Bound Guardian Angel

by Donya Lynne

  “Of course you do,” she whispered, practically tiptoeing toward the couch.

  She needn’t have worried about being quiet. It didn’t look like cannon fire could bring Cordray back to consciousness.

  Sam set the aspirin and water on the coffee table beside Cordray’s cell phone then rejoined him in the kitchen, taking his hand and tugging him toward the door leading to the basement. “Come on, baby, let’s go play.”

  Play? Now they were getting somewhere.

  With renewed interest, he turned his attention toward his mate and away from the monster sprawled in inebriated hibernation on his couch.

  The idea that Cordray and Trace were on a collision course with one another didn’t sit well with him, but there seemed to be little he could do to prevent it.

  Maybe Sam was right. Maybe he just needed to stand back and let nature take its course. If Cordray was indeed Trace’s mate, he wouldn’t be whole until he let himself claim her.

  And more than anything, Micah wanted his best friend to be happy. He just thought that happiness would come at his hands, not Cordray’s.

  Chapter 22

  Trace jostled awake to the uncontrollable giggles of two ornery toddlers jumping up and down on his bed.

  “Wake up, Twace!” Null flopped himself over Trace’s stomach then rolled all the way down to his ankles.

  His laughter reminded him of bubbles popping.

  Aiden dropped to her knees beside his head and pitter-pattered her palms on his cheeks.

  “You’re awake!”

  Of course he was awake. A pint-sized earthquake was going down in his bedroom.

  “No, I’m not.” He closed his eyes as he reached around and tickled Aiden’s tiny bare foot.

  She squealed and fell backward then shot back to her feet. A moment later, she unexpectedly jumped on his torso, landing like a trick rider on a pony.

  His eyes popped open as the air whooshed out of him. “Oomph!”

  She laughed and straddled his stomach, kicking her legs as if she were trying to spur him on.

  Null crawled back up the bed, his blond hair curled over his eyes. He grabbed Trace’s hand and shoved it into the mattress. “Gotcha! Aidy, get his othew hand!”

  She swooped to the side with a screech and landed on his arm.

  Trace pretended he couldn’t move. “Oh no. I’m trapped. You got me.” Pretending to be their helpless captive was worth hearing their triumphant growls, which really sounded more like kittens purring, making them even more adorable.

  He hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. Pure, genuine fun. The kind he’d never had as a kid himself.

  “What about food and water?” He feigned thirst, smacking his lips together. “What if I’m hungry and thirsty?” In fact, he was both right now. He always was upon waking. “You’re not going to let me go hungry or die of thirst, are you?”

  Aiden giggled. “You’re silly.”

  “Am not.”

  Null tag-teamed into the conversation. “Yes you are.” Are came out sounding more like awe.

  “No fair. It’s two against one.” He began to pull his hands free.

  Both of them doubled their efforts, trying to secure him. He let them think they had him for a few more seconds. Then he yanked his hands from their holds and scooped them up, one in each arm, laughing.

  Their giggles were infectious. Innocent and cherubic. He had never heard anything sweeter and more heart-warming.

  “You guys are trouble,” he said, sitting up and swinging his legs off the bed.

  “Nuh-uh!” They spoke in unison, slinging their arms around his neck, holding on like little crabs.

  The cinnamon scent of french toast hit his nose, making his stomach growl.

  “Mmmm, smells like breakfast is ready.” He stood, his arms supporting their tiny rumps as they settled, one on each hip. “Are you two ready for breakfast?”

  Eager, hungry nods and another round of giggles answered him.

  “Then let’s go downstairs and fill those tiny bellies so you can keep up your strength. That way, the next time you sneak attack me maybe I won’t be able to escape your iron holds of death.” He tickled them, making them break into fits of laughter as he stepped into the hall.

  He glanced toward Cordray’s closed bedroom door. His memory flashed back to last night and what they’d almost done to each other. Had she come home after he’d gone to bed? He vaguely remembered hearing her Ducati as he drifted in and out of sleep, but he couldn’t smell her intoxicating scent, so maybe he’d been dreaming. Or maybe she had come home but wasn’t in her room.

