Guardian Demon (GUARDIAN SERIES)

by Meljean Brook

  All of that lay beneath the rubble now. But she remembered it so clearly.

  Focusing, she sang, “La la la la la.”

  His deep, harmonious laugh broke through her last la. “You lack conviction.”

  Her chest expanded on a huge breath. “LA LA LA LA LA!”

  “Sing from your gut.” Then, when she belted it louder, laughing so hard that he fell sideways onto his knee. “Feeling from your gut.”

  “I am feeling, goddammit! I really want it to happen.” But Caelum didn’t react to the grrrr of frustration that escaped her, either. “You sing something to her.”

  “Caelum doesn’t listen to me.”

  She should. Taylor couldn’t imagine a voice more beautiful than Michael’s. Only a few minutes before, just hearing him hum had made her cry.

  Taylor tried to recall that song now. Caelum deserved something that beautiful. Replicating it would be impossible—even his hum contained a more complicated harmony than any human voice could sing—but she could tease out the melody.

  And maybe she’d been hoping for too much, all at once. Raising his entire temple? No. Baby steps for now.

  Closing her eyes, she flattened her hand against the marble again. Humming that song, she tried to feel what she’d felt then, but it wasn’t longing that filled her now. Instead it was the memory of Michael’s kiss. The happiness that rose through her every time she looked at him. The hope of what came next.

  She gathered all of that emotion, pictured the stone beneath her palm, and softly sang the words on the same rough melody, “Come and say hello, Caelum.”

  Movement beneath her hand. Stone fingers slipped between hers and gently squeezed.

  The marble stilled again.

  Astonished, Taylor stared at the small marble statue. A perfect replica of her hand. Holy shit. She’d done it. She still couldn’t feel Caelum inside her—or maybe she just didn’t recognize it—but rebuilding the realm suddenly didn’t seem so impossible now.

  And the responsibility of doing it suddenly seemed so much lighter.

  Relieved laughter bubbled up. She lifted her gaze to Michael’s. His eyes shone a bright amber.

  Fierce pride rang through his voice. “Well done, Andromeda Taylor.”

  It had been. She couldn’t stop grinning. But she couldn’t take all of the credit. “It was your song.”

  “No. It was yours.”

  Okay, so she hadn’t copied the melody very well. She wasn’t surprised he didn’t recognize it. “No, I mean it was the song that you hummed when—”

  “I know. It was your song. Your psychic song.”

  And that was what he hummed while kissing her? That was the melody he’d filled with such longing?

  A tight fist clenched around her heart. Another fist lodged in her throat. But she didn’t need to say anything—only take a single step forward, and he was there sweeping her up, his mouth claiming hers. Gripping his shoulders, she lost herself again.

  It didn’t matter. They had time.

  “Oh, shit. Don’t kill me!” Jake’s exclamation pierced the haze of need. Then, “Oh, double shit! Preston? Are you okay, man?”

  Joe? Taylor tore her mouth from Michael’s. He vanished, reappearing fifteen feet away, where Joe had fallen to his knees on the cracked marble steps, his hand against his heart and tears streaming down his cheeks.

  Michael eased down beside him. His voice was a warm harmony, laced with command. “Close your eyes, Joseph.”

  Taylor had to fight not to close hers; Joe didn’t even blink. Eyes pooling with more tears, his rapturous gaze swept over the realm. “I don’t want to.”

  “You need to. Close your eyes. Now.”

  His chest hitching in a sob, Joe did.

  God. Her own throat tight, Taylor tried to breathe again. She’d heard of this. Savi had said it happened to her and Colin, too. Human and vampire, they’d been overwhelmed by Caelum’s beauty—and Michael had told her they’d both been lucky. Some people became completely enraptured upon seeing the realm, and their minds never recovered.

  Guardians weren’t affected in the same way. Dazzled by her beauty, yes. But never dangerously so.

  “Oh, Jesus. I’m so sorry.” Jake stood with his fingers linked behind his head, his face tight with worry. “I anchored to Taylor. We thought she was still at the new headquarters.”

