The Guardian

by Elicia Hyder

  “Yeah.” He had a wild smile. “Don’t you want to meet him?”

  I chuckled. “Sure. I’d love to.”

  In a way, I couldn’t blame the kid. Damon Claymore was the best-kept secret in the billion-dollar company. I’d worked for the man for years before I ever saw his face—and I was his son.

  Nash let out a long, deep whistle. He stared over my shoulder out the window. I didn’t need to ask why he sounded so impressed.

  “Damn.” He shook his head with awe. “Have you ever seen a woman like that?”

  I turned.

  “Yes. Yes, I have.”

  Fury’s dark hair was braided over one shoulder, and she wore desert-cam fatigue pants, tan boots, and a black tank top cut low in the front. Motherhood had been good to her, softening and plumping all the right parts.

  Too bad her curves were the only things soft about her. Allison Fury McGrath’s heart and personality had lethal edges.

  “You might wanna wipe the drool off your chin before she gets here, kid. She’s killed men for less.”

  His wide eyes turned toward me. “Really?”

  I gave a noncommittal shrug.

  She walked through the door and took off her sunglasses, looking up at me with her stunning mismatched eyes. One iris was almost black. The other was bright emerald. “Hey. Sorry I’m late.”

  “What’s with the bird?” I asked.

  “Got to the docks and the boats were gone. Training mission or something.” She slid the temple piece of her sunglasses down the deep crevice behind the scooped neck of her tank top.

  The poor kid’s eyes followed.

  She held up both middle fingers in front of her breasts. “Eyes up top, Sparky. Or I’ll gouge them out.”

  With a frightened jerk, Nash’s head shot upright. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “You ready to go?” she asked me.

  “Damon Claymore himself”—I gave a small, excited squeak—“is on his way. Nash, here, thinks we should meet him.”

  Fury waved her hands with all the enthusiasm of a kid getting socks for Christmas. “Yay.”

  “Is he living here?” I asked her.

  “You tell me. I hear from everyone here and in Asheville that he’s been MIA a lot lately.” Fury’s tone suggested I should comment.

  But Azrael’s official activities were exactly what I didn’t want to discuss, not with her or anyone else, so I just shrugged.

  Fury stared at me.

  The buzzer sounded in the kitchen again, this time making me wince.

  “You all right?” Fury asked as Nash went to see about the noise as he’d done before.

  I touched my temple. “Getting a migraine.”

  “Oh.” Then she turned toward me. “Oh.” The second one was full of understanding.

  “Yeah. I didn’t really think this through.”

  Migraines for angels—and I suspected for humans too—were withdrawal symptoms from the supernatural. The last few times I’d been to Earth, I had traveled either with Reuel or Cassiel. Sometimes others. Their presence was enough to keep the symptoms at bay.

  This time, I wouldn’t be so lucky.

  “Where’s your lady friend?” Fury asked as if reading my mind.

  “Back in Eden. She’ll come if we need her, but she thought it best to sit this one out.”

  “Why?” Fury crossed one arm over the other to deepen her cleavage. The move told me she knew exactly why Cassiel hadn’t come.

  I didn’t bother with an answer. Instead, I breathed through the pain and focused on anything but the throbbing veins in my skull or the perfect breasts beside me.

  After a few minutes, the pain began to subside.

  Two car doors slammed outside.

  Nash ran back to the living room. “He’s here!” He was trying to contain his excitement but not doing a very good job of it. I grinned, never in my life more thankful for a change in conversation.

  But before either of us could speak again, a door past the kitchen swung open, and a force almost as strong as any I’d ever felt on Earth pulled at my attention.

  Adrianne lugged a small pink suitcase up the last step. “Oh my god!”

  Nash rushed forward. “Let me help you with that, ma’am.”

  “Thanks, you’re a doll. First bedroom on the right, down the hall.” She wore dark skinny jeans with a fitted black shirt under some kind of floral smock.

  My eyes fell to her swollen belly as Nash took off as directed.

  Adrianne turned back toward the stairs behind her. “Damon, don’t forget my body pillow in the trunk!”

