to go to you? Everyone else but Leith was fighting. If he had been engaged as well, you’d be dead! Do you understand? Are you hearing me, Malic?”

  “Jael––”

  “No, Malic,” he yelled, “tell me why you needed a kyrie to save you? Why not call one of us? Why let a kyrie drink from you? You knew it was stupid when you agreed to it.”

  And I had, a little, but it seemed basically harmless. Mostly.

  “You care nothing for yourself!”

  “Is he up?” I heard Jackson yell from the other room.

  “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Perhaps I should send you to speak to the Labarum council. They will determine if––”

  “Jael,” I crooned, making my voice low and soft, “please, I’m not a basket case. I just… I didn’t think. The little girl, she––she needed me, and by the time I realized I was in over my head, it was too late. And Dylan got grabbed by––”

  “Who’s Dylan?”

  “The guy, the angel, he––”

  “Angel?”

  “No, he’s not an angel, he––”

  “Who is this man?”

  “He’s not a man, he’s just a boy, and––”

  “How old is he?”

  Why in the hell were we suddenly discussing Dylan? “He’s nineteen.”

  “He’s a man, Malic, not a boy.”

  “Fine”—barely a man—“but something grabbed him and––”

  “Your first instinct was to save him.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  Jael nodded. “Where is he now?”

  “Home, school, work, I dunno.”

  “And you’ve slept with this man, and he’s not your hearth?”

  “No, I haven’t slept with him,” I snapped. “He’s just a baby.”

  “Nineteen is not a baby.”

  I scowled at him as Jackson came striding into the room, pointing at me.

  “You stupid fuckin’ son of a bitch! How dare you let anything take blood from you!”

  What was I supposed to say? “Sorry” would not fix it.

  He barreled up to the side of bed, bent over, and put his hands down on both sides of my head. “Goddamnit, Malic! I don’t wanna lose anyone else!”

  Anyone else? What was he….

  “When we lost Grayson two years ago, it nearly fuckin’ killed me. I never thought I’d get over that shit, and then Leith came and it was better and now he’s a friend too, but… Malic! You and me… Ryan… Marcus… and Jael… please.” He pleaded with me, his voice cracking, softening almost to a whisper, his eyes squinting hard so he wouldn’t shed a tear, “Malic, please.”

  But I was the asshole they all hated.

  “I can’t… I lost my parents and then I lost my sister and then Grayson, and if—” He swallowed hard, and I heard him take a shuddering breath before he straightened up and started walking away.

  “I’m sorry!” I yelled after him.

  “Fuck you, Malic!” he roared back.

  I stared after him, and Ryan stuck his head into the room and gave me a thumbs-up.

  I flipped him off.

  “Brilliant,” he said, and then I saw his eyes do the thing that hazel eyes did and darken and change color. They went from a sort of light brown to deep dark green. “Maybe tomorrow you can play in traffic or something.”

  I let my head roll to the side so I was looking out the window instead of at him.

  “Hey, where’s the man with the death wish?” I heard Leith yell from the other room.

  “In here,” Ryan called back cheerfully. “But he’s sorry.”

  “He’s always fuckin’ sorry!”

  Christ. It was going to be a long-ass night.

  VI

  I RECUPERATED, and after three days of staying with Jael, the man finally let me go home. I was excited about the prospect of solitude. After eating with all of them, running with all of them, training, and just lying around watching TV with all of them, I thought my brain was going to explode. I would have never made it in the armed services, and my hat was off to the men and women who did. To constantly have other people underfoot and around, to never, ever be alone, would have slaughtered my sanity. I never wanted to see any of them again for the rest of my life. But it was not to be.

  I had to promise to check in with someone, anyone, once a day every day. It was humiliating, but I agreed just so I wouldn’t have to see the wounded look on Jackson’s face again. I was actually astounded that they cared as much as they did. Who knew that even if you
were a prick to everyone they would actually still like you?

  “If you see the kyrie again, Malic,” Jael had said, “you call immediately. He disappeared when Rindahl pulled him off you and he might think you’re dead, but if he checks back he’ll know you’re alive and he’ll try and contact you. Do not meet him or speak to him alone. Promise me.”

  And I had promised because there was nothing else I could do. I didn’t have a death wish, but apparently conversing with kyries alone constituted suicide. I wasn’t so sure. Raphael had seemed all right to me, but it was too much to ask anyone to trust my judgment at that point.

