The Wanderer's Children

by L. G. O'Connor

  “Soon. I promise. But now we should head back. There’s someone you need to meet.” As she said the words, she realized they were the same words Michael had spoken to her after she’d almost been killed by a demon, before her Calling. At least Brett had fared better than she had—his attack had been prevented. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

  “Thanks… I think,” he said, still a little shaken.

  As they walked back, he asked, “Who’s Simon?”

  Brett’s question rocked her back to reality, reminding her why she’d come to Connecticut this afternoon. Shit, the wedding planner. Cara looked at her watch. She would have to call and beg forgiveness when they got back.

  A pang of guilt rippled through her as she sensed Brett’s underlying interest, and she suddenly wondered if she’d somehow misrepresented herself—besides her body’s traitorous physical reaction. She took a deep breath and said, “He’s my fiancé.”

  “You’re getting married?” he said, looking slightly offended. She tasted his shock more strongly than she had anticipated.

  Fingering the engagement ring on the chain around her neck, she gave him a sheepish look. “Yes. My wedding is in five weeks.”

  He caught her forearm and stopped her, his touch electric on her skin. “Shit. Were you engaged when we met?” His tone held more than curiosity; it held deep disappointment. He must have felt the same pull she’d experienced; the question was why?

  She shook her head and started walking as he followed next to her. “No, it happened fast. It’s amazing the difference a couple of months can make sometimes.”

  He raised his eyebrow at her. “I’ll say.”

  Her cheeks reddened at the implied meaning of his words.

  Brett reached out and gently grabbed her shoulder, stopping her at the edge of the woods. “What’s happening? I feel like I just stepped into the damn Twilight Zone.”

  She let out a deep sigh, knowing nothing she could say would be adequate. “I know. I was where you are now only a short time ago. Would you feel better if I promised it will all make sense very soon?”

  He rolled his head back in frustration and rubbed his eyes. “Not really.”

  Cara smiled and offered her hand. At least he didn’t seem so afraid any more.

  “Come on,” she said, leading him back to the porch as Simon’s Escalade pulled into the driveway.

  Chapter 11

  BRETT

  Greenwich, Connecticut. Thursday, May 23, 4:30 PM ET

  A BLACK ESCALADE PULLED into his aunt’s driveway and parked. As Brett clutched Cara’s hand, he hoped he wasn’t cutting off her circulation. Then again, she had one of the tightest grips he’d ever felt.

  He couldn’t even begin to understand everything he’d experienced in the last hour. The phrase angels and demons played in a continuous loop inside his head. At least now he understood the source of his headaches. This last one had been skull crushing. But demons? He would’ve taken it better if he’d been told he had a fucking brain tumor.

  And why hadn’t he been attacked before?

  Not to mention that he’d almost barfed when that angel guy Noah had jerked him off the ground and flown him back to the house. The fact that he’d actually flown? He wasn’t ready to go there yet. As Cara came back with the other guy, he could have sworn he saw a pair of gigantic white wings fold up and disappear behind the guy the split second after they landed and became visible.

  Then there were his feelings. True, he’d been attracted to Cara the moment he’d met her in March, but when he saw her again on the driveway… Holy crap, the vision of her hit him like a sledgehammer. He wanted her in his life. Badly. It didn’t make any sense. The feeling wasn’t just sexual but rather a heartfelt yearning.

  His heart had deflated the moment he’d found out about her engagement, like she’d been stolen out from under him. Maybe if he’d taken a chance and gone to breakfast with her and her friends that next morning, it could’ve made a difference. None of this made any sense. But, there was one thing. He felt safe with her, and his gut told him he could trust her.

  But nothing could substitute for the stiff drink he really needed right now.

  All four doors of the SUV opened simultaneously, and four people emerged—one from each door. He assumed the driver, a giant blond dude with a ponytail, must be Simon. A small, delicate, blonde woman stepped from the front passenger side, wearing a simple blue sleeveless dress with sandals, her hair twisted into an elegant bun on her head.

