“I know,” she whispered.
“I cannot accept that. To me, your safety is every bit as important as the archangels’. The very idea that I wouldn’t be able to keep you safe if this colony came under attack again makes me ill.”
“But—”
“I’ve discussed it with Lark at length. I’ve given the subject a lot of thought. Now, I need your thoughts, before I decide to take the oath to the archangels or not.” He folded the soft blanket closer to her neck and rubbed her arms.
She swallowed. Hard. “Why?”
“Because I would have you as my mate one day, Lex. If you’ll have me.”
She froze. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. The scent of blood filled her nose, the nightmare still lingering.
“I would become a regular Guardian.” He lowered his hands along her arms and gripped her fingers. “Perhaps it’s too soon to ask, but waiting until after I take the oath to at least talk to you about this would be a mistake.”
She swallowed. Swallowed. Swallowed.
“Lex?”
She sobbed and dropped her face into her hands.
“Beauty?” he whispered, touching the side of her face.
“I want to, but I can’t.”
“What?” He leaned closer to her, tensing. His breath brushed her cheek. “I don’t understand.”
Words spilled from her mouth in a rush, punctuated by sobs and chokes. She explained her original dream—how she realized what it really meant when she saw his tattoo and scars for the first time. How she’d kept that truth to herself, afraid of scaring him off when she wanted to get to know him better. How the dreams had stopped, and she’d abandoned hope that they had a future. He listened in absolute stillness, his hands clamped over hers.
She told him how the dream had come back, changed. How he’d died in her arms.
“That dream can’t come true. You’ll die.” Her throat stung. “We need to stay away from each other. If we’re not mated, the dream can’t come true! You’ll be safe—”
“Nonsense.” His dark crimson gaze burned into her. “Consider the life I lead, Lexine. Staying away from you is not going to keep me out of harm’s way. Staying safe is not my goal. Killing my enemies is my goal.”
“But—”
He covered her lips with a finger. “Dream or no dream, my fate is not in your hands, and I need you to stop thinking that way. If I get hurt or killed, it’ll be the result of my own damned mistakes.”
She shoved his hand away. “These sorts of dreams are rare, Jett. They’re a legitimate glimpse into the future, not a goddamned a horoscope!”
Fisting one hand at his side, he reached up with the other and grasped her chin, his grip firm but not enough to hurt to her. “No dream is going to dictate my fate, tell me how I will or will not die, or who I will or will not be with. My future is for me to decide.”
“And for me to decide, in this case.”
“Lex…”
“I won’t be your mate, Jett.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips, which he didn’t return. “I’ve fallen in love with you. I won’t put your life at risk if there is anything I can do to protect you.”
“Protect me?”
“Yes. I’m a female, but I’m nothing like Caza.”
He leaned back. “You know what happened to Caza?”
“Raphael told me.” She got to her feet, holding the blanket around herself. Now that her distress over the dream had been vented, another emotion hit her. Jett took a step back. He must have sensed her anger. “I’m not Caza. I’m not a delicate flower. Instead of just sitting there a frightened idiot—not to disrespect the dead—I’d have gotten on my damn feet and found a safe place. If I’d come across humans, I’d have fought back. I’ve been training with Raphael to develop my hand-to-hand skills, and I’m not afraid to use what I’ve learned. Or this.” She held up her hands and lit them with flames. “Or these.” She hissed, baring her fangs.
“Lex—”
“If it weren’t for this dream, the horrible future I saw, I’d be perfectly capable of being a mate to an archangel’s Guardian. You wouldn’t have had to give that up for me. In an emergency, while you did your job, I’d have taken care of myself like a big girl and been waiting for you afterward!”
He stared at her in silence for a moment that stretched out until the pulse in Lexine’s ears deafened her.
“In that case, you really are perfect, Lex,” he said, his tone sad enough to twist her stomach. “And I’ve fallen in love with you, too.”
He turned and left without another word.
