Guardian's Grace

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  “Why now, Broadbent?” Grace asked a couple of weeks after Addison, pledging support and Callista, promising none, departed to catch their plane. “Why here?”

  “You know I was born with the tear. My parents never spoke of it and when I asked they said it was nothing to worry about. Of course, that made me worry.” He chuckled at the irony. “I thought it was something shameful. I went away to school, as many of us do, and saw others with the mark. By then I understood what it was and wanted to know more but I didn’t fit with the group that could tell me. Honestly? I was a little afraid of them.”

  “Jocks, huh?” They wandered into the kitchen where Grace set a large piece of meat on the board and began to cut.

  Broadbent spoke from the laundry room as he emptied the dryer. “Well, yes. Athletes with bodies that were twice the size of mine. I thought my parents were right. Forget about the tear. Pretend it wasn’t there.” He started pulling clothes from the basket and folding them neatly. He held up a pair of white boxers. “I can fold, but I can’t sort.”

  “Don’t have to. That basket belongs to the twins. They share all their clothes.” She laughed when he glanced at the underwear. “Don’t think about it too much and you’ll be fine. Tell me the rest of the story.”

  “So I pretended it wasn’t there, but it is there and I’ve spent a good part of my life feeling like some part of me was missing. Then fate brought me here. Sitting at the table with them, hearing them speak, working out in the gym, it felt like I’d come home. I embarrassed myself when I spoke out like that. I never speak out. I nod my head and do what I’m told. That’s why Callista wanted me here.”

  “I know what you mean about coming home,” Grace agreed. She floured the meat and tossed it into the pot to brown. As she stirred, she told him how she came to the House. “I should have been terrified but something told me this is where I belong.” She poured water into the pot.

  She loved this House and the people in it and because of that she was willing to give it up. Canaan wouldn’t understand. He might be her destiny, her fate, but was she his? She’d spent the last week and a half avoiding him, using any excuse she could find. She slept through the day in a chair by anyone injured whether the injury was serious or mild. When she couldn’t avoid his bed, she feigned exhaustion even though she ached for his touch. She couldn’t talk to Manon or Otto. They’d know why she asked and would probably interfere out of love for her rather than what was best for the House.

  Buffy, purring like an engine leapt to the chair beside Broadbent and ribbed her head against his leg. She looked across at Grace, narrowed her eyes and hissed.

  “I’m the one who feeds you, you ungrateful beast.” Grace explained to Broadbent, “She’s been this way for almost two weeks. I don’t know what I’ve done.”

  She pulled out potatoes, carrots and onions and began to wash and cut. “Broadbent, can I ask you a question about social customs?” When he nodded, she continued. “What’s the difference between mated and bound or are they the same thing?”

  “Ah, yes, well.” He cleared his throat and held up his hand when Grace would have spoken. He stared at a spot above her head and spoke as if lecturing a class.

  “All Paenitentia, though males in particular, have a proclivity for the pleasures of the flesh. Left unchecked, this tendency could have, to the detriment of the Race, the unhappy consequence of too many unwanted and unprotected offspring. We have, fortunately, been endowed with a genetic anomaly which prevents us from reproducing until such time as we are ready to commit to the care and protection of our young.

  “Mating is a procreative commitment between two consenting adults. It is a temporary commitment lasting for a term of twenty years from the birth of a child, said term to be extended with the birth of each successive child. A mating commitment may be renewed at the conclusion of its term as many times as the mated couple choose and may, in fact, last a lifetime. If at the end of its term, one party or both wish to separate, the woman retains three-fifths of the accumulated property.”

  Grace’s hand shot into the air like the eager student she was. “Excuse me.”

  Broadbent raised his eyebrows. “Questions?”

  “Several. That last part sounds a lot like a human divorce. How do they enforce the commitment? Surely here are some Paenitentia who back out of their obligations. One more,” she said when Broadbent started to answer. “Does love enter into any of this or is this all done by prearrangement? I mean do parents mate their kids to unite families or power?”

