“Regardless, you wouldn’t have saved Raphael if this had been a real fight. If you trained, you could do a hell of a lot more for this family than take out Lawrence. He’s just one of many enemies.”
Jett’s ears rang. Become a Guardian? Could he take that step? “I won’t enter another form of slavery.”
“Is that what you think I am?” Lark’s eyes widened. “A slave? I made a vow to protect Raphael and his family with my life, but I’m free to leave anytime, a far cry from slavery. I serve a purpose that I feel is worth putting my life down for. I endured training that pushed me to my knees and within an inch of the grave to earn the right to be here.”
Raphael touched Lark’s shoulder for a brief moment. “Lark has been by my side for over a hundred years, but there are five of us now. A second dedicated Guardian would go a long way toward keeping my family safe, but there are few I trust enough.” He paused and held Jett’s gaze. “I’m asking you to consider the position.”
Ah, shit. Even a bastard like himself couldn’t say no to that. He paced.
He’d always longed for freedom, but freedom to do what? Open a fucking pizza place?
“You would need to complete the training successfully first, of course,” Lark said. “There’s plenty of time to decide.”
“Why do you trust me?” Jett asked Raphael. “I helped keep you imprisoned for years.”
“You freed me.”
“Which I could have done much sooner, but I didn’t.”
“When the time came, you offered me a way to protect my son. To me, that outweighs everything else.”
Jett blew out a heavy breath. Last year, Thornton had gotten Wren on the phone and broken Raphael’s wing, intent on luring and killing the young archangel by using his father as bait. Raphael had cared only for his son’s safety, and the force of that love had shaken Jett to the core. Having grown up in the lab, Jett couldn’t remember experiencing the love of a parent.
If he joined the Guardians, and it didn’t work out, he could walk away—if Lark spoke the truth. Otherwise, God help the demon. He wouldn’t be a slave at their hands.
What did he have to lose?
He wandered to the windows and stared out at the lake for a long moment. “I’m in.”
Raphael stood and joined him by the glass.
What the hell did one say to someone you were promising to protect with your life? Jett lowered his head in silence. He’d promised himself he’d never bend in supplication of any kind ever again, so he had no greater way to show his respect and intent.
“I can’t express what this means to me, Guardian.” Raphael extended a wing and touched Jett’s arm with his flight feathers. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me until you’re dying of old age.”
Raphael reached his other wing toward Wren, who got to his feet. “Your oath extends to my family. They mean more to me than my own safety. I ask that you remember that. If the worst should happen one day and you can’t save us all, do not put me before them.”
Wren shot his father a withering glare and flicked his wings. “Ignore that, Jett.”
Jett nodded. He’d be damned if it ever came to such a moment, so no need to argue. “I understand your concern, Raphael.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Wren offered his hand. As they shook, he brushed Jett’s arm with his feathers as Raphael had done.
“What does that mean?” Jett had grown accustomed to Raphael avoiding wing contact. Even after Raphael’s imprisonment ended, Jett had observed the physical distance the archangels kept between themselves and others.
“Just our way of showing how much we trust you.” A hint of warning filled Wren’s voice. Jett held his gaze and nodded in understanding. Despite the gesture, Wren’s full trust still needed to be earned.
Jett took Lark’s hand in a firm shake. “I’m honored to work with you.”
“Likewise. Let’s get you orientated.” He motioned for Jett to follow and headed for the door.
Chapter Eleven
Jett followed Lark outside and around the back of the house, where an acre of trees had been cleared. A ten-foot granite wall surrounded an expansive garden: flowers and fruit trees, a fountain and marble statues, manicured lawn and meandering stone paths. He preferred the disorganized beauty of the untamed forest, but whoever did all this work had his respect.
“Kora, Raphael’s mate, did all of this herself.” Lark pointed toward a pristine reflecting pool at the base of a marble monument, rose bushes on either side. “She’s buried here, too.”
They followed the granite wall to the rear of the garden, where a wooden door and a security panel interrupted the smooth stonework.
“Tool shed?”
Lark scowled. “Bachelor pad.”
“You live here?”
Lark released the locks by entering a code in the security panel, opened the door, and went inside. “Home sweet home.”
Jett stepped through the door into a simple room with a bed and dresser on the left and a kitchenette and woodstove on the right. The stone floor, walls, and ceiling were blackened in many places. The scent of charred wood filled Jett’s nose. “Fire?”
Lark pressed a palm against the rough stone wall. “After Kora’s murder, the Guardians burned this place. Rightfully so, of course. I chose to leave the scorch marks when I moved back in. One can never have too many reminders of their single biggest failure in two hundred and fifty years of life. But, we’re not here to talk about my shoddy taste in decorating. Here.” Lark selected a box from a closet and pushed it into Jett’s hands. “Clothes I picked up the other day.” His mouth curved in a conspiratorial grin. “They should be your size.”
“I’m fine as I am, thanks.”
“A Guardian holds a position of respect in the colony. Especially an archangel’s Guardian. I can almost see your ass, those jeans are so threadbare.”
The redhead had a point. Living in the woods, he’d kept himself clean, but the rips and tears in his clothing hadn’t mattered. “Where can I change?”
“Through there.” Lark pointed to a door.
In the bathroom, Jett changed into the black combat pants and muscle shirt, and studied himself in the mirror. Damn, he needed a pair of scissors. He preferred his hair a little too long—mainly because Lawrence had kept it skull trimmed—but the uneven mess left after he’d used his knife for a haircutting tool was far from presentable, especially against the black uniform.
He tilted his head and ran his fingers over the tiny Guardian emblem, a cursive, gold G no bigger than a thumbnail, stitched on the left of his neckline. Simple, but proud.
So unlike the gaudy tattoo on his arm. He pulled on the black jacket to cover the appalling artwork. Shit, the look Lexine had given him.
Rolling his shoulders to adjust the new garments, he returned to the main room. Lark stood in the open doorway of a gun closet, flipping a blade end over end with one hand.
“You clean up nice.” A taunting grin.
“Fuck you.” Jett took in the something-for-everyone display of guns, knives, and…was that a samurai sword? “Tell me something. Do you trust me as much as Raphael does?”
Lark sheathed the blade. “I trust that you belong here, not with the humans, and you know it. For the eighteen years of Raphael’s imprisonment, I haunted Thornton’s stronghold, so you’re not a stranger to me. At the time, I had no reason or desire to respect your privacy.”
Jett’s muscles stiffened to the point that pain shot up his neck. “How much did you see?”