Bound Guardian Angel

by Donya Lynne

  It was all very confusing and hard to understand, but one thing was clear. Each ankh had a protector to keep it from falling into the wrong hands, with one master ankh that belonged to Memnon, the alpha of the lycan race, which opened all gates. Obtain the master, and you could unleash hell on Earth, but from what Cordray had read about Memnon, good luck prying the master ankh from his powerful lycan fist. Ole Memnon had a nasty reputation and an even nastier disposition, at least according to the picture the archives painted of him.

  So, the question was, why did Micah have an ankh? Furthermore, how did he have a key that opened a doorway to another dimension and not even know its purpose?

  No sense dwelling on that question, though, or she’d just give herself a migraine.

  With Grudge Match and ankh research off her list, she turned her attention to learning more about Skeletor. It was a good bet he was aware of the ankh’s purpose, or he wouldn’t have stolen it. Maybe he was linked to the lycans and knew about the ankh that way, but that would mean the lycans had given Micah’s father the ankh or had at least known about it. Cordray wasn’t sure of either option’s plausibility. Maybe Skeletor had hacked into Bain’s archives to learn of the ankhs’ importance, but that didn’t explain how he’d known Micah possessed one or where to find it. Skeletor had known right where to look.

  There were dozens of possible answers to every question Cordray came up with.

  She checked the time. Surely, Micah would have come up with something by now. She logged in to the AKM mainframe and piggybacked into the data from Tristan’s team. She wasn’t exactly hacking, but then again, she was. Her actions fell into a grey area.

  Almost immediately, videos from the night Skeletor broke into Micah’s apartment popped up, along with a map of Chicago’s pedway. She quickly scanned the videos and realized why the pedway was of interest when she saw Skeletor enter the Heritage building.

  Smart little fucker. He’d known he was being watched, so he’d ducked into one of the buildings with direct access to the pedway so he could slip away unseen.

  Clever.

  She closed her eyes and stretched, yawning. God, she was tired. Spending over eight hours in Trace’s proximity had taken it out of her. Who would have thought experiencing physical sensation could be so exhausting.

  She was about to head upstairs and go to bed when her screen flashed then went dark. What the hell? An array of tiny squares danced around the screen.

  All semblance of exhaustion evaporated as letters began appearing at the top of the screen.

  Well, hello, little mouse. Following the crumbs, are you?

  The green cursor dropped to the next line then blinked off and on, off and on, as if waiting for her to respond.

  Fine, she’d play along.

  Who are you? she typed.

  Tsk-tsk. It’s not going to be that easy, Cordray Buveau.

  Her blood ran cold. He knew her. How did he know her?

  I’ll ask again, who the fuck are you?

  She waited several seconds before he began typing again. I think you refer to me as Skeletor. I like that. Let’s stick with that.

  Bastard! How . . .?

  Letters began stringing into place on her screen before she could reply.

  And yes, I got quite the Skeletor boner watching you three stooges bumble around as if you’d found something of consequence in that little parking lot. It was very entertaining.

  She’d known he was watching.

  She could almost hear his laughter. And wherever he was, he was laughing. At her. At them. He was playing a sick, twisted game, and he was getting off on it.

  Taking a deep breath, she decided to take a different tack.

  What’s your interest in Micah Black?

  Seconds ticked by. A minute. Two.

  Just when she thought he wasn’t going to answer, the letters began falling into place again.

  We all have our secrets, Miss Buveau. Including you, it would seem.

  She bobbed backward. What secret was he referring to?

  I’m an open book, she typed. Maybe you should be, too.

  Are you now? I wonder . . . how many people know you and King Bain are brother and sister?

  Her heart swan-dived into her intestines. Oh, God. He knew. How did Skeletor know about her and Bain? She was going to throw up. Who the hell was this guy?

  Her fingers shook as she slowly typed, We’re not brother and sister.

