Tall, Dark, and Deadly: Seven Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance

  “Wren is missing.”

  The words struck like a bullet. “What?”

  Lark held up a hand. “This is an exercise.”

  “Damn you!” Jett took a deep breath, a hand over his thudding heart. Tempted to beat Lark’s face into a bloody pulp, he ground out, “Start with that fact next time.”

  “And miss the chance to keep you on your toes? Never. Tonight your goal is to find Wren and bring him back to the house using only your empathic skill. You never know when technology will fail you, so you can’t rely on it in emergencies.”

  “I understand.”

  “Humans have been spotted in the woods and they’ve taken down the cell tower. I’m guarding the house with Raphael, Ginger, and the twins inside. Wren hasn’t returned from his flight and gunshots have been heard to the south. Guardians in the woods represent poachers and they have dart guns. If Wren gets hit, you lose the exercise. Got it?”

  “Yes.”

  “The ‘poachers’ have a head start on you. Begin.” Lark turned away and vanished into the forest.

  Jett resisted the urge to sprint into the woods and head south. Wren would get as far away from the shooters as he could, leaving too much land search for his scent. Without cell phones, that left the empathic skill as Jett’s only tool.

  In a real situation, Wren would be angry or scared or both, a beacon of emotion in the woods, making this exercise harder. Jett closed his eyes.

  Raphael and Ginger were truly in the house, their nervous anticipation raising the hairs on his arms. He searched for Wren’s emotional voice. While Raphael kept his emotions buried deep under a facade of calm, like a whisper in the back of Jett’s mind, Wren’s mental voice often came through with more clarity. Indeed, now that Jett practiced every day, fine-tuning his mental connection to the family, Wren’s clearer signal provided a constant reminder that the archangel’s trust in Jett was at best tentative.

  Jett couldn’t afford to lose this exercise. He needed to build Wren’s trust, not weaken it.

  There. Wren’s emotional voice, a mix of worry and tension, a long distance away to the southwest. Jett ran in that direction.

  He hadn’t gotten far when a scream split the air. Male, but not Wren.

  “Help! Please!”

  Jett veered to the left and took cover behind a large pine trunk. Beyond, two Guardians held a teenaged civilian. The boy stared toward Jett and yelled again. “Help me! Jett, please!”

  “Lark, you sick son of a bitch,” Jett muttered, but he understood what this was: a test. His responsibility was the archangels. No one else, not even Lexine, not even kids in danger. Moments spent here could be moments poachers found Wren. Being a Guardian dedicated to the archangels meant honoring that responsibility without fail. Otherwise, there’d be no point.

  “Help!”

  The Guardians hauled the teen away through the trees.

  Jett clenched his teeth and continued southwest. The teen is the Guardians’ responsibility; Wren is mine.

  What if that had been Lexine or Bryce? His body wanted to be sick, but he forced control and pressed on. There’d be plenty of time later to question if he could really do this.

  He sprinted, sacrificing silence for speed. A Guardian leaped at him from behind a boulder and after precious moments spent wrestling, the other demon put up his hands, acknowledging a killing strike from Jett.

  Wren’s mental signal grew louder—a spike of anxiety that sent Jett’s heart rate sky-high. Jett tore in that direction, sweat beading on the back of his neck. This was supposed to be an exercise, but that level of emotion from the archangel couldn’t be faked.

  In reality, his cell phone worked fine. Should he call Lark? No, in a legitimate emergency like this, Lark needed to stay at the house with the others and Jett would be entrusted with Wren’s life. He pressed on, not risking calling Wren either. The ring could alert poachers to the archangel’s location.

  Wren came into view at the same time Jett picked up on his scent, his wings like ghosts among the trees. He stood in front of an old, twisted maple. Jett scanned the area with all his senses as he ran over. “Wren.”

  The archangel jumped.

