Bound Guardian Angel (17 page)

Now that the magic from Cordray’s slap had
dissipated, Trace scowled at his female nemesis. “I already
ate.”

Cordray raised her chin and glared at him.
“And I’m not hungry.”

Micah crossed his arms over his sculpted
chest. “Quit being idiots.” He lifted his chin and called into the
kitchen. “Waffles sound fan-fucking-tastic, baby. I’m starved.”

Gathering herself, Cordray whipped her coat
from the crook of her arm, punched her arms through the sleeves,
and whipped the collar in place before crossing her arms over her
breasts and tapping her foot. “I’m done waiting. Trace comes with
me now, or I’ll have you both arrested for breaking the terms of
his release.”

Trace started forward. “You bi—”

Micah planted his palm in the center of
Trace’s chest before he could body slam Cordray into next month.
“Cool it.” Micah’s voice betrayed his irritation, but he seemed to
be exercising an enormous amount of patience as he turned toward
Cordray. “Let’s calm down here. I need more time with him. He and I
need to talk. There are”—his eyebrows bit into his
eyelids—“
things
he and I need to discuss.”

The way Micah said
things
, Trace
wasn’t sure if this was good news or bad.

Cordray’s eyes brightened as a measured
smile spread over her mouth. “Aaaahhh, I see.” Her gaze bounced
from Micah to Trace and back again. “This is about Brak.”

Fear jolted Trace’s heart. “Brak? What about
him?” If something had happened to his brother now that he’d just
learned he was still alive, Trace would lose it. “Is he okay? Is he
safe?” Maybe a better question was how Micah even knew about Brak,
seeing that Trace had never talked about him and Micah couldn’t see
inside his head to find out about him on his own.

Micah gripped Trace’s arms.
“Just . . . calm down, Trace.” To Cordray he said,
“And you. Get. Out. Of my head.”

Trace resisted Micah’s hold and turned
toward Cordray with a lot of you’d-better-not-be-behind-this and
don’t-fuck-with-me pouring from his glare. After all, Cordray had
made threats against Brak when she visited Trace’s cell a week ago.
When she saw inside Trace’s thoughts and learned that Brak’s
ethereal form had been there.

“If you did anything to my brother,” he
snarled at her, “I swear to God, I’ll—”

“Simmer down, buttercup.” She uncrossed her
arms and leaned her hip against the back of a chair. “I haven’t
touched your precious brother.”

Trace’s frown deepened, and he turned toward
Micah. “What’s going on?” Irrational fear stabbed his gut as the
memories he’d forced away barely forty-five minutes ago in the
downstairs bathroom resurfaced.

Cordray slid back out of her coat. “Yes,
Micah. Why don’t you share the good news with Trace?” She gave them
both a sickly sweet smile then breezed by them in the direction of
the kitchen. “You know, Sammy, I think I’ll be staying, after all.”
She flipped her long braid aside as she threw a self-satisfied
glance over her shoulder at him. “After all, I love waffles.”

Trace turned toward Micah, feeling helpless
and agitated. “What’s going on?”

Micah blew out a heavy breath, his
expression serious. “Come on. Let’s go to the kitchen. Have some
breakfast. Then we can talk.” He tipped his head toward the sound
of an iron skillet being set on the stove.

“No, not until you tell me what’s going on
with my brother. How did you even find out about him? Did
she
tell you?” He scowled and gestured aggressively in the
direction Cordray had gone. “What has she done? Did she hunt him
down?” He was giving Cordray a lot of credit if he thought she’d
been able to do in one week what he hadn’t been able to do in two
hundred years, which should have been a clue he was thinking
irrationally. “I swear if she’s done anything to hurt Brak—”

“Cool it, Trace.” Micah braced his arms,
giving him a little shake to jar him back to reality. “Cordray
hasn’t done anything to Brak. He’s fine.” Micah’s grip eased as he
let go and took a step back.

“What do you mean, he’s fine? Have you seen
him?”

Micah nodded reluctantly. “Brak’s here,
buddy. He’s in Chicago.”

The world spun for a second, and Trace
staggered backward until his butt met the back of the same chair
Cordray had used as a hip support a moment ago. Brak was here?
How . . .? Why . . .?

