Watcher Exposed: Dark Angels Paranormal Romance (Watchers of the Gray Book 8)

by JL Madore

  They each rushed forward to pick him up, but it was Danel who won the honors. “Lead the way, Doc,” D said, hiking the kid into his arms, looking as shaken as they all felt. “We gotcha, little brother. S’all good.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ren drew Ayana’s morning bath and then returned to the living room to steam the navy pantsuit her sister chose to wear on her second attempt to ensnare the Watcher’s interest. She seemed to be over last night’s shock of being summarily dismissed, citing the brute’s stunted exposures as an explanation of his poor taste. Today, however, was a new day providing new opportunities to ingratiate herself with the Archangels.

  “Rennie, while you are out and about today, could you pick up a dozen of those ambrosia tarts from across the way? We haven’t had them in ages, and you know how I love them.”

  Ren drew a deep breath. Yes, she did know. She also knew those tarts cost them half a cycle’s credits. “They are a delicacy for special occasions, Ayana. They’re so expensive. Perhaps we can splurge for the feast of Samhain.”

  Ayana rounded the corner of their large shared bathroom and pouted. “Why must happiness have a price? Special things aren’t for special occasions. They are for special people.”

  “Not that you’re wrong, but special people have to understand that credits are finite. If we overspend, we won’t be able to acquire food or clothes or books for the rest of the cycle.”

  Ayana shrugged her shoulders and let her silk robe flutter into a shiny pool at her feet. When she stepped into the bath, she sank into the scented waters and sighed. “Then it’s settled. Sacrifice the book budget for a cycle. You have plenty and can reread some of the old ones.”

  Ren scowled. The budget was already allotted almost ninety percent in Ayana’s favor. Her book allowance was all she took for herself. “Or, you can do without a clothing budget for a cycle. You have three closets bursting with clothes. You have plenty and can wear some of the old ones.”

  Ayana opened her eyes and stared. “I see what you did there, but no. When I leave our home, I represent who and what we are and will be. My clothes aren’t simply covering my body; they are a statement of poise and station. Your books serve no purpose beyond taking up valuable shelf space which could be utilized for more interesting treasures.”

  “Says you.” Ren set the grooming tray across the tub so her sister could buff, polish, and moisturize. “Books enlighten. They offer people a form of escape or a means of seeing the world through another person’s viewpoint.”

  “And why would I want to do that?”

  Why indeed. “Because life isn’t one-sided, Ayana. Different people have different experiences, and none of them stand more or less significant than the others.”

  Ayana laughed, the musical peal of her voice echoing off the hard surfaces of the washroom tiles. “You’re implying that a Power’s day working his duty station, or a Seraph servicing a male, is equally important to me being enlisted by the Archangel Michael to carry out the will of the Choir?”

  “I said significant, not important. Tasks might be more or less important, but the significance to the person involved may not be. You never know the impact a small action might have on the whole. You cannot simply discount others because you deem them or their trials less important than you or yours.”

  “Watch me.” Ayana rolled her eyes and slid down in the tub, sinking beneath the multicolored bubbles. “One day you’ll see, Ren. Everything I do is important, in one way or another. Every action I take is part of the grand plan to get us everything we ever wanted.

  Ren stacked two puffy towels into the warmer and set the dial for twenty minutes. “Uh-huh.”

  Hark sat on the arm of one of the clinic’s leather couches outside the exam room doors. Ass numb, leg swinging, he cleaned his crossbow, thankful the action was rote because his mind was lodged solidly in panic mode. He hated this part—the waiting. People often mistook his quiet demeanor for patience. Not so. He was as tightly wound standing vigil as his seven brothers were fidgeting, fussing, and frowning.

  “What’s taking so long?” Danel said, rebounding from his worn path of pacing to peer through the glass window of the door. “They’ve been in there a long time.”

  Ronnie met her husband on the next lap of the corridor and forced him to stop moving. “No doubt Drina and Kyrian are being extra cautious and thorough, checking out every possible issue. I bet they’ll come out here and the answer will be something simple.”

