Bound Guardian Angel

by Donya Lynne

  Trace didn’t know what Brak meant by that, and he felt like he shouldn’t ask. As if Brak had intended it as a rhetorical statement.

  Moving slowly, Trace leaned forward and quietly propped his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together. After giving Brak a few seconds to work through whatever was tugging at his mind, he said softly, “I found our dad in a dreck laboratory in Arizona. How did he get there if Jacob and Haslet were holding him prisoner?”

  Brak took a fortifying breath and straightened, apparently pushing aside whatever was bothering him. “I guess Father had begun to awaken, and they didn’t know what to do with him except drug him and keep him in an induced coma. Then Bishop came along, and they struck a deal with him and sold our dad to him. Like he was a piece of property that could be bartered away.” He made a disgusted face then looked out the patio doors at Cynthia. His expression instantly softened. “Cyn took care of me while I was out of my body, as well as afterward, when I returned and couldn’t function on my own. One day while I was out doing their bidding, she helped me find them.” His gaze flicked to Trace’s. “It was the same day I found you in that cell.” Trace nodded in understanding. “Anyway, she helped me find them, and when she did, I ghosted into the home where they were holding me prisoner in the basement. That’s how I learned what had happened—that they no longer had our father, which meant they no longer had leverage over me, either. So I killed them. And then I escaped to come and find you. Now, here I am.”

  “And our father? Have you seen him?”

  “I’ve visited him once, but I’ve been too exhausted to go back. He’s not very coherent, anyway. One minute he seemed to recognize me and the next he didn’t.”

  “Is that normal?”

  Brak shrugged. “I don’t know how our mother’s spell was supposed to work, except that he wasn’t supposed to awaken until it was time for him to meet his next mate. I don’t know how long the awakening process takes or what we can expect once he’s fully lucid, but if he’s waking up, I’d say he’s going to meet his next mate any day if he hasn’t already. Or, who knows, it could be another year. Like I said, I don’t know exactly how the spell was supposed to work.”

  Trace rubbed his hands up and down his face then over his scalp as he settled back in the chair again. “Jesus, everything’s happening at once.”

  “What do you mean?”

  It seemed like Trace’s life had been a whirlwind for weeks. Up, down, around. He’d been tossed more than a salad and longed for a reprieve so he could enjoy being newly mated for a few days.

  “There’s just a lot going on. I’ll tell you about it later, when we have more time.” He thought about Skeletor and the button Cordray had brought with her. “Right now, I’m hoping you can help us.”

  “Sure. How?”

  Trace went to the patio door and tapped on it to get Cordray’s attention. Then he motioned for her to join them. Cynthia trailed behind as they re-entered the house.

  “Everything good in here?” Cordray glanced from Brak to him.

  “Yeah, it’s all good.” He held out his hand. “I want to show Brak the button.”

  Her eyes lit hopefully as she pulled the button from her pocket and set it in his palm.

  Trace handed it to Brak. “We need to find the person who belongs to this button. Can you help us?”

  Brak wrapped his large hand around the small piece of round plastic and exchanged glances with Cynthia. Then he nodded as he lifted his eyes toward Trace again. “Trace, my brother, my gift is your gift. I was born to help you.”

  Chapter 38

  Cordray pulled her gaze away from the fight in the center of the crowd and checked her watch. Heavy metal roared through the small but powerful speakers set up inside the South Side parking garage playing host to Grudge Match for the night. There was just something about head-banging music and fighting that went together like chocolate and peanut better. Thrash metal brought out the primal in a person.

  As one bout ended, and the battered and bruised opponents hobbled into the crowd to nurse their well-earned wounds, another pair of fighters—a scrappy little vampire who looked like he couldn’t lift a potato and a scrawny dreck with spaghetti arms—made their way to the center of the fray. They looked more like pencil pushing accountants than brawlers, but maybe that was why they were there. Maybe they had gotten tired of people underestimating them. Grudge Match was their ticket to glory, at least for one or two nights a week.