…
Jett rushed back to the archangel house. He forced his mind to process only thoughts of the mission ahead, refusing to see Lexine’s face in his mind’s eye, refusing to let her tremulous emotions reach him through his empathic skill. He realized the effort was wasted when he couldn’t enter the security codes to unlock the door. His hands shook too hard.
He paused, braced himself on the door frame, his mind swimming from all Lexine had told him. His tattoo. He’d been the “poacher” in her dream from the beginning. The scars from when he’d shredded his own skin proved it.
But then the dream had ceased. Why? Because of his decision to become a dedicated Guardian? Her new dream came that afternoon, when he’d decided to ask her to be his mate. After so many weeks of her bringing him breakfast and putting up with his absence as he trained, nothing in her emotions but determination, pride, concern, and aching loneliness—never the resentment he deserved—he’d had to tell her she meant more to him than just a girl on the side. And she deserved to have a say in his future, because he wanted it to be their future.
She’d turned him down.
He laughed into the door to vent the emotion that threatened to drop him to his knees. She’d turned him down because she loved him. He’d been studying her emotions. She’d spoken the absolute truth. She loved him, but she feared the dream foretold his death. Taking a cue from his insistence, weeks ago, that she could change her future, she’d turned him down to keep his ass alive.
Jett could love her for that. If he didn’t love her already.
He refused to believe his future could be dictated by a dream, and Lexine’s story proved him right. Her dream had changed. It had even stopped for a period of time after he took a different path. But the fact that she’d seen his scars and tattoo years before they’d met proved that the dream was far from inaccurate.
He counted back the years. Yes. About the time he started to befriend Raphael, starting down the road that would eventually lead to freeing the archangel and himself, Lexine’s dreams had begun.
Fate?
He shuddered. The idea of fate, to any degree, scared the shit out him.
I am in control. I am in control. I am in control.
Maybe he was a fool. The future wasn’t set in stone, but he had no real control. After all, Lexine had just turned him down. He’d sought her out that evening certain she wouldn’t. If Fate had tried to push them together, the act had backfired. Or, perhaps Fate had simply meant from the beginning to torture them. A little sick fun to help Her pass the time.
Lexine’s determination had been as profound as a slap. There’d be no changing her mind. It was over between them—he’d never be able to have a casual relationship with someone he felt so strongly for. The truth of it burned in the center of his chest.
He shook himself, awareness of the archangels inside the house growing, breaking through his personal crap. There’d be time for his issues later. Now, he had a job to do.
He turned his thoughts to Lawrence. Deliberately recalled his childhood. The bone-deep fury that built up all those years granted him a deadly calm and focus. For now.
He opened the door and went inside. On the second floor, he found Lark, Raphael, Ginger, Wren, and the twins.
“Where’s Andrew?”
Lark said, “He’s at the town hall, getting a lecture from Vin on running away and responsibility. P
oor kid.” The Guardian sat with a laptop computer on his knees. “I have Drew’s home address. He lives with his mother in Morgan, Vermont. It’s not far.”
“And his grandfather?”
“Victor Lawrence, MD, PhD, runs a small research lab at a medical center in Massachusetts, according to Andrew.” Lark turned the screen, showing Jett a website with smiling doctors and flowering trees. “He’s not listed online, though. Assuming Andrew’s telling the truth, Lawrence must keep a very low profile, which isn’t a surprise. We’d have found him by now, otherwise. Anyway, I estimate a six-hour drive from Morgan to the medical center. If you’d rather, the Guardians can take the kid home so you can go straight after Lawrence.”
“No. I’ll take Andrew. If Lawrence’s daughter-in-law is sick and her son is missing, he may be visiting. I can’t risk missing him.”
“Indeed,” Lark said.
“Is something wrong?”
Jett blinked at Wren’s question and realized he’d been staring at the archangel and Ginger. The pair sat on a backless couch while Raphael held both of the twins. Their knees pointed toward each other. Ginger rested her head against his wing. Wren drew circles on her knee with his fingertips.