  “It will be all right, Jacob.” Michael’s gaze never left Joe’s face. “When you open your eyes, Joseph, look only to one spot and wait for the rapture to pass before attempting to look anywhere else. Don’t try to see all of her. Caelum doesn’t know how to show herself to those who aren’t Guardians, and she isn’t always kind to those unprepared to see her.”

  Taylor laid her hand on a shattered column, felt the response against her palm. “Be nice to him,” she said.

  “Yeah. Listen to Taylor, Caelum.” Jake let out a deep sigh and glanced in her direction. His expression froze, gaze fixed on the ground behind her. “Okay. I knew Caelum wasn’t always nice, but she’s never freaked me out before, either. Has that creepy little hand always been there?”

  Taylor shoved her fingers in her pockets. Creepy little hand? It wasn’t like they were tiny. They were completely normal for a woman of her size. “No. It’s new. And there’s a giant fist behind that wall.”

  He vanished and reappeared a second later. “You made those?”

  “Yes,” she said, and a little thrill raced through her again. She’d made them.

  And soon she’d rebuild the rest of the realm.

  “So this is what Caelum’s going to look like—a forest of arms and hands, like people trapped in the walls and just waiting to grab us?”

  With a laugh, Taylor shook her head. God, she hoped not.

  They both turned at the sound of a deep breath. Joe, still kneeling on the steps and preparing himself to look. When Michael reminded him to focus only on one spot, he nodded and opened his eyes again.

  His gaze didn’t rise any higher than the nearest column, lying in pieces on its side. Tears roughened his voice. “It’s so beautiful.”

  Taylor hunkered down next to him. “It’s a ruin, Joe.”

  “No. Oh, Andy.” He gripped her hand. His eyes cleared a little, and he finally seemed to see the shattered blocks, to understand they were broken. The lines in his forehead deepened. “It’s usually more beautiful?”

  “A lot more.”

  “I’d like to see that.”

  “I’m working on it.” She squeezed his fingers. “Maybe as a wedding present. We’ll bring you and my mom. We can prepare you both for it.”

  She glanced at Michael, who nodded.

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “If you are prepared, there is little danger. And you would not be able to come after your transformation.”

  Except into a building, closed away from the sun. Neither one would see anything.

  “Me and Carolyn, here together?” Joe’s breath shuddered. “You can’t beat that as a gift.”

  Taylor was glad she could offer it. But this wasn’t why he and Jake had come looking for her. “I thought you were interviewing families.”

  “I was. And I got your connection to Mark Brandt.”

  “What?” Her brain quickly shifted gears. “Someone recognized the vampire who killed him?”

  “No. I was telling them it might not have been someone they saw before the murder—that it might have been someone they’d seen around afterward, too.”

  Coming back to gloat, or to wallow in the family’s pain. “So who did they see?”

  “Well, I got a hunch. So I showed them Mark Brandt’s photo.”

  “Brandt?” Mouth dropping open, Taylor tried to make sense of that. It didn’t make sense. But maybe that was the point. “Was it really Brandt, though? Or the demon impersonating him again? Which family was this?”

  “I’m guessing the demon. And this was Julian Walker’s sister and mother.”

  She recognized the name from the case files. Julian Wa
lker—the second man killed. Almost fourteen months ago in a motel outside Montpelier, he’d been strangled. No broken neck, because the vampire hadn’t yet moved on to that. What had Walker been accused of?

  Molestation, she remembered. Accused, never convicted. So the vampire had meted out his form of justice instead.

  But how did it all fit? “When did the demon visit them?”

  “About a month after Walker was killed,” Joe said.

  “Did they say why?”

  “To offer his condolences. He said that he’d gone to school with Walker at Georgetown.”

  In D.C. “But Brandt went to school in Washington. The other Washington.” The state, not the city.

