She held her mother as the time-weathered demon collapsed to her knees and sobbed, the sounds cutting in the acoustic space, joining the weeping of the other mourners. Though aging, as humans would recognize it, had just started to kick in for the five-hundred-year-old, giving her hair gray streaks, the stress of the last couple days had taken all the color from her skin and left her thin and brittle in Lexine’s arms.
Lexine held her own tears back. She stepped aside so her father could hold her mother. Sitting next to the largest veil-covered urn, she pulled Bryce into her lap and hummed in his ear.
Gradually, the room grew quiet, the steady decrescendo the only mark of passing time. Her mother took Bryce, and Lexine leaned against the wall. Pain filled her body, but she could not, would not, let it out.
“It’s okay to cry, sweetie,” her father whispered.
“I can’t. It’s too…final.”
He took her hand. “Jac’s gone.”
She squeezed his hand, but pulled away and ran out the back door of the mausoleum. In the cool night air, her knees gave out and tears broke free.
So much for being strong.
Warm weight settled against her side and over her shoulders. Jett sat in the grass with her, flames licking down his arms. He lifted her and resettled them in a private corner created by the stone steps and the wall, and she didn’t protest. She gave in to the hypnotic comfort of the fire and leaned against him.
“You are strong, Lexine.”
Had she expressed that doubt out loud? She wiped at her face and held her breath in an attempt to dam the sobs.
He shook his head, his chin rubbing against her hair. “Let it out. You won’t feel better until you do.”
God help her, she did as he said. She gripped his jacket and set her grief free. Sobs shook her body, choked her throat, and continued until the sodden place they seeped from ran dry. She pulled away long enough to clean her face with tissues from her pockets. Steadied by Jett’s embrace, she shut her eyes and breathed in his scent. His flames caressed her cheek.
An owl lifted off from the mausoleum roof and disappeared over the trees in startled flight. Much larger silhouettes followed a moment later as the archangels headed home, the rustle of their feathers a harsh sound in the still night. She’d lost all track of time, but the colony’s vigil traditionally broke up at one in the morning.
Lexine leaned away. “Shouldn’t you be following them?”
“Lark cut me loose for the rest of the evening. My pre-sence with the family tonight was more ceremonial than anything else. My training starts at dawn.”
“Well, congratulations.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“Why does my decision upset you?”
“Because you seem intent on getting yourself killed.”
“They offered me a purpose that will outlast Lawrence. I accepted.”
“After not even speaking to anyone for months?” She sighed, gripping his shoulders. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled you’re joining the community, but a Guardian?”
“For the archangels.”
“That’s worse.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s nothing more dangerous.”
“I’m in training. If it will work out remains to be seen. I want more in my future than brook trout, wild berries, and no one but the squirrels to talk to. I’m not trying to get myself killed. I’m trying to start living.”
She rubbed her face. She’d be selfish to argue that point.
“You should go back inside.”
“I’d like to head home, actually.” She shivered and pulled the robe tight. “I could use some extra sleep.”
“I’ll walk you, then.”
“All right.” After ducking inside to check in with her family, she fell into step at his side, her arms folded.
“Do you give all new Guardians the same reception?” he murmured as the path curved around a large boulder in the forest, bringing them closer to the lakeshore. Intermittent lanterns hung from the trees, providing a reddish-orange glow.
“No. The Guardians have my respect. You’re no exception, especially after all you’ve done for Bryce. I just…”
“What?”
The words rushed out of her mouth. “One of my brothers was just murdered. The other, kidnapped. Poachers attacked the colony. Ginger is a dear friend and the constant threat that hangs over her family haunts me. It’s too much for me to see another person I care about added to the boiling water!”
He arched an eyebrow. “I’m a person you care about?”
“Of course. You saved my little brother.”
“Ah, so you’re just grateful.”
“I’m very grateful, but it’s more than that.”
He stopped. Unmoving, he stared at her, those eyes of deepest crimson richer in the darkness lit only by the lantern hanging above his head. “How so?”
“I want to kiss you again, Jett.” She pressed her palms to his chest, stood on her toes, and tasted his lips.
His arms anchored her waist to his and he parted her lips with his tongue. The sweet taste of his venom—more honey-like in flavor than her own—filled her mouth as his tongue slid against hers. She sucked on one of his fangs, drawing out more of the nectar. A tremor ran down her body.
One of his hands lifted and tangled in her hair; the other dropped and squeezed her ass. Despite his passionate grip, he eased off, kissing her with leisurely strokes of his lips. His tender caress eased the tension out of her muscles.
She ran her hands down his arms, over the unmistakable lumps of knives under his jacket. A Guardian for the archangels, but how could that be? In her dream, he’d been her mate. Lark had never taken a mate, had never even indulged in courtship as far as she knew. Most of the Guardians had families, but Lark, and now Jett, had a responsibility that owned and defined their lives.
Certainly he wouldn’t fail the training, would he? Knowing what he’d done for Raphael in the past and feeling the coiled strength beneath her hands, the idea that he’d fail seemed absurd.
The future in the dream was easily changed, after all. The thought left her with an ache in her chest. She’d barely started getting to know him, had gotten just a taste of where things could go between them. Now the potential was gone, snuffed out like a tiny flame.
But, he deserved to do well. He’d been through so much.
She broke the kiss, her fingers lingering on his shoulders. “Good luck tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” He offered her his arm and resumed walking. “As soon as I have time, I want to see you again.”
She bit her lip. He’d have no such time. “I look forward to it.”
Chapter Twelve
“Savages,” Jett said, coughing on water as he threw his bound hands over the edge of the large canoe. Three weeks had passed since the funeral—one continuous training session except for a few precious hours of sleep. “Vicious, evil degenerates—”
“Hold that thought.” His blond head haloed by the first colors of dawn, Devin lifted Jett by the arms and shoved him down. Again.
Jett had been in the water long enough that the cold no longer bothered him—he’d gone numb. His lungs and muscles burned. Using a whole-body writhing motion that he’d perfected since the moment Devin had first tossed him overboard with hands and ankles bound, he propelled himself back to the surface. This time, he stayed the hell away from the boat, so he’d have a moment to catch his breath.
Devin grinned with satisfaction, as if he’d been waiting for Jett to make that move. “You’ve shaved off half your time. Excellent.”
Fighting to keep his head above the surface with his hands and feet bound, Jett heard a different voice.