  Brett’s heart jerked and his eyebrows knitted in confusion upon the appearance of the last two passengers. He instantly recognized the two Hispanic men, their skin the color of warm caramel. One man was his friend and the leader of the Avenging Angel’s Biker Club—Angel Benitez—followed by Paco, his second-in-command.

  What the hell?

  Cara squeezed his hand and then released it. Simon, dressed in the same black uniform sans his duster, made a beeline for Cara. His blue eyes fixed with worry as he drew near.

  “Lemme guess, fiancé?” Brett mumbled to her under his breath as Simon approached.

  “Yup,” she mumbled back without moving her lips.

  Simon swept her up into his arms, her feet no longer touching the ground, just like Zeke had done except with a tad more passion.

  “You took one hundred years off my life when you sent that distress call,” Brett overheard him say.

  Brett watched out of the corner of his eye as Simon gripped her in a hug and buried his face in her hair. Slowly releasing his grip, she slid down along the front of his body until her feet touched the ground. He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her deeply, cupping the back of her head in his large hand. His other hand pressed into her lower back, drawing her closer.

  A surge of jealousy coursed through Brett.

  “Yo! Get a room, you two,” yelled Angel from behind. “Time to focus on little brother over here before he has a hormone meltdown.”

  Brett’s face turned beet red. Hormone meltdown?

  Simon released his hand from Cara’s back and raised his middle finger to Angel.

  “Have some respect for your mother, muchacho,” Angel snipped.

  Brett’s eyes found the small, blonde woman, who looked at him kindly. Brett noticed something slightly off about her face, yet nothing that detracted from her beauty. But, she sure didn’t look old enough to be Simon’s mother.

  “Simon, dear one. Why don’t we retire to the porch to speak with Brett and Cara? There will be time later to express your relief over Cara’s safety.” Brett watched as Simon stiffened. He released Cara, his gaze shifting to Brett for a split second, long enough for Brett to read Simon’s message: “Back the fuck off of Cara.”

  Angel, wearing black leather biker’s clothes and a wide smile, strolled over to Brett. Paco followed. “Amigo,” he said and embraced Brett in a man hug, “you’re still a skinny kid. When are you going to put some meat on those bones?”

  Brett had been dealing with Angel’s sense of humor on the subject of his vegetarian lifestyle since he was a teenager. Angel could never understand how anyone could just live on “beans and lettuce,” as he put it. That said, Angel always thought of creative ways to slip the word meat into the course of their conversations, hoping Brett would see the error of his ways.

  “¿Por qué estás aquí? What are you guys doing here? How do you know these people?” Brett asked in Spanish, unable to contain his questions any longer.

  “Patience, m’ijo,” Angel said as he rested his hand on Brett’s shoulder.

  Cara looked over at Brett, her expression encouraging. “Come.”

  Her hand disappeared inside Simon’s as he led her up the stairs onto the porch. Brett trailed behind with Angel and Paco.

  The petite, blonde woman stood waiting for him at the top of the stairs, while the others filed around her and took seats on the wicker furniture where Chloe had already settled on top of a cushioned ottoman.

&nb
sp; “Brett King, Son of the Wanderer, I’m Constantina—Angelorum High Council member and mentor to Cara,” she said, her arms outstretched and a warm smile on her lips. Brett only understood half of what Constantina said.

  On autopilot, Brett placed his hands in hers and a warm wave of energy rolled over him, engulfing him in calm serenity. He found himself staring into her warm, ocean-blue eyes.

  “I don’t understand. You said, ‘Son of the Wanderer.’ Why?”

  Constantina smiled. “There are things you don’t yet know about yourself. Things that you believed were true, but are not. What I’ll share with you now is that you’re very special, and your gifts go beyond your musical talent.”

  Her words both disturbed and comforted Brett, but he knew she spoke the truth. He could somehow taste it.

  “We’ve known about you for some time, Brett King. Come, let’s sit down and talk with the others. We’ll tell you what we must now, and then you’ll come and visit us to learn the rest.” She led him over to where the others were seated.