  By the weekend I was back to work, and the second I walked in the door I received a stack of pink messages from the pad by my receptionist’s desk. Apparently Dylan had called every day twice a day for a week. And someone had given him one of my business cards, so my e-mail and voice mail had messages as well. He was persistent, I would give him that.

  When the week rolled over to the next, the calls stopped, the messages stopped, it all just stopped. And I was glad, but I wasn’t, but that was okay. I had looked for him over my shoulder, Raphael over my shoulder, and between the nightly patrolling and work and spending time with the other warders as well as my very human, very normal friends, I was too busy to think. I went out with Rene in a fog, going through the motions, but not really myself. He told me I should get laid, but the idea was not appealing. I was lifeless, and it was hard to figure out why. My head was so much in a different place that when Claudia sent me to pick up posters promoting a change of venue, I didn’t even think about it. Everyone else was busy; I was the only one who had nothing to do, who could even go home if I wanted. So I walked into the copy shop at ten after nine at night and there at the front counter, talking to a customer about God knows what, was Dylan.

  I stood behind the man and waited.

  “Be right with you,” he said without looking up.

  I kept quiet.

  “Can I help you?” the girl who had walked up to the counter beside Dylan asked me.

  “Yeah,” I said, smiling at her. “I’m here to pick up some color posters for Romeo’s Basement.”

  “Oh.” Her bored smile got huge. Promotional materials for strip clubs tended to perk people right up. “Sure thing, lemme go grab ’em.”

  I stood there not even daring to look sideways to see if Dylan had noticed me. If he ignored me, that would hurt; if he was smiling expectantly, that would hurt too. I was erecting the wall between us for him, but the distance, being forced, was hard to maintain. I just wanted to talk to him.

  When the cute little girl with the side-pony came back, I thanked her, didn’t bother to check what I was paying for, grabbed the bag, and left. Walking to the car, back around the building to the parking lot, I took my first breath in easily ten minutes. Once inside, I just sat there in the car as it began to rain.

  I had no idea how long I listened to the drops in the dark interior of the car. It was sort of peaceful. I was finally ready to go, feeling that I had completely closed the book on Dylan Shaw, when I saw the back door open and he came out.

  He was standing under the awning in the circle of light, just waiting. He could not have been there for me; for all I knew he hadn’t even seen me. When I saw the sleek little Acura roll up, I understood. He didn’t move, just stood there, leaning on the wall. After a few minutes, the driver left the car running but got out and ran around the front to reach him. He stepped in front of Dylan and his gestures said it all. What the fuck was he waiting for; he needed to get in the goddamn car. It was all there in the sharp, exaggerated motions. He wanted to know what the hell was going on. Dylan shook his head, and then did the head tip for him to go. The stranger didn’t leave; instead he grabbed hold of Dylan’s chin, forcing his eyes up to his face, and yelled. I couldn’t hear the volume, but you could tell there was shouting.

  Dylan yanked free and immediately started across the parking lot in the rain to my car. Little shit. He’d known I was there the whole time. When he reached the passenger side, I reached over and opened it for him. I could have just clicked the button, but in the downpour, he would have no idea it was open. And I wanted him to see he was welcome.

  “Get in the car,” I snarled at him. “You’re gonna catch fuckin’ pneumonia.”

  He shook his head, which sent water all over the car.

  “What the hell are you––”

  “You didn’t leave,” he sighed deeply, moving fast, throwing his courier bag in my backseat, pulling off his fleece-lined denim jacket and the heavy hoodie underneath, stripping down to the thick fisherman sweater before he pulled that off as well. I saw smooth skin for a second as the T-shirt pulled up, but then he tugged it back down when he tossed the sweater with the rest of his clothes past my head into the back.

  “What’re you doing?” I growled, turning to face him. “And who was—” I began, but I glanced back into time to see the Acura screech from the parking lot. The guy was pissed, that was obvious. “What––”

  “I was hoping,” he said breathlessly. “I was praying, I thought if I stopped stalking you then maybe you’d come around.”

  “I had to pick up some posters, you deluded––”

  “No.” He cut me off, grabbing my face, shutting me up, climbing over the emergency brake, moving over into my lap. “I don’t care why the hell you came to the store. I only care that you didn’t drive away.”

