by Laura Kaye
Raphael opened the French doors and spotted Devin on the ground below. He turned back to his son and said, “I agree with you, but a dedicated Guardian is a tough find. It’s a lot to ask of anyone. Usually, we don’t ask. Such a service can only be offered.”
Wren spread his wings. “I understand, but…”
“When things calm down, I’ll ask Vin for a meeting. He made an offer to you once, I’ve heard.”
“He did, and I refused. Things were different, then. I regret it.”
“Things have changed, of course. We’ll talk to him, soon.”
…
Raphael maneuvered through a small gap in the canopy and landed on the dirt-packed “main street” of the colony, the village reminiscent of New England settlements in the days before cars and electricity, though Sanctuary had the benefit of both. Wren arrived a second later and they hurried down the road toward the waterfront pavilion. Guardians surrounded the structure and civilians crowded inside. Other Guardians, visible in the distance, stood sentinel where the forest met the border of the most distant buildings.
Lark emerged from the trees and fell into step behind Raphael and Wren, no hint of injury in his posture or fatigue in his razor-sharp alertness. Blood splatters stained the Guardian’s face and hands, but his black uniform hid the extent of the gore.
One of the three-story, multifamily residence buildings burned. Smoke hung thick in the air and Raphael’s eyes stung. Wren coughed and swept his wings in a hopeless attempt to clear some breathing room. A group of uninjured civilians pumped water from the lake onto the ruined structure and the neighboring building, The Ninth Circle tavern, to keep the blaze from spreading. On the hill beyond, high above the cemetery, smoke also rose from the town hall.
As much as he abhorred the violence wrought on the colonists, a swell of pride filled Raphael as Wren followed him into the midst of the injured in the pavilion. Never before had Raphael been in a situation where he and his son could work together to ease the wounded. He brushed his wing against Wren’s arm. “I’ll take the left, you take the right.”
Lark stayed between them as they split up, his task to keep them safe above all else, even at the expense of others, including the Guardians running this way and that with injuries of their own. Though he offered his arm to a civilian struggling to stand, his gaze remained on Raphael and Wren, his attention on their surroundings. The depth of his responsibility allowed him to trust no one, not even their injured friends. Raphael met that shrewd copper gaze and nodded, a silent thank-you. The demon certainly knew the extent of Raphael’s gratitude after all those years, but Raphael would never be so callous as to take the Guardian’s service for granted.
Wren moved to the side of an unconscious human female with gut-wrenching burns over her lower body. Her demon mate sobbed by her side, cradling her head, and slumped with relief as Wren lifted his wings, knelt, and placed his hands on the woman’s knees. Her burns faded to scars in the span of two seconds. Permanent scars, but a small price to pay for healing injuries she might not have recovered from even in a human hospital.
Wren moved on to the woman’s mate, who had wooden shrapnel sticking out of his shoulder and some minor burns on his hands. “What happened to you two?”
“We were in there,” the demon said, tilting his head toward the raging structure fire. “Grenade or something smashed through the window into our living room. We bolted, but weren’t fast enough to get all the way out.”
“Get comfortable.” Wren helped the demon get his belt off. The patient sat back against a corner post of the pavilion, his good arm around his mate, and slid the leather belt behind his fangs to bite down on. Wren pulled bits of wood and metal out of his shoulder—one piece stuck out front and back. The demon growled and sweat beaded on his forehead, but Wren covered the wounds with his fingers and the patient fell into a deep sleep.
Raphael tended to a series of wounds, ranging from a broken ankle to a large piece of glass imbedded in a teen’s thigh. The repeated use of his healing ability left him tired. His blood-covered arms shook. He leaned against the wall as Wren walked over, his face pale, blood on his hands and wings. The pavilion had gone quiet, all the wounded now healed and sleeping.
“Let’s go home, son.”
They took flight, though Raphael’s wings felt like lead. The attack was over. His family was safe. No casualties. However, Raphael couldn’t relax, not for a moment. Considering the level of organization of the attack and the value of their feathers on the human market—he shuddered—how long would it be before the next strike?
