by Laura Kaye
“Raphael didn’t recognize you. Neither did I when I first saw you, and it’s little wonder. You have such a good blend of both your parents’ features you don’t look strongly like either one. But now, the more I look at you, the more of him I see. Your voice, I dare say, is close to identical, especially when you’re giving me shit.”
Jett’s voice came out as dry as his mouth. “I want to think there haven’t been many children kidnapped from Sanctuary to confuse me with.”
“There’s never been a kidnapping other than yours and Bryce’s. Everyone thought you’d been killed along with your father. I lived in Haven at the time, but I’ve been told the humans brought a whole residence building down with a handmade bomb. Dante was identified for certain. He was shot just outside, protecting you after hiding you within. By the time the rubble had been thoroughly searched, there wasn’t much left of those inside to identify. I don’t know how much you know about this, but after death, a demon’s body deteriorates rapidly, even the bone. Combined with the explosion, there wasn’t much more than dust left of the occupants of that building.”
So that’s why the Guardians never rescued him. He’d been so young he didn’t remember much, but he recalled a sense of hope in the early days that someone would come for him. A hope that faded. The disappointment that filled the hole had given fuel to Lawrence’s lies.
“I still can’t imagine how the humans got you out of there in one piece. Do you remember anything?”
“Very little. Lawrence insisted my mother all but threw me at them to secure her own escape, and I do have a vague recollection of a woman who was with me. Who disappeared, leaving me alone.”
Devin’s eyes widened. “Not possible. First, your mother was in a different building at the time, that’s how she survived. Second, she—”
“What’s her name?”
“Amelia. I know her well. She absolutely would have died trying to protect you, as your father did.”
“No. They didn’t protect me. They didn’t care.”
Devin frowned, but kept going. “Amelia never recovered mentally from the loss of you and Dante. Combined with the Decline, an old-age condition that can afflict older demons, she’s completely broken from reality. So much so, that I doubt she’ll comprehend who you are.” A pause. “I’m sorry.”
Jett averted his gaze, his ears and face growing hot. He had been with someone. Abandoned by someone.
Hadn’t he? His head ached. “I can’t tell where the memories end and the lies begin.”
“You should visit her,” Devin said, his voice quieter. “She moved to Eden, the demon colony in Canada, six months ago. Her condition is not something our archangels can heal, and Eden, being a much bigger colony, has a better facility to keep her comfortable.”
Jett hesitated, a weight settling on him. The weight of reality. Lawrence’s lies had been his coping mechanism—he knew that even though he hated to admit it to himself. Even as he’d observed Sanctuary that winter and spring and tasted the truth—that everything Lawrence had taught him had been pure shit—he’d clung to the lies. The truth was simply too painful.
The humans did take me from a good home. From a peaceful community. They took me not from two indifferent demons but from my family, who loved me.
“Why aren’t you listening to a word I’m saying?” Devin’s brow furrowed.
Because I’m about to sit on my ass and bawl, motherfucker. “Just stop talking to me.”
“Fine, Jackass.”
Across the street, a picture window provided a view of part of the restaurant’s dining room. A man wove between the tables. Recognition hit Jett like a punch to the gut.
“That’s one of them,” Devin said.
“Son of a bitch,” Jett said, grateful not just for the good luck presenting itself, but for the end of the other topic. “Finding Lawrence just got easier.”
“How so?”
“That’s Logan Anderson. We’ve met.” Jett pressed his lips together to keep a smile from exposing his fangs and stepped off the sidewalk.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to have a chat with an old friend. Trust me.”
Devin cursed, but didn’t stop him. Jett crossed the street and let himself into the restaurant. Inside, the scent of spices and coffee thickened the air. Jazz music played from hidden speakers.
“Table for one, sir?” The hostess, a teenager in a black suit, smiled.
Jett spotted his target sitting at a table along the back wall, facing a second man over a couple of beers. “Actually, I’m joining friends.” He minded his fangs as he spoke and indicated the table. “I’d like a coffee, please.”
