Bound Guardian Angel (32 page)

She assumed Trace would go upstairs to his
room, but he surprised her by following her and taking a seat in
one of the recliners as she settled on the couch and turned the
volume up on the TV, hoping to send Trace the subliminal message
that she was done talking.

“Coco, look!” Aiden held up a picture, all
smiles. Angelic, blond ringlets made a halo around her face.

“Oh my goodness,” she said, shoving her
Trace-induced irritation aside and plastering a smile on her face.
“Is that me?” She bent forward and pointed to one of the figures on
the page, which was wearing a black shirt with what appeared to be
a skull on it.

“Uh-huh.” Aiden hopped up and climbed into
her lap. “And that’s Trace, and that’s me, and that’s Null.” Her
tiny finger, stained with black marker, pointed to each in
turn.

Cordray grinned at the depiction of Trace,
tall and hairless, until she saw that Aiden had drawn Trace holding
her hand.

The little matchmaker.

“Can I see?” Trace said.

“Uh . . . sure.” Cordray
handed the picture back to Aiden. “Go show Trace.”

The little girl took it, jumped down, and
darted to him. “See. That’s you and Coco. And this is me and Null.”
She shoved the picture at him as she pointed.

Trace’s eyes scanned the drawing as he
grinned, and then his gaze dropped to what Cordray imagined was
their joined hands, because his grin faltered and his brow ticked.
Then he recovered and handed the picture back. “Wow, that’s some
drawing, Aiden.”

“Uh-huh!” Aiden spun and flew back into
Cordray’s lap.

Ignoring the matchmaking going on by the
little girl, Cordray snuggled Aiden against her and, before she
could stop herself, said to Trace, “Her gifts are artistic.”

She hadn’t wanted to talk to him, anymore,
but sitting in the living room with him, with the TV on and the
kids completing the family portrait she’d pondered earlier while
watching Trace with the kids as he fixed the fence, felt
comfortable. Despite their argument, there was a kind of simplicity
and ease she felt around Trace when she wasn’t consciously fending
off the physical sensations he stirred to life within her.

Trace glanced from her to Aiden. “You
mean . . . from her mixed blood?”

“Yes. She’s already very talented with her
hands.” She’d never seen a mixed-blood display their talents at
such a young age, but both Aiden and Null were already showing
signs of how their gifts would manifest.

Trace bobbed his head in understanding. “I
see.” He looked down at Null and leaned toward him. “And what about
you, little man? What gifts do you have?”

Null shrugged and set down his crayon. “I
like to colow?” He offered his reply in a way that made it clear he
had no idea what kind of gifts they were talking about and thought
they were simply asking what he liked to do.

“I think his might have something to do with
his eyes,” Cordray said quietly. “He might be an empath.”

Trace met her gaze. “Yeah, I was wondering
about that.”

“Are you referring to what happened at
breakfast?” She had noticed something going on between him and Null
this morning. Trace had seemed agitated, but when Null took his
hand, it was as if he’d pulled all the anxiety out of Trace’s
heart.

A troubled frown furrowed his brow, as if he
were remembering the incident. “Yeah. His eyes changed. What was
that?”

“I’m not quite sure, but I’ve noticed it
before. It’s like he can absorb emotions or something, which is why
I think he’s empathic. He has a very calming influence, but I’m not
sure exactly how this will manifest as he gets older.”

Trace glanced down at Null. “Yeah, at one
point he took my hand, and”—curious wonder fell over his face—“when
he did, everything went calm.” He met her gaze. “My heart stopped
racing, and I felt like I could breathe again.” He shrugged. “I’d
been feeling a bit overwhelmed in front of everyone, and he shut
off all that the moment he took my hand.”

“I noticed.”

He paused, eyeing her. “You know, only one
other person has that effect on me.”

“Micah?” She looked away and swallowed past
the lump in her throat.

“No.”

She turned back toward him and frowned.
“No?”