  Oh, that’s right. He’s only your half-brother, isn’t he? Tell me, how does it feel to be excluded from the royal family? To be forced to keep your secret even though it means you will never share the same wealth and status as your dear brother? To be shunned by those who worship your own flesh and blood as if he were a god while ignoring your existence as if you’re just another face in the crowd? A nameless faceless nobody?

  Cordray frowned. Okay, what was up with all that? She didn’t like that Mr. Sticky Fingers knew who she was, but she didn’t resent Bain or her relegation into virtual anonymity. Skeletor’s last message came off a lot more aggressive than the others, which had been more playful. It was as if he was taking his anger out on her. But anger over what?

  I don’t know how you know about Bain and me, but gee, Skeletor, you seem to be taking the news a lot more personally than I am. Is this some kind of identity crisis you’re having, or is something else at work here you aren’t telling me?

  She waited for a reply.

  And waited.

  Five minutes passed.

  Skeletor? Did I lose you?

  Nothing.

  Radio silence.

  A few seconds later, her screen flashed and recovered, taking her back to the map of the pedway she’d pulled from Io’s search data.

  Skeletor was gone.

  Interesting.

  Maybe she’d hit a nerve when she asked if he was having an identity crisis. Or maybe . . . hmmm . . . maybe Skeletor had just made his first mistake. Maybe he hadn’t intended to say what he’d said. Not that it made any sense to her, but if he slipped up once, he could do it again.

  The least she could do was begin a backtrace to see if he’d left a trail by hacking her. She doubted it would turn up anything, but it was worth a shot.

  She started the tracking program then turned off the lamp, pushed her chair under the desk, and went to the kitchen for a snack before heading off to bed.

  Grabbing a banana, she turned to leave but stopped as she glanced out the window and saw Trace working on the fence around the horse ring, which was really more like a horse rectangle. In the summer, the older kids enjoyed setting up jumps in there and running the course with the horses, but the harsh winter had snapped a few of the fence rails. Trace was replacing them.

  A full-blood never would have been able to work in the sun, but Trace was like her. Half human, half vampire. And like the mixed-blood vampires from Egyptian times, the human blood that ran through his veins protected him from the harmful effects of sunlight. Sun sickness.

  He stopped hammering the rail he was working on and slipped off his sunglasses. He wiped his brow as he squinted skyward. Then he slid his sunglasses back on and knelt beside Null, who had his orange, blue, and neon-green Little Tikes hammer in his hand. He was tapping it against the wood, imitating Trace.

  She couldn’t hear what Trace said, but Null beamed and nodded before resuming his pint-sized hammering. Trace smiled and ruffled his hair.

  “You like him, don’t you?”

  Cordray jumped and almost dropped her banana as she spun to find Mya entering the kitchen.

  The dark-haired female laughed as she opened the fridge and grabbed a can of Pepsi Vanilla. “Well, if there’d been any doubt before, there’s none now. You’re hot for the help.”

  “How can you drink that stuff?” She gestured toward the can of soda. “It tastes like cologne.”

  “It does not.” Mya popped the tab and pressed it back. “And quit changing the subject. You like him. I can tell.”
/>   “You’re imagining things.”

  “Am I?” Mya took a sip of her soda as she parked her hip against the side of the counter. “I saw how you kept looking at him during breakfast.”

  Cordray shut her eyes and sighed. The last thing she needed was for Mya and Brenna to begin hassling her about Trace. “Oh? And how was I looking at him?”

  Mya set her drink down and moved to the cupboard, where she started pulling out items to make lunch. “Like your biological clock was ticking.”

  Cordray began peeling her banana. “Vampires don’t have biological clocks.”

  “Maybe not, but that’s how you were looking at him.” Mya winked and shot her a cockeyed grin over her shoulder. “Like you were ready to have his hot little mixed-blood babies.” She shut the cabinet and set two large cartons of chicken broth on the counter. “Don’t get me wrong. You could do a lot worse. And he’s terrific with Null. I’ve never seen that kid open up so much. He already adores Trace, and he only just met him.”