  Whether they actually possessed fighting skills or Digon simply respected their courage for facing the gauntlet and surviving, the fact they were there was a bit heart-warming. Everyone deserved to feel like somebody once in a while, and even the most innocuous of geek wannabes deserved to feel like a hero . . . like he mattered in the big picture and made a difference.

  Cordray could get down with that.

  Despite the cage, as the fight got underway everyone pushed back from the center action like dancers at a disco giving John Travolta room to go all Night Fever.

  Blood splattered from the dreck’s nose as he took a fist to the face, which sent up a roar from the crowd. Cordray was quickly learning this bunch liked seeing blood. As if drawing blood stamped a badge of honor on the person who drew it and proved that the one whose blood was drawn had just completed a rite of passage.

  Cordray stood in the shadows, behind the surging, fist-pumping mass, and checked her phone.

  Not only was she waiting for more intel on Skeletor, but Micah had texted her as she and Trace had been leaving Brak’s place to let her know he’d been invited to run the gauntlet tonight. According to the time, he should have been finished by now. So where was he?

  She scanned the area beyond the cage again, but there was still no sign of him.

  Brak had found Skeletor easily enough by using the button to track him down, and from the description he provided after coming back into his body, the guy sounded like a New York fashion model. Lean build, black hair, Grecian nose, strong jaw, nicely trimmed beard and mustache. His hair was longer on top and shaved in a tight fade on the sides. Brak said the bangs hung in a loose arc around his eyes, and that while he didn’t part it, it swept from right to left. He also had a small scar above his right eyebrow.

  Vampires and scars didn’t usually go hand in hand, so this tidbit was helpful.

  They still didn’t have a name, but at least Cordray had more of a description to go with those bluish, slate-grey eyes. They also had an address, which was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, as far as Micah was concerned. With an address, not only could they get to him, but Io could track down Skeletor’s real name, which he was supposedly doing this very minute.

  She checked her phone again. Still no messages.

  A cheer roared up from the crowd as the skinny dreck landed a brutal punch on the side of the scrawny vampire’s face. He flew sideways and landed on the oil-stained, concrete floor and raised his hand in Grudge Match’s sign of surrender.

  Fight over.

  The group cheered again, thumping their fists over their heads. The music changed to a song rich in heavy drum and bass. It was like a modern-day Woodstock for supernatural UFC fighters. All they needed was some Jimi Hendrix, a few peace signs, and a whole lot of flowers, and they’d be back in the Age of Aquarius. Peace, love, and happiness, man. And a good-spirited fight.

  The dreck helped the vampire up, and they locked hands and bumped shoulders like bros, man-hugging it out. Then they made their way back into the crowd, gesturing in such a way that made it obvious the dreck was explaining how he’d taken the vampire down. Now, that was sportsmanship, telling your opponent how you beat him.

  Cordray grinned as she watched them limp away from the crowd, talking animatedly, replaying their fight, the vampire hanging on every word like an eager student trying to learn how to be as good as his mentor. And maybe that’s what they were to one another. Mentor and student.

  She’d gotten the impression that several of the mem
bers mentored some of the others. In both meetings she’d attended, smaller groups had broken out like they were teaching workshops, and from bits of conversations she had picked up from the others, Digon held teaching sessions where he illustrated fighting techniques from different disciplines about once a month.

  Which meant Grudge Match wasn’t just a place to fight, but a place to learn how to fight. Kind of like a self-defense class with a twist.

  She checked her watch again then glanced around the large, open space as another fight got underway.

  Except for Micah getting his ass there, everyone was ready to fulfill their role in the great Skeletor hunt. Trace was at AKM with Brak. While Brak ghosted after Skeletor, Trace would connect with his mind and relay everything in real time to dispatch, who was in constant contact with the teams in the field. Cynthia was at AKM, too, and as Trace revealed where Skeletor was, she would text Cordray and Micah to keep them in the loop. Everything was set. They just needed Skeletor to make the first move, and it was game on.

