“Enough.” The tone in which Lark spoke that one word carried the weight of a hundred of Jett’s worst memories. Lark had been there, had witnessed the degradation. The older demon held his gaze without even a smattering of pity, the muscles around his jaw flexing as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. “At your age, I doubt I would have handled such treatment half as well. You have my respect.”
Lark offered his hand, and Jett shook it. Like it or not, Lark knew things no other living person knew. Jett wouldn’t allow that to undermine him. It was over. Thornton was dead, and this was his new life.
“However,” Lark said, “not everyone in Sanctuary will be as certain about you. Be prepared, and be patient.”
“Speaking of that. Does Sanctuary have any tattoo-removal equipment?”
“Lasers? No, but…” He held up a knife. “I could carve it off and the archangels could heal your arm. That would leave a nasty scar, though.”
“Better scar tissue than this tattoo.”
“I’d consider leaving it alone.”
“What the hell for?”
“Because the scar would be just as much a reminder as the tattoo itself, and if you ask me, those fingernail marks send a clear message of where your loyalty is and is not. Think about it while you train. If you still want to be carved up later, we’ll get it done.”
They spent an hour selecting just the right weapons for Jett’s tastes. New combat blades hugged his thighs. Eight throwing knives, two sets of four, clung to his sides. Daggers nestled into his boots and sheaths on his arms. A strap held a gun at his back.
Lark showed him to a spare room. “You can come here when you need to sleep, for now, and you can leave the weapons here. You won’t need them during the early phase of your training, which starts tomorrow at dawn. But first, you need to be presentable and armed when we appear with the family at the memorial for Jac and the children, which begins at dusk.”
Jett’s mouth went dry. A group funeral, courtesy of Law-rence.
Never again.
His thoughts shifted to large amber eyes and dark hair. Despite the grim occasion, his body hummed at the prospect of seeing her again.
“If you successfully complete the training,” Lark continued, “you and I will be equal partners. We’ll know each other well enough to work together during an emergency when we can’t stop and plan. However, for the time being, you’re required to heed any and all instructions I give you. In a situation where the family is at risk, my attention cannot be divided between them and wondering what the hell you’re doing.”
He bit back a “fuck off.” Taking orders would be the hardest part of this training, he had no doubt. “Understood.”
“Good.” Lark flipped and caught his blade again. “This afternoon, we’ll get some necessary evils out of the way. All the other Guardians need to meet you, and the more the civilians see you, the more at ease with your presence they’ll become. I’ve called Devin. He’ll take you around. I need to stay near the archangels.”
Sunglasses in place, they stepped out of the dwelling into the harsh, late-morning sun. Devin waited in the garden, dressed in Guardian black, minus the jacket. A long, thin scar wound across his left forearm. Wraparound sunglasses covered his eyes, but his lips curved in a smug grin. “I have much to teach you,” Lark said, “but the basis of your training will be physical conditioning. Devin will oversee those festivities.”
Devin’s grin broadened.
“You can’t be serious.” Jett folded his arms. “Running laps and push-ups?”
Lark laughed and glanced over his sunglasses, his crimson irises harsh red in the daylight. “Five minutes into the program originally designed by your father, you’ll wish it were that easy.”
“Before we do anything else,” Jett said, “we need to discuss Lawrence. He’s still out there, and we have no leads.”
“We know he’s planning another attack,” Devin said, all humor vanishing. “I think our best option is to wait for Lawrence to make another move. He has no chance of surprising us again.”
“Not my first choice,” Lark muttered, “but you’re right, we’re out of offensive options.”
“We could confide in the Vermont State Police,” Devin said. “We know his name. They should be able to track him down quite easily, even if he uses aliases, which I bet he does.”
“No,” Lark said, his tone icy. “They won’t let us kill him, and if he hasn’t done anything against human laws, he won’t even go to jail. I want this threat eliminated.”
“This could damage our fragile relationship with the VSP. Just saying. It’s worth considering.”
“The archangels are our first priority,” Jett said. “Period.”
Lark nodded. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We will involve the state police, but only concerning the threat of another attack on the colony by poachers, and we’ll prepare colony-wide for that attack. Vin is already planning as much.
“We won’t confide in the VSP about Lawrence, but any poachers they unearth may provide us with valuable leads. We’ll wait him out. Bastard has to make a mistake eventually Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Devin said.
“Fine,” Jett said.
Damn it. He fucking hated waiting.
…
Dressed in a heavy mourning robe, Lexine approached Sanctuary’s mausoleum—an edifice of granite and stained glass. She paused at the stone steps and glanced back at the gathering on the lawn. As with every death, the colonists had gathered together in silence, dressed in gray, their candles like stars that had sunk beneath the navy-blue, late-evening sky.
The archangels stood near the front of the crowd but off to the side, the white of their wings stark in the low light. They wore gray, just like all the demons, the traditional mourning color. Catching Ginger’s gaze, Lexine strayed from the mausoleum procession to embrace her friend. Holding the sleeping twins, Raphael and Wren whispered their condolences, followed by Lark and Devin. When the scent of rich tea and honey filled her nose and a fourth voice murmured in her ear, Lexine shivered under the verbal caress and glanced up.
Jett had traded his jeans and shirt for Guardian black, the distinctive golden G embroidered into the collar of both his jacket and the shirt underneath.
Her lungs deflated, and she tried to speak, but no sound came out. A Guardian? What? How?
“Lexi?” Her mother’s voice pulled her attention back to the open doors of the mausoleum, but Lexine’s feet remained frozen in place.
Jett lifted a hand to her arm.
She yanked free and shoved him in the chest, a fierce heat rising within her blood. His lips parted in surprise, revealing a hint of fangs longer and thicker than her own—typical of the male half of the species. The sight accelerated her heart rate along with her burst of temper. How dare he do this?
Hissing through her own fangs, she whispered, “Your life wasn’t dangerous enough? You had to go and paint a bigger target on your back?”
Being a Guardian put him on the front lines when dangerous humans attacked. He was significantly upping his chances of getting killed.
Dream or no dream, relationship or no relationship—after rescuing Bryce, Jett would always be a treasured part of her and her little brother’s life. To ever see him laid out in the mausoleum would chip off a piece of her heart, and under the crushing pain of her older brother’s death, the image was too much to bear.
She pivoted on her heel and hurried under the stone archway, joining her family.
The parents and siblings of the murdered children also occupied the grand room with its cathedral ceiling. The four urns sat under white veils, the moonlight from the stained-glass windows adding a shadow of color, a whisper of the lives that had once been.