Bound Guardian Angel (58 page)

He paused and waved his free hand in the air
over his stomach.

“I had this rock collection.” He glanced at
her. “I still do, actually. It’s at my place, still in the leather
pouch my father made for me.” His face twisted as painful memories
clawed at him. “I had this favorite. It was a shimmering white
color, like fogged glass, with shiny black flecks all through it.
Null has one similar to it in his own collection.”

“I know the one you’re talking about,” she
said. “I think it’s quartz.”

“Yeah, well, Mason picked up my favorite
rock and threw it into the pond. The moment it hit the water, my
right arm shot out”—he mimicked the motion, lifting his arm toward
the ceiling—“and this blast of energy burst from my hand. It shook
the ground like an earthquake, rattling the trees, and threw Mason
and all the other kids away from me like ragdolls. Two were
injured.”

He paused and met her eyes. “I was
terrified. I bolted. Ran all the way home. But I didn’t tell
anybody what had happened. Maybe if I had, things would have turned
out differently, but I was too scared. I thought my family was
already upset with me for all the other stuff that was going on
around me, so I thought that if they learned about this, I’d be in
grave trouble. I didn’t want to be punished, so I kept quiet.”

Cordray barely breathed, not wanting to
disrupt him now that he was on a roll.

“A couple of nights later, I was out
collecting herbs and roots for my mother’s tinctures when I smelled
smoke coming from the direction of my home. I ran as fast as I
could, hearing the shouts of the townspeople. By the time I reached
our cabin, it was engulfed in flames.” Tears bloomed in his eyes.
“My mother was being dragged by her hair toward a flaming pyre. All
I could do was watch. I felt so helpless.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. He
didn’t even breathe. Then he let go of her and sat up, burying his
face in his hands, sobbing. She pushed herself up beside him and
grabbed the throw blanket hanging off the corner of the bed.
Wrapping it around him, she straddled his lap and pulled him into
her arms. Right now, Trace was back inside his twelve-year-old
mind, living those agonizing memories she’d seen thrash through his
thoughts in Micah’s dungeon. He needed to feel safe. Loved.
Accepted.

“It’s not your fault.” She kissed his
forehead.

“You don’t understand.” He buried his face
against her breast, his arms holding her as if letting go would
kill him. “I was careless. I never listened and didn’t try to
control my power the way she told me to. If I had, I might not have
lost control of it that day, and if I hadn’t lost control, the town
wouldn’t have come for her—for
us
. If I’d told my mother
what I’d done, we could have fled before they came.”

He turned his face toward hers. Tears
streamed his cheeks. “I watched them tie her to a cross and toss
her onto that pyre like she was nothing more than kindling. I heard
her screams as she burned to death. I heard them calling her a
demon. They were calling me that. And all I could do was stand
there. And then . . .” He burrowed against her body
like he could hide there forever. “I killed them. My power rose in
a fury, and I killed those who were torturing her before I fled
from the others, terrified of what I’d done and what I’d seen.”

She caressed the back of his head, soothing
him as best as she could.

“If you ask me,” she said a few seconds
later, keeping her voice soft, “they deserved it for what they did
to your mother. To your entire family.” She placed her hand under
his chin and coaxed him to look at her. “For what they did to
you
.”

For a prolonged, meaningful moment, she held
his gaze.

He blinked and nodded curtly as more tears
fell from his chin. Then he leaned forward and rested his forehead
between her breasts, head bowed. “Maybe, but I was so ashamed of
what I’d done.” He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was
softer. “That’s why I chew on matchsticks. It reminds me of how my
mother died. Of how dangerous fire is. Of how I always need to
remain vigilant and not let my power take control of me like that
again.”

She pressed her cheek against the top of his
head and hugged him close.

“I was so scared that night,” he said. “I
ran away as fast as my legs could carry me, until my legs gave out,
afraid the others would catch me and kill me, too.” His hold on her
strengthened. “My mother was dead. I thought my father and Brak
were, too. They’d been inside the house. No way could they have
survived that fire.”