The hostess nodded and stepped aside.
Patrons filled the small dining room. As he passed the bar, a woman in a blue dress pivoted in her swivel chair and leaned toward him.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said in a harsh whisper. Her brown eyes, framed by light brown hair, narrowed.
“Gwyn, I assume?”
She lifted a delicate shoulder and turned back to a mug of coffee and a fancy dessert. He had seen a couple female Guardians around Sanctuary, and Gwyn looked familiar if he imagined her with her hair up. The mirror behind the bar provided her a view of the poachers’ table, and their voices carried well. Unfortunately, their conversation focused on the upcoming football season as he approached. Time for a change of topic.
“I might have known you’d show up here, Logan,” Jett said.
“Jett?” Logan looked up from his beer, his mouth open.
Jett helped himself to a chair, planted his elbows on the table, and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper from behind his clasped fingers. “Here for the twins, are you? So am I.”
Logan’s shoulders loosened and he tapped his thumb against the tabletop. “Yeah, Henry and I are here on the job. You working for the old man, too?”
“Victor Lawrence? I’m considering his bid, but I might have a higher bidder in the wings, no pun intended.” The lies rolled easily off his tongue. He’d been forced to be one of them for far too long. At least now, he could put that past to good use.
Henry chuckled and held out his hand. “And you are?”
“This is Jett,” Logan said. “He and I used to work together, but I left a few months before that fucking Guardian raid.” He turned back to Jett. “What happened to Lark, anyway?”
Jett paused. He’d grown unused to hearing Thornton called by the name of the demon he’d possessed. These humans wouldn’t know that piece of trivia, of course. They also didn’t know Jett himself was a demon, so he focused on speaking through tight lips. “Some say he got killed; others say he just disappeared. I haven’t seen or heard from him, myself. I cut my loses and set out on my own. I figure if I can get even one archangel, I’ll be set for life.”
Logan leaned forward, his gaze eager. “And you have a higher bidder than Dr. Lawrence. How much higher?”
You’ve always been a greedy bastard. Lawrence’s millions aren’t enough for you? “High enough. He’s a collector of rare things.”
“Interesting.”
“Indeed.” Jett’s coffee arrived and he stirred in a packet of sugar. “But, so is Lawrence’s unusual request.”
“Taking them alive?” Henry shrugged. “Whatever. The customer is always right.”
“Yeah, and in this case, seriously pissed off.” Logan took a sip of his dark beer. “Today was totally fucked. More of the Guardians were supposed to go after the kid.”
Henry nodded, a deep frown on his face as he stared into his own beer.
“A full-on raid on the colony was a shit-poor plan to begin with,” Jett said. “It’s been done before. It’s failed each time.”
Logan muttered a string of curses.
“Have you spoken to Lawrence this evening?”
“Yeah. A meeting has been set up, a few weeks out. New guys, new plan. I’m gonna give it another go. I need the fucking money.” Logan sipped his beer.
Jett nodded. “Maybe I’ll stop by, try to start a bidding war and drive up Lawrence’s price. Got the details of this meeting?”
“We sure do.” Logan’s grin faded. “Not that we’d share such intelligence with a demon.”
Jett paused with his coffee at his lips. “Excuse me?”
Henry’s eyes widened and he looked Jett over. “That’s him?”
A chilly grin stretched across Logan’s face. “You played your part well. Lawrence knew you’d lead the Guardians to the old lab looking for the brat, giving us a good opportunity to strike.”
Suppressing the urge to reach out and crush the poacher’s throat, Jett set the coffee down and smiled, showing his fangs. “I figured Lawrence had used me. I didn’t expect a bottom dweller like yourself to be high enough up the ladder to know about it, though. Color me surprised.”