  Brett sat and all eyes turned to him as he held his breath. He felt like he had just jumped the rails of reality. He wasn’t afraid, but he still wanted that drink he’d thought of earlier.

  Angel Benitez leaned forward in his seat. “Brett, we go way back, no?” Angel had watched out for him since he was a ten-year-old, when his brother Colin died, and was the only one of the rough crowd his brother ran with who was worth knowing. When Brett turned sixteen, Angel taught Brett to ride, and he’d been a member of Angel’s motorcycle club ever since.

  Brett nodded his head, wondering where Angel was going with his question.

  “Trust me when I say you’re like a little brother to me. But now there are truths that must be shared.”

  Sweat formed on Brett’s brow as his anxiety rose. “Like what?”

  Angel rested his forearms on his knees, engaging him with his dark-brown eyes. “I’m not who you think I am, amigo. I never knew your brother, Colin… I knew your father.”

  Brett’s head snapped back. His father? His parents had divorced before his first birthday. His dad moved to Seattle with his company, leaving them behind. Very soon afterward, he remarried. Other than the occasional birthday or Christmas card, he never saw or heard from him. The last time Brett saw his dad, he was nine years old. It was a visit made during a business trip. They went to McDonalds for a hamburger and fries. Good, old, classic junk food for when you can’t think of anything better to do with your kid.

  Angel shook his head and said softly. “Not that one.”

  Brett’s heartbeat ramped up a few notches. “What do you mean?”

  Angel eyed Brett’s hand. “That ring you wear? It’s a gift from your real father.”

  Brett looked down at his hand and the silver ring with his name. His mother had given it to him on his sixteenth birthday. Bile rose in his throat. “My mother…?”

  “She’s your mother. No surprises there.”

  Anger flared inside of him. “That’s not what I meant. She cheated on my father? Is that why he left?”

  “No, Brett, that’s not why he left. Your father was the one who cheated on her with the woman he later married. Your mother only spent a couple of nights with your real father, and you were the outcome. Richard King doesn’t know that you aren’t his child.”

  A chill took hold of Brett. He trembled, unable to stop his body from shaking. Constantina touched his arm, and he flinched. He stared at the mostly unfamiliar faces around him. Overcome with claustrophobia, he jumped to his feet, ready to bolt.

  Who are these people? Who am I? Is my entire life a lie?

  Before he could even blink, Angel stood at his side. “Let’s go for a walk, amigo. This is a lot to take in.”

  A snide laugh rose from Brett’s throat, and a tear of frustration sprang to his eye. “I need a drink. This is just too much.” He walked over to the stairs and sat down as Angel followed.

  “Paco, get me two cold ones from the fridge,” Angel yelled over to his second-in-command. In less than a minute, Paco walked up to them with two frosty longneck Buds in his hand.

  Brett took his and drank half of it without taking a breath. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “Vodka would’ve been better.” Actually, a dark hole to crawl into would’ve topped even that.

  Angel led Brett back toward the woods.

  Brett finished the bottle and tossed it with all his strength deep into the trees. Angel handed him the other bottle.

  “You don’t want it?” Brett asked as he took the bottle.

  “Little Bro, I think you need it more than I do,” Angel replied.

  Brett guzzled down the beer and threw the bottle in the direction of the first. Then he planted his feet on the ground in a defensive posture and threw his arms in the air. “Okay, now that we are away from the rest of them, what the fuck!” His voice echoed through the woods, setting off a flutter of wings above him from the surrounding trees as birds sought a quieter place to perch. His emotions were a swirling tornado inside of him making him feel like he’d been stripped naked and sucked off in front of an audience.

  Angel rubbed his hand across his brow and released a deep breath like he was thinking. Finally, he looked at Brett, his eyes dark and his mouth a hard line, wearing a don’t-screw-with-me-and-listen look. “The first thing I’ll tell you: your real father was a good man and he loved you more than that worthless shit-bag your mother married.”

  Brett’s face went slack. “Was a good man?”

