Tall, Dark, and Deadly: Seven Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance

by Laura Kaye

  When she woke, she screamed some more.

  No.

  No!

  She fought free of her tangled sheets only to collapse to her knees on the floor. No, she vowed. This future would not become reality. She didn’t care what she had to do. She would stop this.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Dr. Lawrence? Are you all right?”

  Victor Lawrence opened his eyes, lifted his forehead from the wall, and forced a smile for the nurse. “Fine, Alice. Is he resting comfortably?”

  “He’s asleep.”

  “Good. Will you call me if anything changes?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.”

  Victor left the ICU and headed for the discrete elevators tucked behind the vending machines. He swiped his key card, pressed a button, and waited until the doors opened on the research lab floor. Technicians and graduate students crowded the lounge, coffee cups in hand, arguing over the best growth medium for cell culture, or who would come in to count cells for the 1:00 a.m. time point.

  If only basic experiments where his biggest problem. Victor rubbed his temples, hurried through his lab and into his office. He shut the door behind him.

  He threw his marble paperweight against the wall.

  He slumped into his desk chair and his fingers brushed beads of sweat on his brow. Over twenty years of research, massive amounts of groundbreaking data, yet nothing close to a treatment for the broken young man in the ICU.

  If a demon had suffered such injuries, he’d be well on his way to being healed by now, twelve hours after a vicious motor vehicle accident. A high fever, a significant amount of pain, and he’d have walked out the hospital the next day. As it was, the human kid would never walk again, if he lived at all.

  The rapid healing inherent in demon biology couldn’t be replicated or harnessed. He’d finally come to accept that. Indeed, there was a better way. The golden egg. The ace. The miracle.

  But, it’d been fucking stolen! He slammed his fist on the desk. The damned demons had taken the archangel right before Victor’s experiments were to begin. It had been such a perfect plan. Thornton Bailey would get the son. Victor would get the father. However, the demons had taken both archangels back to that colony in Vermont.

  Granted, the opportunity for newborns now presented itself. Far more preferable than an adult. The young ones could be raised to comply. They’d be much easier to handle than Raphael ever would have been. And twins, no less. Perfect for scientific study.

  But, could he get them in time to help the teen and the other patients in ICU? Every day, he watched people die, people who could have been saved so easily. His own daughter-in-law was losing her fight with cancer. That such a simple cure existed, so far out of his reach…

  He couldn’t stand it. He had to find a way into that colony.

  The phone on his desk rang. Speak of the devil, and all that. “Hello, Miriam. How are you?”

  “Andrew is missing,” his daughter-in-law said, her voice thin and raspy from months of sickness.

  “What?” Lawrence got to his feet, stretching the phone cord.

  “He’s been gone since this morning! He left a note saying he was going to find help for me.”

  “Find help?” Lawrence paced as best he could with the infuriating landline. “What did he mean?”

  “I have no idea. The counselor at his school said he’s been increasingly obsessed with cancer, reading books that are far over his head.”

  Sweat beaded on Lawrence’s forehead. Miriam had been diagnosed with cancer a decade ago, then gone into remission. The cancer came back recently, not long after the car accident that killed Andrew’s dad. His grandson had taken the double blows like a rock, but recently, it looked more and more like the boy had kept the true extent of devastation hidden. Twelve-year-old Andrew wouldn’t do anything foolish, not when he still had his mother. “Well then, perhaps he came here, to the medical center. I’ll call security and go downstairs to have a look myself.”

  “What should I do? Should I call the police?”

  “Not yet. Let me see if he’s here. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”

  …

  Jett patrolled the grounds around the archangel house—the first time doing so, solo, for an appreciable amount of time—as Lark spent the evening inside with Raphael. His skin prickled. Nerves, or something more?

  He shut his eyes and inhaled through his nose and his mouth, tasting the scents of the forest on his tongue. The scent of pine overpowered everything else. Damn, are those trees always so strong?

  They sure as hell hadn’t been that potent every other time he’d been at the house, he decided. Or even five minutes ago.