His dismay must have shown on his face as he
wordlessly glanced back up at Micah, because Micah stepped forward
and planted his palm reassuringly on Trace’s shoulder.

“Your brother came here looking for you,” he
said. “He’s been here about a week. He’s desperate to see you.”

Trace nodded numbly. He was desperate to see
Brak, too, but since feeling Brak’s presence in King Bain’s
dungeon, the sewage he’d stored away in the catacombs of his mind
had begun to seep into the forefront of his gray matter. What would
happen when Trace actually
saw
Brak? Maybe a face to face
wasn’t such a good idea right now.

He’d thought he’d lost his entire family two
centuries ago. That not only had his mother died, but his father
and Brak, too, even though his gut had told him they’d lived.

Now, nothing was as it seemed. He was glad
for that, but knowing his father and brother had survived did
little to ease his guilt, and everything to bring the events of the
past back to his thoughts. Memories he’d kept tucked away for
decades were resurfacing. He was even remembering the details he’d
long forgotten. The acrid smell of smoke, the roaring, crackling
sounds of wood popping against the intense heat, the scent of
burning flesh.

Trace slammed his eyes shut as his mother’s
tormented face, shrouded by smoke and soot, reached from beyond the
grave and slammed into his mind front and center. She was
screaming, the fire consuming her.

It was his fault. All his fault. He’d done
this to her. To all of them. His arrogance and carelessness had
caused them all so much pain. So much sorrow. Dizziness overtook
him, and it felt like his soul was lifting from his body as he spun
downward.

“Trace?” Micah’s voice cut through the
sudden turmoil. “Shit! Trace? Are you okay? Open your eyes, buddy.
I’ve got you. Just open your eyes.”

He blinked several times, wincing against
the light, until finally he peered up at Micah’s concerned
face.

He was on the floor. As in, he’d passed out
or had some seizure-like episode and fallen flat-backed onto the
carpet.

Micah gazed down at him, wide-eyed, his
expression both confused and concerned.

“Are you okay?” Micah pressed closer,
examining him.

Sam stood behind Micah, the fingers of one
hand over her mouth, the fingers of the other pressed worriedly
against the back of Micah’s shoulder.

“Is he okay?” she asked.

Cordray stood to the side, her slender,
black brows bunched over her eyes. Even she appeared concerned.
Maybe he rated higher than amoeba piss with her, after all.

“I’m fine.” He tore his gaze away from
Cordray’s and clapped his hand into Micah’s outstretched one.

A moment later, he was on his feet again,
dazed, his hands trembling. He rubbed them together, trying to hide
the physical effects of what had just happened. But when his gaze
met Cordray’s again, he knew she’d seen everything.

She had been inside his head and borne
witness to how he’d killed his own mother.

Chapter 10

No one said a word as they congregated in the
kitchen.

Sam plucked the bacon and sausage from the
skillet and set it on a serving platter, working mechanically, as
if she were trying not to stir up the tension still lacing the air.
Beside her, Micah removed a waffle from the waffle iron and added
it to the stack on an oversized plate as he cast Trace yet another
wary glance, as if he feared at any moment Trace would fall back
into whatever hellish episode he’d experienced a few minutes
ago.

Several feet away, Cordray sipped a cup of
coffee.

Everyone was keeping their distance.

Just like when he was a kid. Everyone had
thought him a freak then, too, giving him a wide berth.

His gaze flicked cautiously toward Cordray
without meeting her eyes. In his periphery, he could see her
rubbing her hand up and down her arm as if she were soothing a
rash.

Maybe Cordray was treating him like a leper,
but God bless her little black heart, she hadn’t uttered a peep
about what she’d seen in his thoughts. If anything, she almost
seemed compassionate. Or maybe understanding was a better word,
because compassion wasn’t something Trace associated with Cordray.
Either way, it felt like they’d made a connection. A bizarre,
twisted, fucked-up connection, but a connection nonetheless. One
where a silent promise had been made that she wouldn’t reveal what
she’d seen, and he would show his gratitude by not baiting her
further.