Logan swept up his tall beer glass and hurled it at Jett’s face. Jett leaped to his feet. The human followed, a switchblade in his hand. The restaurant’s patrons yelled and scattered, tripping over chairs and spilling drinks. A few of the tougher-looking men in the room gathered in a loose semicircle. Henry made a run for the exit along with everyone else, Gwyn in pursuit.
Jett wiped beer from his face, pulled a piece of glass out of his temple, and made no move to fight back. He could kill Logan easily, but doing so in the public eye on human turf would bring a shit storm to the colony’s doorstep. Best to not fight him at all, if possible.
Logan lunged with the knife and slashed at Jett’s throat. Jett dodged, his movements limited by tables and chairs, taking the slice across the shoulder. The wound stung and blood seeped into his shirt, but Jett kept his focus on the poacher and on the exit beyond him.
The gawkers all spoke at once, trying to talk Logan down.
“Demon!” the poacher hollered and pointed at Jett with the knife.
Jett hissed and growled, hoping to clear a path to the door. Getting out was the most important thing. The gathered humans took a collective step back, except for one.
“You’re the one waving a knife.” The human who held his ground wore fatigues with “US Army” and “Emerson” stitched across his chest. He folded his arms and glowered at Logan.
“He bit and killed two of my colleagues last night!” Logan shouted.
Fuck.
Emerson’s gaze narrowed and shifted to Jett.
“Yes, I did, after they killed four of us, and were in the process of kidnapping a five-year-old boy. Your government recognizes the Guardians’ sovereign right on Sanctuary land to defend civilians.” Jett scanned the crowd, hoping these humans had some sense and the facts would turn the tide in his favor. “I only came here for information on his boss.”
Someone in the crowd said, “I heard about the murders on the news. Three were kids.”
“Demons,” Logan snapped. “Who cares?”
“I do.” Emerson took a step forward as sirens wailed in the distance. “Put the knife down.”
Logan spat on the floor at the serviceman’s feet.
Jett cursed under his breath as the sirens grew louder, but the path to the door remained blocked. He couldn’t risk shoving the humans out of his way and get accused of attacking them. Devin appeared in the doorway.
Get out of there, the Guardian mouthed.
Logan pivoted toward Jett, leading with the knife. Jett moved to block, but Emerson grasped the poacher’s arm, twisted him around, and flung him. The crowd parted. Logan landed face first on the floor and the knife flew from his hand.
“Trust me, you want to stay down.” Emerson leaned over the shock-faced poacher.
Jett met Emerson’s blue gaze and nodded, hoping the depth of his gratitude showed on his face. “Thank you.”
The serviceman motioned toward the door and the crowd shuffled out of the way in silence. Jett hurried through and joined Devin, a mix of fury and relief on the Guardian’s face. They hustled out the door and down the street toward the SUV.
“Well, that was fantastic,” Devin snapped as they ran.
“Where’s Gwyn?”
“Henry took off in a car and she’s following him in ours, so I’m riding with you.” Devin pulled the passenger door open and got in. Jett pulled away from the curve just as the police stopped in front of the restaurant down the street.
“Did you get any good info?”
“No.” Jett forced the word through clenched teeth. “Logan knew who I was the whole time. But Lawrence is already planning another attack. Logan made sure to drop that bit of info without adding anything useful.”
Devin cursed. “It was a damn good try.”
“A good try doesn’t put Lawrence in the ground.” The sense of failure sat on Jett’s shoulders like the weight of a dead man.
Chapter Nine
Lexine made her way through the trees toward her parents’ home, hoping to avoid running into anyone, too preoccupied for conversation.
Her heart stung like a raw wound from seeing firsthand the destruction caused by the poachers, but the idea of spending time with Jett quelled her panic. Maybe she had a chance for a future with a demon mate. But she couldn’t get ahead of herself. She’d dated a dozen demons, a range of ages and personalities, to no avail. She had no reason to think it would be any different with Jett.
Except for the way he stole her breath when he stood close. Made her tremble. Turned her heart into a quivering mess. None of the others had prompted such a reaction, least of all just by their presence. But did Jett feel the same way, or was he simply trying to protect her, to help her change her fate? If he only sought to give her a different future, how far would he be willing to go?