  He shouted something back that spawned an argument, but I’d stopped listening.

  Fury touched my arm. “My god, do you feel that?”

  I nodded. “The fetus is viable.”

  “How far along is she?”

  “Far enough.”

  “Still have a migraine?”

  I shook my head slowly, realizing the pain was gone.

  Fury’s fingernails dug into my skin. “What is that thing?”

  “Warren! I didn’t even see you!” Adrianne turned, her tone flipping from annoyed to elated with dizzying speed. “Come here and give me a hug!”

  “Hi, Adrianne.” As we embraced, supernatural energy from inside her made my head spin. But I had to ignore it. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I might pop.” She took a step back and put both hands on the sides of her belly. “Your little brother likes doing somersaults.”

  He wasn’t my little brother.

  “I’m happy for you,” I lied.

  “Thank you.” Her eyes dimmed when they fell on Fury beside me. “Hello.”

  Had I not been so worried, I might have found her reaction amusing. Sloan and I hadn’t been together in ages, and she was happily married to someone else. Still, as Sloan’s loyal best friend, Adrianne hated Fury.

  Fury said nothing snarky back, meaning she was just as concerned as I was.

  Azrael appeared in the doorway behind Adrianne. Our eyes locked, and I widened mine to let him know Adrianne’s condition was glaringly obvious.

  He had a small duffel bag in one hand and a pillow larger than his whole six-two frame under the other arm. “Hello, son.”

  I looked around for Nash as he came through the den. I cleared my throat and jerked my head in his direction as if to say, “Human inbound.”

  Nash nearly tripped over his feet as he entered the room. “D-Damon Claymore?” Nash’s eyes whipped from Azrael’s face to mine and back again.

  “He’s my brother,” I lied again. “Surprise.” Azrael and I looked almost identical.

  Except, at the moment, Azrael looked borderline hostile. “Who are you?”

  “I’m…I’m Nash, sir.”

  “That tells me nothing. Why are you here?”

  “Um…I’m an intern.”

  Azrael’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t hire interns.”

  “I work for Flint, sir.”

  “Oh shit,” Fury said.

  “Who?” I asked.

  Azrael’s glare shifted to Fury. “Where is he? Is that him in the helicopter? Tell him to get his ass in here.”

  Fury tapped her wrist. “You can chew him out later. We’ve got a schedule. Huffman is expecting us at the armory by eight.”

  “Can I take your things, Mr. Claymore?” Nash asked, extending two very shaky hands.

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “Cut the kid some slack, brother. He’s one of your biggest fans.”

  Azrael pushed the pillow against Nash’s chest then offered him the duffel bag. When Nash took hold of the handle, Az jerked him close. “You ever speak of me to anyone, and I’ll kill you. Understand?”

  All the blood drained from Nash’s face. “Y-yes, sir.”

  “Go.” Azrael released the bag, and Nash hurried away. Az turned back and pointed at Fury. “I’m going to murder your father.”

  I flinched as Abaddon, the Destroyer, flashed through my mind. Fury’s biological fat
her was the fallen—and now permanently deceased—Archangel of Protection and Guardian of Nulterra.

  “Your father?” I asked.

  Fury shook her head. “Not Abaddon, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m not.” Boy, I was on a roll for dishonesty.

  “Flint McGrath is the man who raised Fury,” Adrianne clarified. “He’s been keeping an eye on this place for your dad.”

  I should have known all this. If not from Fury, then at least from the memories in Azrael’s blood stone. But to be fair, I hadn’t worn Azrael’s blood stone in well over a decade in Eden’s time. And Fury…hell, in all the time we were together, she’d never told me anything about anything.

  Nash returned. “Can I do anything else for you, Mr. Claymore, sir?”

  Azrael’s jaw shifted. “Yes. Go outside to the helicopter and tell your boss to get in here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nash said with a nod before darting past me toward the back door.

  “Where’d your dad find him?” Azrael asked Fury, clearly worried about how much he could trust the kid.