Chapter Seven
Jett flexed his fingers, using all his willpower to sit still as Lexine drove. He sat in the backseat next to Bryce, and Vin had taken the front passenger seat. Lexine exceeded the speed limit, but an accident wouldn’t get them back any faster. Her hands trembled and her face—visible in the rearview mirror—remained ghostly pale. Jett forced a calm exterior to keep from rattling her or Bryce further.
She kept up the pace through an eternity of dread until they and the two other SUVs turned onto Sanctuary’s dirt access road. Miles of forest passed until they reached the colony’s border where the gate opened and a Guardian rushed into view. Lexine pulled to a stop and Vin jumped out.
Jett stayed with Bryce, but opened his door to listen.
“Sir!” The black-clad Guardian reached Vin. “We’ve tried to reach you, but the cell site has been down. The power was cut with a small explosive. We’ve been attacked.”
“What happened?” Vin grasped the demon by the shoulder and moved to the side of the road into the shade of trees.
“In a nutshell, it was a well-organized plot, but we have the victory. No casualties or missing persons. We sustained a lot of infrastructure damage, however.”
“Any idea of their goal?”
“They wanted the archangel twins, sir. Lark caught and interrogated one of the attackers.”
Jett gripped the edge of his seat and a seam tore. Cursing, he got out of the vehicle. He tried not to shout, but failed. “The archangels, where are they? Are they all right?”
The Guardian arched an eyebrow and looked Jett over in a who-the-hell-are-you manner, but at Vin’s nod, he answered. “They’re all fine. The adults have tended to the colony’s wounded and are now back at the house, recovering from the energy expended on their healing abilities.”
“Good.” Jett doubted he’d remain sane if he’d come back to find them killed—for reasons he still didn’t understand, but couldn’t fight, either. Just the idea of them in danger made sweat break out on the back of his neck, even as he told himself he really shouldn’t give a shit.
The Guardian continued, “The humans came in two waves. The first came at the colony from three different directions and threw grenades all over the place. A fourth snuck in and made a run for the archangel house, but they didn’t get close. Lark is a vicious son of a bitch.”
Vin cocked his head. “They wanted the twins, specifically? Not Wren or Raphael?”
“Yeah, not that they wouldn’t have taken the adults, too, given the opportunity. One of the attackers was very talkative while Lark worked him over.” The Guardian’s nose wrinkled. “The humans were all hired mercenaries with millions promised to whoever delivered the twins alive. Lark didn’t get the name of the rich fucker in charge before the human had a heart attack.”
“Lawrence. Has to be,” Jett said “Are any of the mer-cenaries still alive?”
“Two fled. Lark insisted we let them go—with our best available tracker on their tails.”
Vin thanked the Guardian and waved Jett back to the SUV. Lexine stood by the open door to the backseat, speaking quiet reassurances to Bryce.
“I need to assess the damage to the colony.” Vin got in the car. Lexine got behind the wheel. “Lex, you should get Bryce home or wherever your parents are staying if their residence got hit. Jett…”
Jett settled next to Bryce. “I need to see the archangels.”
“You’ll have to take that up with Lark. And you might want to wait until he’s in a better mood.”
“I have no intention of waiting.”
“Suit yourself. I warned you.”
The last stretch of the trip dragged out. The haze of smoke in the air thickened the closer they got to the colony’s village. Finally, the stone-and-log building that functioned as Sanctuary’s epicenter—the town hall—came into view. A black, smoldering, gaping hole sat where the southern corner of the second floor used to be.
Guardians and civilians labored back and forth between the building and a growing pile of wet debris. Lexine parked. The demons from the other two SUVs scattered, and after a few parting words with Lexine and Bryce, Vin headed for the building.
A female demon burst out of the town hall doors and ran straight at the SUV, her cropped hair the same unusual dark color as Lexine’s. She reached them and scooped up Bryce, tears streaming down her face.
Bryce laughed as she twirled them in circles. They came to a dizzy stop and Lexine joined the embrace.
