“Raphael told me.” She got to her feet, holding the blanket around herself. Now that her distress over the dream had been vented, another emotion hit her. Jett took a step back. He must have sensed her anger. “I’m not Caza. I’m not a delicate flower. Instead of just sitting there a frightened idiot—not to disrespect the dead—I’d have gotten on my damn feet and found a safe place. If I’d come across humans, I’d have fought back. I’ve been training with Raphael to develop my hand-to-hand skills, and I’m not afraid to use what I’ve learned. Or this.” She held up her hands and lit them with flames. “Or these.” She hissed, baring her fangs.
“Lex—”
“If it weren’t for this dream, the horrible future I saw, I’d be perfectly capable of being a mate to an archangel’s Guardian. You wouldn’t have had to give that up for me. In an emergency, while you did your job, I’d have taken care of myself like a big girl and been waiting for you afterward!”
He stared at her in silence for a moment that stretched out until the pulse in Lexine’s ears deafened her.
“In that case, you really are perfect, Lex,” he said, his tone sad enough to twist her stomach. “And I’ve fallen in love with you, too.”
He turned and left without another word.
…
Jett rushed back to the archangel house. He forced his mind to process only thoughts of the mission ahead, refusing to see Lexine’s face in his mind’s eye, refusing to let her tremulous emotions reach him through his empathic skill. He realized the effort was wasted when he couldn’t enter the security codes to unlock the door. His hands shook too hard.
He paused, braced himself on the door frame, his mind swimming from all Lexine had told him. His tattoo. He’d been the “poacher” in her dream from the beginning. The scars from when he’d shredded his own skin proved it.
But then the dream had ceased. Why? Because of his decision to become a dedicated Guardian? Her new dream came that afternoon, when he’d decided to ask her to be his mate. After so many weeks of her bringing him breakfast and putting up with his absence as he trained, nothing in her emotions but determination, pride, concern, and aching loneliness—never the resentment he deserved—he’d had to tell her she meant more to him than just a girl on the side. And she deserved to have a say in his future, because he wanted it to be their future.
She’d turned him down.
He laughed into the door to vent the emotion that threatened to drop him to his knees. She’d turned him down because she loved him. He’d been studying her emotions. She’d spoken the absolute truth. She loved him, but she feared the dream foretold his death. Taking a cue from his insistence, weeks ago, that she could change her future, she’d turned him down to keep his ass alive.
Jett could love her for that. If he didn’t love her already.
He refused to believe his future could be dictated by a dream, and Lexine’s story proved him right. Her dream had changed. It had even stopped for a period of time after he took a different path. But the fact that she’d seen his scars and tattoo years before they’d met proved that the dream was far from inaccurate.
He counted back the years. Yes. About the time he started to befriend Raphael, starting down the road that would eventually lead to freeing the archangel and himself, Lexine’s dreams had begun.
Fate?
He shuddered. The idea of fate, to any degree, scared the shit out him.
I am in control. I am in control. I am in control.
Maybe he was a fool. The future wasn’t set in stone, but he had no real control. After all, Lexine had just turned him down. He’d sought her out that evening certain she wouldn’t. If Fate had tried to push them together, the act had backfired. Or, perhaps Fate had simply meant from the beginning to torture them. A little sick fun to help Her pass the time.
Lexine’s determination had been as profound as a slap. There’d be no changing her mind. It was over between them—he’d never be able to have a casual relationship with someone he felt so strongly for. The truth of it burned in the center of his chest.
He shook himself, awareness of the archangels inside the house growing, breaking through his personal crap. There’d be time for his issues later. Now, he had a job to do.
He turned his thoughts to Lawrence. Deliberately recalled his childhood. The bone-deep fury that built up all those years granted him a deadly calm and focus. For now.
He opened the door and went inside. On the second floor, he found Lark, Raphael, Ginger, Wren, and the twins.
“Where’s Andrew?”
Lark said, “He’s at the town hall, getting a lecture from Vin on running away and responsibility. Poor kid.” The Guardian sat with a laptop computer on his knees. “I have Drew’s home address. He lives with his mother in Morgan, Vermont. It’s not far.”
“And his grandfather?”
“Victor Lawrence, MD, PhD, runs a small research lab at a medical center in Massachusetts, according to Andrew.” Lark turned the screen, showing Jett a website with smiling doctors and flowering trees. “He’s not listed online, though. Assuming Andrew’s telling the truth, Lawrence must keep a very low profile, which isn’t a surprise. We’d have found him by now, otherwise. Anyway, I estimate a six-hour drive from Morgan to the medical center. If you’d rather, the Guardians can take the kid home so you can go straight after Lawrence.”
“No. I’ll take Andrew. If Lawrence’s daughter-in-law is sick and her son is missing, he may be visiting. I can’t risk missing him.”
“Indeed,” Lark said.
“Is something wrong?”
Jett blinked at Wren’s question and realized he’d been staring at the archangel and Ginger. The pair sat on a backless couch while Raphael held both of the twins. Their knees pointed toward each other. Ginger rested her head against his wing. Wren drew circles on her knee with his fingertips.
“Nothing,” Jett said, noting the gruffness in his own voice. He moved closer to Raphael and the twins, the little innocents that Lawrence wanted to get his harsh claws into. Jett needed to focus on keeping this family safe, needed to get his head in the right place for the fight to come.
“May I?”
Raphael glanced at Wren, who nodded. “Of course.”
Jett took Talon in his arms, uncertain and awkward as he tried not to handle the child’s wings.
Wren grinned. “At that age, it’s all good. Think of them as built-in blankets.”
Jett held Talon close, the mottled gray wings naturally wrapped around the tiny body. The infant made cooing noises in his sleep, his face turned into his feathers.
Reaching out with his empathic gift, Jett marveled at the absolute serenity that radiated from the child. He couldn’t imagine that kind of peace. Wait, yes he could. Those few moments when he’d visited Cinnamon and she’d absorbed all his emotional baggage, he’d experienced such a state of calm.
Talon squirmed and pulled at a handful of his feathers. Jett gently pushed the tiny hand away and scratched the spot on the infant’s wing. The child settled down.
There’d be no safeguarding such innocence forever. The twins had a merciless world to grow up in, but, damn it, they’d have one less thing to worry about when Jett was done with Lawrence.
He shifted his attention to Wren’s emotions, relieved and humbled to find, when it came to holding the infant, Jett had Wren’s unhesitant trust.
Jett resettled Talon next to Phoenix on Raphael’s lap, stroking each infant’s cheek in turn. Phoenix smiled and wiggled closer to her brother. If Jett hadn’t known better, considering their age, he’d have sworn Talon scowled at her.
“Be nice to your sister,” Jett scolded and tapped the kid lightly on the nose.