by Sarah Gilman
That done and the kid baring nothing more dangerous than the coating of balsam oil, Jett led him to the patio at the back of the house that overlooked the garden. Raphael waited under the exterior lights, dressed in jeans and a gray sweater that would have given him a casual appearance, but his wings ruined that effect.
Drew came to a dead halt, his eyes wide.
“Something wrong, kid?” Jett rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Um…” Drew remained a statue.
Raphael crossed the stone patio and knelt, lifting his wings off the ground. “Hello.”
Andrew’s voice squeaked more than not, but he stam-mered out his request.
“Is this your mother’s?” Raphael lifted the diamond pendant with his fingers.
“It was. It’s for you.”
Raphael shook his head. “You need to keep this safe. Perhaps give it to your wife one day.”
“But—”
“Even if I could help you, I wouldn’t accept something with this much personal value.”
Drew’s breath hitched.
Raphael continued, “I am not capable of the miracle you seek.”
Tears fell down the boy’s cheeks.
Jett cocked his head, surprised Raphael chose to lie. But, it probably was the least hurtful way to let the kid down.
The archangel met Jett’s gaze with a brief shake of his head before he returned his attention to Andrew. “I’m sorry. You should go home and be with your family. That is the best thing you can do for her and your father.”
“My father’s dead.” The spark left Drew’s voice. “I’m going to end up living with his father. Grandfather’s the one who told me my pastor was right, that you’re a healer.”
“Did he, now?”
“Yes. He’s a scientist. He knows stuff.”
Jett tensed and studied Andrew’s face, never one to believe in coincidence. How many scientists talked to their family about healing archangels? “What’s your full name, kid?”
“Andrew Lawrence.” He wiped his eyes.
Damn.
“Did your grandfather send you here?” Raphael whispered.
“No. I asked him if we could come here together, and he got mad. Told me it wasn’t safe and you wouldn’t help.” Accusation filled Andrew’s eyes.
“I am truly unable to help you, child. I can heal certain things. Cuts, sprains, even severe injuries. I’m simply able to speed up the body’s natural healing ability. Cancer and other conditions the body is not capable of healing on its own are out of my reach.”
Ah, so that explained it. Interesting. Lawrence more than likely believed Raphael was a walking miracle. Jett spotted Lark among the shadows of the garden and crossed the clipped flowerbeds to join him.
“Victor Lawrence’s grandson,” Jett said, keeping his voice low.
Lark nodded. On the patio, Raphael continued to speak with the child, their voices plenty loud enough for Jett’s keen hearing. The conversation turned to the dying mother, Raphael offering comforting words and encouragement.
“We’ll have to make sure the kid gets home safely,” Lark said.
“Which means we’ll get an address out of this,” Jett said. “From there, we’ll be able to find Lawrence.”
“And put that kid in foster care?”
Jett stared at Lark, gaping. “Certainly you’re not suggesting we let Lawrence live.”
“I’m only saying we need to take a step back and take a deep breath here. Lawrence is the only family Andrew will have left.”
“Maybe there’s other family.”
“Perhaps.” Lark flipped a throwing knife into the air and caught the blade behind his back. “Regardless, he’ll have to deal with the premature deaths of both parents and the murder of his grandfather.”
“Children survive worse.” Jett’s words came out with more bite than he intended. He felt for the kid and wouldn’t wish this situation on anyone, but that didn’t change the reality of Lawrence. “And our responsibility is the archangels, yes? Above all else, even Lexine and Caza. Lawrence wants the twins. What we have to do is nonnegotiable.”
“I agree entirely. Let’s proceed with caution is all I’m saying. He doesn’t die in front of Drew or where the kid could find the body. If it can be made to look like an accident, all the better.”
“You think I’d just haul ass in there and slaughter the man on sight, whether the kid was there or not?”
Lark only stared, one red eyebrow cocked.