The female glanced up and met Jett’s gaze. “Thank you.”
Seeing Bryce’s mother and her relief over her son’s safety brought a burden, which he usually kept buried in the deepest recesses of his mind, to the surface like a fresh knife cut across the chest. Jett nodded at the female and turned away, a heavy weight on his shoulders.
Had his own mother really abandoned him, leaving him for the humans to save herself, as Lawrence had alleged? Lawrence had lied about everything else, which opened a vein of hope. But, the few facts that Jett had gathered supported Lawrence’s assertion. Perhaps, in this one instance, the human had given Jett the truth. The question had to be asked soon. He needed to know what really happened the day of his abduction. But, like a coward, he delayed, avoiding the truth that could forever dash the little flicker of hope.
For the first time since returning to Sanctuary after his childhood abduction, he set foot on the colony’s system of groomed, shaded trails. In the eleven months since his return, he had never ventured this close, always watching from a distance. He headed toward the archangel house, setting his personal burden aside and focusing on the need to see for himself that the archangels hadn’t been harmed.
After walking halfway around the lake, the granite-and-glass house came into view, basking in the afternoon sun. Nothing moved and no sound, not even the chirp of birds, reached Jett’s ears. A presence thickened the air with menace. Jett stopped and waited, his arms loose at his sides, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. “I’m not here for a fight, Guardian.”
A demon stepped out of the trees, dressed in black, blades gripped in each hand. He blocked the path to the house, his narrowed gaze behind his light shades intense and unblinking. The sunlight that filtered through the canopy accented his close-cut red hair and glinted off small, gold markings on his collar: a cursive G on the left and a pair of wings on the right.
Jett suppressed a growl. Lark, Raphael’s primary Guardian, remained a bitter reminder of the years Jett and Raphael spent under Thornton Bailey’s thumb. But Lark, who had been possessed by Thornton’s vengeful spirit, had been every bit as much a prisoner as Jett and the archangel. This is not my enemy.
“Lark, I’m here to speak with Raphael.” Jett held the other demon’s gaze.
A long pause followed. The threat radiating off Lark remained steady.
“Now is not the best time for a social call, Jett,” the Guar-dian said, his voice flat.
“I have information about the human who organized today’s attack.”
“Then it’s me you need to talk to.”
“I need to see Raphael. Now.” Jett cocked his head and studied the tiny, golden wings on the right of Lark’s collar. All the Guardians wore the golden G to the left of their throats, but only Lark wore the wings, a symbol of his esteemed station as personal bodyguard for Raphael and his family. The cool voice of logic told Jett he had no reason to worry over the archangels’ safety with a predator like Lark on duty.
Raphael doesn’t need me.
But Jett’s need to verify the archangels’ safety remained. Logic be damned. Shoulders squared, he held the Guardian’s gaze, daring him to say no, preparing to fight if need be.
Still gripping the long daggers, Lark lifted one hand and his gaze wandered away. He scanned the trees, looking for all the world like he could see through them and pick out any enemy that dared approach. That gaze resettled on Jett, but Jett didn’t flinch.
“Raphael trusts you, so I’ll bring you inside, if he agrees to see you. But I don’t have the luxury of trusting anyone, even you, right now. Your weapons.” Lark pointed with a blade to the base of a nearby tree.
Jett unhooked the leather belt at his waist that held his daggers and the guns the Guardians had given him, and dropped them between the tree’s roots. “That’s all I have.”
“We’ll see. Jacket. Boots.”
Jett cursed and stripped down to just his jeans and long-sleeved shirt.
“Arms out.” Lark sheathed his blades.
“Why?”
“Just hold still.”
“Fuck you.” Jett backed away.
Lark shrugged. “Fine. Town hall’s that way. See you around.”
Oh, hell. Clenching his teeth, Jett extended his arms and held still as Lark frisked him. He breathed in Lark’s scent and relaxed just a bit. When Thornton had been in possession of Lark’s body, the human’s scent had been noticeable. At the time, Jett had thought Lark some sort of half-breed, but no trace of Thornton’s stench remained.