  Fury shrugged her sculpted shoulders. “Flint and I haven’t exactly been on speaking terms.”

  Azrael lifted an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

  “What is this place?” I asked to break the tension.

  “One of our new summer homes,” Adrianne said, with much more disdain than would typically accompany such a declaration. “Your father’s been dragging me all over the world lately. Isn’t that lovely?”

  It didn’t sound lovely.

  “Really?” I asked. “Where have you gone?”

  “Mostly New Hope.” Adrianne started to count on her fingers. “But we’ve been to Chicago, New Mexico, California. He’s even taken me halfway around the world to Vietnam and then Germany.”

  Azrael was taking her to different Claymore installations. Perhaps to find the perfect place to hide her when the time came for the birth.

  She touched both sides of her belly. “Do you know how hard it is to spend twenty-four hours on a plane when you’re pregnant?” She rolled her eyes toward him. “Or twelve hours in a car?”

  “You drove in this morning?” I asked.

  “All night,” Adrianne answered.

  Azrael walked around to face her. Then he cupped her face in his hands. “For the millionth time, I’m sorry.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Go rest. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

  “Can we eat Italian?” Her bottom lip poked out.

  He kissed it. “We’ll eat whatever you want.”

  “OK.” She turned toward me again, opening her arms. “It’s so good to see you, Warren. We’ll catch up later, yeah?”

  My head swam again as she hugged me. “You bet.”

  “Bye, Fury.”

  Fury didn’t even wave.

  When Adrianne left, Nash returned alone. He looked even more nervous, if that was possible. “Mr. McGrath said, with all due respect, that if you want to talk to him, you can get your happy ass on that chopper.” Nash cringed and put his hands up in defense. “Those were his words, not mine, sir.”

  A growl rolled deep in Azrael’s throat.

  “Come on. You can talk in the air,” I said. “Fury’s right. We’ve got shit to do.”

  Azrael took a step back. “I’m not flying. I’ll drive and meet you there.”

  “Good god,” Fury grumbled.

  I smirked. “Az, it’s like a mile across the water. It will take you an hour to drive around the inlet and get there by car.”

  The angry lines in Azrael’s forehead were severe.

  Fury started toward the back door. “You’ll be fine, you big chicken.”

  “Allison, I have absolutely no—”

  “Bwooock, bwock, bwock, bwooock,” she teased, holding the door open.

  I smiled at him. “You’re not gonna prove her right, are you?”

  “I hate you both.” Azrael shook his head and walked past me, then stormed by Fury and out the door.

  Nash’s gaze followed him. “Is Damon Claymore afraid of flying?”

  “It’s a long story, kid. Take care of yourself, and by that, I mean never breathe a word of this to anyone.”

  “Oh, I won’t,” he said, violently shaking his head.

  I gave him a halfhearted salute, grabbed my backpack, then caught up with Azrael halfway down the dock. I pulled on his arm. “I need to talk to you! Alone!” I shouted over the roar of the helicopter.

  He shook his head, squinting against the sun. “I already know what you’re going to say! We can’t talk here!” His eyes shifted toward the house. “Come on, before I change my mind!”

  My eyes drifted back to the house again, and though I knew it was my imagination, the power within it seemed to make the whole building breathe.

  With a shudder, I turned back toward the helicopter. Fury was watching me. She mouthed the words, “You know something.”

  I darted my eyes away…because I did.

  I knew why my father was acting weird. I knew why he was on high alert. And I knew why he was keeping Adrianne away as much as possible.

  The child she carried wasn’t my brother. It wasn’t Azrael’s son. And aside from some shared DNA, the baby wasn’t even Adrianne’s.

  The vilest angel of all time was about to be reborn.

  The prince of demons.

  The Morning Star.

  Chapter Three

  When we reached the helicopter, Az got up front with the pilot, and I got in the back seat beside Fury. I put my sword and bag on the seat between us.

  Fury dangled a headset on the end of her finger. I put it on and fastened my seat belt. She lifted an eyebrow behind her low-profile sunglasses.

  “What?” I asked into the microphone. “I’m immortal, not indestructible.”