  “Scent is your best tool,” Lark had lectured. “No matter how skilled a human is, they leave a trail. They’ve tried to mask their scent. Never assume unusual odors in the woods are benign.”

  Keeping to the darkest shadows, Jett closed the distance to the stand of young, puffy pines that hugged the lawn below the west-facing flight decks. Light spilled from the wraparound windows of the house. Anyone hiding in the trees would have a clear shot if one of the archangels came out. Hell, with an excellent weapon and aim, they could try to shoot through the windows.

  He drew his combat knives. Damn it, he should have scented them before they got this close. Should have heard something.

  Pausing at the base of the first balsam tree, he heard breathing. Rapid, shallow panting. Not a calm professional, then. Interesting. An amateur with enough dumb luck to get this far?

  Guided by the sound, Jett sprang ahead. The human, who lay on his stomach between two trees, dressed in green camouflage, rolled over just in time for Jett to bring the blade down toward his throat.

  The human screamed. The honest-to-God terror in the sound brought Jett’s hand to a halt, the blade an inch from the jumping pulse in the poacher’s throat.

  No, not a poacher. A kid. A short, bright-eyed, human kid, the ample freckles and reasonable build marking him as the bike-riding, baseball-playing variety of human child. Jett withdrew the blade. “What the fuck are you?”

  The human teen—he couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen—tried to scramble backward. Jett pulled the kid to his feet by his collar. He reeked. He must have rubbed pine oil all over himself.

  “I-I’m not armed! I surrender!”

  Lark arrived then, two blades drawn. He cocked his head when he saw the kid.

  “This happen often?” Still holding the child by the shirt, Jett arched an eyebrow at the other demon.

  “This is a first.” Lark stepped closer and lifted the boy’s chin with the tip of a blade. “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Drew.” His face had paled at the touch of the weapon and he spoke in a whisper.

  “Short for Andrew?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You stink, Andrew. Like one of those nasty car air fresh-eners.”

  “Drew. And everyone knows demons can smell a human a mile away.”

  “Everyone?”

  “The older kids at school.”

  Jett surveyed the ground where the human had been lying. One candy bar, one empty wrapper, and binoculars. He held Drew in place as Lark frisked him. Another candy bar. Two more wrappers.

  Lark shook his head. “Human nutrition at its best.”

  “It was a long walk,” the boy muttered.

  “Bring any friends, Drew?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll see.” Lark turned to Jett. “You got him?”

  “We’re fine.”

  “I’ll check the woods.” Lark disappeared.

  Jett assessed the child. Though he looked pale enough to faint, determination filled his eyes. “What brings you out here, kid?”

  His hands trembling, Drew lifted his hands to his neck. He pulled a gold necklace with a large, clear diamond surround by a bunch of smaller diamonds out from under his camouflage jacket. “I brought this to give to the archangel Raphael.�
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  What the fuck? “Not his style.”

  Drew’s chin jutted out. “It’s worth a lot. He has to take it.”

  “Why?”

  “Can I talk to him?”

  “No.” Jett got onto his knees to look the kid in the eye. “Why are you here, Andrew?”

  “My mom’s dying. They said it’s an inoperable tumor.” The kid’s hands balled into fists, and he spoke in a rush. “My pastor says Raphael the archangel is a healer, but this Raphael isn’t the same one as in the Bible. I don’t believe that. He has to be. He has to help my mom.”

  Well, shit. Jett had experienced Raphael’s healing talent firsthand the day they’d escaped Thornton. The archangel had healed the gunshot, even in the near-death condition he’d been in himself.

  But humans died every day, and healing took energy from Raphael, limiting how much he could do in a given period of time. Even if most humans didn’t want him dead, he’d never be able to save humanity from the ways of nature. Armies of healing archangels would be needed for such a Herculean task.

  If Raphael helped this woman, word would spread, and before long, the colony would be fighting to keep out poachers and hordes of people looking for a miracle. Fuck.