“Point taken.” Jett rolled his shoulders, trying to force himself to calm. “I’ll behave. Course, we could also explain to Andrew the truth of the situation. Make him understand exactly what kind of monster his grandfather is.”
“He’s not a day older than thirteen.”
“So? When I was that age, I…” Jett paused. Shit. He didn’t know much about kids, but he knew better than to think his own childhood was anything to draw comparisons against. The worst injury Andrew had probably ever known was a scraped knee, his father’s death and his mother’s sickness the only taste of how cold the world could be. Significant, but no reason to justify shoving his grandfather’s crimes in his face. “Never mind.”
“Timing is going to be crucial. Lawrence will run as soon as he realizes we’re on his trail. And, of course, we can’t both go.”
“I’m going. I need to see that son of a bitch die.”
Chapter Twenty-one
After her nightmare, Lexine spent a couple hours sitting on the top of a ladder in the orchard, staring at the stars. The evening air turned cold, but was warm compared to the chill inside her body. The nightmare had been so real, so potent, she could still smell the blood. Even the sharp odor of the rotting apples on the ground didn’t overpower it.
“Lex.”
She caught her breath as she spotted Jett approaching between the trees. He moved like a shadow in the darkness, his eyes reflecting the moon. If she’d had normal demon eyes, she’d have been able to see him clearly in the moonlight.
“What are you doing out here?” His voice held cutting disapproval. “It’s cold, and it’s dark. You can’t see—”
“I have a flashlight. I’ve lived with this disability for twenty-six years.” She didn’t mean to snap, but the turmoil in her mind made it impossible be calm.
“Sorry. I worry. It’s in the genes.”
She climbed down the ladder. Her feet hit the ground at the same moment his arms—so warm—came around her.
“I have to talk to you,” he said.
She missed a beat. She’d been about to say the exact same thing to him. “Is something wrong? You’re not supposed to have any time off training.”
“We have a lead on Lawrence’s whereabouts. I’m going to be leaving in a couple hours. He’ll be dead as soon as I find him.”
She should have felt relieved. Lawrence, after all he’d done to Jett and Bryce, and intended to do to the archangel infants, would meet justice. Everyone would be a little safer in a world that was anything but. However, at that moment, she only cared about the safety of one person. “Please be careful. Very careful.”
“I will be.”
She nodded. After all, the dream had shown him as her mate. That event hadn’t come to pass. With that horrible future foretold, he’d be safe this night.
Bittersweet comfort.
“That’s not what I came to talk to you about. Let’s go inside. You’re freezing.”
They made their way into her apartment. He ignited a demon-fire lantern, set her on the bed, and wrapped a blanket around her. In the flickering crimson light, he knelt on the floor in front of her, his hands on her hips.
She had to tell him about her dream, but he started speaking first.
“Lark and I have come to an impasse.”
She frowned, waiting.
“My position as a dedicated Guardian to the archangels would require me to forsake everyone else in an emergency. Including you.”
“I know,” she whispe
red.
“I cannot accept that. To me, your safety is every bit as important as the archangels’. The very idea that I wouldn’t be able to keep you safe if this colony came under attack again makes me ill.”
“But—”
“I’ve discussed it with Lark at length. I’ve given the subject a lot of thought. Now, I need your thoughts, before I decide to take the oath to the archangels or not.” He folded the soft blanket closer to her neck and rubbed her arms.
She swallowed. Hard. “Why?”
“Because I would have you as my mate one day, Lex. If you’ll have me.”
She froze. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. The scent of blood filled her nose, the nightmare still lingering.
“I would become a regular Guardian.” He lowered his hands along her arms and gripped her fingers. “Perhaps it’s too soon to ask, but waiting until after I take the oath to at least talk to you about this would be a mistake.”
She swallowed. Swallowed. Swallowed.
“Lex?”
She sobbed and dropped her face into her hands.
“Beauty?” he whispered, touching the side of her face.
“I want to, but I can’t.”