  Broadbent thought before he spoke. “Let me answer in reverse order. Yes, some families do encourage mating for consolidation of money or power, but no one can be forced into a commitment they don’t choose. During the ceremony, the Mating simply won’t occur. Don’t ask me how. It’s one of the mysteries of our lives.” He shrugged. “Yes, for the most part, love does enter into it, though not always. Some women mate to establish their own home and leave their parents care. Some men mate to carry on their family, but in both these cases the commitment is none the less real. No, one cannot ‘back out’ on one’s commitment. It’s programmed into us, part of our DNA if you will, probably to insure the survival of the race. That said, the degree of commitment to the offspring varies. Yes, when the mating commitment is dissolved, it is much like a human divorce except for the division of property. A panel of Advisors takes care of that. The parties involved have little say.” He paused for a moment. “More questions or should I go on?”

  Grace laughed at his seriousness. “Oh no, professor, please continue.”

  “To be bound to one’s mate is a permanent commitment. It is for those lucky enough to have found their true mate, their other half if you will. It is based on a deep and abiding love and again, the ceremony and ritual will not allow the binding of a couple when the love isn’t true and the commitment deep. Many couples who might be bound choose not to. Once bound, the pain of separation through turning, death or distance is extremely painful and many don’t survive it.”

  “Poor Otto and Manon.” Grace’s heart broke at the unnecessary torment they must have suffered and she was angry on their behalf. “If what you say is true, about the ceremony and ritual not allowing a couple to be bound without true love and commitment, how could anyone deny them that right?”

  “The ceremony and ritual of being mated and/or bound involve a commitment of faith,” Broadbent said gently. “The prejudices of the Paenitentia or the Daughters of Man are another thing altogether.”

  Canaan came through the door in controlled fury, followed by Col and Nardo. All three were bloodied and torn; Canaan with a gash running along his forearm deep enough for the flesh to separate. Although the healing process was rapid, stitches would be required.

  Col and Nardo fared no better. Col’s nose was pushed to the side and his heavy leather jacket was torn with now familiar three-clawed tears. Nardo was limping, the hole in his jeans evidence of a knife wound. One arm hung limply at his side.

  Grace finished forming the last of the dinner rolls and washed her hands. “Get into the gym, all of you. Broadbent, get their shirts off. I’ll get the water.”

  They’d turned a corner of the gym into a makeshift clinic with two beds and all their medical supplies stored in a cabinet brought from the attic. This was part of the new routine begun on the night of Dov’s wounding. Grace was no longer alarmed when she saw the blood or broken bones. In a few short weeks she’d learned that Nico was right; for the Paenitentia injuries always looked worse than they were. Cuts healed in less than a day, gashes in two days. Bones took about three days to heal and were back to full strength in a week. Holy water was the only effective treatment for the poisons left by demon teeth and talons and it seemed to speed the healing of other injuries as well. If left untreated, demon wounds would fester and scar.

  In spite of their injuries, Col and Nardo were in a good mood.

  “You’ve got to get up to speed, Broadbent. You’ve got to come with us. It
was so cool.” Col yelped when Broadbent straightened his nose and kept on talking. “There were five of them. Three of them came strolling out from behind the bank like they owned the world and Canaan let us take the lead.”

  “Two more came out of nowhere and Canaan jumped in.” Nardo winced but didn’t cry out when Grace poured holy water onto his leg after scrubbing it clean with soap and water. “I don’t know who’s giving those fuckers knives but I wish they would quit it.” He waved away the smoke that was rising from the wound. Canaan had already forced his shoulder back into place.

  Broadbent was still busy with Col so it was left to Grace to attend to Canaan. After cleansing she dabbed the precious liquid over his arm. “And another myth bites the dust,” she sang to herself. She needed the distraction. Canaan was too close. She could feel the enticing warmth of his body and smell that intoxicating scent of pine and leather. It drew her like a bee to its hive. He hissed with pain and her hand automatically rose to stroke his cheek and offer comfort. She caught herself and started gathering the bloody debris.