“Nothing,” Jett said, noting the gruffness in his own voice. He moved closer to Raphael and the twins, the little innocents that Lawrence wanted to get his harsh claws into. Jett needed to focus on keeping this family safe, needed to get his head in the right place for the fight to come.
“May I?”
Raphael glanced at Wren, who nodded. “Of course.”
Jett took Talon in his arms, uncertain and awkward as he tried not to handle the child’s wings.
Wren grinned. “At that age, it’s all good. Think of them as built-in blankets.”
Jett held Talon close, the mottled gray wings naturally wrapped around the tiny body. The infant made cooing noises in his sleep, his face turned into his feathers.
Reaching out with his empathic gift, Jett marveled at the absolute serenity that radiated from the child. He couldn’t imagine that kind of peace. Wait, yes he could. Those few moments when he’d visited Cinnamon and she’d absorbed all his emotional baggage, he’d experienced such a state of calm.
Talon squirmed and pulled at a handful of his feathers. Jett gently pushed the tiny hand away and scratched the spot on the infant’s wing. The child settled down.
There’d be no safeguarding such innocence forever. The twins had a merciless world to grow up in, but, damn it, they’d have one less thing to worry about when Jett was done with Lawrence.
He shifted his attention to Wren’s emotions, relieved and humbled to find, when it came to holding the infant, Jett had Wren’s unhesitant trust.
Jett resettled Talon next to Phoenix on Raphael’s lap, stroking each infant’s cheek in turn. Phoenix smiled and wiggled closer to her brother. If Jett hadn’t known better, considering their age, he’d have sworn Talon scowled at her.
“Be nice to your sister,” Jett scolded and tapped the kid lightly on the nose.
Raphael laughed. “One minute, you can’t separate them without defending screams, the next, they’re in a mini-fistfight. This will be a very interesting household when they get older.”
Jett took a chair at the table next to Lark and studied the computer screen. Time to learn the neighborhood around the house in Morgan, as well as the medical center, develop a plan, and get on the road.
Heads up, Lawrence, you fucker. I’m coming for you.
…
Lawrence drove north through Vermont to Morgan, the little town where his daughter-in-law had lived before she’d met his son. Why she insisted on living all the way out here when she had a perfectly good home near the medical center still escaped him. She went on about the fresh air and the joy her family property gave her. Frustrating woman.
After her death, he’d sell the lakefront home and put the money toward Andrew’s college tuition.
He arrived at Miriam’s just after sunset and rushed up to the covered porch of the old, white-clapboard house.
The wooden door opened, followed by the noisy screen door, as Miriam stepped outside.
“Miriam, you shouldn’t be out here. It’s chilly.”
Her lips pursed in a hard expression she’d used often as a lawyer before she’d gotten sick. “Don’t coddle me, Victor. My son is missing.”
“Let’s go inside and talk.”
She huffed and turned on her heel, her gray skirt twirling around her ankles, her pale curls bouncing on her shoulders. Even in the crisp and bland outfits she wore—an ever-present symptom of her lawyer persona—and after her long illness, she was lovely. His son had been a lucky man.
If only she’d listen to reason to move closer to the hospital.
In the living room, Pastor Richard Elks rose from the sofa. “Victor.”
“Richard.”
Miriam settled, her back stiff, in an antique, wooden-legged chair. “Andrew had an interesting conversation with Pastor Elks recently.”
“Oh?”
Richard stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “He asked me about my sermon last week, about the archangel Raphael and the healing power of God.”
“What sort of questions?”
“How to pray to the angels to help his mother. How to approach the ‘Raphael’ who lives in Sanctuary.”
“What?”
“I made it very clear that Sanctuary had no help to offer, and that the archangels cast from Heaven were not to be sought out. He appeared convinced when he left my office. But now that he’s missing…”
Lawrence leaned against the hearth. “Oh, God.” He swallowed. “Andrew was in my office at the lab a few weeks ago. He must have seen.”