  Cordray’s phone vibrated at the same moment she saw Micah round the corner with Digon. Another male Cordray hadn’t seen before strolled behind them. This new guy was tall and angular, confidently powerful, with dark eyes and dark-brown hair that hung almost to his shoulders. He was built similarly to Micah. Hell, except for the difference in hair color, they could have been brothers.

  The threesome stopped on the other side of room, and Digon leaned toward Micah and said something. Then he and the mysterious newcomer slipped away as Micah entered the crowd. His gaze met Cordray’s almost immediately.

  While Micah made his way toward her, she read her text, which was from Cynthia.

  Brak has Skeletor. He’s on the move. South Side.

  “Did you see the message?” Cordray said when Micah joined her.

  “Mm-hm.” Micah pretended to be interested in the fight going on in the cage, but Cordray sensed he was strung tighter than a power line in a hurricane.

  “Who was that with you and Digon?” She glanced toward the opposite side of the garage, where Digon stood with the other male and that female with the long red hair she’d fought on her first night. Sonia, she thought her name was.

  “Some guy named Rule,” Micah said. “Real asshole. He wouldn’t stop staring at me the entire time I was in Digon’s office signing my life away to the club.”

  Digon, Sonia, and Rule turned in unison and glanced at her and Micah.

  “Do you think they’re on to us?”

  “Who the fuck knows?” Micah crossed his arms and glared back at them as if laying down a challenge.

  “Calm down. You don’t want to get yourself kicked out in the first five minutes.” Jesus, but Micah could be a hothead.

  “I don’t like him.” Micah tugged his gaze away and glanced down at his phone. “Something about him rubs me the wrong fucking way.”

  “Everybody rubs you the wrong fucking way,” she said dismissively.

  “Some more than others.” He scowled pointedly at her.

  “Well, look inside his head,” she hissed quietly. “See if you can figure out what his issue is.”

  “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t?” She glared at him.

  “Do I need to spell it out for you?” He huffed. “I can’t see his thoughts. His or Digon’s.”

  “You can’t be serious.” The whole point of bringing Micah into Grudge Match was so he could see inside Digon’s head without being detected. Now Micah was telling her he couldn’t see his thoughts? Talk about a major fail. This op had just become a way for them to spend more time with one another. As if either of them wanted or needed that.

  “Digon and Rule are like you.” Micah shot her an angry look. “Well, not exactly like you. With you, I feel your mental block. With them, I see nothing but black. Just”—his gaze slid toward the trio on the other side of the room—“empty darkness.”

  “Well, great. Now what do we do?”

  “Hey, this is your party, sweetheart. I’m just a guest.”

  Cordray huffed and glanced again toward the threesome against the opposite wall. “What about her? Can you see inside her thoughts?”

  “Who? The red-headed bitch? Yeah, but I doubt the image of an Italian beach is going to help us much.”

  “An Italian beach?” She turned toward him.

  He lifted his shoulders as his eyebrows shot upward. “Yep. That’s all I’ve gotten from her in the last five minutes. She popped into Digon’s office while I was getting the rundown. She’s been nothing but sunshine and sand ever since.”

  Their brilliant coup was turning into a brilliant disaster.

  “She’s blocking you.”

  “Yep. Probably because she knows what I’m capable of.”

  “As in . . .?”

  He frowned as if the answer should be obvious. “As in, she probably knows I’m able get into her thoughts without her feeling me, so she’s put up a wall just in case I try.”

  Before Cordray could reply, her phone buzzed again at the same time Micah looked at his.

  Cynthia’s text read, Skeletor has stopped. Here’s the address.

  Cordray typed the address into her GPS app.

  Wait a minute. This couldn’t be right.

  She checked the address again then looked up at Micah just as he turned amazed eyes toward her.

  “He’s here,” they said at the same time.