  “Stop, Grace. Leave it for the others.” Canaan held her hand in an iron grip and pulled her to her feet. His eyes told her his intent and she tried to pull away.

  “I can’t leave all this for Broadbent. I need to finish making supper. There’s…”

  “No!” he shouted and his voice was like a whip. Nardo and Broadbent turned to stare and turned away when they realized his angry shout was private business and none of theirs. Col, however, nodded at Grace and winked.

  “Whatever it is, Gracie, fix it. He’s been taking it out on us,” he called as Canaan dragged her from the room.

  Buffy trotted after them, her tail held high.

  Chapter 35

  Canaan marched her into the parlor and sat her none too gently on the Victorian sofa that sat in the center of the room. He towered over her.

  “Tell me,” he ordered.

  “Canaan, this isn’t the right time…”

  “This is exactly the right time,” he roared. He poked the arm of the chair for emphasis. “You will tell me now. What have I done to turn you away from me? I can’t sleep. I can’t think. My mind wanders to you and my men suffer for it. If you don’t want me, if you’re feelings for me have changed, tell me now. I’ve never known you to be cruel, but what you’re doing now is just that. End it, Grace. Say the words so that we can both get on with what needs to be done.”

  The anger and the pain in his voice unnerved her. “Oh, Canaan, I never meant to hurt you,” she cried. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I never should have come here. I never should have stayed. I should end it. I know I should. For you. For the House.” She held her breath to gather her courage. She spoke as calmly as her breaking heart would allow.

  “Without me, this House would have the support of the Council. Without me, you could mate, have children, be part of the life you were meant to live. Without me, they’d make an exception for Otto. He doesn’t live here anymore and it would be easy to turn that blind eye Callista spoke of.

  “Dov and Col are coming into manhood. What if they’re denied their chance to become what they’ve dreamed of all their lives? What if Nardo and Broadbent never see their skull and tears? They’ve given up everything to be here. Callista says there’s no going back. If this House loses its standing, they’ll all be outcast. Because of me. What kind of person am I to risk sacrificing everyone I love for my own selfish wants? Callista can fix all this if I step out of the way.” She lowered her eyes to her wringing hands and forced them to be still in her lap.

  Canaan nodded as if he understood. “So, let me get this straight. You leave and all the men in this House become or remain Guardians. They’ll get what you want more than anything for them to have.” He waited for her nod. “I mate with Callista. She saves my House. The Council gives us their support. Everything works out for the best.” He watched a tear splash on her folded hands as she nodded once more. “You play the martyr so the rest of us can live happily ever after.” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “It’s not like that. If I leave here now, I can make a new life for myself. You and the others, this is your life. It’s the life you trained for, worked for, sacrificed for. I won’t let them take it away.” She kept her eyes on her hands.

  “Grace, look at me, and when she refused, “ Look at me!” His voice was as hard and unyielding as his face.

  She looked up, her misery apparent.

  “How dare you,” he snarled. Her head snapped back as if he’d slapped her. “How dare you decide what’s best for those men. Men, Grace, not children. Do you think I haven’t met with each and every one of them? Do you think they’re incapable of weighing the pros and cons for themselves? And what about me, Grace? Don’t I get a say in planning the rest of my life? What kind of fucking bastard do you think I am that I would whore myself out to someone like Callista for the price of this House? If you think I’d even consider it, you don’t know me at all.” He whirled away from her and crossed the room.

  “Or is this the way you always planned it, now that you have what you wanted, what you needed, now that you’re ‘open’ to all the possibilities of your power?” He could feel her shock. “Did you think I didn’t know?”

  Grace was on her feet, tears streaming down her face. She held out her hand. “That’s not why I slept with you, Canaan,” she whispered to his back.

  “Then why? Why did you sleep with me?” He spit the words.

