Guardians (Seers Trilogy Book 3)

by Heather Frost

  “Good morning,” he whispered near my ear, despite the twins yelling a chorus of “gross” in the background. His encircling arms around my shoulders were tight yet gentle. Setting the side of my face against his firm chest was the natural, easy thing to do. My own arms flexed around his waist, my hands rubbing against his lower back as I attempted to draw him closer. As I embraced him, I listened to the sound of his heart beneath my cheek, felt the deep breaths he took, smelled the scent of lingering soap on his skin. The fears Claire had awakened—even the ones I hadn’t before acknowledged—receded, and I tilted my head up so I could place my lips to his strong jaw.

  “Good morning,” I breathed in answer, sliding my mouth along his skin with closed eyes.

  I felt him shiver, and I inwardly thrilled at the thought that I could affect him in the same way he affected me.

  His head shifted and our cheeks brushed together briefly before he pressed his lips to my left temple. His voice was barely audible. “I need to take you out more often.”

  My mouth twisted into a smile, my eyes cracking open so I could find his lips with my own. They slid together, fitting with a perfection I doubted could be improved with time. His kiss tightened my stomach and made my heart thump and my lungs constrict. His fingertips on my shoulders seemed to be filled with warm electricity. Everywhere he touched began to tingle, and when one hand lifted to cup my jaw, my knees weakened dramatically.

  “Yo, Kate!” Josie griped at the base of the stairs. “Are you going to let him in or not?”

  “At least go up to your room,” Jenna groaned, sounding completely disgusted.

  Patrick smiled against my mouth and then leaned away to face the twins, one supporting arm still wrapped around my waist. “And how are you two?” he asked easily. I wondered how he managed to sound so normal—I was still pretty breathless, and my cheeks were warm, knowing I’d forgotten my sisters were present.

  Josie’s nose wrinkled. “I’m scarred for life.”

  “Me too,” Jenna agreed, pretending to be sick over the banister.

  I rolled my eyes at them but didn’t dare speak. I didn’t want my sisters to hear how my voice would surely waver.

  I don’t know if Patrick knew my thoughts, but he spoke quickly anyway, drawing attention back to him. “So, what have you girls been doing this morning?”

  “Being bored.”

  “Want to join us?” Jenna asked, hopeful.

  He hesitated. “Well, I don’t really like being bored. Do you have any other ideas?”

  In a minute, he regretted asking. Josie proposed we have a Guitar Hero tournament—a game Patrick had somehow avoided playing until now. If the twins thought it was odd that he’d never played before, they didn’t reveal it. Or maybe their excitement managed to hide it. But in a few minutes, we were all in the family room, and Josie and Patrick were battling each other while Jenna and I waited on the couch for our turns. Josie did a lot of showing off, which was to be expected. She played on the “expert” setting, complete with dance moves and occasional bursts of singing.

  At least Patrick was familiar with many of the more popular songs. Probably thanks to Toni for that one. His quick reflexes also came in handy, though it was obvious he wasn’t much of a gamer. He had hand-eye coordination, but he was used to using those skills in a fight, not for fun. Still, his ability to adapt quickly to new things saved him from losing too badly.

  When the song was over, Patrick pulled the guitar strap over his head, handing the thing gingerly to Jenna. “Good luck,” he told her simply.

  She just laughed, her long hair wavering as she stood up from the couch. “You were even on easy,” she told him. She fiddled with the strap, trying to make it smaller. The guitar started to slip from her grasp, but Patrick was quick to hold it for her. Once it was the right size for her eleven-year-old body, Jenna slung the guitar over her head, and soon the twins were playing the hardest song on the game.

  Patrick lowered himself next to me, his eyes wide on the colorful screen. “Holy. Cow.” His voice grew more pinched. “How do you even hit all those notes?”

  “Pure luck,” I muttered.

  “Practice,” Jenna grunted, jerking the guitar up harshly.

  “Talent,” Josie disagreed with a shake of her head. Her fingers flitted quickly, but her stance was easy—almost lazy.

