Watcher Redeemed: Dark Angels Paranormal Romance (Watchers of the Gray Book 2)

by JL Madore

  Lot of asses shifting in seats.

  Zander expanded his senses through the loft, and then the building. D’s presence rang strong down in the guest quarters opposite the gym. This shit stopped now. “Give me a minute.”

  He took the trip through the foyer and strode to the locked door to the stairwell. After keying in the code to gain access to the corridor beyond, he jogged down one flight. It would be so much easier if Danel stayed in the main loft. Though, with the way the Persian hated humans, he didn’t want the guy anywhere near Austin in his current mindset.

  He closed the distance to D’s quarters with slow, deliberate strides. What to say to the guy? The unfairness of the situation was legion; once a proud, lethal warrior, Danel secluded himself, useless. Once utterly self-sufficient; now, the Persian found himself utterly crippled.

  Zander didn’t bother to knock.

  Shit. The guy’s quarters looked like an H-bomb had detonated inside. Nah, more like an F-U-bomb, he supposed. Danel lounged in yesterday’s clothes, bleary-eyed, on a bed that could very well have been ground zero for the blast. A fresh bottle of Herradura occupied his remaining hand, while another dozen empties lay scattered under the sheets, tipped on the side table, and tossed on the heaps of dirty clothes covering what had once been a hardwood floor.

  Zander scrubbed his hand over the throb exploding behind his eyes and exhaled hard. “What’s with the liquor store routine? Your parents away for the weekend?”

  Danel pursed his lips and sucked back another swallow. “Grunge is in. Saw it on HGtv.”

  Closing them in together, Zander leaned back against the door. Okay. Right. This sucked all round. “The squad is at the table. I noticed you’re not.”

  “Must have missed the text.”

  “I figured, so here I am, delivering your invite in person.”

  Muttering, Danel struggled to right himself on his pillows and got reacquainted with the mouth of his tequila bottle. “I have to pass. I can’t feel my legs at the moment . . . or my dagger hand either, for that matter. Right. That’s because it’s fucking gone.” He squeezed his eyes shut and let his head clunk back against the wooden headboard.

  Zander shuffled through the carpet of debris and pulled the desk chair over. He needed to have this convo looking into the Persian’s whiskey-colored eyes. “Look D, I get that this is a game changer for you. No one’s expecting business as usual but there’s no pink slip in our line of work. I’ve let you deal with your situation your own way for too long. It’s time you pulled up your big-boy pants and got your shit together. You are still part of this squad.”

  “My situation? Part of the squad?” It was a while before Danel met his gaze, and when he did, his eyes shined glassy. “No one can look me in the eye, Z. I’m a walking reminder that we’re mortal now, and they could end up benched, or worse.”

  “Yeah, worse—like Tanek—and now maybe Kyrian.”

  Danel swiped his sleeve across his eyes and looked up. “Kyrian? What’s with the Greek?”

  “He’s missing. Maybe dead. Almost definitely taken. All we know is that he’s in the fucking wind. You need to get your ass to the motherfucking table and help us find him.”

  “What help am I, with a meat stump where my dagger hand used to be?”

  Zander lurched over the bed before he knew what his feet were doing. Next thing he knew, he was nose to nose, getting dizzy off Danel’s ode to oblivion. “Stop wallowing and listen up. The mortality thing is a mind-fuck for all of us. Get over it. If Kyrian’s alive, we need to find him and bring him home.”

  “Home? You mean here?” The air around them arced as Danel scoffed. “Yeah, Z, I feel how much you want to roll out that welcome mat.”

  Zander fought back his beast’s protest, but D was right. He’d handled this wrong from the get-go. He’d let his unleashed aggression dictate his actions. It was a mistake. And one he might never be able to undo. “Kyrian is one of our own.”

  Danel shook his head, set the bottle on the nightstand, and swung his legs clumsily over the edge of the bed. God, the guy was faced. “Now he’s one of our own? Now that he’s missing? Fuck, Z, you’re one cold-hearted bastard, you know that?”

