Bound Guardian Angel

by Donya Lynne

  Like Gavin, maybe Trace’s pain was beginning to ooze out and take on a mind of its own, too. For Gavin, it meant addiction to fire. For Trace, who knew? Given how powerful he was, it was hard telling how explosive the snap would be once his rubber band broke.

  Back inside, she waited in the hall while Gavin washed up in the downstairs bathroom, and then the two of them returned to the dining room.

  She had barely sat down when sixteen-year-old Panya shoved a bowl of mashed potatoes into her hands.

  “Thank you.” She took the bowl and spooned some potatoes onto her plate then passed the bowl along to Leon on her right.

  Silverware clinked on ceramic as everyone loaded up their plates and dug in.

  The din was comforting. Seven kids and four adults made a lot of noise around the trough, which was so much better than the clinical silence that greeted her at the table at her city mansion. That place was more of a giant closet for her shoes than anything, but Bain had insisted on buying it for her, so she occasionally used it. Specifically when she sought companionship. She never brought her few-and-far-between sexual partners—which were mostly one-night stands meant more for feeding than sex—around Asylum.

  Not that she got much out of her liaisons, but when she fed, she enjoyed giving pleasure to another even though she could no longer take pleasure for herself.

  In that respect, the mansion came in handy.

  But Asylum and its noisy familiarity always comforted her. Giving a home to those who were unwanted was her life’s mission. She knew what it was like to be discarded. Left with a broken heart because the life she thought she would have was no longer attainable.

  If only Trace knew how similar they were to one another. He’d been abandoned. So had she. They both carried such heavy burdens from their pasts.

  He sat three seats away, bookended by Aiden and Null. His attention was split between them as he helped fill their plates. They giggled as he spilled corn on the tablecloth and tried to hide it under his plate. That’s when he looked up and found her watching him. His cheeks briefly shaded deep pink.

  “And here you said you didn’t need a drop cloth,” she said.

  He grinned sheepishly and held the dish toward her. “Corn?” His eyes pinched uncomfortably as he met her gaze. Clearly, he was remembering their rendezvous from earlier.

  She reached past Panya and Aiden and took the bowl as she gave him a warning glare. “Sure.”

  His eyes held hers for a lingering moment then broke away as Aiden giggled and shoved a buttered roll in his hand. He smiled at the mangled handful of bread. Giant, pale-yellow globs of butter clung unevenly to what barely even resembled a dinner roll and looked more like something a baby had torn apart and slapped around in its high chair. But Trace accepted it with a gracious thank you before tearing off one of the doughy appendages and stuffing it in his mouth.

  Cordray had to admit that Trace behaved himself better than she’d expected around the kids, even if he couldn’t control himself anywhere else. But the children were what counted. Nothing was more important than the children.

  Of course, later, when the kids were dismissed to the dormitory and she and Trace were alone in the main house, she was certain the insults would fly again and the charade of politeness would be forgotten. Especially after the day’s events.

  As they ate, Cordray scouted the minds of the kids around the table. Leon and Riley were thinking about taking their courtship to the next level. Sigh. It had been destined to happen sooner or later. The combination of young love and young hormones were second only to a true mating when it came to the power of attraction and the need to copulate.

  At twenty and nineteen, Leon and Riley were long past the age of cooties and were entering the earliest stage of their transition into adult vampires. She’d had “the talk” with them years ago, and they knew what to expect as adults, but despite all her warnings to the contrary, both were certain they would mate one another when they came of age. Nothing Cordray said to warn them otherwise got through. They were already naming their children, for God’s sake.

  Even now, Leon struggled not to stare at Riley, who blushed as she ate like a proper young lady, which was an improvement over the ill-mannered child who had eaten with her hands and flung food at the other kids when she’d been brought to Asylum eight years ago.

  Cordray continued around the table, checking the minds of the others. Panya already had a crush on Trace. Great. Not even a full day there, and Trace was already stirring up the young females. As well as the older ones, if she counted herself.

