Bound Guardian Angel

by Donya Lynne

  He looked from Sam to Micah, seeking confirmation even though he didn’t need it.

  Micah pulled Sam back into his embrace. “Sam’s telling the truth, buddy. Cordray couldn’t feel shit before. But now—and only with you—she can.” His gaze fell to Trace’s hand, which continued to rub his sternum as the ache in his chest deepened. Micah let out a soft, reluctant snort.

  “What?” Trace frowned.

  Micah jerked his head toward Trace’s hand. “You’ve mated her.”

  Trace opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out as Sam sat up and let out a startled gasp and covered her mouth with her fingertips. He glanced down at his hand on his chest. No way. Sure, he thought Cordray’s body was bangin’ hot. Yes, he had fantasized about how it would feel to have sex with her. And absolutely, he missed her like crazy now that she was gone. He wanted nothing more than to go to her and . . .

  He glanced back up as his mouth fell open. He dropped his hand into the water.

  Holy fuck. He couldn’t have. Had he . . .? Was Cordray . . .? She was his mate?

  “Believe it, buddy.” Micah sighed. “You’re a mated male now.” He shook his head. “Shit, there goes a perfectly good safeword.”

  His gaze collided with Micah’s as disbelief tangled with shock. He was mated? Had he finally found his match?

  A smile began to creep over his face, relief and joy swirling like fluttering butterflies in his stomach. He was mated. The search was over.

  Then a bolt of panic rammed into him.

  He ricocheted backward against the tub. Water sloshed over the sides as searing dread wrapped its heavy fist around him and squeezed. He arched against the pain, gripping the cold porcelain on either side of him, then splashed back into the water.

  Micah lurched forward. “Trace! Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  His gaze shot around the bathroom as he climbed out of the tub, flinging water everywhere as he stumbled on the bath rug then dashed toward his clothes. Fear cinched his heart. Cordray needed him. She needed him now.

  “Cordray’s in trouble. My mate’s in trouble.”

  Chapter 29

  After a brief but aggressive confrontation, where a little blood might have been shed and furniture broken, Skeletor gained the upper hand and threw Cordray face-first to the floor. Stars and Tweety Birds broke free in her vision. Good thing she couldn’t feel anything or this could be one fucking ugly sitch.

  “Calm the fuck down,” he barked, driving his knee into the center of her back as he yanked her arms behind her. “This is just a little courtesy call.” He was using a modulator to disguise his voice.

  “If this were a courtesy call, asshole, you could have simply picked up the phone. Or, better yet, hacked into my computer again.”

  He wrapped a pair of flex cuffs around her wrists and tugged the ends to tighten the bands before jerking her off the floor and shoving her into the club chair by the window.

  She glared up at him as he paced to the side, head turned toward her. Today, he wore a grey and black mask that looked like something out of one of the war games her kids played on their PS4.

  But she could still make out his eyes through the dark-grey screens of the eye holes. Those intense, grey-blue eyes that reminded her of slate were like beacons, even shielded as they were.

  “Listen to me.” He bent forward and pointed a finger at her.

  She spat at him.

  He pulled back, and an air of exasperation and frustration fell over him.

  Trying to worm her way inside his head, she met with a wall of black. Nothing. He gave her nothing, his mind sealed more tightly than Area 51.

  He chuckled. “Nope. You’re not getting in there, sweetheart. Too many things I don’t want you to see.”

  “I’ll bet.” She glared at him.

  He glared back, unmoving and rigid.

  “What do you want?” she bit out, pulling against her restraints.

  “I want you to back off. Way off. My beef with Micah Black”—he said Micah’s name as if it were a curse—“doesn’t concern you.”

  “It concerns me now, dick face. You’ve broken into my home. You’ve endangered my kids. Don’t expect me to let this go.”

  He blew out a derisive breath. “You’ve got bigger problems here than me.”

  Cold dread rained down her back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He pulled a bundle of thin blue rope from one of the pockets in his cargo pants and began to uncoil it. “You’re not the only one who knows how to do research.” He knelt in front of her. “But if you want to know what I found out, stop helping Micah. Stop searching for me in that little computer of yours. And stop trying to track me. And then I’ll tell you what’s really endangering your kids. And trust me, honey, it’s not me.”

  “It is if you don’t tell me.”

  He stood, grabbed the front of her shirt, and yanked her out of the chair. “I’ll tell you after you drop your manhunt. Then we’ll both be happy.”

  “Then we’re at a stalemate.”

  He remained motionless for what felt like an eternity. “So we are.” He gruffly spun her around and lassoed her with the rope.

  Ten minutes later, she lay on her bed, secured with a series of Shibari knots intricate enough to make Micah drool. It looked like Skeletor had gone to the same school of Domination and submission as Micah, but instead of fire and floggers, ol’ Skellie got off on Japanese rope tying.

  “Think about my offer, Cordray” he said, straightening and tilting his head to the side as if admiring his work. “I’ll be in touch in a couple of days to see if you’ve changed your mind.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  “We’ll see. Until next time . . .” He opened her bedroom door and disappeared like a wraith into the hall.