“Seen what?” Miriam pulled a knit blanket over her lap, her hands shaking.
“The fallen archangel Raphael does have the power to heal. The phenomenon was observed a year ago. I saw it myself. I have a video on the computer in my office.”
Miriam’s lips thinned. “What have you gotten into?”
“A business associate of mine had Raphael captive. The archangel escaped with the help of one of the guards. The guard was shot, a severe wound to the abdomen. Raphael healed him with a moment’s touch. I saw the whole thing on security footage. The guard got up and walked away a short while later after a period of unconsciousness.”
“The archangel is fallen. Such a thing must be the devil’s work.” Fury filled Richard’s voice. “I didn’t realize you planned to do anything but kill them.”
Victor suppressed a curse. Perhaps getting the Pastor involved in his work had been a mistake after all. “He could bring miracles to the suffering.”
“Never accept gifts from the devil, Victor.”
“Damn it! You don’t walk through the ICU every day!” Victor glowered at the pastor. “I was to have the archangel for research. Since his escape, I’ve been seeking to recapture him, or better even, to attain his newborn grandchildren. They can be raised to serve humanity—”
“What does this have to do with Andrew’s disappear-ance?” Miriam wailed.
“Jesus, if he went to Sanctuary…those demons…”
The pastor, paled faced, shook his head. “That is no place for a child to wander.”
“No shit.” Lawrence placed his hand on Miriam’s shoulder. “I’ll get him back. Don’t worry. I’ll get Drew back.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
After hours of trying to pull herself together after Jett left and unable to stand the silence in her apartment a moment longer, Lexine debated going out into the colony and being social, just for the sake of being around others. No, bad idea. Anyone who saw her red, puffy face would ask what was wrong, and the last thing she wanted was to be a spectacle—it would bother her if no one else. She did need to talk to someone, though.
She sent Ginger a text message. She never called this late in deference to the fact that her friend needed to sleep every night, but Lexine desperately need
ed an ear and a shoulder.
And chocolate and wine. A punching bag would be nice.
Her phone chirped a second later. Wide awake. Come on over.
She texted back. Has Jett left? Despite how they’d left things between them, he’d called, told her they had a lead on Lawrence, and he was leaving immediately to follow through.
Yes…
I’ll be right there.
Lexine pulled on a sweater and headed out. The brisk walk around the lake did nothing to calm her. When she reached the house, Devin let her in and escorted her to the fourth floor, where he entered another series of codes to unlock the door before returning to his post. The brand-new apartment still smelled of freshly cut wood. She took a deep breath as she removed her sweater and hung it on a hook.
Ginger leaned into view from the kitchen. “I’m making tea. Do you need something stronger?”
“I want something stronger, but I better not. I need to clear my head, not muddle it more.”
“How about cookies?”
“Perfect.” She kept her voice down and glanced toward the master bedroom as she joined Ginger in the kitchen. “Is Wren sleeping?”
“No. He’s downstairs with Raphael. They were putting a movie on when I left. This development with Lawrence has everyone on edge, waiting to hear what happens.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Ginger flicked her hand. “Let the boys watch the movie. You look like hell. What’s wrong?”
Lexine accepted a mug of tea and added honey, the combination reminding her of Jett’s scent. She told the whole story, the words rushing out. Ginger listened with a furrowed brow, staring into her tea.
“You could have told us, sweetie. We wouldn’t have judged you. You, with a poacher?” Ginger shook her head. “I would’ve suspected, above all else, that something wasn’t as it appeared.”
“It was too horrible a possibility to admit to.”
“Well, it’s off the table now.” Ginger covered Lexine’s hand with her own. “Demon premonition dreams fascinated me as a teen, so I read a lot on the subject. They aren’t exact depictions of the future, necessarily. They’re dreams, so they’re liable to have a ten-foot ice-cream cone walking around in them, even when such a fabulous thing isn’t a part of the future.”