  Chapter 39

  “Tell the teams to hold,” Cordray told Micah, scanning over the heads of the crowd to see if she could see anyone who fit Skeletor’s description coming or going.

  The place was packed. There had to be five hundred in attendance tonight, not that everyone would fight. Some seemed to enjoy the camaraderie more than the fighting, while others seemed more intent on getting in the cage than being social. But the sheer volume of members made finding one specific person nearly impossible, especially when she wasn’t exactly sure what he looked like. She only had a general idea.

  She received another text.

  Trace said he hears a lot of shouting. Like fighting.

  Yeah, because Skeletor was here. He was a member of Grudge Match. While Micah texted Stryker to hold, she texted Cynthia that Skeletor was where they were.

  “I’m going to head to the other side.” Micah pointed. “If he tries to leave, I might be able to corner him.”

  Another message vibrated her phone.

  Brak sees the fighting cage. Skeletor is close to the wall. The number 3 is right behind him.

  Cordray’s head shot up, and she looked toward the wall, found the 3, and began searching the faces. Out of her peripheral, she saw Micah closing in, as well, having received the same message.

  There were so many people packed into the small, shadowy space around the cage. Even if she found him, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get to him without climbing over the tops of people’s heads. The place was a mosh pit.

  Micah stopped, his eyes fixed dead ahead as if he’d found their guy. Cordray followed his gaze, zeroing in on a head of shiny black hair hanging in a sweeping arc around a pair of seductive, slate-grey eyes.

  Skeletor.

  Those intense eyes lifted and met hers then widened when he realized she was looking at him. Like a startled deer, his body twitched to high alert. He spun, preparing to flee, only to run smack into Micah.

  For a second, it looked like they had him, but Skeletor was much too wily. In a flash of movement, his fist shot up and connected with Micah’s jaw. Micah staggered backward but quickly fell into a defensive stance.

  Cordray fought through the thick, cheering crowd as the fight inside the cage reached a bloody conclusion. Meanwhile, the fight outside the cage was just getting started. Micah landed a clean backhand that threw Skeletor sideways, but he quickly righted himself and deflected a volley of punches before gripping the front of Micah’s shirt and rolling backward to the cement floor.

  She knew that move all too well, remembe
ring their fight in the alley the other night.

  Cordray briefly lost sight of them, and then Micah flew through the air. A moment later, Skeletor was back on his feet, swiping blood from under his nose with the back of his wrist. His gaze met hers. He smirked, glanced quickly over his shoulder, and then took off before Cordray could reach him.

  By the time she made it into the small clearing, Micah was on his feet, sprinting after him.

  She gave chase, less than a hundred feet behind.

  By the time she caught up on the street, Micah had slowed to a jog.

  After a few more seconds, he stopped altogether as the sound of a motorcycle whined into the distance.

  They were both breathing heavily, trying to catch their breath.

  “Why did you stop?” She stood akimbo, giving her lungs more room to expand so she could take deeper breaths. “He’s getting away.”

  He looked at her and shook his head, grinning like a demon who’d latched onto a soul. “He didn’t get away.”

  “Okay, you’ve lost me. You could have dematerialized and chased him.”

  He leaned in close enough for Cordray to smell his sweat. “We know where he lives, remember?” He glanced down at this phone and smirked. “And thanks to Io, we now have a name.”

  He held his phone up so she could read Io’s text message. Ronan. Skeletor’s name was Ronan.

  Micah tucked his phone back into his pocket, unusually calm. “Besides, I hate dematerializing. It makes me dizzy.” He spun on his heel and headed back into the parking garage.

  Cordray followed. “You still could have gone after him.”

  He kept on marching. “No . . .” He kept his gaze to the front, but a wry smile curved his mouth. “I want Ronan to get nice and relaxed. I want him to think he’s safe.” He sneered and gave her a wicked side-eye. “And then I’m going to fuck. His. World. Up.”