  True. Null usually kept to himself, but with Trace, he’d been a chatterbug. Throughout breakfast, he had grilled Trace with questions, regaled him with stories about life on the ranch, how he’d found a really cool rock behind the barn a few weeks ago, who his favorite superhero was—Thor, because how cool was it that he could create a tornado with his hammer?—and how he had dreamed about goblins kidnapping him a couple of nights ago.

  Trace had told Null he would never let Goblins take him and that maybe he didn’t have Thor’s hammer, but he could still create a tornado to keep any nasty people away. Null had laughed at that, probably because he hadn’t thought Trace was telling the truth. If only Null knew. Trace really could create a tornado, as well as about a dozen other natural disasters, all with just a thought and his hand.

  A part of her anatomy melted at the idea of all that power being unleashed on her body.

  “Where did you find him?” Mya said, sliding up beside her as she glanced out the window at the male who was currently rocking Cordray’s world in ways it hadn’t been rocked in a long, long time.

  “Huh?”

  Mya snorted in amusement. “I asked where you found him. How did you get that stud to volunteer to work here?”

  Cordray discarded the banana peel and tore off a piece. “He broke one of the king’s laws.”

  Mya’s eyebrows shot up as if she were impressed. “Ooo, a criminal. Nice, C.” She smirked as she turned for another cabinet and grabbed a large soup pan. “What a great influence on the children.”

  “He’s an AKM enforcer. He just bent the rules a little too far and overstepped Bain’s law, that’s all.” Two weeks ago, she had testified against him. Now she was defending him. She didn’t need anyone pointing out the significance of such an abrupt about-face. Trace’s effect on her was making her change her mind about a lot of things. She stuffed another piece of banana in her mouth as she glanced back out the window. “I wouldn’t have brought him here if I thought he was dangerous or could hurt the kids.”

  “So, why did you bring him here?” Mya waggled her eyebrows as Cordray turned away from the window. “Trying to keep him close?”

  “I thought you were the jaded one.” Cordray ate another bite of banana and eyed Mya suspiciously.

  “I am, but even I have eyes, C. I mean, look at him.” She gestured toward Trace. “What female wouldn’t want to spend a night with that inside her?”

  Rolling her shoulders, Cordray ignored the green-eyed shockwave rippling down her spine as she forced herself not to stare at Trace’s sculpted physique and the way his jeans tightened over his ass as he bent to pick up another rail.

  “I guess if you’re into that sort of thing,” she said. “Which I’m not, of course. And I think you know why.”

  Mya froze, and the humor drained from her expression. “Oh God, C. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I totally spaced it.” Mya hung her head. “I know you can’t feel—”

  “Forget it.” She swallowed the last bite of banana. “Look, I’m exhausted. I’m going to head upstairs, take a shower, and go to bed. I’ve got things to do in the city tonight.” She dusted her hands together. “Save me some of whatever you’re making for lunch, though, okay? I’ll eat before I leave.”

  “Yeah, sure. Of course.”

  Cordray left the kitchen, sensing Mya’s awkward discomfort and guilt, and headed upstairs to her bedroom, stripped, took a shower, then changed into a loose, dark-grey tank top with a bedazzled image of a black widow spider on the front. Then she tugged on a pair of black, wide-legged yoga pants that felt like melted butter on her legs.

  She was about to shut the blinds and turn in, but the moment her gaze landed on Trace in the backyard, she stopped, hand on the drawstring.

  Sunlight rained down from blue skies, and the thermometer outside her window read seventy-four degrees. For the first week of May in Chicago, that was warm.

  Trace had taken off his shirt. Sweat glistened on his skin. She sure hoped someone had given him sunscreen. He might be a daywalker, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get a sunburn. Just that he’d heal from it faster than a human would.

  Aiden sat nearby in the grass, wearing a lightweight, pink jacket, playing with her dolls and braiding their hair, but Null remained at Trace’s side, stuck to him like Velcro, helping him position the rail and hold it in place while Trace hammered in a nail.

  The muscles in Trace’s back bunched and flexed, rippling with each impact of the hammer. The supple vibrations reminded her of the way the muscles in a thoroughbred undulated as it ran. Pure, unbridled power.