“But they did,” she said.

He nodded against her chest. “I had hoped
they had, since I could still feel Brak’s spirit, but I was never
completely sure. And then I found my father in Bishop’s
lab . . . and then Brak came to me in the king’s
dungeon. Then it became real. They were still alive. But how could
I face them after what I’d done? I couldn’t.” He pulled away and
looked into her eyes. “That’s why I haven’t gone to see them. I
don’t know if I can face the guilt and shame that it was my actions
that ultimately killed her. What if they haven’t forgiven me?”

Cordray cupped his cheek. “First of all,
your actions did not kill her. The actions of the townspeople did.
Secondly, there’s nothing to forgive, and even if there were,
you’re assuming your father and brother are so coldhearted that
they would shun their own flesh and blood rather than offer
forgiveness.” She placed her hand on his cheek. “If they have even
an inkling of compassion, they wouldn’t want you to suffer like
this. The three of you need to come together if for no other reason
than to properly mourn your mother and put her to rest. Because I
can’t imagine her spirit is resting knowing that those she loved
most—and she did love you, Trace—are suffering and haven’t spoken
to one another face to face since the day she died.”

A week ago, Trace would have responded to
her outpouring of concern with aggression. He would have told her
to mind her own business, and he would have done so with language
colorful enough to make a sailor take notes. But things were
different now.

“I love you.” Even though he whispered his
declaration, his voice rang strong and clear.

And those three little words, said with raw
sincerity and complete devotion, were a testament to just how
different things between them had become in the past six hours.

“Is that your way of saying I’m right and
you’ll go see Brak and your father?”

He cupped her face in his large right hand.
The hand that could strike death in an instant or infuse her with
more pleasure than she’d ever felt.

“It’s my way of saying that fate got this
shit right.” He pushed his fingers into her hair. “You and me?
We’re good together. Fate chose my mate well.”

Cordray wasn’t about all the girly shit. She
wasn’t into flowers, romantic shows of affection, or candlelit
dinners on the beach, but something about hearing Trace proclaim
that fate had gotten things right by making her his mate made her
want to roll around in rose petals while snuggling with purring
kittens.

After reeling in the smile that overtook her
face, she said, “Yeah, well, you still haven’t answered my
question. Are you going to go see Brak and Maddox?”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “See?
You’re perfect. Always busting my balls.”

“Two weeks ago, you would have sent me
through the window for even bringing Brak up.”

“That was two weeks ago. This is now.” He
reclined, dropping his head back to his pillow, taking her with
him, pushing her hair away from her face. “My attitude has changed
where you’re concerned.”

“Ditto, stud.” She grinned down at him,
supported by her arms outstretched on either side of his shoulders.
“Now, are you going to go visit them or not?”

He searched her eyes then gently nodded.
“Yes, beast master,” he said mockingly. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You go with me so I can introduce you.” He
squeezed her rump. “As my
mate
.”

She smirked. “You’re never going to get
tired of calling me that, are you?”

“Nope.”

She sighed then nestled herself against him,
resting her head on his chest. “I guess I can live with that.”

His fingertips traipsed up and down her
back, sending pleasant shimmers through her nerve endings. “So, are
you going to tell me what happened last night before I got here?
And who I need to kill for putting you in danger?”

“I wasn’t in danger.”

“You were tied up.”

“But I was never in danger.”

“Still—”

“I’m fine, Trace.”

“Just tell me what happened.” He swatted her
ass. Hard.

She shot up at the sharp contact and let out
a startled squeak. She’d never been spanked, and she had to admit,
she kind of liked it. Not being able to feel pain had its
advantages, but some types of pain were obviously more pleasurable
than others. “Did you just spank me?”

“Yes. And I will again if you don’t tell me
what happened here last night.”

She briefly considered the idea, thinking it
might be fun to experience a little painful pleasure at Trace’s
hand. Then she decided they could play later.

“Skeletor was here.”