  I slid my fingers into Patrick’s hand and we watched my sisters play without saying another word.

  When the song was over, Josie surrendered her guitar to me. I shrugged it on and Jenna and I had a turn together. I wasn’t great, but I was able to hit most of the notes on the “medium” setting. While I was still holding out the last chord Josie urged Patrick to take Jenna’s guitar.

  “Come on! You can beat Kate!”

  “That I doubt.” But that didn’t stop him from taking his place beside me. As we started to play I was struck once again by the normalcy of the moment. Just like last night, I felt like we were a normal couple. Only this time I had Claire’s words running through my head the whole time. Wherever Claire was hiding in the house, I mentally thanked her—very sarcastically—then tried to focus back on the game.

  Grandma came home just as the song was ending and she asked for all of us to help carry in the groceries. It took a few trips to haul all the bags inside, and an invisible Toni sat at the table the whole time, smug in the knowledge that he didn’t have to share in the work.

  Once the groceries were in, Jenna dragged Patrick back to the family room so she could have her turn to “beat Kate’s boyfriend.” They were such little sisters.

  I wandered in behind them, with Toni following near my elbow. “So you’re teaching him how to play? Sweet. Maybe he’ll get addicted and let me steal one.”

  I shot him a look since Patrick couldn’t—the song had started—and spoke softly. “You’re a lost cause.”

  “And proud of it.” He watched Patrick, then began to cluck his tongue sadly. “Man, he sucks.” He raised his voice. “You hear that Patrick? You suck!” He turned back to me, his voice normal once more. “So where’s Claire?”

  “In the living room, I think,” I said, hanging back so the twins wouldn’t have a chance of hearing me.

  “Sweet.” Toni grinned. “I swear I’m going to teach that girl how to flirt, even if it takes a hundred years.” He turned to leave, but something made me reach out and grab his arm.

  “Toni,” I hesitated, then kept my voice below a whisper. “I have something I want to ask you. It’s a little . . . awkward.”

  “Now, now, things are only awkward if you believe them to be,” he chimed happily. At least he followed my lead and kept his voice lowered. I didn’t think Patrick could hear us.

  I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to be asking this, but I was seizing the moment. “Come here,” I whispered, reaching for his wrist.

  “Gracious, Kate!” Toni burst out loudly, making Patrick practically whirl around. “I can’t believe you’d ask me that—how incredibly awkward!”

  “Shut up,” I growled, my cheeks warming with color.

  The twins yelled for Patrick to pay attention, and though his eyes met mine quickly in question, he turned back to the game. I hoped the twins would keep him busy for a couple more songs.

  I glared at Toni, yanking on his wrist to drag him from the room. I pulled him through the kitchen and down the entryway, pausing when I realized I’d have to take him upstairs to avoid anyone hearing this conversation. Especially Claire, who was reading in a large armchair in the living room

  “Come on,” I muttered ruefully, releasing his arm at the same time. I started up the stairs but turned around when I didn’t hear him following. I questioned him with my eyes.

  “The stair rule,” he reminded me pointedly.

  I sighed loudly, and he got the message. He jogged lightly up the steps, passing me up about halfway. He waited in the hall, pointing toward my bedroom. “Eh?” he asked suggestively.

  I led the way inside, closin
g the door carefully before turning to see him stretched out on my bed. “Comfy,” he complimented.

  “Could you knock it off for one second?” I asked, my back against the door.

  “Probably not. So! What’s this horribly embarrassing thing you want to ask me?” He reached for my old teddy bear and set it up on his stomach, making it clap its paws together.

  My already pink cheeks turned red. “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

  The game of pat-a-cake stopped, and Toni looked at me with sincerity for the first time today. “Wow. You’re really blushing. What’s up?”

  I pursed my lips, knowing I wouldn’t have long before Patrick would be up here, yet unable to form the words I wanted. “Look, Claire was talking to me this morning. She mentioned something, and . . . I’m curious.”