  Sexy as hell on a male.

  Trace stopped, plucked the ever-present matchstick from between his lips, and bent to inspect something Null held up in his hand. Probably another rock. Null loved his rocks and had a whole box of them in the room down the hall where he and Aiden often took afternoon naps while the older kids were in class.

  Trace smiled and smudged dirt on Null’s button nose, making the little boy squeal and swipe at Trace’s hand. Trace laughed as he stood, slipped the matchstick back into his mouth, and returned to work. Little Null joined him and tap-tap-tapped his plastic hammer alongside Trace’s sturdier one, gazing up at Trace with awe and pride.

  They were like a living family portrait. Love, warmth, and a sense of belonging blossomed around them. If only she could be a part of the picture, but that kind of happiness wasn’t in her cards.

  After staring for at least ten minutes, Cordray turned and came face to face with Mya, who stood a few feet away, holding a basket of folded towels. The air smelled of corn chowder.

  “You don’t like him, huh?” Mya smiled compassionately then bobbed her head toward the door. “Your door was open.”

  “How long have you been standing there?” Cordray looked away.

  “Long enough.”

  “For what?” She glanced back to see Mya purse her lips as she set the laundry basket on a chair.

  “Long enough to see that look on your face again. You were undressing him with your eyes.”

  Cordray chuffed. “Please. I was so not looking at him that way.” She let the blinds drop then left Mya at the window so she could pull back the covers on the bed.

  Mya faced her and crossed her arms. “Why don’t you just fess up and admit you’re attracted to him. Then maybe we can get past all the bullshit.”

  “What does it matter? It’s not like anything’s going to happen between us, anyway.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “It just won’t work, that’s why.”

  “Because of Gideon?”

  Cordray’s head snapped up, her gaze locking on Mya’s.

  “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re pushing him away because of what Gideon did to you.”

  “Leave him out of this.”

  “C, you’re being an ass. Did you ever stop to think that Gideon never mated you because you were supposed to mate someone else? Hmm?”

  Truthfully, she hadn’t. Gide
on had been it for her. Her one and only chance at happiness. And he had spurned her. He had taken another. “Drop it, Mya.” She picked up her pillow and fluffed it like she was punching a dreck in the nose.

  “You’re such a chickenshit.”

  Cordray spun on her. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. You don’t know what I go through now. I’ve given up so much to make sure these kids—of which you were one, if you recall—have a better life than I ever had. To make sure they’re taken care of, loved, wanted, and—”

  “And you’ve left yourself behind in the process!” Mya got in her face. “You give all these kids every ounce of love in your heart. You show them every time you’re here how wanted they are. But when it comes to you, C, you leave nothing in the bank. You don’t stop to give yourself any love. You don’t allow yourself to want for anyone, because you’re afraid that nobody will want you back.”

  Cordray tried to push Mya out of the way so she could shut herself into her bathroom. Screw this. She didn’t need to hear this shit.

  Mya blocked Cordray’s retreat.

  “No, C. You’re going to hear me out for once. You pulled me from the brink of hell, and you instilled in me a sense of self-worth I’ll forever be grateful for, and now it’s my turn to return the favor.” She squared Cordray up in her sights. “Gideon wasn’t the one for you.”

  Cordray closed her eyes and cringed. “You don’t know—”

  Mya shook her. “He wasn’t! It’s been long enough. You need to let him go and let someone else in. Let him in.” She pointed toward the window. “Maybe he’s the reason why you and Gideon never mated. Maybe he’s your mate. And even if he’s not, what harm could it do to let him in? Huh? To let someone love you again. To let him love you.”

  “He doesn’t want me!” Cordray flung Mya’s hands off. “Don’t you get it? He hates me.”

  Mya took a step back and let Cordray pass. “How do you know?”

  “I just do.” She slipped into the bathroom and grabbed her toothbrush. She’d already brushed her teeth once, but with nothing else to keep her hands busy, brushing them again was all she could do.