Bound Guardian Angel (16 page)

“Cute,” she snapped, popping the top off the
Folgers.

He tucked the cereal box under his arm.
“Shouldn’t you be polishing your pitchfork or stealing babies or
something?”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and
Trace flicked his gaze over his shoulder to find her staring at him
as if he were some kind of horror movie monster.

“Well?” he prompted. “Why are you here,
Cordray?” He shut the pantry door a little harder than he intended.
“And don’t tell me it’s out of some newfound concern for me,
because while I could use a good laugh, I’m not interested in
wading through your bullshit right now.” He grabbed a bowl from the
cabinet.

Her chin jutted out, and her eyes narrowed.
“I came to get you,” she said as she dropped the open Folgers
canister on the counter. Then she spun around, grabbed the carafe,
and flipped on the faucet, avoiding eye contact. “Micah took you
without my permission, and you’re supposed to be—”

“Chill out, sweetheart. You’ll get me soon
enough.”

She jerked her head around and scowled at
him. “You’re supposed—”

“Give it a rest, Queen Succubus. I’m not
going to bail on my community service. You’ve got me by my short
and curlies for the next three months. I know, I know. Jesus. I
don’t have to like the situation I’m in to accept it, for God’s
sake, because God knows I’d rather be anywhere but in
your
service.” The last he said with a roll of his eyes as he plopped
onto a barstool, spoon in hand, ready to get cozy with his Peanut
Butter Crunch—the food of the gods.

“Nice breakfast,” she said sarcastically
with a nod at the Captain as he poured a heaping bowlful.

He scowled at her and pointedly poured more
into his bowl just to piss her off.

“Aren’t you supposed to be making coffee?”
He slammed the box on the counter beside him. “How about you focus
on that and quit playing nutritionist. You might be
my—
ahem
—boss for the next three months—and I use that term
loosely, by the way—but I’m pretty sure I’m still allowed to eat
whatever the fuck I want.”

She frowned and turned away, sweeping that
intensely long hair over her shoulder. Trace’s eyes dropped to her
ass again. He’d never noticed her heart-shaped ass behind all that
Gothic clothing she usually wore, and now he couldn’t take his eyes
off it. As he admired the perfection of her curves, his head
absently tilted to one side as he held the milk carton at a shallow
angle over his bowl, briefly forgotten, his gaze following her
backside as she busied herself making coffee. Okay, so Cordray’s
ass was nice. Real nice. Hypnotically nice. The kind of nice that
makes a male think not-nice thoughts.

Thoughts he did
not
need to have
about her.

He tore his gaze away. “What’s with the
clothes?” He finally tipped the carton far enough to pour milk into
his bowl. A few nuggets of peanut butter gold splashed over the
edge, which he picked up and tossed back in. “Did your cave troll
take the day off and forget to leave out your pointy hat and
broom?”

Cordray shifted her weight from one leg to
the other, making those glorious globes of flesh plump, one then
the other. “Gee, that’s a good one, Trace. Did your ass give you
that one, or are you just especially clever now that you’ve swapped
spit with Micah?”

He chuckled and shoveled a spoonful of
cereal into his mouth.

Cordray looked over her shoulder and
frowned. “You think that’s funny?”

Trace shrugged one shoulder and scooped up
another heap of cereal. Something about Cordray was different.
Softer maybe. But she still held an edge. A rusty, gnarled, jagged
edge. But instead of being an axe, she was more like a chisel. It
was as if her leather and usually extreme appearance acted as an
energy source for her foul temperament and smart-assed mouth. But
in real-people clothes, she wasn’t so tough.

Well, far be it for him not to take
advantage of a gift from God. Maybe now he could gain the upper
hand on this bitch. “I just think you sound like a jealous
girlfriend.” He sneered and winked at her.

He got the exact reaction he wanted. Her
perfectly arched eyebrows drew together, and her mouth fell
open.

“Not so tough without your armor, are you,
sweetheart?” He spooned more of the Captain’s finest into his
mouth, stared her down, chewed, swallowed, and grinned like the
devil on Judgment Day. “Although . . .” His gaze
pointedly dropped to her breasts, which were testing the tensile
strength of Sam’s shirt. “Parts of you
are
a bit more
appealing now than they usually are.”