  “What’s wrong?” Jett grasped Wren’s shoulder with one hand and drew a blade with the other, still focused on the forest around them. Nothing moved except for a squirrel; no human or Guardian scents carried on the breeze.

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Don’t give me bull.”

  “Really.” Wren shuddered and shivered, though the evening temperature hadn’t dropped much. “There’s nothing dangerous going on, I promise. There’s a spirit here.”

  “A what?”

  “A ghost. As Ginger’s mate, I gained her psychic talent to see spirits.”

  Lark had said as much. He also said that ghosts were rare but potentially a major concern. Psychic talents drained energy from the archangels, so if a ghost refused to leave, Wren and Ginger’s lives would be threatened. “Better be Casper the friendly ghost.”

  Wren shivered again. “Not how I would describe Dante.”

  “D—” Jett’s mind went utterly blank for moment, until the fatigue radiating off Wren broke through.

  “Demons,” Wren said, struggling for breath, “are nothing like human spirits.” He spoke, it seemed, to the maple tree. “We’ll need to try this again later.” A pause. “Yes, I’ll tell him.”

  “What’s happening?”

  Wren’s shivers stopped. “Your father has come to see you.”

  Jett stared at the tree.

  “He’s gone, for now. Human spirits are waifs, drawing small amounts of energy from sources around them, especially me. But a demon manifestation…” He nodded at the tree. “Lark is nothing like this when he steps out of his body—the difference, I suppose, between a psychic talent like his and true death. Dante was a concentrated mass of amber light. The entire tree flamed around him. I felt like I was bleeding to death, he drained so much energy from me so fast.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll live.” He stretched his wings and arched his back. “We need to get back, though.”

  “Yes,” Jett murmured, still trying to get his mind around the idea his father had been here, just now.

  “Lark told me to make like I’ve been shot out of the sky. No flying, no running. Of course, now I don’t have to fake being that out of it. And I can’t see in the dark like you can.”

  “Good times. All right, I’ll get you home.”

  “Thank you, Guardian,” Wren said, his tone sincere.

  As they began walking through an area thick with maple trees, soggy forest peat underfoot, Jett stayed close to Wren to keep him from tripping in the darkness, despite the wing contact. He said quietly, “He came to see me?”

  “There’s a lot he wants to tell you.”

  Jett focused first and foremost on their surroundings, letting it sink in that his father had returned from wherever it was the dead “lived.” If “dead” was correct word for a demon who, like the fallen archangels, came to this earth from someplace else in the first place.

  Wren stopped. “First, he said to tell you, he’s sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Everything you’ve been through.”

  “It wasn’t his fault.”

  “That doesn’t mean it didn’t kill him every damned day he watched it play out. He was dead, but he didn’t walk away. You weren’t alone at any point in that hell.”

  “Is that supposed to make some sort of difference now? It’s over. I survived.”

  “Yes. And he’s proud of you. As a new father, let me suggest, it’s not supposed to change the past. It’s just supposed to matter.”

  Jett caught the scent of another demon, turned, and disarmed the clever, young Guardian who’d snuck on up them in his distraction. He paused, facing a tree, and rubbed moisture from his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, forcing control and returning to Wren’s side. “It matters. Thank you.”
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  They kept walking, Jet trying in vain to keep Wren from being such a visible target. Thankfully, the humans would have a harder time spotting him in the dark than the Guardians who tracked them now.

  “Branch.”

  Wren ducked under the low tree limb. At the same moment, a Guardian “poacher” jumped down from the tree.

  Jett fought him off, plus a half-dozen other attackers, then took a less direct path to the house over more difficult terrain. Many more scents carried on the wind. By himself, he’d have opted to fight his way through the “poachers’” dragnet but keeping Wren out of their crosshairs was priority one.

  “Tell me something, archangel,” Jett prompted as the lights from the stone house finally came into view. “How much trouble did you get into for getting caked in mud when we were little?”