  “Yep,” Joe said. “Drifter’s checking with the senator’s office now, to see what Brandt’s schedule was at that time. Hopefully we’ll come up with something solid to show he was in two places at once.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “A hunch, huh?”

  He scratched his chin. “Well, I struck out on the vampire’s photo. So I guess you could call it ‘a desperate attempt to find a connection before that portal opens, so Drifter and I just threw shit out there.’ No one’s more surprised than me that it paid off.”

  It had. But what did it mean? Her mind racing, she tried to put the pieces together. “What time is it now? Do you want to go back, start interviewing the other families, asking if Brandt showed up there, too? Michael and I will hit the owners of those vehicles in Seattle, try to find the vampire’s name and some link to those sentinels. If we come at this from both sides, we’re going to narrow in on the fuckers. Maybe find out who they are targeting to open this portal.”

  Michael had been quiet, listening. Now he asked, “You think that’s what it is?”

  “I’m thinking it’s a good possibility. Look how they set up everything. They don’t leave shit to chance. Maybe every one of these families has a potential target. Maybe they all pissed off Lucifer in some way.” She glanced at Joe again. “You said Johnson’s widow was on vacation, right? We need to actually verify that, make sure the vacation story isn’t just a cover-up to make sure no one looks for her until it’s too late.”

  “As it was too late for Mark Brandt,” Michael said.

  “Yeah. Because the demons have a purpose—and it doesn’t make sense that they’d be messing around, visiting these people, for any other reason. It’s got to be tied to that portal, and them getting it open.”

  “I agree.” He looked to Joe. “How many families do you have left to revisit?”

  “Five more. But those are only the murders we know of.”

  “Then we need to make certain we haven’t missed any.” His gaze met Taylor’s again. “Shall we go?”

  Still early. But what the hell. All of the vehicles on the surveillance had been driving around at five in the morning. Hopefully, that meant their owners were a bunch of early birds.

  Otherwise, they were about to be woken up.

  * * *

  Less than a week of his life left, and Michael couldn’t have asked for a better end. The Guardians would stop Lucifer. He would spend almost every remaining hour with Andromeda. He should have been glad for this.

  But he would have consumed the world for one second more with her.

  All those years ago, when Lucifer had created the grigori, that was what the demon had hoped for—to create beings that would crush humanity beneath their heels.

  But the demon hadn’t anticipated the change in Michael’s father and the other demons who’d consumed the dragon’s blood and had lain with humans. He hadn’t anticipated that their seed would only take root when the demons loved their partners. He hadn’t anticipated the grigori being raised within caring families, or the angels’ guidance. Lucifer had no use for love, except for when it caused suffering. Except for when it led to hate.

  So the demon failed to see the sharpest weapon within reach.

  If the demon had understood love at all, Lucifer could have used it to make Michael into what he’d wanted. He could have dangled Andromeda as a prize. Michael would have conquered the world for her. He would have let it burn.

  And using Andromeda in that way would have been a double-edged sword, had the demon known how to wield it. By destroying the world to have her, Michael would know agonies that could have satisfied even Lucifer’s desire for pain. Because such a man could never win Andromeda’s love in return.

  Yet rather than using Michael’s love as a weapon, the demon threatened Andromeda—and so Michael would destroy Lucifer, instead.

  But Michael still knew one sharp edge of that weapon—he would never win Andromeda’s heart. Not because he would destroy the world, but because he simply didn’t have enough time. And it was agony.

  Yet, unlike every other pain, impossible to ignore. With each beat of his heart, the anguish deepened. Desperation crawled on sharp claws beneath his skin. He didn’t need to breathe, yet constantly felt as if he couldn’t catch his breath.

  And riding along with the agony, his craving for her burned hotter than before. Desire tore at every thread of his control, deeper and sharper than his hunger had ever been.

  The need to make her his. To claim her.

  Andromeda would reject that claim—and so he didn’t dare let go of his control. He had to protect her from that need. Protect her from himself. If this agony grew any greater, it might strip him down to the core. Just as he’d been in Hell, when he’d hurt her. Michael knew he should walk away, let another Guardian accompany her during this investigation.