Still. He fucking hated being touched. Whenever the damned humans had touched him, he’d bled, bruised, or been restrained as a result.
The Guardian straightened and nodded. “This way.”
They approached the house. Lark pressed a button by the door and spoke. “Raphael. Jett is here to see you. It’s about the poachers’ employer.”
“Show him in,” Raphael responded.
Jett waited as Lark entered a series of codes in a keypad mounted into the stone wall. Heavy locks released and the Guardian held the door open. The system reminded Jett of Raphael’s former prison and his skin crawled.
Lark met his gaze and the edge left his tone. “They’re never locked in. They prefer to use the flight decks on the upper floors to come and go. This door is only for those of us who are flight challenged, and it needs to be kept secure in case poachers ever get this far.”
Of course. Jett shook off the memories of that vile underground prison and stepped inside a cavernous, empty space with stone walls and floor. Apparently, the archangels didn’t use the ground level at all. Lark led him up a flight of stairs to a large landing and a second reinforced door. The Guardian entered more codes and the locks released. This time, Lark stepped through first.
Jett followed and entered a large, furnished space filled with sunlight from the wraparound windows. He kept his sunglasses on. When was the last time he’d been in anything that resembled a normal home? Pictures on the wall, blankets tossed over cushy furniture, books, potted plants, the scent of coffee. Never. He’d never experienced such a place outside of the few magazines he’d flipped through over the years.
“Hello, Jett.”
The quiet voice hit him with physical force. He turned and faced Raphael for the first time since the prison. The archangel’s white wings framed his body and brushed the floor. Other than that most distinctive feature, Jett barely recognized Raphael as the prisoner he’d guarded. When Jett arrived there six years ago, Raphael had long since taken to starving himself and was more wraith than man. The creature who stood in this room had muscle on his bones, thick feathers, and a little color to his skin. His silver eyes, no longer sunken, held curiosity.
The archangel took a step closer and held out his hand. “Welcome to my home.”
“Raphael.” After a brief hesitation, Jett stiffly took the offered hand. He’d deliberately kept his distance fr
om the archangel all this time, hoping his preoccupation with protecting him would fade. No such luck. Jett scanned the room, his muscles tense and ready to deal with a threat.
At least Raphael stepped back and got right to the business at hand. “You’re here about the human who put forth a fortune for my grandchildren?”
As Jett explained his history with Lawrence and the details of Bryce’s kidnapping, Raphael settled on a tall, backless chair and partially extended his wings. Lark stood against the wall, arms folded, head down, brow furrowed. Jett paced as he spoke.
“Scientific experimentation,” Raphael said. “This is why he wants the twins alive?”
“Most likely. Regardless of his exact motives, I’m certain he is the one behind this.”
Raphael’s gaze shifted past Jett and his eyebrows lifted.
Jett turned to see Wren on the flight deck, folding his wings, an infant in his arms. Wren paused, his narrowed gaze on Jett. Lark went over and pulled the French doors open. After a muttered exchange, Wren came inside.
“Son, you really should try to sleep,” Raphael said. “You did too much today.”
“Ginger finally nodded off, but Phoenix is fussing. I didn’t want Gin to wake.” Wren stopped near Jett, fatigue evident in his eyes but not in his posture. “Hello.”
So this was the son Raphael had been willing to die for. Prior to meeting Raphael, Jett hadn’t known a parent who gave a shit about his children. The archangel’s willingness to die to prevent his son from being imprisoned or killed had been an eye-opening act for Jett, and the moment he first considered freeing the archangel.
Jett had seen Wren in flight many times, but this was the closest he’d ever been. The resemblance was striking, but his green-blue eyes were so much more…human than his father’s unearthly silver. “Hello, Wren.”
Jett couldn’t help but stare at the miniature archangel in Wren’s arms. From his distant vantage point in the woods, he’d never seen either of the twins. The child—a girl, judging by the little pink hat—gripped the edge of her down-covered wing with her tiny hands and stared back.