  Wren laughed. “I didn’t—my father was too amused. Mother wouldn’t let me in the house until I’d cleaned every last speck off, though, and the hose water was cold. You remember now?”

  “No. I saw the picture.”

  “Oh. Well, you started the mud brawl that got us both so filthy.”

  “What! I did not. You’re the older one—”

  “Doesn’t mean you weren’t the troublemaker.”

  “Ridiculous. The only reason I was allowed near you—”

  “Angel.” Wren pointed at his own chest, then at Jett. “Demon. Angel. Demon.”

  “Oh, hell no! You wanted to go down to the lake, even though you weren’t allowed near the water. We ended up in the mud when I tried to drag you back.”

  Stepping into the light that spilled across the front lawn, Wren smiled. “You remember.”

  Jett shoved a hand through his hair. Images and voices from that part of childhood played in his mind for the first time in his adult life. “Yes, I do.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Son.” Raphael met them on the lawn, his face pale and his worry over Wren evident in the emotions that bled into the back of Jett’s mind. The archangel brushed his son’s wing with his own and held out a hand to Jett. “Good work, Guardian, and thank you for not bringing him back covered in mud this time.”

  Wren scoffed, grinned, and flew up to the fourth-floor flight deck, the force of the takeoff kicking dirt into the air. He called down, “We’ll talk soon about Dante.”

  “Dante?” Raphael cocked his head.

  “My father appeared to Wren in the woods.”

  The archangel’s silver eyes widened.

  “I don’t know much more than that.”

  Raphael tilted his head back, angling his face to the sky. “I’d do the same thing in his position.” He glanced toward Lark, who approached from the direction of the lake. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good night, Jett. And thank you again.” Raphael took flight.

  Lark walked a slow circle around Jett. “Good job not rescuing the teen.”

  Jett cursed.

  “If it was easy, anyone could be a dedicated Guardian,” Lark said. “It goes against our instincts to ignore someone in trouble. But, the archangels are the humans’ real targets more often than not, and they need this level of protection. In reality, there would have been other Guardians rushing to rescue that teen. To do this job, you need to trust them to do theirs, and focus on yours.”

  “I’m not sure I can.”

  Lark arched an eyebrow.

  “I can trust the civilians to the other Guardians, but if that had been Lexine, I wouldn’t have been able to leave her. No way.”

  “Even if, through your empathic skill, you could tell Wren was dying?”

  “I don’t know.” He truly didn’t.

  “Hesitation could cost the life of an archangel. Not acceptable from one of their dedicated Guardians. There is no room for flexibility here, Jett.” He sighed. “This is crucial. Do some soul-searching. We’ll talk again in a few days. Now, go run laps around the colony’s border.”

  …

  After the first full week of being separated from Jett, Lexine hurried out of the orchard and across the colony with a plan and a basket.

  Dawn broke overhead in a dazzling display of blue and gold. Praying for good timing, she hurried around the archangel house to the garden, where Lark had a peculiar home hidden within the garden walls.

  Jett sat on the grass among fallen yellow oak leaves, stretching. He wore black workout pants. Nothing else. Lexine licked her lips and made her way around the flowerbeds to get to him.

  He looked her over. “Lex. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine.”

  “You don’t look fine, and your emotions have been all over the place this week. I almost came looking for you.”

  “I’ve been harvesting late-season apples and making wine. It’s a lot of work.” True, but far from the whole truth. Her sessions with Raphael had begun and the archangel was taking her request seriously. Thank goodness demons healed fast—there’d be no hiding some of her injuries from Jett’s observant gaze. “I brought you breakfast. One cannot survive harsh training only on the protein bars and granola Lark likes to eat.”

  Jett smiled. “You just saved my life. No lie.”

  She laughed and handed him the basket.

  He surveyed the contents—apple slices with honey, boiled eggs, and warm rolls—and shook his head. “I’ve never received such a gift. Thank you. Sit.”

  She knelt, and he seized her in a searing kiss that curled her toes.