  Zander let that sting of truth smack him hard in the face. “Go ahead, Danel, get it off your chest. Take your shot.”

  The warrior got to his feet and after checking his balance twice, met him chest-to-chest. “You let your best friend and second-in-command twist in the wind, tracking Austin’s shooter solo, trying to regain his place at your side while you cozied up with your wife, enjoying your new life. You’ve been a stubborn, violent, jealous ass, but now that the Greek might be dead, now you do a 180?”

  Danel pressed his finger square into Zander’s sternum. “Austin may not know the whole of what happened between you two, but if Kyrian is dead, you better believe she’ll know it’s your fault. She’ll resent you forever. Maybe even hate you. And you know what? You’ll deserve it.”

  Zander’s jaw clenched until bone cracked. “No doubt.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “It is done.” Cassiane stepped beyond the shimmering portal and onto the castle rooftop. With her skirts gathered enough to ensure her footing, she maneuvered the treachery of the exterior stairway leading from the Bolthole site, down toward the courtyard five stories below. She sighed at the state of ruin. From this perspective, it was so heart-wrenchingly sad. The once massive stone of the steps, like everything in her family home, was crumbling to dust beneath her feet.

  Dougal, one of her father’s oldest and most trusted men, offered his elbow to steady her descent. His gait and posture gave no indication of the terrible break suffered to his thigh months back, and she was relieved. The male was a hunter to the depth of his soul—a hunter, not a soldier. If he had been left incapable of venturing to the Human Realm to harvest, it would have been a devastating loss for him, and for those who depended on his bounty for survival.

  She cast a sideways glance and smiled. “It makes my heart sing to see you back on your feet, old man.”

  The male straightened, his silver-shot black hair flowing loose in the night’s sulfur-scented breeze. It stirred stronger at that height but lessened closer to the ground. “It is a blessing to be back upon them, Mistress, thank you. To me and my family alike. I am not a pleasant man when infirmed, I’m afraid.”

  They continued their steady descent in companionable conversation. When they reached the cobbled stone of the courtyard, they moved forward as one, her hand tucked in Dougal’s elbow. She had strolled the courtyard arm-in-arm with her father a thousand times and found it a comfort to do so now with his closest friend. “Thank you for walking rounds with me, Dougal.”

  His weathered skin creased at the corners of his eyes as he laid a callused hand over hers. “The pleasure is mine.”

  They explored the grounds at a lazy pace. The meeting she’d just returned from had her mind abuzz, and her heart divided. Half of her relished the power she wielded while addressing the payment of unscrupulous humans, while the other half hated that Shedim must fall so far from their moral path simply to survive. The conflict twisted like a gnarled root in her belly.

  “The burden of rule weighs heavy on you, Mistress. May I be of council?”

  She rested her head against Dougal’s broad shoulder and sighed. “Devious took me to the human city, New Orleans, where I met and paid the men my father dealt with to gather organs. The arrangement is distasteful, from the desperate humans selling their body-parts for money, to those who simply wake to find them missing. Father always said, ‘Evil is as evil does.’ I worry about some of the choices he made.”

  “Surviving in Purgatory means balancing strength, threat, and action.”

  She nodded. “But at what cost?”

  He took time to consider her question and frowned. “Your father was not a perfect man. Though he brought you up to believe otherwise, that luxury is forever gone to you. As the ruler of our race, it is your duty is to
ensure the life and survival of Shedim. Your father did that in his way. Perhaps he did things you find questionable or distasteful, but every decision for him, small or grand, focused on the beneficial outcome for his people.”

  “And am I to simply carry on in my father’s footsteps? Take his beliefs as my own without question?”

  “It is not my place to answer, Mistress.” He steered their route around a patch of broken stones in the path.

  “Speak your mind, Dougal. I have no appointed Hand and seek your council.”

  After a moment, he pursed his lips and exhaled. “The way I see it, you must convince all those watching—Shedim and the Darkworld races alike—that you are capable of doing whate’er it takes to ensure Shedim survival. You must prove your grit, or I fear you may face challenges in the near future.”