  Eight-year-old Faith was too busy writing poetry and short stories in her head to think of anything else. To her, Trace was inspiration for her writing and nothing more. She planned on becoming a world-famous author or songwriter someday and had already declared that she would never get married. Little Faith was too young to understand what she was, yet, or that if a male mated her, she wouldn’t have much choice but to mate him back. The laws were very explicit about protecting mated male vampires that way.

  But it wasn’t as if Faith would abstain, or that she would always feel this way about “boys,” as she called them. Maturity and hormones had a way of changing a person’s mind—vampire, human, or other—into being more receptive to the opposite sex.

  Riley and Leon were the perfect example of how powerful hormones were in that respect. Not even three years ago, Leon had been dead set on staying single his entire life, and then . . . snap! Something changed. Maybe it was that Riley’s body had finally developed. Or maybe it was simply his adult hormones kicking in, and Riley was the only female at Asylum close enough to his age to catch his eye. Whatever the reason, seemingly overnight, Leon had fallen head over heels for Riley. They’d been together ever since.

  That left eleven-year-old Gavin, the loner and fire lover. Gavin was struggling with math and was nervous about heading off to human school next year. He’d recently finished the curriculum she’d put in place to prepare the young for their vampire lives, and he now understood what he was. Today, Brenna had broken the news that next year he’d be sent to public school.

  A scary step.

  Maybe that was why he’d been playing with Trace’s matches. Stress and anxiety were his triggers.

  Chatter hummed around the table as silverware clanged on plates, and for the first time in days, the tension in Cordray’s shoulders melted away. These were her children. They may not have been her flesh and blood, but they were still hers. She would have legally adopted every single one of them if it were required for her to provide such care, but Bain kept the human authorities away and kept the money flowing into her coffers so she never had to worry.

  They held an annual fundraiser and charity ball, but that was more to keep Asylum and its children in the minds of their people than to collect funds.

  After dinner, all the kids but Aiden and Null filed out to the dorm with Brenna while Mya started in on the dishes.

  “I’ll get those,” Cordray said, setting the last of the plates on the overloaded counter.

  “You sure?” Mya rinsed her hands.

  “Yep.” Actually, Cordray planned on having Trace clean the kitchen. Might as well put him to good use while she had him. “You go on out to the dorm with the kids. Help Gavin with his math. He’s struggling. And watch Leon and Riley. They’re thinking about sneaking into each other’s rooms after everyone goes to bed.”

  “Good to know.” Mya dried her hands on the towel hanging from the oven handle and looked up as Trace entered the kitchen with the last of the dishes and set them on the counter. “Good night, Trace.” She glanced from him to Cordray, her eyes narrowing into knowing slits.

  Cordray shot her a venomous glare. “Good night, Mya.”

  “Night-night. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” With that, Mya exited the back door and crossed the yard to the dorm.

  That left her and Trace alone. Aiden and Null were playing in the living room.

  On second
thought, maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss Mya.

  For a long moment, she just stared at him. He stared back. With all the commotion and diversions suddenly gone, as well as the protective shields that came with them, she felt stripped bare and hung out like an offering to the gods.

  Unbidden, her gaze drifted down his body. After their dream-induced liaison today, she knew firsthand how solid he was. How hard. How warm.

  A dark rumble rolled deep within his throat. When she pulled her gaze back to his face, he wore an amused smirk.

  “Do you like what you see?”

  She frowned and took a step back. “You wish.” She spun for the dishes, grabbed the first one she saw, and began scraping the scraps into the trash.

  He joined her, standing close enough as he wiped food off another plate that his body heat warmed her side.

  “I’ll do this,” she said quickly. “You can . . .” She looked around the kitchen. “Just put all that away.” She gestured toward a batch of condiments, butter, and sauces on the counter.