  The white-haired man in the cockpit turned all the way around. Only then did I remember it wasn’t Wings or NAG, our usual pilots. This guy, Flint McGrath, was a complete stranger to me. He was older and not a member of SF-12, Azrael’s special division of Claymore operators who knew exactly who—and what—I was.

  Crap.

  The old man must have sensed my inner panic attack. “It’s OK, son, I know who you are.”

  Flint’s voice had the rasp of a lifelong smoker, and the skin sagged heavily around his deeply lined face. He wore a blue-gray ball cap and a khaki Members Only jacket about as old as me.

  “Flint is a former SF-12 pilot. You can speak freely,” Azrael said, buckling into his seat. “But you’d better speak fast because I might throw him out of this helicopter once we’re airborne.”

  “The hell you will. You’re sure as shit not gonna fly this thing,” Flint said, flipping some switches over his head.

  “You were part of SF-12?” I asked.

  He glanced back and lowered his aviators, displaying a pair of mismatched eyes. One brown. One blue. “The original member.”

  “Flint was around when it was SF-3,” Fury said with a smile.

  Flint shook his head. “Not even, my dear. I was around before the team had a title.”

  “Too bad he didn’t learn a damn thing,” Azrael muttered into the microphone. “I can’t believe you—”

  Flint reached up and unplugged Azrael’s headset from the communication system. Azrael glared. Flint just chuckled.

  So did I. “This is the guy who raised you?” I asked Fury.

  “Tried to,” Flint answered instead. “It’s a constant debate on how well I did at the job.”

  Shaking her head, Fury sat back in her seat.

  “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance finally, Warren.” Flint reached one hand over the seatback, and I shook it. “I’ve heard about you your entire life.”

  A familiar twinge of anger prickled my spine, and I lifted an eyebrow in Fury’s direction. “Interesting. I can’t say the same thing about you.”

  Fury looked out the side window. “He raised me and my sister. What else do you need to know?”


  Nope. Motherhood definitely hadn’t softened everything. I didn’t bother pointing out she’d never even told me that much before.

  Sloan had once accused my past relationship with Fury of being nothing more than a lot of sex and blowing shit up. She hadn’t been wrong. Azrael had used her to keep me busy. To keep me away from Sloan. To keep me and Sloan from breeding the most powerful angel in all of history.

  Needless to say, that hadn’t worked out as Azrael had hoped.

  And the woman beside me was as much of an enigma as ever. She kept her secrets closer than the sidearm strapped to her thigh.

  Azrael plugged his headset back in. “What were you thinking hiring some kid off the street without my permission? And inviting him into my home, no less.”

  The helicopter rocked forward as we lifted off the ground. Flint was checking out all the windows. “Oh, he’s not some kid off the street. That’s Bobby Wright’s boy.”

  “Bobby Wright,” I repeated, searching my memory—or Azrael’s memory, rather. “Why does that sound familiar?”

  Then one of my memories hit me.

  In the middle of hell week, my first week of training as a Claymore recruit, Fury had shown up at my barracks, reeking of Tennessee whiskey. It was the one and only time I’d ever seen her drunk.

  She’d literally dragged me out of my rack and down the hall to the laundry room. On the metal table where I’d folded ninety-degree angles into my T-shirts, we popped the cherry on our “relationship,” or whatever the hell it was.

  When her phone rang that night, she was still on top of me. “Yeah, Bobby Wright,” she’d said, out of breath. “Ambushed by two AOPs outside Durham.”

  I wondered now if one of those AOPs had been Fury’s biological father, the Destroyer.

  “No shit,” Azrael said, bringing me back to the conversation inside the helicopter. “Man, how old was that kid when that happened?”

  “His name’s Nash,” Flint said. “And he was fourteen when his daddy got killed working for you. The least you could do is give him a job and not be an asshat about it.”

  Azrael didn’t respond.

  “What’s this?” Fury asked, obviously trying to steer the conversation somewhere else. I wondered if her mind had gone back to the laundry room as well.

  She pulled my sword partway from its scabbard.