  He nodded once. “Curiosity’s good. Except for its annoying tendency to kill cats.” He rolled his eyes at my lack of reaction. “Sheesh, relax! I’m kidding. Sorry I’ve got a sense of humor.” He suddenly lifted his chin. “What’re you curious about? I’m guessing it’s Guardian related.”

  “Sort of.” I didn’t think my face had ever been this red. I kept my body against the door, hoping it would keep me from running. “Okay, so . . . I was wondering . . . can Guardians, um . . . I mean are they able to . . .”

  “Reproduce?” he guessed, then chuckled. “Goodness, let’s not be embarrassed of our bodies here! God created them, you know. At least, that’s what Patrick’s always telling me.”

  My face flushed. “How’d you guess?”

  “You’re redder than a tomato—not the green ones, of course, but ripe ones—you’re in a relationship with a Guardian and unable to finish sentences. I’d say it was pretty obvious.” He tossed my bear aside and swung his legs out, so his feet were on the floor. His face was perfectly smooth and his arms were balanced on his knees. “Now, Kate, when you reach a certain age your body will start to undergo some changes—”

  “Toni!” I hissed.

  “All right, all right! Yes, Guardians can have kids.”

  I blinked. “Really?”

  “Sure. I mean, we’re immortal and we live on an entirely different plane of existence, but we still have all the necessary pieces to play the game.”

  “Toni, please don’t try to gross me out.”

  “Why the heck would you ask me of all people, then? My way or the highway, girl.” He waited, but when I didn’t leave, he continued. “I’m assuming this isn’t just you asking on the FYI basis, so I’ll get right to the point. Immortals can create life with other immortals, because they exist on the same plane. They have little immortal babies who age until they reach their midtwenties, and then they become completely immortal.”

  I considered his words. “Is it common for Guardians to . . . do that?”

  “Make babies? Let’s keep our questions clear, so we can avoid misunderstandings. Frankly, no. Most Guardians chose this life because they didn’t want serious responsibilities or relationships.” He pointed to himself as an example. “There are some who get married to other Guardians, but it’s rare. It’s more common for Demons to have kids. And I guess I don’t have to explain that one to you—Demons enjoy breaking those ten guidelines religious people always go on and on about. Anyway, most Guardians feel pretty complete with themselves. They don’t need a significant other. That’s sort of why they chose this instead of heaven. You with me?”

  “I think so.” I wasn’t surprised by his answer. I mean, Claire had revealed as much downstairs, that Patrick and I weren’t . . . compatible. Still, it was hard to hear. Especially since I’d been secretly hoping she’d been lying out of spite.

  So Patrick and I couldn’t be parents together, because he was immortal and I was human. We didn’t live on the same plane. We never would.

  “Is there a reason you asked me instead of him?” Toni asked, and for the first time his tone was calm, bordering on sympathetic. I almost preferred his joking.

  I shrugged, folding my arms over my stomach. “I guess I didn’t want him knowing I was thinking about that.”

  “About babies, or . . . that?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Kids.”

  He blinked. “You’re afraid of scaring him off with your serious plans for the future? I thought you guys were already to the I-can’t-live-without-you stage.”

  “I don’t want him thinking I have any doubts or regrets.”

  “Do you have any doubts or regrets?”

  “Nope.”

  “Liar. Your pants are definitely on fire.”

  “Claire just gave me some things to think about. I guess I’ve been so focused on the moment and my own fantasies, I didn’t really stop to consider what Patrick might want.”

  “Um, I’m guessing he wants you.”

  “I know, I just . . . I’m trying to make sense of the future.”

  “Well, that takes the surprise out of it.”

  There was a knock on the door. “Kate?” Patrick called curiously. I gave Toni a warning look. He pretended not to understand at first, then he sighed and locked his lips. He even tossed away the invisible key, but as I turned to open the door I saw him snatch it back and push it into his pocket.

  I pulled the door open, and Patrick’s eyes flickered over me to rest on Toni, sitting on my bed. “Is anything wrong?” he asked, turning back to me.

  “Of course not,” I lied quickly. “I just wanted to beat it into his head that he’s not allowed up here anymore.”