Looked like her ass wasn’t the only thing
her normal clothes played down. Cordray had enough up top to sprain
his tongue if he were ever so inclined to poison himself by sucking
her nipples.

Not that Cordray would ever let him get away
with something like that, but the unbidden thought of shoving his
face between her breasts sent an unexpected jolt of lust-filled
electricity down his spine. What the fuck? He shook off the unusual
sensation.

“You bastard.” Cordray hastily adjusted her
hair to cover her chest as she turned away.

Thoughts of motorboating her boobs aside,
this was fun. Finally, he had found Cordray’s weakness. Trace’s
evening just got better and better. “How about you hurry up with
that coffee, honey. I could use a cup myself.”

Something that looked like pain crossed
Cordray’s features as she turned and headed out of the kitchen.
“Make it yourself.” She disappeared down the hall and into the
bathroom, where she slammed the door.

Good riddance.

Even so, it felt like some of the air had
left the room with her. Her presence added a sense of exhilaration
he could easily become addicted to. He frowned and lowered his head
as he ate with a little less joy. He ended up throwing out the last
few bites of his cereal before setting his empty bowl in the
sink.

He eyed the Folgers and the carafe full of
water. An uncomfortable sensation that resembled guilt settled over
him. He had no reason to feel guilty over how he’d treated her.
After all, this was Cordray. The goddess of the underworld. The
bane of his existence.

“Fuck her,” he muttered as he turned to
leave the kitchen.

He got two steps then stopped, shoulders
rolling forward as he bowed his head and rubbed his palm over the
back of his neck. Blowing out an exasperated breath, he turned and
scowled at the abandoned coffee maker.

Fine. He could be nice. After all, everyone
needed their coffee just after waking up. Even a witch like
Cordray.

He crossed the kitchen, poured the water
into the coffee maker, dumped three scoops of french roast into the
filter, put everything in place, turned it on, and waited.

A few minutes later, he poured a cup,
carried it down the hall, and knocked quietly on the bathroom
door.

No reply.

He knocked again and huffed, shifting his
weight to one foot and looking down at the floor.

“I made the coffee,” he said.

Still nothing.

How humiliating. He was actually trying to
play nice with the spawn of Satan. Who would have thought he would
ever stoop this low?

“Cordray?”

The door flew open, and Trace jerked his
head up as he took a step back. Cordray had changed into her normal
clothes, and she had braided and tied back her hair. Before Trace
knew what was happening, she snatched the coffee, poured it down
the drain, slammed the empty mug on the counter, and shoved her way
past him.

“Fuck you and your coffee! I’d rather drink
a cup of monkey piss.” She marched toward the mud room.

Old Cordray was back. Yippee.

“I’m not sure I could get you any monkey
piss, but . . .” Trace followed her, pointing toward
the back door. “After last night’s rain, I’m sure I can find a
puddle in the backyard and bring you back a mug of muddy water.
Ungrateful hag.” He wasn’t ready to give up his earlier advantage
just because she was back in her black leather armor. “I might even
be able to find a couple of earthworms to make you feel like you’re
drinking tequila.”

She snatched her coat off a hook and spun
around. “You shouldn’t even be here! You should be—”

Trace threw his arms in the air. “I know, I
know! God, you’re like a fucking broken record. Nag, nag, nag.
Bitch, bitch, bitch.” He flapped his hand as if it were inside a
puppet. “Always thinking about what
you
want. What
you
need.”

“Oh, I see. And that’s why I’m
here
,
isn’t it?” She swung her arm around to indicate Micah’s house then
got in his face and jabbed him in the chest with her index finger.
“I’m here because of what
I
needed, right? Because there was
nowhere else
I
wanted to be all day but inside this fucking
house with fucking you and fucking Micah. Look in the mirror,
asshole. I’m here right now because of what
you
needed.
Because of what
you
wanted. So don’t you get all
holier-than-thou with me, motherfucker.” Fire sparked inside her
eyes as she snarled and got chest to chest with him. “
You
needed Micah to fuck you up.
You
needed to play whack-a-mo
to keep your power from going all”—she raised her arms and wiggled
her hands dramatically—“crazy shit on you. That was all you, pal.
Not me.” She shoved past him and marched back through the kitchen.
“I would be within my rights to take both you
and
Micah in
and throw you in Bain’s dungeon for what you did.”