  But Michael couldn’t even tear his gaze from her, let alone take a step in another direction.

  He couldn’t bear to miss a moment. She gave so much, and he’d take it all with him into the dark eternity of Chaos. Every kiss. Every touch. Every laugh, every second. Even this agony, he’d happily take with him—and he’d destroy himself before he hurt her again. As painful as losing her was, far better than the agony of hurting her. And far better to know the anguish of never making her his, than knowing the pain his death would have caused if she had loved him.

  So he collected more seconds, cherishing every one. Their first stop had been to Special Investigations’ former headquarters, where she’d vanished a vehicle into her cache. Better for getting around, she’d said, since Michael couldn’t teleport to an address. Which was true, but he could easily glance at a street map on his phone and jump in close to the right location. And the expensive car she’d taken was no more “federal agent” than his suit. But the grin she’d given him while sliding behind the wheel made him disregard how the cramped interior restricted his range of motion.

  What did she enjoy the most: getting back to the job, “borrowing” Colin’s car, or driving the powerful vehicle through the winding streets?

  Michael didn’t know. But he took pleasure from her enjoyment.

  He took his pleasure simply watching her. Her smooth confidence as she drove, punctuated by irritation and curses when other cars went too slow or failed to signal a turn. Waiting at a red light, the way she drummed her hands on the steering wheel, as if to the beat of a song in her head. When they parked a block from the first residence, she dragged her slim fingers through her fiery hair, taming the curls into a thick braid. She formed a jacket to match her trousers, gave him a look. Michael dropped into his Agent Smith persona and lifted an enquiring brow at her in return.

  Her laugh was low and warm. “Are you ready, then?”

  “I’m always ready for you, Agent Taylor. The fun part is making you ready for me.”

  Her eyes brightened, and for an instant, she simply looked at him with her lower lip trapped between her teeth. Then her gaze flattened slightly, and she said, “Do you mind if I take the lead on this?”

  “I prefer it.” No flirting this time. She had her job. He had his. “I’ll be at your back.”

  Protecting her.

  But no danger lurked here. No scent of vampires lingered in the air. Small yards lined a broad stree
t. No fences. Everything open. Nowhere to hide from his gaze.

  He disliked his stiff shoes. They muffled the sensation in his feet like cotton stuffed into his ears. The paved walk up to the house could have warned him of approaching vehicles, approaching feet. He’d have felt Andromeda’s steps instead of only hearing them.

  She rang the bell. From inside, he heard a woman cross a carpeted room to answer it, her mind unguarded. A buzz of irritation underscored her lilting psychic song. No other hearts beat inside the house. No other minds. The door opened to reveal a woman in a robe, her hair slick from a shower. Irritation turned to confusion and worry when Andromeda held up her badge.

  The woman’s fingers tightened on the edge of the door. Her gaze lifted from the shield to Andromeda’s face. She didn’t glance at their hands or measure their stances. Wary, but not looking to attack.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Stacy Williams?” At the woman’s nod, Andromeda introduced herself and Michael. “Nothing is wrong. We’re just here to ask a few routine questions about a robbery that occurred in the area last week. May we speak with you?”

  “Okay, but—I have to be at work in a half hour.”

  “We’ll only be a few minutes.”

  With a nod, Stacy Williams stepped back and let them in. Four windows, ceilings high enough to fly beneath. The living room opened into a kitchen, knives displayed in a wooden block. A decorative lamp with a sharp-edged copper shade stood on a short table near Michael’s left hand.

  The room was decorated in cream, brown, and orange. He didn’t think it mattered. But he forced himself to notice, in case it did.

  No danger here. Satisfied, he watched Andromeda, keeping his other senses attuned for any emerging threats. Despite her frustration when she’d been waiting to go, after Andromeda began to work she showed infinite patience. Never hurrying, examining every detail. Asking her questions and exploring the answers from different angles.