  But Jett couldn’t make this decision. “Stay right here. Do not move.”

  Drew nodded, chewing on his lower lip.

  Jett stepped a few yards away, keeping the kid in sight, and flipped open his cell phone. Keeping his voice low, he relayed the kid’s words to Raphael. “What do you want me to do?”

  Moments ticked by before Raphael answered. “Take him to the patio.”

  “Are you sure—”

  “Yes. I’ll talk to him.” The archangel disconnected.

  Sensing Lark’s presence, Jett sought out the other demon’s gaze among the trees.

  “I heard,” Lark said. “Go ahead. I’ll keep watch out here.”

  Jett returned to the boy and led him across the lawn.

  “Really?” The word came out of the human’s mouth as a squeak.

  “He’ll see you. I can make no other promises.”

  They entered the garden gate and the boy tried to run ahead. Jett held him back by the sleeve. Spunky little shit. “Please take off your shoes and your jacket.” Though Lark had searched the kid, he had to check and recheck. “I need to search you again.”

  That done and the kid baring nothing more dangerous than the coating of balsam oil, Jett led him to the patio at the back of the house that overlooked the garden. Raphael waited under the exterior lights, dressed in jeans and a gray sweater that would have given him a casual appearance, but his wings ruined that effect.

  Drew came to a dead halt, his eyes wide.

  “Something wrong, kid?” Jett rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “Um…” Drew remained a statue.

  Raphael crossed the stone patio and knelt, lifting his wings off the ground. “Hello.”

  Andrew’s voice squeaked more than not, but he stam-mered out his request.

  “Is this your mother’s?” Raphael lifted the diamond pendant with his fingers.

  “It was. It’s for you.”

  Raphael shook his head. “You need to keep this safe. Perhaps give it to your wife one day.”

  “But—”

  “Even if I could help you, I wouldn’t accept something with this much personal value.”

  Drew’s breath hitched.

  Raphael continued, “I am not capable of the miracle you seek.”

  Tears fell down the boy’s cheeks.

  Jett cocked his head, surprised Raphael chose to lie. But, it probably was the least hurtful way to let the kid down.

  The archangel met Jett’s gaze with a brief shake of his head before he returned his attention to Andrew. “I’m sorry. You should go home and be with your family. That is the best thing you can do for her and your father.”

  “My father’s dead.” The spark left Drew’s voice. “I’m going to end up living with his father. Grandfather’s the one who told me my pastor was right, that you’re a healer.”

  “Did he, now?”

  “Yes. He’s a scientist. He knows stuff.”

  Jett tensed and studied Andrew’s face, never one to believe in coincidence. How many scientists talked to their family about healing archangels? “What’s your full name, kid?”

  “Andrew Lawrence.” He wiped his eyes.

  Damn.

  “Did your grandfather send you here?” Raphael whispered.

  “No. I asked him if we could come here together, and he got mad. Told me it wasn’t safe and you wouldn’t help.” Accusation filled Andrew’s eyes.

  “I am truly unable to help you, child. I can heal certain things. Cuts, sprains, even severe injuries. I’m simply able to speed up the body’s natural healing ability. Cancer and other conditions the body is not capable of healing on its own are out of my reach.”

  Ah, so that explained it. Interesting. Lawrence more than likely believed Raphael was a walking miracle. Jett spotted Lark among the shadows of the garden and crossed the clipped flowerbeds to join him.

  “Victor Lawrence’s grandson,” Jett said, keeping his voice low.

  Lark nodded. On the patio, Raphael continued to speak with the child, their voices plenty loud enough for Jett’s keen hearing. The conversation turned to the dying mother, Raphael offering comforting words and encouragement.

  “We’ll have to make sure the kid gets home safely,” Lark said.

  “Which means we’ll get an address out of this,” Jett said. “From there, we’ll be able to find Lawrence.”

  “And put that kid in foster care?”

  Jett stared at Lark, gaping. “Certainly you’re not suggesting we let Lawrence live.”