  She shook her head. “You are kind to assume it is a case of may, my friend. The challenges will come, from outside these walls and, I fear, possibly, from within.”

  His grip on her hand tightened. “Has something happened which I should know about?”

  She thought about Devious and his threats. It would have been the utterance of a few words and Dougal would take care of his insolence on her behalf, but she was Shedim Master now and needed to fight her own fights.

  “Everything is fine,” she lied.

  The lines of worry softened beside his eyes. “Then let protocols already in place feed our people while you gird yourself for the coming assault. When the transition settles, and the tension dies down, then reevaluate. For now, your concern must be the strength of your rule.”

  She nodded and focused on the path ahead. “The Nephilim’s execution will be a true show of strength. The Darkworld will see that I hold the power to lead my people.”

  Dougal pursed his lips. “And how does the execution of the Watcher within these walls sit with you, Mistress?”

  Her insides twisted. She hated him. Everything he stood for. Everything he’d done to her. Everything about him. She drank in the emotion, allowing it to fuel her resolve. Never before had her blood surged with such a burning desire to see another suffer. Never before had her blood surged like this at all. “That male killed my father and deserves death. That prisoner—that Watcher—is our enemy. How many other fathers and brothers has he slain? Hundreds? Thousands? One look at his tattooed flesh makes me cringe.”

  She swallowed as tangled images of their encounter filled her mind. Sweet Prince, how had she gotten so carried away as to feed from him? Heat tingled across her skin. Her nipples tightened, and she drew oxygen deep into her lungs.

  Seraph blood was death to Darkworlders. What if Nephilim blood had been as well? The consequences had not even registered. It was a reckless mistake. Inexperience, both in the ways of males and business. But she had not been poisoned. Far from it. His bastardized, half-breed blood seemed to have quite the opposite effect. She’d never felt more vital.

  Did others of the Darkworld know this? Likely not, or there would be a run on capturing Watchers to feed. Was that possible? Could she keep him alive and drain him enough to feed the others?

  The pause in their stroll drew her from her reverie. Their meandering had brought them to the guardhouse above the dungeon. Dougal’s hand rested on the latch to the guardhouse door. “Are you venturing down to check on the prisoner, Mistress?”

  Despite her desire to see him, she shook her head. “Later. This talk of Stryker has me emotional.”

  Drawing close, Dougal gathered her hand in his. As he lowered his head, his kiss warmed the sensitive flesh of her palm. “I will forever grieve not being with Stryker in the end. I find I must beg your pardon.”

  She swallowed past the lump blocking her throat. “You served him and our community faithfully for decades. If not for your injury, I may have lost you along with the others. It is by the Dark Prince’s grace that you remain to help me now. I believe that was the plan of it, somehow.”

  He lifted his head and smiled, though it didn’t touch the sadness in his eyes. “Mistress?”

  “Yes?”

  His gaze searched her face. “If you find you have need of anything at all, do ask. I share your loss, and there are those of us within the walls who are only too happy to aid you.”

  She rested her hand on his broad bicep and gave a tender squeeze. “I shall remember.”

  Drawing a deep breath, she pushed all thoughts of her father from her mind and watched the man return to his duties. The strength she gained from his presence drained away and left her feeling small and alone. She missed her life from before. She missed her father. Falling into a feminine heap of tears wouldn’t help her people. They’d lost their leader and though she’d never measure up to his greatness, it was her duty to try.

  She stared up at the sky. Dawn was wasting in streaks and slashes, the fiery warmth of the blazing night replaced by the bone chilling gray of day. It was early yet, but already misting heavily. There was enough light, though, to take stock of what needed to be done.

  “Leif,” she called to the youth filling buckets at the cistern. “Have you got your little journal with you this morning?”

  The boy, whip-thin and small for his thirteen years, brushed his hands on soiled trousers looking wary. “Yes, Mistress.”