  I scowled at him as he wiggled around on my lap until he found the position he liked, his ass pressed to the hardening bulge in my pants. He did wild, wicked things to my libido just seeing him, and my body craved him even as a warning buzzer went off in my brain.

  “Jesus, Malic, you’re hard for me already,” he gasped, pushing forward, the low moan torn from his lips.

  I sighed deeply. “I’m too old for you.”

  He arched an eyebrow for me. “I’m done with boys, I told you. I’m ready for a man.”

  “Dylan,” I said, swallowing hard. “Lemme take you home and––”

  “I wanna go home with you,” he said, hands on the side of my neck before he sighed deeply, savoring the sensation of his hands on my skin. “Please, Malic, what do I hafta do? Raphael told me if I’m not your hearth that it’s gonna hurt me and drain me a little, but I… don’t care….” He bent forward so his lips were hovering over mine, our shared breath hot, wet. “Malic, please… you gotta let me have you.”

  The eyes looking at me full of need, the hopeful expression coupled with the way he licked his lips, nervously bit them… there was just no way to say no. And I was tired, so tired, of fighting with myself and him at the same time.

  “Okay.” I relented for the moment, my hand sliding up the back of his neck. “How ’bout I feed you and we can talk about it?”

  He trembled, and groaned, his eyes fluttering as he pushed his groin into my abdomen.

  “But you gotta move,” I said, because I was really uncomfortable. My cock was rock hard in my pants, straining against him, and as much as I wanted nothing between us, wanted to be buried inside him, it would wait and had to. There were things that needed to be said, boundaries drawn, and rules to be set down. So he needed to get up. “Now.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause you’re killing me.”

  “I have lube and a condom in my bag. Fuck me right here holding my ass. I’d love to ride your cock.”

  I felt my brows furrow and the smile that spread across his face, the way he lit up, was just ridiculous. He had no right to be that happy. “Get. In. Your. Seat.”

  He scrambled off me, crawled back over the emergency brake, and flopped down into the passenger seat. I shook my head when I heard the seat belt snap.

  “Ready,” he announced.

  He was way too cheerful. I looked over at him. “Can you imagine what your mother would say if you took me home for Christmas?” I asked him. “She’d be horrified.”

  “She’d be impressed,” he assured me. “She
wants me to have someone serious about me. If she met you, Malic, she’d be fuckin’ thrilled.”

  I couldn’t even get him to be rational.

  “I’m starving, feed me.”

  And he was damn bossy.

  “Please, honey.”

  Christ.

  I TOOK him for Italian food in North Beach at a small café I loved that was open late. I tried to steer the conversation toward generally safe topics, but he wasn’t having it. As we ate, he wanted to know about me being a warder and that was all. The questions came fast and furious between bites of lasagna and garlic bread and the wine that I could have but that he couldn’t. His mineral water actually looked pretty good, though.

  “God, enough already,” I snapped at him. “Don’t you wanna know about anything else?”

  He thought about that a moment. “Sure, whaddya want me to make you for breakfast.”

  “Funny,” I said, smirking at him.

  “You can cook if you want. Can you cook?”

  “Listen,” I snapped at him, leaning forward, “you need to understand that––”

  “Malic.”

  The sneering tone was not lost on me. Looking up, I was not surprised to find Graham Becker standing beside the table. His suit must have cost a small fortune, and the very beautiful man standing beside him, obviously his date, looked the same.

  “Graham.” I said his name, tipping my head at the guy beside him. “Who’s your friend?”

  “This is Nathan Chase. Nathan, this is Malic Sunden.”

  We shook hands, and I immediately introduced both men to Dylan. I watched Nathan’s eyes slide over him, and my blood went cold.

  “Thanks for coming over.” I cut the conversation off, leaning forward to see if Dylan had liked his lasagna.

  “I loved it,” he said, smiling at me, his eyes locked on mine. “Every last bite.”

  I heard them drift away and then was aware, because my peripheral vision was good and I was paying attention, that I was being talked about when they reached their friends. They were only separated from us by two other tables, and it was obvious that Dylan and I were the butt of many jokes. I was going to get up when Dylan reached across the table for my hand. When I looked up, I was caught in his milk-chocolate gaze.