Not that he needed her pity, but since she
didn’t seem eager to expose his secret, maybe he could cut her some
slack. She was normally so eager to use his thoughts against him,
so if she was willing to scratch his back on this, he could scratch
hers. Because anyone who knew his deepest and darkest and still
kept his or her mouth shut at least deserved a chance.

“So,” Micah said, eyeing him as he set the
plate of waffles on the breakfast bar, “let’s try this again.” He
retrieved the platter of sausage and bacon and set it down beside
the waffles. Despite eating a bowl of cereal barely thirty minutes
ago, Trace’s stomach growled as he glanced at the sausage links.
“Brak wants to see you. Today if poss—”

The cordless phone on the kitchen counter
rang, cutting him off.

Micah cursed. “Goddamn if we can’t get this
shit out on the table without some kind of interruption.” He
snatched the phone and briefly frowned at the caller ID before
pressing the phone to his ear. “Micah Black.”

Trace stole a sausage link and bit it in
half, wondering if seeing Brak was such a good idea, given the
nosedive he’d taken a few minutes ago as thoughts of his brother
awoke memories of his mother’s death.

He was still contemplating the idea when
Micah’s expression froze and pure rage rose in his eyes.

“What?” The word shot from Micah’s throat
like a bullet. “Someone broke into my apartment! How? When?”

Sam nearly dropped the pitcher of warm syrup
she was carrying to the breakfast bar. She rushed forward. “What?
Broke in?”

Trace swallowed the bite of sausage before
he’d barely had a chance to chew it.

Cordray shifted beside him and uttered a
curse under her breath. When Trace turned toward her, she bowed her
head into her hand, covering half her face. She peeked sideways at
him. From her guilty expression, it was clear she’d known about the
break-in and had forgotten to tell Micah.

Looked like he’d be scratching her back
sooner than expected if Micah tried to kill her in the next five
minutes.

Micah paced to the end of the counter with
the barely bridled aggression of a bull preparing to charge. His
neck was as rigid as a two-by-four, his gaze intense. His free hand
curled into a fist.

Trace glanced at Cordray again. “Did you
know about this?” he said quietly.

She sighed then nodded once. “I was there.
It’s where I got this.” She pointed to a small, nicely healed cut
on her lip.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Micah’s
apartment had been burgled, and Cordray hadn’t even thought to let
them know?

She dropped her hand to her lap. “Honestly,
I didn’t even think about it. I was more concerned—”

“With me. You were more worried about how
Micah broke your precious code of conduct and took me without your
permission, right?”

“No, I—”

“Nice, C.” He scowled at her and let out a
perturbed sigh as he shook his head then looked away. Shit, but
scratching her back was going to be damn hard to do when she was
always pissing him off. “Why am I not surprised?”

“It was an honest mistake.”

“Mistake my ass.”

Micah stopped pacing and slammed his palm
against the counter. “This happened this morning, and you’re just
now calling me?” He paused and scowled as if he didn’t like what he
was hearing. Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out
his cell phone and looked at the black screen. “My mobile was
off.”

Of course he would have turned off his
mobile. The last thing Micah would have wanted was for his phone to
ring and interrupt him while he was working him over in his
dungeon.

Micah hit the power button and waited. Trace
pressed forward and peered at the screen. When it came to life, it
lit with several missed-call notifications.

Shit. This was bad.

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” Micah
said. Then he disconnected and tossed the phone on the counter.

“What happened?” Sam stepped forward as
Micah made a break for the stairs.

He barely slowed down as he replied,
“Someone broke into my apartment.”

Sam called after him, “Did they take
anything?”

Trace’s gaze shot toward Cordray. “Did
they?”

* * *

Cordray’s heart jolted as all eyes turned toward
her.

Micah froze in his tracks.
“Wait . . . what?” He looked between her and Trace
and back again as he took a menacing step toward her. “Why is Trace
asking
you
if the thief took anything?”

Trace warily rose from his barstool as if
preparing to make like a barricade. “She was there.”

The tension in the room grew tighter than a
virgin’s vagina as Micah’s gaze scorched hers. “You were
there?”

She’d been in enough fights to know that if
she so much as flinched, Micah would pounce. Keeping her movements
slow and controlled, she glanced at Trace and Sam then back at
Micah.