To avoid mating with a poacher, would she mate with a demon who didn’t love her? Who she didn’t love?
Hell, yes, because as awful as that would be, it didn’t compare to betraying everyone she cared about. But it hadn’t been fair to ask others for such a mating. They’d been right to resent her for even suggesting it. Granted, she’d told none of them just how much she had at stake—avoiding a poacher—viciously guarding her secret. They’d have more likely turned her over to the Guardians than entered into a pity mating.
The residence building came into view and everything else in her mind quieted and retreated. Her older brother, Jac, was murdered, and her family mourned. She couldn’t avoid that pain any longer.
The scent of baking cookies filled the air as she opened the door and stepped inside the cozy foyer. To her left, her mother huddled in the living room with Bryce over a mess of wooden toys. To her right, her father sat at the kitchen table, staring at the fingerprints in the thin layer of flour on table.
Despite what would be a cheery atmosphere any other day, the smiles that greeted her faltered.
“Hey, sweetie.” Her father dusted off his hands and rose.
“Hi, Dad,” she whispered.
He pulled her into a tight hug, a shake to his breath in her ear. “Jac’s funeral is tomorrow night.”
Her gaze drifted to the small wine rack that rested on the counter, filled with bottles of amber liquid. Jac’s apple wine and hard cider. No words came.
“You can stay here until the rebuilding is done, or for as long as you want.” He released her and stepped back, his expression guarded. Her family knew well her tendency to deal with grief by sticking her head in the sand. By keeping busy. By doing anything but mourning. No doubt he expected her to decline the invitation and distance herself.
She managed a smile. Time to grow a backbone and support her family. “I’ll stay.”
“Good.” His shoulders relaxed.
She did need to keep busy, however. Staring at the wine again, she said, “The market is tonight. Jac wouldn’t want us to miss it.”
“No, he wouldn’t.” He sighed.
“I’ll take care of it.”
Her father nodded and kissed her cheek.
She headed out with a crate of the apple wine on a cart. Darkness had descended and the colony�
��s businesses had opened for the hours the colonists preferred to be out and about. She made her way to Sanctuary’s market—the spacious pavilion between the grenade-damaged bakery and the tailor shop. Demon-fire lanterns lined the main paths and adorned the buildings, festive decorations as well as necessary illumination for the few humans who lived in Sanctuary, Lexine with her faulty eyes, and the archangels.
She set up at Jac’s usual table, cradled between the jeweler and the poet, who also made chocolate. The romance corner, Jac had called them. Normally bustling with activity, tonight the crowd at the market spoke in dull whispers, their steps slow, wary gazes returning repeatedly to the forest. The market wasn’t as crowded or lively as normal, everyone still wary and weary from the attack. But because of the attack, everyone needed supplies.
No money exchanged hands at the market, not even for the special, limited items—jeans, flour, tools, electronics, etc.—that Sanctuary received from human benefactors or in exchange for exports, such as the hardwood furniture made by the colony’s carpenters. The close-knit, isolated community needed everyone to pitch in, so anyone who provided to the whole received from the whole, not that anyone less physically able to contribute was ever left for want. They’d never survive if they adopted the human system that left some families better off than others. So, she didn’t need to stay at the counter to monitor her stock, but she did, anyway. The market was as much a social event as a means of distribution.
Her supply dwindled fast, the procession past her table steady. Everyone extended their sympathies as Lexine greeted them.
Perhaps she could keep the business going in Jac’s stead. For years, Lexine had maintained the cemetery, a place where demons visited the memorials above the ashes of their loved ones, putting her love of landscaping and her sun-tolerant eyes to work. That didn’t take up all of her time. Recently, she’d taken to helping Jac make the wine. They’d been talking about expanding to grape wine, and Jac would love it if she kept the little winery he’d put so much effort into alive and moving forward.