  “She dragged me up!” Toni defended himself quickly. “She pushed me onto the bed and everything. She’s abusive! Get out of the relationship while you still can, bro!”

  I shook my head at him, but Patrick didn’t even bother to do that. “So you brought him up here, to tell him not to come up here anymore?”

  “Talk about mixed signals,” Toni agreed. He stood quickly, brushing his hands together. “Right! Well, Kate, consider the message delivered. I’m going to go bug Claire now.” He slipped around us and started down the stairs without another word.

  Patrick watched Toni’s retreat from his position at the doorway, and then he turned to look at me. I think he might have been preparing to question me, but he spotted the painting on my wall. “Yours?” he asked softly, thoughts of Toni gone in an instant.

  It was an abstract starry sky with an especially bright shooting star. It wasn’t even close to realistic, and it wasn’t good at all.

  I followed his gaze. “Um, yeah. Back when I was ten.” I’d been so proud of it at the time, I begged my parents to buy a frame for it. Their condition was that it would have to hang up forever, because they were afraid the expensive frame I wanted would just end up in the closet.

  Their prediction came true—a couple weeks later I had a new masterpiece that I thought was better than the shooting star, but I was never allowed to take it down. I was feeling a little self-conscious to have Patrick see this first, of all things, but as he crossed my room for the first time to get a closer look at the canvas, I decided embarrassment was a small price to pay.

  I moved to stand beside him as he silently made his observations.

  “I’m extremely jealous,” he finally breathed.

  I may have snorted. “Of this?”

  His eyes remained on the painting. “Your ability to create from the imagination,” he clarified. “I could only paint the things I’d seen. You . . . you can paint anything.”

  “Anything except a masterpiece. I’m much better at drawing, trust me.”

  Patrick’s eyes came to mine, a half smile on his face. “May I be the judge of that?”

  A minute later we were sitting on my bed, one of my large sketch pads in his hands. He flipped haltingly through my art, his words few but his open admiration more satisfying than anything he could have said. He complimented only the especially impressive ones. He was fascinated with a sketch I’d made of a small girl in worn suspenders, taking her picture in a mirror. He praised my creativity, the angle I’d c
hosen, and my shading. “It’s flawless,” he finally managed, attention riveted on the page. “Now I feel inferior.”

  I rubbed his knee. “Don’t. You’re many things, Patrick O’Donnell, but never inferior.”

  He didn’t reply, only turned to the next drawing.

  I hadn’t shared my soul like this for so long, it almost felt wrong to let him thumb through my work. But at the same time, it felt so good. It was another bond we were creating together, and I wished I’d taken the time to invite him in weeks ago.

  I became so absorbed in watching his profile as he examined each curve of my pencil stroke, I almost forgot to look at what he was currently seeing. I didn’t need to look at my drawings; seeing his face was more satisfying than anything I might have sketched.

  He flipped yet another page, but his reaction was different this time. The skin around his eyes tightened. His lips pressed together, dropping the absent smile he’d been carrying for several minutes now.

  I found myself glancing away from his almost grimacing face so I could see what had upset him. My breath caught in my throat, making it impossible for me to swallow.

  It was a sketch I’d forgotten. I’d started it the day I returned home from the hospital, after my parents’ funeral. It was the last thing I’d sketched.

  It was overwhelming how much emotion and anger I’d managed to pour into that single drawing. The girl was me, though she looked so consumed with pain and grief she was hardly recognizable. Fingers clawed uselessly at her face. Her eyes were bloodshot and filled with an agony not many people lived to feel in their lives. Her elbows were balanced shakily on her unsteady knees. She was sitting on a porch, though the background was wispy and almost unreal looking. Very indistinct. The only stark thing was the girl, and her suffering. Hair fell over her shoulders and framed her small face. It almost looked like her shoulders were shuddering, and tears slipped from the corners of her eyes.

  A caption under her feet read simply, “I should have died.”

  Patrick wasn’t breathing. Maybe he now thought I was a lunatic, or at least disturbed. I peeled my eyes away from the page so I could see his face, morbidly curious to see his disgust.