  Cordray shouted after him. “Do you know which portal the ankh opens?” It was a desperate move to see if she could learn anything else about him, but seeing that she was tied up and all, she was in a desperate position.

  A moment later, Skeletor took the bait and backed into the doorway. “You are a smart one, aren’t you? I’m impressed.”

  “Do you?” She glared up at him, praying he would give her something. A clue. Anything that would help her find him once she got free of these fucking knots.

  The way the outside corners of his eyes turned up behind the screens in the eye holes, she imagined he was grinning. He raised his index finger and waggled it back and forth. “Stop looking for me, Cordray. And stop working outside your pay grade.”

  “Or what? What will you do?”

  His demeanor turned stony. “I’ll tell the world who you really are.” He paused as if he knew he’d gained the upper hand. “You wouldn’t want that, would you? To ruin your precious brother and his saintly reputation.”

  What in the hell did this guy have against her brother?

  It didn’t really matter. The fact that he knew she and Bain were related was enough to catapult her pulse into the stratosphere. “How do you know that?”

  He chuckled. With the modulator, it made him sound like a demon, which was perfect, given the mask he wore. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He winked at her. Winked! Then he was gone.

  And all Cordray could do was lie there like a fucking human origami.

  Chapter 30

  Trace reached Asylum in less than thirty minutes and roared down her driveway on his chopper like a hundred fiery steeds breaking free from the gates of hell.

  He killed the engine and burst through the garage door seconds later. It was after midnight, so the house was dark and quiet.

  Too quiet.

  “Cordray!”

  He took the stairs three at a time, ran down the hall, and threw open her bedroom door.

  Only to find her tied up on the bed, her arms and legs bent behind her, her wrists and ankles bound together.

  “What are you doing here?” Her face blanched as she met his gaze.

  “You were in
danger.” He leaped onto the bed, pulling out the knife he’d borrowed from Micah. Within seconds, he’d sliced through the knots. “What happened? Are you okay? Who did this to you?”

  “I’m fine, and it doesn’t matter who did this to me.” Rolling away from him, she flung off the rope and planted her feet on the floor. “He’s gone. I’m alive. Thank you for cutting me loose, but now you can leave.”

  She dusted her hands down her arms and darted past him into the hall.

  Ah, hell no. She wasn’t running away again. Not this time. Not now that he knew the truth that she was his mate and that she loved him.

  He caught up to her in four strides and grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”

  “Anywhere you aren’t.” She tried to twist her arm from his grasp. “Let me go, damn it.”

  “No. Not until you tell me why you’re fighting this.”

  “Fighting what?” She tried to turn away from him, but he grabbed her other arm and backed her into the wall.

  “This.”

  * * *

  His lips claimed hers with a fervor she’d never felt. And since this was Trace, she felt every ounce of the fervor he was channeling from his lips into hers as his hands traveled from her shoulders to her hands, which he slammed against the wall a moment later.

  After a long, dizzying stretch in which she thought her lips might melt, he pulled back and searched her face, leaving her wide-eyed and breathless.

  The power rolling off him set her senses on fire.

  “Why are you fighting what’s happening between us?” he said, breathing hard, gazing at her mouth. “Why are you always running away from me?”

  Reclaiming her courage and her conviction, she freed her hands from his. “There is no us, hotshot. No matter how great a kisser you are.” She shoved him away and turned to make her escape.

  “Oh no you don’t. Get back here.” Trace tried to grab her arm, but she flung his hand away as his searing touch lit fiery excitement inside her muscles.

  “Don’t touch me!” She fled down the hall. If she didn’t get away now, she wouldn’t be able to.

  “Don’t you run away from me!” His body heat bled into her back as he followed.

  Arousal blasted through the pit of her stomach, sending her thighs up in flames. The waves of power pulsing from his body beat the air around her like heavy bass from a high-def speaker. Thump-thump-thump. Only these hard palpitations hit her between the legs, each pulse like a heartbeat that throbbed deep inside her core.

  She had to get away from him. She couldn’t give in to whatever this was. If he was manifesting his power to get her in the sack, she couldn’t let that happen.

  With renewed effort, she hurried toward the stairs, trying to escape.

  He raced ahead of her, blocking her way.

  “Leave me alone, Trace!” She spun and darted back toward her bedroom.

  But he was right behind her, assailing her body with wave after wave of sexual heat, weakening both her knees and her resolve.

  “Tell me the truth!” He clutched her wrist and swung her back around to face him.

  She staggered as her feet briefly went out from under her. “What truth?”

  “That you love me!” His turbulent gaze searched hers. “You do, don’t you? Don’t lie and tell me you don’t.”

  Damn Samantha. She’d told him.

  “What does it matter?” she yelled at him as tears blurred her vision. “You don’t want me! You hate me!”

  “Just admit it, Cordray! Admit that you love me!”

  “Why? Why should I? What fucking difference does it make?” She tried to break free, but he held her too tightly.

  “Because—”

  “Let me go, Trace. Just let me go so I can—”

  “You’re my mate, goddamn it!” He shook her then slammed her back against the wall.