  Her voice shook. Her body trembled. “Because I love you. With all my heart and soul, I love you. Don’t you see? That’s why I have to leave.”

  He strode back across the room and stood before her. “You say you love me, but you’d rather run away than stand beside me, fight for me, fight with me. Run away, that’s what a coward would do and there’s no room for cowards in this House, Grace.”

  She wiped her eyes, stood straight and placed her hand over his heart. “I’m not a coward,” she said.

  He stared at her, the longing in her eyes washing over him. He knew he should move away. They were standing too close. He could feel the heat of her; smell the flowers and lemon scent of her skin. The need to touch her overcame him and pushed past all the anger. There was no way he would allow her to leave him. He was the coward. He was afraid to face a life without her.

  He didn’t know when he reached for her and pulled her to him, only knew the scent of her hair, the silkiness of her skin, the comfort of her body, so soft where his was hard. He devoured her mouth like a starving man seeking sustenance.

  Grace felt the power of him when he kissed her. He was fierce and overwhelming. She felt it in the way he held her, the way his hands roamed over her body. He kissed her as if his life depended on it, with an intensity that shattered the remains of her resolve. She wouldn’t leave him, couldn’t leave him.

  He lifted the hem of her shirt, tugged it over her head and tossed it aside. The hunger in his eyes weakened her knees.

  His voice deepened to a growl. “I want you. I need you. I’ll have you.”

  Holding her with his eyes, mesmerizing her with their longing, he stripped her. Her bra followed her shirt to the floor. Then he unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, pulled them along with her panties to her knees and lifted her to the table that sat in the center of the arrangement of sofa and chairs. Her shoes were torn from her feet and flung behind him. The jeans and panties skimmed down her calves and followed the path of her shoes.

  She gasped when Canaan pushed her back on the table. She was vaguely aware of the cold wood at her back. He laid his hand firmly on her stomach below the navel and she felt her inner core contract in response. Anticipation and need brought a rush of hot blood through her veins and the heat of arousal throbbing between her legs.

  She whimpered when he brought his head to her breast but refused to touch it, blowing hot breath over the nipple until it pebbled, then touching the tip with his tongue. Her need forced her to arch into his mouth, but his hand hel
d her pinned to the table.

  She moaned when he finally drew her nipple deep into his mouth. He suckled her, gently scoring her with his teeth increasing her pleasure. He laved the nipple with his tongue, then repeated the process with her other breast. She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled him to her.

  She knew, somewhere deep inside her where it counted, that this wasn’t simply making love. This was something more, some ancient ritual acted out in modern time. Canaan was declaring her to be his, using her body as he chose, when he chose, cherishing her as he did. She had only to surrender.

  Pleasure consumed her and the room began to spin as he blazed a trail with tongue and kisses from her neck to her navel. The room disappeared as his tongue trailed lower. He stopped and she thought she cried out at his withdrawal and then his hands were on her knees forcing them impossibly wide. He dropped to his knees and looked at her with reverence.

  Her vision dimmed when he lowered his head and stroked her with his tongue and the world spun away when sensation exploded and the orgasm crashed over her.

  Her body was writhing with want and need. Again he left her and again she cried out at the loss. She heard his zipper open and then his hands were at her hips pulling her toward him. She could feel his muscles trembling with the strain as he slid in and out of her with long steady strokes. The pleasure was blinding as he drove into her deeper and deeper until she heard him roar and like his mirror image, she shattered with him, reality and reflection merging. There was nothing left of either of them. They were one.

  He collapsed on top of her breathing heavily and held her arms above her head.

  “You are mine. Today, tomorrow, a hundred years from now. You are mine. If you leave me, I will die.”

  “If you die, I will follow.”

  *****

  They found the kitchen empty. The stew and the rolls were gone. A note on the table said they’d gone to Otto’s and taken their dinner with them. This house was too noisy to eat dinner in peace. Please let them know when it was safe to come home. It was signed ‘Col’ but the handwriting was Dov’s.