  She held her hand out and gave him a smile. “Would you walk with me for a bit? I have need of you taking down a few notes. That is . . . if you have the time to act as my scribe?”

  The boy handed his buckets to his younger brother. With his chores seemingly sorted, he jogged to her side and reached into his shirt to pull out the small black workbook and pencil he always carried.

  “I need help with castle business,” she said making it sound very official. They walked as she explained. While her father was a wonderful leader, hunter and guardian, his focus had been heavily weighted on either the outer wall, battlements and defense, or the harvest of food in the Human Realm. The general repair of the castle and surrounding grounds were forgotten and as such, were in dire need of attention.

  The castle itself was broad and strong with thick stone walls, high slotted windows and fanciful turrets facing the four corners of purgatory. Her father’s grandfather had constructed it in the flare of human castles of olde and that was how it was beginning to wear.

  They began their inspection at the gated entrance. The bridge was up, the pulleys, chains and cogs all greased, coiled and in top condition.

  “Morning Mistress.” The captain of the castle guard bowed his head as she and the boy paused at the stones at the foot of one of the rampart ladders. “Careful, those loose ones can be slick once the mists settle in. Last week one of the wives took a spill after finishing her laundry. Ended up with a nasty crack to the head.”

  Cassiane toed the stones in question and nodded to Leif, who started their list. “Thank you, Captain, that’s the very issue we’re addressing. Have you got any repair requests you’d like to make? How are things running in the battlements and keep? What about the food cellars?”

  The captain’s bushy black brows creased as he frowned down at them. He glanced at Leif taking notes, and his lips narrowed. “All is well, Mistress. Whatever disrepair must be weathered, shall be weathered. Stryker always said, ‘Strength of the wall saves all’, remember?”

  “Yes, but Stryker is dead, Captain,” she said, somehow managing the words without flinching. “And although he didn’t often recognize it, there are near one hundred and eighty civilians living within these walls, as well as the soldiers and hunters. Do you believe their safety any less important?”

  “Of course, but—”

  She raised her hand and he fell silent. “There are quite enough dangers in our world without someone breaking their neck because of loose stones or rotted out floorboards.”

  The bloodcurdling howl of hounds punctuated her point. They sounded close. The baying in the distance brought the argument to a halt. A chill shot up her spine as she gathered her skirts and whisked up the wooden l
adder to the rampart.

  Looking toward the closest edge of Wandread woods, she and the captain watched a pack of hellhounds snap and snarl. The flailing limbs of a fallen male were decimated in a heartbeat.

  “What is it they’ve got?” Leif asked, rising to the balls of his feet in an attempt to see. “It’s not one of the miners, is it? The mine crew left not long ago, my father among them.”

  “No, son,” the captain said, lifting the boy. “The mine crew already barred themselves into the pass. Your father is safe and sweating underground.”

  Cassiane patted Leif’s arm as the captain set him down and gave him the most reassuring smile she could muster. “Probably an elk-beast that lost its herd. Wouldn’t you say, Captain?”

  The captain turned an arched brow on her and scrubbed a scarred hand over his face. The male they had seen could have been a mercenary or an undead, plotting to feed on one of the miners tonight when they returned. No need to give the boy more night sweats than he likely already suffered.

  “I’m certain of it. Probably a dumb calf wandered too far from cover and got snapped up by the hounds. Dangerous thing, life beyond the wall, can’t let our guard down for a moment.”

  Cassiane heard the graveled tone of the soldier and knew they were back to discussing the diversion of funds from defense to life in the castle proper. He was right, to some degree, but if the castle crumbled down around them where would they be then?

  “How about this, Captain? When our list is complete, you and I will meet up and discuss the best way to get things taken care of. We have enough manpower and supplies at our disposal to address most issues without the use of financial assets. When we see where we are, we’ll discuss the greatest needs—safety within the castle walls or safety from what lies beyond.”

  With a reluctant grumble he dropped his chin. “The greatest danger to safety within the walls is the male in the dungeon and the female who thought to bring him here. What do you think the Watch will do when they find out?”