  The sound of a throat clearing interrupted. Lexine glanced up into Lark’s scowling face.

  “Good morning, Lexine.”

  “Morning, Lark. I’m keeping your trainee well fed.”

  “So I see.” His lips twitched, and he shifted his gaze to Jett. “Ten minutes. Meet me at the lakeshore. There’s something we need to talk about.”

  Tension filled the air and Lexine glanced from one Guardian to the other.

  When Lark had gone, Jett kissed her again.

  “Eat,” she said.

  He kept her close, one arm around her waist, and ate with his free hand.

  “Will this work most mornings? They must allow you time to eat.”

  That deep crimson stare burned into her. “You don’t have to—”

  “I want to! I want to see you, and I want you to do well. The first step to success is a good breakfast.”

  His throat worked. He ran a fingertip over a honey-coated apple slice and wiped the sweet goo on her lips. He kissed her, licking her clean. “Yes, I get a few minutes in the morning to stretch after a quick breakfast of granola inside.”

  “Excellent. Forget the granola and meet me out here.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, adoration in his gaze. “You’re perfect.”

  “Eat!”

  He obliged, finishing every crumb.

  “It’s not too much? I know they push you. A full stomach might not be the best idea.”

  “It’s perfect. We start with target practice in the morning.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “Today is the first day he’s going to blindfold me and give me earplugs. Using the dart gun, I’ll need to find my targets with my empath sense alone. I’m nervous.”

  “You’ll do great.”

  “I’ll do better now that I’ve been fed.” He claimed her mouth, kissing her hard enough to force her down to the grass on her back.

  She tasted the honey and tart apple on his lips, which mingled with the sweet venom. His scent, honey and tea, overwhelmed her senses and left her dizzy.

  He pulled back, his hands lingering on either side of her face. “I have to go.”

  “Wait, one more thing.” She folded back the terry cloth on the bottom of the basket and extracted the present she’d wrapped in simple, dark green rice paper.

  “What’s this?”

  “Happy Birthday. I checked the date in your father’s journal.”

  He blinked.

  She set the gift into his
hands.

  “I…” He stared down at the present. “No one’s ever…”

  “Happy Birthday, Juneau.”

  He let out a long breath. “Thank you.”

  “Well? Open it!”

  The shock faded from his eyes, and he tore the paper, revealing the leather-bound journal she’d had made by the colony’s book craftsman. The dark cover had a border of inlaid white birch bark, sealed behind glass. She’d requested that embellishment with Jett’s early journaling efforts in mind.

  “This will be a bit sturdier than your birch bark paper,” she said.

  “Yes. Yes, it will. Thank you, Lex.”

  He kissed her again, his arms around her, his grip tight enough to hurt. She squirmed and he eased off, finishing the kiss with a tender brush of his lips against hers.

  “See you tomorrow,” she said, getting to her feet.

  “I can’t wait.”

  …

  After bringing Jett a breakfast of maple oatmeal and stealing several minutes of kisses as she had for the last month, Lexine climbed into bed for her weekly sleep. Her body ached from that day’s session with Raphael, but she’d gotten better, so much better, in a month’s time. She’d even landed a strike to the back of his wings today, an accomplishment mixed with thrill and horror. But of course, her teacher had been pleased, not offended. She shut her eyes and drifted, her slumber peaceful.

  Until the dream.

  It started the same as it had in the past. A strong sense of love and happiness. Her mate, with the tattoo and claw marks, at her side. From there, the scene took a devastating turn. Between one breath and the next, Jett fell to the ground. Blood drenched his clothes. He held her until he lost consciousness, his hands falling from her shoulders.

  Nothing could wake a demon from sleep. Even though she knew, somehow, that she was dreaming. She remained trapped in the nightmare, crying and screaming at Jett’s side as his blood spread out over an unusual mosaic floor of orange fish on a blue, green, and brown background constructed of tiny glass tiles.