Trace shot up, gripping her around the waist
so she didn’t slide off is lap. “What?”

“Calm down, beast boy.” She patted his
cheek. “He wasn’t here to hurt me.”

“Like hell.” Possessive, mated rage flashed
over his expression. “He tied you up. He could have hurt you. He
could have violated you.”

Cordray had never even considered the
possibility, because while Skeletor was a lot of things, rapist
wasn’t one of them. In the few encounters she’d had with him, not
once had he put off the signal that he was capable of such an act.
He seemed more noble than that.

“But he didn’t.” She took Trace’s face in
her hands and steadied him. “He didn’t, okay? I’m fine. I’m safe.
I’m untouched.”

Trace’s mated-male side wasn’t ready to give
up the chase. “I swear to God, when I catch him, he’s going to wish
he’d never—”

“Calm down, tiger.” She had to admit, she
liked seeing him so worked up over her safety. It was nice knowing
she had a male like Trace—with a built-in nuclear device in his
hand—catching her back.

His fury dialed back a notch, and he took a
deep breath as if trying to force himself to relax. “What did he
want?”

“To warn me.” She averted her gaze, knowing
she needed to tell Trace that she was Bain’s sister.

She was between a rock and hard place. By
keeping her relationship to Bain a secret, she would betray the
trust that should exist between mates, but by revealing that
relationship, she would betray her brother. Well, her half-brother,
but what difference did that make? She was still going to betray
someone in this scenario.

“Warn you about what?”

“He wants me to stop helping Micah track him
down.” She quickly told Trace about how Skeletor had hacked her.
About how Micah had determined he’d used the underground pedway to
escape. About what she’d learned about the stolen ankh.

She thought back over her encounter with
Skeletor the night before. “You know, he said something strange to
me last night. When I mentioned that he was endangering my kids, he
said that I’ve got bigger problems here than him.”

“What did he mean by that?”

“He wouldn’t tell me. He said that if I
wanted to know, I needed to stop helping Micah.”

Trace scoffed. “And if we don’t stop?”

“We?”

He grinned as his eyelids closed halfway,
his expression dripping with possessive sexuality. “Oh yeah, baby.
We’re definitely a
we
now.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “We are,
huh?”

His arms encircled her more securely.
“Definitely. So tell me, if
we
don’t stop, what’s Skeletor
going to do?”

“Other than not tell me what my real problem
is here?” She bit her lip and lowered her gaze, recalling
Skeletor’s words.
I’ll tell everyone who you really are.

Trace stiffened as if he’d picked up on her
nervousness. “Cordray?”

She drew in a long, fortifying breath then
blew it out as she lifted her gaze to his.

She had to make a choice. Either she was
going to be faithful to her mate, or she was going to remain
faithful to her brother. She couldn’t have both.

“Cordray, what aren’t you telling me?”

She bowed her head and sighed. “Trace, I
need to tell you who I am. Who I
really
am.”

Chapter 35

“You’re King Bain’s sister?” Now that Trace looked
closely, he saw the family resemblance. The black hair. The blue
eyes. The aristocratic nose and high cheekbones.

“Half-sister,” she corrected, frowning. She
nervously bit her lip.

It all made sense now. How she got away with
addressing the king as Bain instead of King Bain. How she was able
to speak to him so casually and disagree with him without suffering
repercussions. Why she’d reacted with such disgust when he thought
she and King Bain were lovers. How she had been able to persuade
him to shorten Trace’s prison sentence from a month to two weeks,
as well as convince him to give Io a chance and not execute
him.

Wait a second. Did this
mean . . .?

“Are you saying I mated a princess?”

Her cheeks filled with color. “Technically
yes. Officially? No. No one can know my true relationship to the
royal family, or it will damage Bain’s reign. People will see him
differently. They’ll judge him for the actions of our father.”

Trace ran the backs of his fingers over her
cheek. “I promise not to say anything. Not even to Micah.”

“Yeah, but he can see inside your thoughts
now. He’ll find out eventually.”