  “Could it be his transition?” Bo asked. “Did anyone have seizures before the transfer of their Nephilim powers?”

  Everyone shook their heads.

  “Ringo’s different,” Zander said, spinning his dagger in his hand like a kid would flick a pencil. “He’s far more powerful at this stage of his transition than any of us were. His precog powers came online almost three years ago.”

  Danel nodded. “Those comic books still amaze me. How did he tap into our lives from a high school art class in New York State?”

  Austin set Niobi on her feet and held her wrist as they walked to her sire. “Should we notify his aunt and uncle?”

  They all shook their heads on that.

  Zander sheathed his dagger and held his skull-ringed hands out to his baby girl. “If it’s a human thing, we can handle it better than them, and if it’s Otherworld, it’s on us too. His biological kin forfeited the right to know about Ringo’s life when they gave a school they’d never visited guardianship of their ward.”

  “Agreed,” Danel said, drifting back to the exam room window. “He’s ours.”

  Storme checked the time on her phone and, after straightening her pencil skirt, pinned her dark curls back into her clip. She smiled at the assembly. “I’m sorry to leave you all, but I’ve got to run. Text me when you know something.”

  Phoenix stood to escort his wife to the hotel, but Hark launched to his feet and intercepted. “You stay, my brother. If they need a magical intervention, you should be here. I’ll ride with Storme and make sure she gets there safely.”

  “Aye, the Moor is right, Egyptian,” Brennus said, stretching his arms, his back letting off a few pops. “I’ll join ye, Hark. A quick errand might keep me from losin’ my mind. On the way back, do ye think we should stop and get the lad that new guitar he’s been pantin’ over? Might cheer him up, ye ken?”

  In the next instant, each of his warrior brothers had their wallets out and were adding to the pile of cash being pushed at the Celt.

  “Apparently, it’s meant to be a joint gift, from all of you,” Austin said, chuckling. “There’s a shoulder strap he likes too. Hark, you know the one, right?”

  Hark nodded. “I may have heard about it once or twice during training sessions.”

  Austin laughed. The kid was obsessed, and when he had something on his mind, it was flying out his mouth—endlessly. “Good. Get that too. He’ll be thrilled, and I think you have more than enough in the ‘cheer up Ringo fund.’”

  Brennus pocketed the wad of cash, and they let Storme lead the way down the tunnel stairs to the underground garage.

  “I need to grab my briefcase in the foyer,” Storme said, the click of her heels continuing down the long corridor. “Can you boys pick me up at the front door?”

  “Aye, lass. We’ll be up and around in two.”

  “So many zeroes.” Ren watched Ayana stare at the screen of her datapad. Her hands looked trembly as she scrolled down to verify the source of deposit into her credit account. “Archangel Tower. I knew it had to be Michael, but seeing the numbers in pending transactions with my name on it was a jolt.”

  “It’s still pending,” Ren reminded her, holding both the silver and the white jackets up for Ayana to choose. “Don’t count those credits as your own until you’ve completed your contract.”

  “Do you think I’ll fail?” Ayana snatched the silver jacket and stomped to the mirror. “Have I ever failed before?”

  “No. I’m sure you’ll do fine. I’m simpl
y pointing out that the credits are payment for a job completed and won’t be yours until that happens.”

  “Why are you so mean to me?” Ayana asked, staring at her through the mirror’s reflection. “You’re always negative. This is a straight-up seduction. I’m supposed to get to know the players and report back. No emotional entanglement. Nothing difficult. Just catching a male’s attention to get invited back home. Those credits are as good as mine.”

  “But why?” Ren asked. “Why does Michael want you to situate yourself into the Sumerian’s household when he is their Choir Commander. He can go there himself. He could ask his own questions. I don’t understand the point.”

  “Why do you care? In a matter of days, pending will be cleared, and we’ll move out of this apartment and start a new life, in a style more befitting a female of my skills. Heaven’s grace, with that many credits, we can live a life of leisure for the next century.”

  “And do what?”