  He muttered a disdainful response she couldn’t make out then set the plate down, wiped his hands on a paper towel, and began clearing the counter. He opened the fridge and put the container of butter on the middle shelf.

  She set aside the plate she was scraping and stepped forward. “The butter doesn’t go there. It goes here.” She opened the plastic drawer and slammed the butter inside with a huff.

  “Well, excuse me for not knowing the butter had a permanent residence.”

  “Look,” she said, “there are a lot of people here and a lot of food. Everything has its place. Got it? You just don’t start throwing things in the fridge willy-nilly, or it won’t all fit.”

  It felt good to get back to being mean to him. Being mean kept her out of trouble. Kept her from thinking about how incredible he had felt between her legs.

  Trace rolled his eyes. “Look at you. The butter police. How fortunate for your condiments.”

  He started to put the ketchup away, but she snagged the bottle from his hand. “And that goes here, not there.” She dropped the ketchup on one of the shelves in the door.

  “Jesus H.” He took a step back. “Are you always so goddamn controlling? I’ll make sure to memorize where everything goes for the test I’m sure you’ll give me later.” He rolled his eyes. “You told me to put this shit away. I’m putting it away.”

  She huffed and waved him off. “Fine. Go scrape the dishes then, and I’ll put all this away.” She picked up bottles of pickles, olives, mustard, and salad dressing.

  “Gee, I don’t know. Are you sure I can handle it?” He grabbed one of the plates and pushed the scraps into the trash with a fork.

  “Don’t test me, Trace. I’m already pissed at you.”

  “Me? For what? Making you come this afternoon?”

  Flames shot up her back, and she dropped the jar of mayonnaise so it fell over on the shelf. She floundered to pick it up then stood and glared around the door at him. “How dare you!” She shoved everything into the fridge, slammed the door, and heard one of the bottles fall over in the back. “And keep your voice down.”

  “Look in the mirror, sweetheart.” He waved the dirty plate he’d just scraped toward the fridge. “And you’d better fix that. Wouldn’t want to crowd the lettuce.”

  “Don’t call me sweetheart.” She scowled at him then yanked open the refrigerator door, righted the jar of spaghetti sauce that had tumbled over, and shut the door more gingerly this time. “And I’m talking about these.” She pulled the box of matches from inside her bra and tossed them at him.

  He snatched the box of matches in midair then frowned at them before glancing back at her. “You’ve lost me. You’re pissed at me because I chew on matches? You already knew that.” He tucked the box into his back pocket.

  She pushed past him to get to the sink and turned on the water to let it heat. “I found Gavin with those before dinner. He was behind the dorm lighting paper on fire. I thought I told you to keep those things away from the kids.”

  “Here’s an idea.” He set another scraped plate on the counter and slid it toward her. “Maybe Gavin got into my things, and you should be lecturing him on how he shouldn’t go snooping around in other people’s stuff instead of jumping down my ass for leaving them out where he could find them, because these, sweetheart”—he pulled the matches out of his pocket and waved them in front of her face, making the small wooden sticks rattle inside—“have either been in my pocket or in my bag upstairs in my room the entire time I’ve been here. So get your own house in order before you go barking at me about mine.”

  Cordray leaned away from him, because just having him near was setting her nerve endings on fire. “I told you not to call me sweetheart.”

  Trace pressed toward her, and the sensation of his shoulder touching hers caused tingles to shower down her arm. It took all her strength not to close her eyes and relish the sensual response.

  “How about I just call you the Wicked Witch of the West. It’s fitting, don’t you think?”

  She drew away and glared at him. “How about you grow up and call me Cordray? Do you think your tiny brain can handle that?”

  He tossed more scraps in the trash. “Can yours?”

  “Fuck you, Trace.”

  “You’re too frigid to know what to do with me if you fucked me.”

  The retort came out of nowhere and caught Cordray completely off guard. For a moment, all she could do was gape at him in disbelief as his words stung her heart. “How dare you.”