  “I’m only saying we need to take a step back and take a deep breath here. Lawrence is the only family Andrew will have left.”

  “Maybe there’s other family.”

  “Perhaps.” Lark flipped a throwing knife into the air and caught the blade behind his back. “Regardless, he’ll have to deal with the premature deaths of both parents and the murder of his grandfather.”

  “Children survive worse.” Jett’s words came out with more bite than he intended. He felt for the kid and wouldn’t wish this situation on anyone, but that didn’t change the reality of Lawrence. “And our responsibility is the archangels, yes? Above all else, even Lexine and Caza. Lawrence wants the twins. What we have to do is nonnegotiable.”

  “I agree entirely. Let’s proceed with caution is all I’m saying. He doesn’t die in front of Drew or where the kid could find the body. If it can be made to look like an accident, all the better.”

  “You think I’d just haul ass in there and slaughter the man on sight, whether the kid was there or not?”

  Lark only stared, one red eyebrow cocked.

  “Point taken.” Jett rolled his shoulders, trying to force himself to calm. “I’ll behave. Course, we could also explain to Andrew the truth of the situation. Make him understand exactly what kind of monster his grandfather is.”

  “He’s not a day older than thirteen.”

  “So? When I was that age, I…” Jett paused. Shit. He didn’t know much about kids, but he knew better than to think his own childhood was anything to draw comparisons against. The worst injury Andrew had probably ever known was a scraped knee, his father’s death and his mother’s sickness the only taste of how cold the world could be. Significant, but no reason to justify shoving his grandfather’s crimes in his face. “Never mind.”

  “Timing is going to be crucial. Lawrence will run as soon as he realizes we’re on his trail. And, of course, we can’t both go.”

  “I’m going. I need to see that son of a bitch die.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After her nightmare, Lexine spent a couple hours sitting on the top of a ladder in the orchard, staring at the stars. The evening air turned cold, but was warm compared to the chill inside her body. The nightmare had been so real
, so potent, she could still smell the blood. Even the sharp odor of the rotting apples on the ground didn’t overpower it.

  “Lex.”

  She caught her breath as she spotted Jett approaching between the trees. He moved like a shadow in the darkness, his eyes reflecting the moon. If she’d had normal demon eyes, she’d have been able to see him clearly in the moonlight.

  “What are you doing out here?” His voice held cutting disapproval. “It’s cold, and it’s dark. You can’t see—”

  “I have a flashlight. I’ve lived with this disability for twenty-six years.” She didn’t mean to snap, but the turmoil in her mind made it impossible be calm.

  “Sorry. I worry. It’s in the genes.”

  She climbed down the ladder. Her feet hit the ground at the same moment his arms—so warm—came around her.

  “I have to talk to you,” he said.

  She missed a beat. She’d been about to say the exact same thing to him. “Is something wrong? You’re not supposed to have any time off training.”

  “We have a lead on Lawrence’s whereabouts. I’m going to be leaving in a couple hours. He’ll be dead as soon as I find him.”

  She should have felt relieved. Lawrence, after all he’d done to Jett and Bryce, and intended to do to the archangel infants, would meet justice. Everyone would be a little safer in a world that was anything but. However, at that moment, she only cared about the safety of one person. “Please be careful. Very careful.”

  “I will be.”

  She nodded. After all, the dream had shown him as her mate. That event hadn’t come to pass. With that horrible future foretold, he’d be safe this night.

  Bittersweet comfort.

  “That’s not what I came to talk to you about. Let’s go inside. You’re freezing.”

  They made their way into her apartment. He ignited a demon-fire lantern, set her on the bed, and wrapped a blanket around her. In the flickering crimson light, he knelt on the floor in front of her, his hands on her hips.

  She had to tell him about her dream, but he started speaking first.

  “Lark and I have come to an impasse.”

  She frowned, waiting.

  “My position as a dedicated Guardian to the archangels would require me to forsake everyone else in an emergency. Including you.”