Jett fought him off, plus a half-dozen other attackers, then took a less direct path to the house over more difficult terrain. Many more scents carried on the wind. By himself, he’d have opted to fight his way through the “poachers’” dragnet but keeping Wren out of their crosshairs was priority one.
“Tell me something, archangel,” Jett prompted as the lights from the stone house finally came into view. “How much trouble did you get into for getting caked in mud when we were little?”
Wren laughed. “I didn’t—my father was too amused. Mother wouldn’t let me in the house until I’d cleaned every last speck off, though, and the hose water was cold. You remember now?”
“No. I saw the picture.”
“Oh. Well, you started the mud brawl that got us both so filthy.”
“What! I did not. You’re the older one—”
“Doesn’t mean you weren’t the troublemaker.”
“Ridiculous. The only reason I was allowed near you—”
“Angel.” Wren pointed at his own chest, then at Jett. “Demon. Angel. Demon.”
“Oh, hell no! You wanted to go down to the lake, even though you weren’t allowed near the water. We ended up in the mud when I tried to drag you back.”
Stepping into the light that spilled across the front lawn, Wren smiled. “You remember.”
Jett shoved a hand through his hair. Images and voices from that part of childhood played in his mind for the first time in his adult life. “Yes, I do.”
“I’m glad.”
“Son.” Raphael met them on the lawn, his face pale and his worry over Wren evident in the emotions that bled into the back of Jett’s mind. The archangel brushed his son’s wing with his own and held out a hand to Jett. “Good work, Guardian, and thank you for not bringing him back covered in mud this time.”
Wren scoffed, grinned, and flew up to the fourth-floor flight deck, the force of the takeoff kicking dirt into the air. He called down, “We’ll talk soon about Dante.”
“Dante?” Raphael cocked his head.
“My father appeared to Wren in the woods.”
The archangel’s silver eyes widened.
“I don’t know much more than that.”
Raphael tilted his head back, angling his face to the sky. “I’d do the same thing in his position.” He glanced toward Lark, who approached from the direction of the lake. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Yeah.”
“Good night, Jett. And thank you again.” Raphael took flight.
Lark walked a slow circle around Jett. “Good job not rescuing the teen.”
Jett cursed.
“If it was easy, anyone could be a dedicated Guardian,” Lark said. “It goes against our instincts to ignore someone in trouble. But, the archangels are the humans’ real targets more often than not, and they need this level of protection. In reality, there would have been other Guardians rushing to rescue that teen. To do this job, you need to trust them to do theirs, and focus on yours.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
Lark arched an eyebrow.
“I can trust the civilians to the other Guardians, but if that had been Lexine, I wouldn’t have been able to leave her. No way.”
“Even if, through your empathic skill, you could tell Wren was dying?”
“I don’t know.” He truly didn’t.
“Hesitation could cost the life of an archangel. Not acceptable from one of their dedicated Guardians. There is no room for flexibility here, Jett.” He sighed. “This is crucial. Do some soul-searching. We’ll talk again in a few days. Now, go run laps around the colony’s border.”
…
After the first full week of being separated from Jett, Lexine hurried out of the orchard and across the colony with a plan and a basket.
Dawn broke overhead in a dazzling display of blue and gold. Praying for good timing, she hurried around the archangel house to the garden, where Lark had a peculiar home hidden within the garden walls.
Jett sat on the grass among fallen yellow oak leaves, stretching. He wore black workout pants. Nothing else. Lexine licked her lips and made her way around the flowerbeds to get to him.
He looked her over. “Lex. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“You don’t look fine, and your emotions have been all over the place this week. I almost came looking for you.”
“I’ve been harvesting late-season apples and making wine. It’s a lot of work.” True, but far from the whole truth. Her sessions with Raphael had begun and the archangel was taking her request seriously. Thank goodness demons healed fast—there’d be no hiding some of her injuries from Jett’s observant gaze. “I brought you breakfast. One cannot survive harsh training only on the protein bars and granola Lark likes to eat.”
Jett smiled. “You just saved my life. No lie.”
She laughed and handed him the basket.
He surveyed the contents—apple slices with honey, boiled eggs, and warm rolls—and shook his head. “I’ve never received such a gift. Thank you. Sit.”
She knelt, and he seized her in a searing kiss that curled her toes.
The sound of a throat clearing interrupted. Lexine glanced up into Lark’s scowling face.
“Good morning, Lexine.”
“Morning, Lark. I’m keeping your trainee well fed.”
“So I see.” His lips twitched, and he shifted his gaze to Jett. “Ten minutes. Meet me at the lakeshore. There’s something we need to talk about.”
Tension filled the air and Lexine glanced from one Guardian to the other.
When Lark had gone, Jett kissed her again.
“Eat,” she said.
He kept her close, one arm around her waist, and ate with his free hand.
“Will this work most mornings? They must allow you time to eat.”
That deep crimson stare burned into her. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to! I want to see you, and I want you to do well. The first step to success is a good breakfast.”
His throat worked. He ran a fingertip over a honey-coated apple slice and wiped the sweet goo on her lips. He kissed her, licking her clean. “Yes, I get a few minutes in the morning to stretch after a quick breakfast of granola inside.”
“Excellent. Forget the granola and meet me out here.”
He stared at her for a long moment, adoration in his gaze. “You’re perfect.”
“Eat!”
He obliged, finishing every crumb.
“It’s not too much? I know they push you. A full stomach might not be the best idea.”
“It’s perfect. We start with target practice in the morning.”
“Oh, good.”
“Today is the first day he’s going to blindfold me and give me earplugs. Using the dart gun, I’ll need to find my targets with my empath sense alone. I’m nervous.”
“You’ll do great.”
“I’ll do better now that I’ve been fed.” He claimed her mouth, kissing her hard enough to force her down to the grass on her back.
She tasted the honey and tart apple on his lips, which mingled with the sweet venom. His scent, honey and tea, overwhelmed her senses and left her dizzy.
He pulled back, his hands lingering on either side of her face. “I have to go.”
“Wait, one more thing.” She folded back the terry cloth on the bottom of the basket and extracted the present she’d wrapped in simple, dark green rice paper.
“What’s this?”
“Happy Birthday. I checked the date in your father’s journal.”
He blinked.
She set the gift into his hands.
“I…” He stared down at the present. “No one’s ever…”
“Happy Birthday, Juneau.”
He let out a long breath. “Thank you.”
“Well? Open it!”
The shock faded from his eyes, and he tore the paper, revealing the leather-bound journal she’d had made by the colony’s book craftsman. The dark cover had a border of inlaid white birch bark, sealed behind glass. She’d requested that embellishment with Jett’s early journaling efforts in mind.