  “If the shoe fits.” He pressed seductively against her, as if he were trying to intimidate her. Or perhaps challenge her. “Whaddya say? Do you really think you could handle me?” His gaze blazed into hers as he let out a quiet snort. “I dare you to prove it.”

  She could hardly breathe as her gaze fell to his full lips. Was he trying rekindle the fire he’d sparked in her bedroom earlier? If so, it was working. Her fire was definitely rekindled. But what if he was only toying with her? What if this was some sick game where he pulled away and laughed in her face the moment she showed interest in taking another trip with him into the land of the erotic? She would be so humiliated.

  Forcing her shoulders back, she raised her chin. “I’ve fucked plenty, Trace. I’m just not interested in fucking freaks of nature who are masochists and criminals.”

  His gaze hardened as his mouth pressed into a thin line, and his eyebrows pressed downward as if she’d caused him pain. Clearly, her insult had hurt him. But his had hurt her, so eye for an eye.

  He let out a derisive puff of breath and pushed away from her. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? You can’t even apologize. You were wrong about the matches. You know it. I know it. And rather than say you’re sorry, you harass me. Then you insult me.”

  “Hey, jackass, you insulted me first.” She reached behind her and slammed off the faucet. “I’ll admit, you behave admirably around the kids. I appreciate that. And yes, I’m sorry for blaming you for the matches. But let me make it clear. I own your ass for the next three months. Got it? You’re mine. You do as I say. And if you want to go back to your precious AKM job and beat off with your pal, Micah, then you’ll get that through your thick skull.” She paused and bore her eyes into the angered, pale-green depths of his, trying to ignore the warm tingles flowing through her veins. “And there won’t be any more repeats of what happened today, nor will I tolerate you trying to humiliate me by toying with my emotions, so don’t ever bring it up again. Do you understand?”

  “Damn straight it won’t happen again.”

  “Then we agree.” A stab of disappointment pierced her heart as she took a step back and crossed her arms. “You and I don’t have to like each other, Trace, but when it comes to these kids, nothing interferes. Asylum runs like a well-oiled machine because the children’s needs come first, before all else. That includes our dislike for each other. When you’re here, you leave your personal hatred o
f me at the door and I’ll do likewise.” She gave him a shove as she turned toward the sink again, when all she wanted was to keep touching him so she could feel something beyond her normal nothingness. “You do that,” she said, picking up a dirty plate and rinsing it, “and give me more than your required two days a week, and I’ll see what I can do about getting you back to work before your three months are up. Deal?” She glanced sideways at him. “I’ll only make that offer once.”

  She wasn’t sure why she had just offered to cut his sentence short, or even why she suggested he put in more days than what Bain had sentenced him to. Maybe a part of her just wanted to get him out of there as fast as possible. Then again, maybe she subconsciously wanted him to be around more, which was a scary thought.

  Having Trace around more was dangerous, because despite her protests, she was drawn to him. He was magnetic. Even now, she yearned to touch him again. To stroke her fingers down the ridges in his abdomen, kiss him, press her body against his. Trace was excitement incarnate. What female wouldn’t be drawn to him?

  “Fine.” Trace returned to scraping the dishes. “You’ve got a deal, because the sooner I get out of here, the better.” He paused and poked her in the arm, making her suck in her breath as she jerked her head around to face him. “But let me make one thing clear.” He drew closer, his voice deathly quiet. “You do not own me.”

  She forced herself to hold his gaze. “That’s right. Micah owns you now, doesn’t he? How lucky for you both.”

  Trace’s eyes narrowed. A moment later, he went back to cleaning dishes. “Jealous much?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  For the next thirty minutes, the two worked in inharmonious silence. Cordray knew she had come off sounding like a jealous girlfriend with her Micah comment, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. She really needed to be more careful what she said and how she said it from now on. The last thing she wanted was for Trace to pick up on her attraction to him.