“What?” He leaned closer to her, tensing. His breath brushed her cheek. “I don’t understand.”
Words spilled from her mouth in a rush, punctuated by sobs and chokes. She explained her original dream—how she realized what it really meant when she saw his tattoo and scars for the first time. How she’d kept that truth to herself, afraid of scaring him off when she wanted to get to know him better. How the dreams had stopped, and she’d abandoned hope that they had a future. He listened in absolute stillness, his hands clamped over hers.
She told him how the dream had come back, changed. How he’d died in her arms.
“That dream can’t come true. You’ll die.” Her throat stung. “We need to stay away from each other. If we’re not mated, the dream can’t come true! You’ll be safe—”
“Nonsense.” His dark crimson gaze burned into her. “Consider the life I lead, Lexine. Staying away from you is not going to keep me out of harm’s way. Staying safe is not my goal. Killing my enemies is my goal.”
“But—”
He covered her lips with a finger. “Dream or no dream, my fate is not in your hands, and I need you to stop thinking that way. If I get hurt or killed, it’ll be the result of my own damned mistakes.”
She shoved his hand away. “These sorts of dreams are rare, Jett. They’re a legitimate glimpse into the future, not a goddamned a horoscope!”
Fisting one hand at his side, he reached up with the other and grasped her chin, his grip firm but not enough to hurt to her. “No dream is going to dictate my fate, tell me how I will or will not die, or who I will or will not be with. My future is for me to decide.”
“And for me to decide, in this case.”
“Lex…”
“I won’t be your mate, Jett.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips, which he didn’t return. “I’ve fallen in love with you. I won’t put your life at risk if there is anything I can do to protect you.”
“Protect me?”
“Yes. I’m a female, but I’m nothing like Caza.”
He leaned back. “You know what happened to Caza?”
“Raphael told me.” She got to her feet, holding the blanket around herself. Now that her distress over the dream had been vented, another emotion hit her. Jett took a step back. He must have sensed her anger. “I’m not Caza. I’m not a delicate flower. Instead of just sitting there a frightened idiot—not to disrespect the dead—I’d have gotten on my damn feet and found a safe place. If I’d come across humans, I’d have fought back. I’ve been training with Raphael to develop my hand-to-hand skills, and I’m not afraid to use what I’ve learned. Or this.” She held up her hands and lit them with flames. “Or these.” She hissed, baring her fangs.
“Lex—”
“If it weren’t for this dream, the horrible future I saw, I’d be perfectly capable of being a mate to an archangel’s Guardian. You wouldn’t have had to give that up for me. In an emergency, while you did your job, I’d have taken care of myself like a big girl and been waiting for you afterward!”
He stared at her in silence for a moment that stretched out until the pulse in Lexine’s ears deafened her.
“In that case, you really are perfect, Lex,” he said, his tone sad enough to twist her stomach. “And I’ve fallen in love with you, too.”
He turned and left without another word.
…
Jett rushed back to the archangel house. He forced his mind to process only thoughts of the mission ahead, refusing to see Lexine’s face in his mind’s eye, refusing to let her tremulous emotions reach him through his empathic skill. He realized the effort was wasted when he couldn’t enter the security codes to unlock the door. His hands shook too hard.
He paused, braced himself on the door frame, his mind swimming from all Lexine had told him. His tattoo. He’d been the “poacher” in her dream from the beginning. The scars from when he’d shredded his own skin proved it.
But then the dream had ceased. Why? Because of his decision to become a dedicated Guardian? Her new dream came that afternoon, when he’d decided to ask her to be his mate. After so many weeks of her bringing him breakfast and putting up with his absence as he trained, nothing in her emotions but determination, pride, concern, and aching loneliness—never the resentment he deserved—he’d had to tell her she meant more to him than just a girl on the side. And she deserved to have a say in his future, because he wanted it to be their future.
She’d turned him down.