  “Anything. Nothing. What does it matter? Michael says the Watchers of the Toronto Garrison are living lawless lives, blurring the lines of humans and daemons, and toying with all manner of possible exposure. He’s not pleased and wants an independent report.”

  It was pointless to mention that Ayana knew nothing of Nephilim edicts, duties, or politics. No, when distracted by her ruminations of grandeur, Ayana believed she could conquer the world. “So, you’re heading down to the Human Realm then?”

  “I am,” Ayana said, tossing the silver jacket on the back of the sofa and opting for a shoulder scarf. When she had it in place, she checked herself in the mirror and nodded. “Do you have a current location of the Moor?”

  “He’s at a music store buying a gift for his sick brother.” Ren looked up from her tablet and watched her sister’s face, waiting for that to sink in.

  Nothing.

  Okay, she’d try again. “That seems caring and thoughtful, doesn’t it? I’ve been tracking Taharqa’s activity and interaction with his fellow warriors. Yes, they’re violent and a little volatile, but from what you said, Michael’s implying that they’re going rogue. I don’t see that, at all.”

  Ayana turned a hard scowl on her. “Do you live to undermine me? Michael is an Archangel. He hired me to complete a task of the highest importance to the Choir. You have no right to question someone that far above your station.”

  “But isn’t Michael doing the same thing by questioning Lady Divinity’s support of these men? The Nephilim warriors are her soldiers on Earth. They are her envoy.”

  Ayana threw her arm up and headed for the balcony. “Lady Divinity has too many responsibilities to keep watch on every situation in the three realms. Michael and the Archangels have contact with the Watchers weekly. They have their fingers on the pulse of what’s happening, and they are concerned.”

  Ren shrugged and shook her head. “Well, I’m concerned too. I’d hate to see you on the wrong side of things.”

  Ayana turned back, her stormy mood mottling the usual porcelain perfection of her cheeks. “Don’t worry about me. I know exactly what I’m doing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a job to do, and I’m going to go do it.”

  Hark texted Phoenix after Storme was safely tucked away in the hotel. Then, he and the Celt stepped into the shadows and threw their molecules a few blocks over to the music shop where Ringo liked to hang out. The kid was like any other of the new millennium. He had big dreams, endless energy, and spouted off endlessly about girls, music, and cars.

  That, of course, was while the two of them were fulfilling his other life highlights with martial arts, MMA fighting techniques, and weapons training. What more could a boy want?

  A Gibson Les Paul Traditional 2019 acoustic guitar.

  “That’s $4,394.80,” the clerk said.

  Brennus counted through the pile of money he and his brothers had donated to the cause and handed it over.

  “And he’s signed up for the next session of lessons?”

  He tapped his finger on the page of the notepad and nodded. “Yep. Ringo Ng. Tuesday and Friday nights, eight p.m., starting July fifteenth for eight weeks.”

  Brennus nodded, pocketing a card. “Aye, the lad should be back on his feet by then. If not, we’ll give ye a call.”

  The clerk nodded. “Whatever works. Hope he feels better. Then again, with a get-well gift like this, how could he not?”

  Hark picked up the guitar case and the bag of accessories that went with it. On the sidewalk outside the store, his phone vibrated against his hip.

  Brennus reached for his phone at the same time, and he prayed to their sweet lady that it was good news about the kid. “Colt needs a hand with a crime scene. We can—”

  “Hello again.” The saccharine-sweet voice came from his right, and Hark met the gaze of the woman from last night. Statuesque in a navy pantsuit, the length of her legs and curves of her figure were accentuated for all to admire. Subtle. “Stalking me, I hope?”

  Brennus’s face scrunched up, and then the Celt shrugged. He lifted his phone. “I’ll meet up with Colt and leave you two to chat. Catch up with us once you drop off the gift back at the ranch and check in on the lad.”

  Brennus backed away and jogged around the corner.

  The woman’s smile highlighted her beauty. There was no doubt she was not only aware of her effect on men, but she used it to her advantage. “Sorry. It sounds like you were in the middle of something. I didn’t mean to scare your friend away.”

