by Sarah Gilman
With his ability to drain life with a mere touch, he wasn’t making an empty threat. As his mate, Ginger also commanded the ability. But even the two of them couldn’t take on too many enemies at once, should the worst come to pass.
“It’s going to be all right,” Ginger said, her tone sur-prisingly calm. “The Guardians will handle it.”
Raphael nodded, but the tension remained. By hitting the cell tower, the humans had given their presence away. Foolish. Why would they do that? More than thirty Guardians protected the colony—even without the small group that had gone with Vin—every one of them skilled enough to take on several humans at once. The last time humans had attacked, so many years ago, they’d exploited the colony’s central weakness: Sanctuary held five thousand acres of wooded land, surrounded by tens of thousands of acres of Vermont state forest. The attack had been mounted by only a handful of mercenaries, but they’d snuck through the woods and made it into the heart of the colony. Today, the fools would be lucky to live long enough to take two steps beyond the tower.
They must know that. What did the humans hope to gain?
Beyond the archway to the master bedroom, Wren and Ginger settled the twins in the double bassinet, a gift from Ginger’s adoptive demon father. Devin had carved the cradle himself from a fallen maple tree over the winter.
Raphael closed the drapes over the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the exterior wall. He glanced over his shoulder. Wren stood with Ginger in an embrace, his wings bent forward to enclose his mate’s body as they kissed. She dropped her head to his shoulder.
His shoulders and wings heavy, Raphael headed for the kitchen. No words could express his happiness for Wren and Ginger—they needed each other’s comfort at a time like this. But seeing them together like that added to the unbearable pain already revived by the murders. The anniversary of his own mate’s death had passed the previous week. While imprisoned, he’d never properly mourned, and now that he was free, he resisted. He couldn’t give in to that much pain.
He leaned forward on the counter. “Nineteen years.”
“Father?”
He jumped, partially extending his wings.
Wren stood at the opposite end of the kitchen area and made no move to come closer. Raphael sighed, realizing just how much space he’d forced between them in the last couple weeks. They saw each other every day, talked about anything and everything except the shadow of Thornton following them around. When the anniversary of Kora’s death had neared, Raphael had dodged the topic like an electrical storm. The accursed day itself, he’d avoided Wren, unable to look into the green eyes Kora had passed to their son, unable to look at his feathers without seeing the blood that had soaked them, one wing so close to having been severed.
Raphael hadn’t been the only one to lose someone that day. He’d lost his mate, but Wren had lost his mother and thought he’d lost his father, too. Raphael had been imprisoned for eighteen years, unable to be there for his son. Now that he was free, why couldn’t he do any better?
“I’m sorry.” Raphael crossed the kitchen and brushed his son’s wing with his own.
“You should go see her. Soon.”
Raphael glanced toward the closed curtains that obscured the view of the gardens where the Guardians had buried Kora. He hadn’t stepped one foot beyond the garden wall once since he’d been freed. He even avoided flying over the area.
“I watched her die, son. I couldn’t help her.” And now, I can’t face her.
“You can’t possibly blame yourself.”
“I know, but…” Raphael flicked and resettled his wings. “After you escaped that night, Thornton buried a dagger in my side and I lost consciousness. When I woke up, Kora and I were in some godforsaken barn, and I was bound. He tortured her only inches from me. But I couldn’t touch her, couldn’t heal her. I’ve used this psychic healing talent to save hundreds of lives, but I couldn’t help my own mate.”
Through the bond they’d shared as mates, he’d felt her pain. All of it. He’d have born that and more if it would have saved her. What destroyed him was the cold numbness left behind after she closed her eyes for the last time, the pain gone, his Kora gone.
“I’m no fighter, but I should have been able to protect her, damn it. And what happened to you, what almost happened—”
“I got out of there alive and with two wings because of you. And I don’t blame you for Mother’s death. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” Wren stepped forward and rested a hand on Raphael’s shoulder. “You’ve been avoiding the grave, and you’ve been avoiding me. At times, you can’t even look at me.”
Raphael’s wings slumped, his flight feathers dragging on the floor. “How can you not blame—”
“Such a thing has never crossed my mind, not once.”
Raphael shut his eyes for a moment, steadying himself. “Thank you, son.”
Casting a pointed glance toward the bedroom, Wren stepped back. “I understand where you’re coming from. If anything ever happened to Ginger or the twins, I’d never forgive myself.” He paused. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about making some changes.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“I trust Lark. I don’t blame him for Mother’s death, either. But, what happened to her showed that having only one dedicated Guardian isn’t enough.”
Nearly twenty years ago a notorious but deceased poacher, Thornton Bailey, had stolen Lark’s body, murdered Kora, attacked Wren, and kidnapped Raphael, imprisoning him until eleven months ago. Even though Lark had ended up a bodiless spirit, entirely helpless, he’d refused to cross over and stood guard over Raphael for the duration. He wasn’t just a dedicated Guardian; he was a friend.
Despite the lengths Lark had proven he’d go to fulfill his duties after reclaiming his body when Thornton abandoned it for another, Wren was right. No individual Guardian could adequately protect a family of five.
A thunderous roar, much closer than the one Raphael had heard from the lakeside, echoed off the hills. The twins screamed in unison and Wren ran back to the bedroom.
Raphael folded a curtain back an inch, looking out toward the colony. Smoke rose through the trees.
Another explosion. More smoke. The energy of his healing ability crawled over his skin like a chill, alerting him to injuries. Injuries to the attackers, hopefully, but his gut told him civilians had been hurt as well. He itched to help, but going too soon would be suicide. He’d be no use to anyone dead. Sanctuary was in the capable hands of the Guardians.
Silence lengthened. The smoke thickened and darkened, but nothing else happened. Five minutes. The twins calmed. Ten minutes. Just when the quiet became too much, a voice came over the intercom from the front door.
“Raphael,” Lark said, his voice rough. “It’s safe.”
“There’re injuries in the colony.”
“Yes.”
Wren stepped out of the bedroom, his feathers ruffled. “Many injuries. You can’t help them all. I’m going, too.”
Raphael frowned but nodded.
“Go,” Lark said. “I’ll meet you there. Devin is on his way and there is a team regrouping here at the house. They’ll guard Ginger and the twins, but I assure you, the attackers have been dealt with.”
“Thank you.” Raphael turned to his son.
Wren’s lips thinned. “No disrespect to Dev and the others, but this is exactly the kind of situation that worries me.”
Devin had the skills, but as Ginger’s father, he couldn’t be on the front lines. The position of a dedicated Guardian was volunteer and never solicited—the Guardian in question had to give up nearly everything else in his or her life to be effective.
“Wren,” Ginger yelled from the bedroom. “The sooner you go, the sooner you get back.”
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.