  Arousal exploded in her blood, and she sucked in her breath a split second before—

  SMACK!

  Her palm connected with his face. Hard.

  His head whipped to the side, and he released her. The air thickened. When he brought his face back around, he was rocking the most intense set of fuck-me eyes she’d ever seen. As she slowly stepped to the side, he eased closer, and a blast of hormonal heat pulsed from his body like a sonic boom.

  Warmth bloomed deep inside the heart of her and slicked her core.

  She swayed as she cautiously circled him then took two backward steps toward her bedroom.

  There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run, no way of getting out of the coming storm as he bulldozed toward her, chest pumping, fangs extending, gaze locked on hers as if she were a pool of cold water in a desert and he’d been without water for weeks.

  Retreating, she backpedaled over her own two feet until her back thudded against the wall again.

  He was a predator, and she was his prey. In an instant, his arms caged her. The warmth of his body seeped into hers as another eruption of hormonal heat fired under his skin and sparked the air around them.

  “Trace . . .” She broke eye contact and tried to duck under his arm, irrationally terrified of what was happening between them.

  He blocked her and encroached even farther into her personal space.

  “Hit me,” he said, his voice a deep purr. “Hit me again.”

  God help her, but she actually wanted to hit him, and not because she wanted to hurt him, but because she knew—instinctively knew—that hitting him was the key to breaking his arousal wide open.

  And damn her to hell, she wanted that. She wanted to feel him inside her, against her, touching her, kissing, sucking, biting.

  Even so, she proudly jutted her chin. “No.” But her body screamed YES!

  The corner of his mouth curled upward as he pressed against her, setting off all kinds of alarms in her nervous system as her sense of touch accelerated to full throttle.

  She gasped and instinctively thrust her arms out in front of her, only to meet with the brick wall of his body. The muscles of his torso felt like sculpted marble. Thank God for compression shirts that fit like a second skin, because she could glide her hands over this shit all day.

  “Hit. Me.” A low purr broke deep inside his chest.

  She met his hooded gaze with as much audacity as she could muster. “No.”

  “Wicked female.” The dark chuckle that broke from his throat like a spritz of tequila and honey made her knees tremble. “I know you want to. I can feel it.”

  The front of his body crushed hers, his chest mashing her breasts in such a delicious, erotic way. She drew in her breath and tilted her head back as his lips brushed up the slender column of her neck. His fists latched onto her hips. He grunted and yanked them forward, making her gasp again as his erection rubbed the juncture between her legs. Everywhere he touched burst with sexual awareness. Hot. Like someone had injected fire into her veins.

  The sensory overload was almost too much, and she nearly came on the spot.

  “Trace . . . I can’t. I don’t want . . .” Her voice trailed off, because what she’d been about to say was a bold-faced lie. Because she did want. She wanted everything he seemed ready to give her. If he stopped now, it would destroy her.

  “Oh, but you do,” he said, calling her bluff. “I know you want it.” His warm breath flowed in staccato exhales against her neck, right below her ear.

  She was so close. An orgasm sat just on the perimeter of her awareness, circling, closing in, almost there.

  “Trace . . . please . . .” She didn’t know what she was begging for. Her mind was a scrambled mess of desire and need.

  He slid his nose up the side of her neck and into her hair, inhaling deeply as he continued rubbing his erection against her. His slow, insistent grinding was nice. Very nice. Take-her-breath-away nice.

  “You’re my mate, Cordray.” His warm breath washed over her skin. “Do you know what that means?”

  She nodded then changed her mind and shook her head. Her fingers cur
led over his shoulders like hooks. He was so hard, so hot, so incredibly, insanely perfect.

  “It means that this”—he thrust between her legs—“is mine.”

  She sucked in her breath and eagerly nodded. Okay, yes, that was his. It was so his.

  “And it means that this”—he ran his tongue along her neck, right over her vein—“this is mine, too. Your blood is my blood.” He nipped her flesh. “You will never feed from anyone other than me again, Cordray. Do you understand?”

  No other. Her blood, his blood. Got it. She just didn’t want him to stop.

  Two weeks ago, she and Trace had been magnets that repelled each other, but that was only because they’d been facing each other with their north poles. But now . . . flip! North, meet South. They snapped together the way nature had always intended.

  He pulled back and groaned lustfully as his eyes ranged her face.

  “Hit. Me.” The words rose like steam from his throat, his gaze sending all kinds of I’m-going-to-fuck-you-so-hard signals. “Please.”

  Well, since he’d said please.

  * * *

  Her hand shot out, blistering his cheek with the delicious sting of pain.

  Trace’s head spun to the side, and lightning bolted down his spine to his dick. Five-alarm arousal burst to life inside his balls, and he suddenly wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything, and not because his inner beast had been beaten into submission.

  When he pivoted back around, she was staring at her hand as if she couldn’t believe it was attached to her body but liked that it was.

  “Again.” Heat poured through him. He was panting hard, needing more. “Hit me again.”

  And God love her, she did. The hardest yet. He might melt he was so hot, and it was all because of her.

  He closed his eyes and moaned, relishing the biting pain as it resonated briefly then faded.