  Now it was Hark’s turn to smile. “Impossible. If Brennus wanted to stay, there would be no getting rid of him. He has people waiting on him. We both do. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to your evening.”

  He dropped his chin and made tracks for the corner.

  “My, you are a busy man,” she said, the click of her heels following him up the street. “I see you bought a new guitar. We should get together and make some music one night soon.”

  He laughed and pulled up short. Turning back, he shook his head. “Listen, I don’t mean to sound rude, but whatever you’re hoping for here, isn’t happening.”

  A coy smile spread across lush lips, and she tilted her head, batting her eyes. “And what are you hoping for?”

  “World peace. Health for my family. A life of purpose.”

  “And a special person to share that with?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. Of course.”

  “I’m special.”

  He studied her quaffed perfection, smooth, flawless skin, and deep blue eyes framed by long lashes. “It’s obvious you think you are. While I’m sure many men would agree with you, I’m not one of them. Sorry. Not interested.”

  “Mmm,” she said, wetting her colored lips. “There’s nothing I like more than a challenge.”

  He snorted. “Well then, honey, you’re in for a treat because I’m the biggest challenge you’ve ever come across. There is no chance we’re hooking up. Zero. Nada. Zilch. You’d have better luck humping this lamppost.”

  A giggle brought his attention to a different woman standing at the door to the music shop, her hand clamped over her mouth. She had kind eyes, a genuine smile lighting up a full, round face, and a mop of mahogany hair pulled up in a messy sweep.

  When she saw his attention shift, she pressed her fingers over her mouth and blushed. “So sorry. None of my business.”

  She made a beeline into the store, and he got back to making his escape.

  “So, you leaving?”

  “Yes. I am.”

  He waited for the light to turn green and crossed, hailing a cab driving up the street toward him. Without looking back, he slid into the orange car and set the guitar and the bag on the seat beside him. “Do you know where the old Greenwood Raceway was, at the foot of Woodbine Avenue?”

  When the man nodded, he sat back and tried to relax. What was with that woman? His mind’s eye filled him with images of Glenn Close boiling a pot on the stove. No thanks.

  Fatal Attraction didn’t interest him in the slighte
st.

  Ren hustled to the back of the store and headed for one of the listening booths. Wow. That was the Nephilim warrior her sister was sent to seduce? No hardship there. He was gorgeous. Heart-stoppingly, body numbingly g-o-r-g-e-o-u-s. And that evaluation, coming from a female who lived in the Choir of the angels, said a lot. She hadn’t seen his eyes, because he wore dark sunglasses despite it being nighttime, but she’d sensed the power of his gaze. Heat suffused her cheeks as she pulled the curtain that gave music listeners privacy in the audio booths. The action was futile, yet she hoped Ayana didn’t—

  “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?” Ayana ripped back the curtain, with such vigor, her hair fell out of place. “You ruined everything.”

  Ren stepped to the side, reached around her sister, and replaced the curtain. The cubicle, built for one, was rather cramped with two, but there would be no getting rid of Ayana now. “I did no such thing. You already struck out—quite spectacularly, I might add. He really doesn’t like you.”

  “Of course he does,” she said, flicking her hand in the air between them to bat her words away. “You know nothing of men. He’s aloof. It’s part of a predator-slash-prey dynamic.”

  “Uh-huh. And which is he, the predator or the prey?”

  Ayana narrowed her gaze and huffed. “Why are you here? Clearly, you have nothing useful to offer.”

  Ren toyed with the idea of not delivering the message Michael had sent from Archangel Towers. It would serve her sister right to twist in the wind. Buuuut, that wasn’t good for either of them in the long run.

  “You received an urgent summons from Michael.”

  Ayana snatched the tablet from her hands and frowned. “Did you read it?”

  “No,” she snapped. “It’s your message. The last thing I want is to be mixed up in the games you play with people’s lives.”

  “Watch it, Ren. Your judgment and ridicule are getting away from you.” Ayana turned her back and hunched forward, punching in her password—which she thought was soooo uncrackable and unique. Not—and then straightened. “Okay, we’re done here. Let’s go home.”