He laughed into the door to vent the emotion that threatened to drop him to his knees. She’d turned him down because she loved him. He’d been studying her emotions. She’d spoken the absolute truth. She loved him, but she feared the dream foretold his death. Taking a cue from his insistence, weeks ago, that she could change her future, she’d turned him down to keep his ass alive.
Jett could love her for that. If he didn’t love her already.
He refused to believe his future could be dictated by a dream, and Lexine’s story proved him right. Her dream had changed. It had even stopped for a period of time after he took a different path. But the fact that she’d seen his scars and tattoo years before they’d met proved that the dream was far from inaccurate.
He counted back the years. Yes. About the time he started to befriend Raphael, starting down the road that would eventually lead to freeing the archangel and himself, Lexine’s dreams had begun.
Fate?
He shuddered. The idea of fate, to any degree, scared the shit out him.
I am in control. I am in control. I am in control.
Maybe he was a fool. The future wasn’t set in stone, but he had no real control. After all, Lexine had just turned him down. He’d sought her out that evening certain she wouldn’t. If Fate had tried to push them together, the act had backfired. Or, perhaps Fate had simply meant from the beginning to torture them. A little sick fun to help Her pass the time.
Lexine’s determination had been as profound as a slap. There’d be no changing her mind. It was over between them—he’d never be able to have a casual relationship with someone he felt so strongly for. The truth of it burned in the center of his chest.
He shook himself, awareness of the archangels inside the house growing, breaking through his personal crap. There’d be time for his issues later. Now, he had a job to do.
He turned his thoughts to Lawrence. Deliberately recalled his childhood. The bone-deep fury that built up all those years granted him a deadly calm and focus. For now.
He opened the door and went inside. On the second floor, he found Lark, Raphael, Ginger, Wren, and the twins.
“Where’s Andrew?”
Lark said, “He’s at the town hall, getting a lecture from Vin on running away and responsibility. Poor kid.” The Guardian sat with a laptop c
omputer on his knees. “I have Drew’s home address. He lives with his mother in Morgan, Vermont. It’s not far.”
“And his grandfather?”
“Victor Lawrence, MD, PhD, runs a small research lab at a medical center in Massachusetts, according to Andrew.” Lark turned the screen, showing Jett a website with smiling doctors and flowering trees. “He’s not listed online, though. Assuming Andrew’s telling the truth, Lawrence must keep a very low profile, which isn’t a surprise. We’d have found him by now, otherwise. Anyway, I estimate a six-hour drive from Morgan to the medical center. If you’d rather, the Guardians can take the kid home so you can go straight after Lawrence.”
“No. I’ll take Andrew. If Lawrence’s daughter-in-law is sick and her son is missing, he may be visiting. I can’t risk missing him.”
“Indeed,” Lark said.
“Is something wrong?”
Jett blinked at Wren’s question and realized he’d been staring at the archangel and Ginger. The pair sat on a backless couch while Raphael held both of the twins. Their knees pointed toward each other. Ginger rested her head against his wing. Wren drew circles on her knee with his fingertips.
“Nothing,” Jett said, noting the gruffness in his own voice. He moved closer to Raphael and the twins, the little innocents that Lawrence wanted to get his harsh claws into. Jett needed to focus on keeping this family safe, needed to get his head in the right place for the fight to come.
“May I?”
Raphael glanced at Wren, who nodded. “Of course.”
Jett took Talon in his arms, uncertain and awkward as he tried not to handle the child’s wings.
Wren grinned. “At that age, it’s all good. Think of them as built-in blankets.”
Jett held Talon close, the mottled gray wings naturally wrapped around the tiny body. The infant made cooing noises in his sleep, his face turned into his feathers.
Reaching out with his empathic gift, Jett marveled at the absolute serenity that radiated from the child. He couldn’t imagine that kind of peace. Wait, yes he could. Those few moments when he’d visited Cinnamon and she’d absorbed all his emotional baggage, he’d experienced such a state of calm.