  He felt little fingers scratching his stomach and looked down. Both Null and Aiden were laughing their bubbly laughter while trying to tickle him.

  “Hey, what are you two trying to do? Make me pee my pants?”

  They both threw back their heads, laughing so hard it was a wonder they could catch their breath.

  “Coco won’t like it if I do that.” He set them down and took their hands. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

  Once they reached the dining room, Null and Aiden let go of his hands and darted into the kitchen.

  He followed, hoping to see Cordray.

  Instead, Mya was the one preparing breakfast, with no sign of Cordray. Mya turned from the stove and a giant griddle steaming with slices of cinnamon-covered french toast and greeted him with a smile.

  “Good morning.” The front of her blue T-shirt read My favorite number of the alphabet is blue.

  “Nice shirt,” he said.

  “Thanks.” She glanced down at her shirt. “I’m into sarcastic humor.”

  “Obviously.” He grinned at her then helped Null get the carton of milk from the fridge. “So, where’s Cordray this morning?”

  The look she gave him before turning back around to flip the toast was one that read all kinds of I-know-what’s-going-on-between-you-two. “She’s out.”

  “Out where?” Surely, she hadn’t stayed out all night.

  Mya shrugged. “Don’t know. But this isn’t unusual.”

  He grabbed two plastic sippy cups from the cabinet. “What do you mean?” He helped Null pour the milk. “She’s not here every day?”

  Mya used tongs to turn a battalion’s worth of sausage links sizzling in a large iron skillet. This crew sure ate a lot of sausage. “Cordray comes and goes. She’s always off working, doing something for King Bain, whatever. She’ll come in for a few days then leave again. Could be gone a day or two. Could be gone a week . . . maybe longer. Just depends on what she’s got going on.”

  Trace didn’t like the sound of that. He’d fully expected Cordray to be there today. Dare he say he had hoped she would be there today, because part of him wanted what had happened in the hall outside the kids’ room to happen again. Sooner rather than later. Only this time, he didn’t want it to stop.

  He rubbed his thumb up and down his sternum as something that felt like heartburn simmered inside his chest.

  He was probably just overly hungry, except his stomach wasn’t growling. There was a gnawing sensation in his belly, but it didn’t feel like hunger. If he were a human, he would think he was coming down with a bug, but he wasn’t human. He didn’t get sick. Not like that, anyway.

  He sighed and glanced out the window as a female he hadn’t seen before—one with blond hair—crossed the backyard to the dorm.

  “Who’s that?” he said.

  Mya followed his gaze. “That’s Steffie.”

  “Steffie?”

  “She’s one of our volunteers. She comes in a couple of times a week to do laundry and clean. She brings in groceries, too.”

  He frowned. There was something he didn’t like about Steffie, but he couldn’t put a finger on what.

  “How long has she been a volunteer?” He was still rubbing his knuckles over his chest but let his hand drop to his side when Mya turned a questioning glance toward him.

  “A couple of months. Why?”

  He tried to shak
e off the odd feeling Steffie gave him but couldn’t. But he didn’t want to worry Mya, either. “No reason. Just curious.” He glanced around the kitchen. “So, can I help with breakfast?”

  Mya set the platter of french toast in front of him. “You can if you’re ready to eat?” She winked. “It’ll be every man for himself once the kids pile in, so you’d better grab yours now so you can be out of the way when they get here. French toast is their favorite, and you could lose a hand in the feeding frenzy if you’re not careful.”

  “Good to know.”

  She returned to the stove and took up the sausage while he stacked four pieces of french toast on a plate.

  “Here.” She dropped four sausage links next to the toast.

  “Thanks.”

  He helped Aiden and Null build their own plates, and five minutes later, the back door flew open as the other five kids Cordray took care of flew in, flooding the dining room with chatter.