He wasn’t one to hit a girl, but right now,
Cordray was pushing it. He followed her back into the living room.
“You frigid cock blocker. You’re damn right I came here for me.
Would you rather I go mutant on your ass? Huh? How would you like
that? That would sure taint your image in the king’s eyes, wouldn’t
it? His prized”—he looked her up and down, wrinkling his
nose—“whatever you are. Little Miss
Can-Do-No-Wrong-In-The-Eyes-Of-The-King lets a prisoner go mutant
because she’s too far up her own ass to see he needs something she
can’t give. How would the king like you then, honey?” He pushed
himself farther into her personal space, but damn if she didn’t
hold her ground, even though he could feel her wanting to retreat.
“So how about you get out of my face and go get laid or something?
Maybe then you’ll calm down. You need a good fuck like no one I’ve
ever known!”

Her hand shot out and slapped him so hard he
felt like his body wouldn’t catch up to his head for a week.

Damn!

And . . .
wow!

Every thought in his head vanished.

He spun back around, eyes wide, mouth agape,
with the most incredible burn of arousal he had ever felt tearing
through his body.

She seemed to realize she had unleashed a
demon and went deathly still except for her heavy breathing.

He was breathing hard, too, but for entirely
different reasons. His gaze locked to hers, and he slowly ran his
tongue over the seam of his mouth.

All he wanted was for her to hit him again.
To feel her palm flash against his cheek and leave sacred,
delicious pain in its wake. For her to shove him against the wall
with enough force to bruise his back as she scratched her nails
down his chest with enough viciousness to draw blood as she sank to
her knees in front of him. What would that mouth—her teeth—feel
like on his—?

“What the fuck is going on down here?”

Trace jerked away from Cordray and shot his
head around to find Micah charging down the stairs with Sam on his
heels, both of them haphazardly dressed. Micah was wearing the same
pants he’d worn last night, with the button unfastened at his
waist. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Sam had on flannel pajamas, which
she had clearly just put on, since she was still buttoning the
top.

Still somewhat dazed by what had just
happened between him and Cordray, Trace’s mouth flapped open then
shut. His voice had retreated into oblivion.

Micah jumped between them, shoving them
apart. “You two could wake the dead.”

Trace’s voice finally returned, but as soon
as he spoke, he wished he’d stayed mute. “She started it.” Yeah,
like that was a mature response.

He looked away, but not before he caught the
wary glance Sam exchanged with Micah.

“Seriously, Trace?” Micah said. “She started
it? Are we in grade school here?”

Trace met Micah’s gaze and saw a shade of
concern—and maybe worry—pass over his features.

“And you!” Micah turned toward Cordray, who
looked as dazed as Trace felt. “I thought I told you to leave him
alone.”

She snapped awake, and her eyes fired in
Micah’s direction. “Fuck you, Micah. I
did
leave him alone.
Get your goddamn facts straight before you pin your one-sided
bullshit on me.”

“I would get my facts straight if I could
see inside either one of your heads!” Every muscle in Micah’s body
seemed to strain against his skin. “But both of you have such
fucking thick walls up, I can’t—”

“Damn straight I’ve got my walls up around
you, asshole!” Cordray’s face flamed red as she yelled at him.
“Those are my memories, not yours!”

Sam stepped forward and tugged on Micah’s
arm. “Baby, don’t. Come on, leave her alone.”

Micah took a deep breath then glanced over
his shoulder at Sam. The look they exchanged made it appear they’d
already talked about this. Whatever
this
was.

What gave here? What was Trace missing that
everyone else seemed to be in on? He looked from Sam to Cordray to
Micah and back to Sam, who smiled awkwardly at him and blinked
several times before she let go of Micah’s arm and hustled toward
the kitchen.

“Thank God,” she said. “Someone made coffee.
How about we all come in and have breakfast. I can make waffles.”
Good ol’ Sam, always trying to diffuse the tension.