  “Yes, was. He’s dead.” Angel’s words hit Brett like a punch in the stomach. In a span of few minutes, he had found—and lost—his real father.

  Swallowing his frustration Brett asked, “Who was he?”

  “We called him the Wanderer, since his job was to reproduce and to hide his bloodline.”

  Brett’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Huh?”

  Angel’s dark eyes softened. “Brett, there are many forces in the world that you’ve never seen before. Some are here to destroy humanity and others are here to save it. Today, you’ve witnessed a small taste of both sides. And you, my friend, have very valuable blood running through your veins. One of the reasons me and mine have been protecting you since you were a child is because you’re one of the Wanderer’s children…”

  “There’re more of us?” Brett asked, his head snapping back.

  Angel nodded. “Yes, more; older and younger, but you’re the first to know.”

  Holy shit. He had half-brothers or sisters.

  Brett’s mind raced with questions. “Why am I the first to know?”

  Angel shrugged. “Sometimes that’s how destiny works, m’ijo.”

  “What does my mother know?”

  “Only that you’ve been in danger since your tenth birthday. She’s been helping us protect you, but she knows nothing else that could put her in danger.”

  Gazing at Angel, Brett’s eyes hardened. “What are you?”

  Angel gave him a crooked smile. “I guess you could say I’m your guardian angel.”

  Brett smirked, his arms crossed in front of him. “Let me guess, you have wings.”

  Angel huffed and scrubbed his hand down his face. “You’re such a little shit sometimes, you know that?” he said, slipping off his leather jacket and throwing it at him. Brett caught it with a look of surprise.

  Without a word, white wings rapidly emerged behind Angel’s shoulders and unfurled. Snow white with high arching ridges and feathers, the wings blazed brightly behind him. He shook them once before fanning and extending them to their maximum wingspan, a good ten feet tall by eighteen feet wide.

  Angel glowed from within as he gazed at Brett. “Satisfied, m’ijo?”

  Brett stood transfixed, clutching Angel’s jacket with an unhinged jaw.

  “Close your mouth before you attract flies,” said Angel with a smirk.

  Brett squinted from Angel’s brilliance. “Um… can I touch them?” he whispered.

&
nbsp; Angel nodded and maneuvered a wing toward Brett’s outstretched hand until the underside glided across his fingertips. Brett couldn’t help the girly gasp that flew out through his lips. The feathers were soft and silky, similar to, yet different from, the wings of a bird. Awestruck, his eyes traveled over Angel’s wings. They appeared as powerful as they were beautiful.

  He reached out along the wing closest to him to touch the thick, curved edge.

  “Careful of the larger edge’s feathers; they’re sharp enough to slice you up,” Angel warned.

  Brett swallowed and jerked his hand back. Beautiful, and dangerous.

  “Enough touchy-feely?” Angel asked.

  Brett nodded, speechless. Angel snatched his jacket out of Brett’s hands as his wings folded and disappeared behind him.

  “I hope you paid attention in Sunday school, m’ijo. It’s real. Welcome to the battle between good and evil. You’ve just entered the game.”

  Chapter 12

  CARA

  Thursday, May 23, 5:45 PM ET

  CARA DROVE AS BRETT stared out the passenger side window of the Land Rover, lost in thought. She glanced into the rearview mirror. On the backseat, her trusty Sentinel lay curled and asleep in the dog bed wedged next to Brett’s duffel bag and guitar case.

  After apologizing profusely to the wedding planner and rescheduling their appointment for Monday, Cara convinced the others, while Brett and Angel took their walk, to let her take Brett back to the city. Simon hadn’t been happy about her request, but had conceded anyway, knowing her mind was set. Constantina had wholeheartedly agreed with Cara.

  Their plan was for Brett, Paco, and Angel to bunk at Simon’s Greene Street loft in SoHo, a safe house that would hide their presence and get Brett out of Connecticut. Constantina would stay the night with Simon and Cara at the penthouse and then return to the Sanctuary where she expected to see them later next week. Brett, if he accepted his Calling, would accompany them.