  The girl named Panya blushed as she sat across from him, meeting his gaze for only a second before looking away. Leon and Riley were too absorbed in one another to pay him much attention, although both wore worried expressions and had dark circles under their eyes as if they hadn’t slept. Riley’s were rimmed in red, and it looked like she’d been crying. Between mouthfuls of french toast, Faith and Gavin quizzed each other on what sounded like tests they were taking later today.

  The atmosphere was right in every way but one. Cordray wasn’t there.

  In only a few short days, he’d come to associate her with the kids. She was the lifeblood of Asylum. The heartbeat of the orphanage. Its soul.

  Cordray made everything feel more alive—including him—with just her presence.

  Ever since he’d met her, his heart beat a little harder whenever she was around. His blood heated, his skin sizzled. His entire body perked up. When she departed, she took all the light and spirit with her. Life just didn’t feel as exciting when she wasn’t there.

  Cordray was as vital as oxygen to everyone she encountered. Vital to him. He needed her. Needed her as badly as he needed Micah. Maybe even more.

  He’d been so committed to treating her like she was the enemy that the realization that she was important to him slammed into his soul with the force of a charging elephant. He actually dropped his fork and swayed backward in his seat.

  Null’s mysterious blue eyes twinkled as he giggled. Everybody quieted at the clang of metal on porcelain.

  Straightening, he picked up his fork and spun the handle in his fingers. “Sorry.” He cut off a bite of french toast and huddled over his plate.

  What did these new feelings for Cordray mean for his relationship with Micah? He couldn’t imagine his life without Micah or Sam, but it was rapidly becoming apparent he couldn’t imagine his life without Cordray, either.

  He’d just found order in his life, and now controlled chaos threatened to disrupt all the spiritual feng shui he’d fought so hard to put in place.

  He was still struggling with his thoughts an hour later as he cleared the garden and prepared it for planting.

  Gardening was a far cry from his job as an enforcer, but there was something oddly comforting in working the earth. It helped prevent the rampant thoughts whipping through his mind from spinning out of control. It also reminded him of when he was a kid, gathering herbs and roots for his mother’s tinctures.

  She’d been such a beautiful woman. Dark skin, green eyes, thick brown hair that she often had to wrap in a scarf, because she could never do anything with it. But he’d always loved how she looked when she let it down. By today’s standards, Mother’s hair had been a mess of tangles, but she owned it, carrying herself with grace and confidence.

  And then she’d died.

  All because of him.

  He closed his eyes and lifted his head toward the sun’s rays as a tremor of fear rippled through him.

  He still hadn’t faced Brak and his father.

  What if Father blamed him? He’d never been close to anyone in his family. Not really. He’d been the black sheep. The one no one comforted. The one who had to fend for himself when he was being attacked by the other kids.

  He blinked his eyes open behind his wraparound sunglasses and turned back to the garden.

  A warm breeze blew in from the south, which probably meant a storm was coming. It was that time of year. Spring in Chicago always meant storms. So yeah, it would be nice to finish clearing the garden before the rain arrived.

  The hours droned by. Lunch came and went. Riley and Leon returned home from school, and Null and Aiden came out to play at the edge of the garden while he finished up.

  A little after four-thirty, he returned the tiller and shovels to the barn and went inside to retrieve his bag and dirty clothes before heading back to Micah’s.

  Hopefully, he would be allowed to borrow one of Asylum’s SUVs. He would hate to call a cab, but since his custom chopper was still parked in Micah’s garage, his travel choices were limited.

  Other than Mya and Brenna preparing dinner in the kitchen, the house was quiet. Lonely even. Unlike this morning at breakfast.

  He climbed the stairs, stuffed his dirty clothes into his duffel, then stepped back into the hall as he shut his bedroom door.

  He felt like a gypsy. Bedroom here. Bedroom at Micah’s. Dorm at AKM. He rarely went home anymore. To his true home, the little trailer that held almost all his worldly possessions. Not that there were many. He still had his old rock collection. That and a few clothes, some books, and that was about it. He’d learned to live simply, not leaving much of a footprint during his travels. Until joining AKM, he had wandered from place to place.

  Story of his life. He’d never really felt at home anywhere.

  Home. What did the word even mean to him? It was more than a place to lay his head. More than four walls, a bed, and a place to brush his teeth. Home was where the heart was. But where was his heart?

  He loved Micah and Sam, but they had each other. With them, he would always be the thirteenth donut in a baker’s dozen. And that was okay. He’d rather be that than nothing at all. But, ideally, one day he would be part of a pair. Not a spare tire but one that was necessary to get the car from a to b. Micah had Sam. Io had Miriam. Malek had Gina. Sev and Ari had each other. Even Tristan had someone, although Josie wasn’t officially his mate. Trace wanted the same. He wanted a female who was all his own, who existed expressly for him. Someone he could build a life with. A home with. A family with.

  As he passed Cordray’s bedroom, his chest began to ache again. It had ached most of the day. A dull, nagging pain deep inside his rib cage. And it was getting worse.

  He stopped and glanced at her door as he stroked the tips of his fingers down his sternum, remembering how she’d felt pressed against him. How her nails had dug into his shoulders as she pulled him closer. How her teeth had felt as they harshly nipped his bottom lip.

  His cock thickened, and heat pulsed heavily throughout his body. Just the thought of her was enough to make him ravenous with arousal.

  He set his hand on the doorknob.

  She hadn’t come home. He knew she hadn’t. He couldn’t stop himself from looking anyway.

  It was like watching a movie you’ve seen fifty times. You know how it’s going to end, but you still hope the characters will create a different ending. So, as the latch gave and he began pushing open the door, his heart skipped a hopeful beat as if he would find her lying on her red satin sheets, black hair spilling over her pillow, beckoning him to join her. All he found was a made bed, the lights off, and the windows shuttered.

  His heart fell.

  Her scent still hung in the air. It was stronger here, in her personal space. The subtle, musky, citrusy scent that was uniquely hers.

  He drew in a long, deep inhale.

  Cordray.

  A few days ago he had hated her. Or at least he thought he did. Now? Hate wasn’t the word for how he felt, but whatever mysterious emotion roiled in his blood wa
s just as strong. He wanted to throw her off a cliff then rush to the bottom to catch her before she splattered into bloody pulp. All so he could be her savior, not that Cordray needed saving. But he wanted her to look at him as if he were the hero she’d never known she needed.

  She was fire, but he still wanted to touch her. How twisted was that?

  He shut the door then forced himself to walk away from her luscious scent, which—now that he thought about it—he’d become quite addicted to.

  By the time he reached the stairs, the ache in his chest had intensified, as if retaliating against him for leaving her room. As he entered the kitchen, his chest was positively pounding.

  He winced as he rubbed his knuckles against his left pec.

  Mya glanced up from the stove and gave him a concerned frown. “Are you okay?”

  He cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah, um . . .” It hurt to breathe. “Can I borrow the keys to the Denali? I’ll bring it back tomorrow morning.” He raised his duffel of dirty clothes as if that was all the reason she needed to understand his request. Truth was, he was too busy trying to tame whatever this shit was ripping a chasm through his ribs to speak any more than he had to.

  “Sure.” She gestured toward the rack of keys hanging on the wall inside the mud room. “The keys are on the skull ring.”

  There were a dozen keyrings hanging on the rack. A dragon, a black widow spider, a snake. Cordray’s Gothic influence was everywhere.

  He lifted the skull ring off the rack, and the violent churning inside his chest diminished to a rough simmer. These were Cordray’s keys. The chain was a part of her. He tucked the keys into his fist and inhaled easily for the first time since before he’d entered her bedroom a few minutes ago.

  With a nod of farewell, he pushed through the door that led into the garage, opened the bay door, and hopped behind the wheel of the white Denali.

  Destination, Micah’s house.

  Maybe after a session in Micah’s dungeon he could get a grip on whatever voodoo spell Cordray had cast over him.

  Chapter 23

  Cordray stirred awake in the late afternoon to the sound of her cell phone pinging with an incoming message.