He shook his head, his eyebrows scrunching
over his nose as if were confused or in a state of dismay.

“Who then?”

“You.” The single syllable unfurled
quietly.

“Me?” That was the last thing she’d expected
him to say.

But at least now she knew the bizarre
metaphysical relationship they had with one another wasn’t just
one-sided. She affected him as much as he affected her, only
differently. While she calmed him, he awakened her sensory
response.

She would have been lying if she said this
revelation didn’t please her.

He scowled and shifted his gaze toward hers
without quite meeting it. “Don’t go getting all excited that you
have all this influence over me. It doesn’t mean anything.”

She forced a tight smile at Aiden, who was
absently tracing the tip of her finger around her drawing. “What
about Brak?” She spoke gently so she didn’t upset the kids. “I’ve
seen inside your mind. I’ve seen what he is to you.”

“He hasn’t been around, though, has he?”

“No, but—”

“And even when we were kids, he wasn’t
around much.” He sighed and turned away. “Nobody was.”

This quiet resentment, tainted with what
smacked of self-pity, didn’t fit either the magnanimous male she’d
come to know or what she’d seen inside his thoughts. Trace loved
his brother, and he loved his parents. They’d been a tight family,
even if an unconventional one.

Maybe his brooding contempt had more to do
with the guilt he carried over what had happened to his mother. He
did seem to shoulder a lot of blame where she was concerned, even
though, from what she’d seen, he wasn’t at fault for her death.

Whatever his reasons for saying what he had,
she needed to tread softly so she didn’t set him off. Maybe
offering a lifeline could go a long way toward easing his mind and
showing they weren’t so different.

She offered a shallow smile and spoke
softly. “You know, I know a thing or two about being alone.”
Understatement. Of. The. Millennium.

He frowned and snorted as he glanced at the
kids then flicked his gaze in the direction of the dorm, where
Brenna, Mya, and the other children were. “Doubtful.”

“You might be surprised.”

His frown deepened, but she saw the barest
hint of understanding in his eyes. Still, he wasn’t ready to let
down his guard. “Maybe, but that doesn’t mean you know me.”

She sighed. This constant bickering, while
entertaining at times, was exhausting. “Come on, Trace, how about a
truce?” She needed a break from the constant mental vigilance.

His head swiveled toward her, his expression
wary.

His dark eyebrows cut toward his nose as he
seemed to take a moment to consider her suggestion, but he didn’t
say anything. Instead, he issued a shallow bob of his head, as if
he, too, were weary of the fighting. He broke his gaze away from
hers and peered over Null’s shoulder at his crayon drawing, but
when he spoke, it was to Cordray. “I simply can’t understand how
you could possibly feel alone here, C. You have all these kids.
Mya. Brenna. The king.”

Memories of Gideon filtered back into her
mind. “I know more about being alone than you think I do, Trace.
Trust me, I haven’t always been surrounded by people I love who
love me back.”

His gaze flicked quickly to hers, and then
he looked away as he nodded shallowly in understanding.

Given what she’d seen of Trace’s past, he
probably did understand. At least he would if she had the balls to
fully share her own past with him. To tell him about Gideon. How
Gideon had destroyed her, as well as how Trace was mending her.

Wait . . . what?

Mend her? Where had that thought come from?
Trace wasn’t mending her. Or was he?

Maybe her subconscious self was on to
something her conscious self hadn’t even considered, because Trace
had
awakened her sense of touch. He had made her feel things
she hadn’t felt in eight hundred years. Perhaps Trace really was
repairing what Gideon had destroyed. And if he was, what did that
mean?

Bewildered, she couldn’t find the words to
express how this new possibility affected her. All she could do was
stare at him, study him, see him through a new filter the way a
photographer did when changing lenses on his camera. Some of the
mental mist she had programmed her mind’s eye to see when she
looked at Trace cleared, and for the first time since she laid eyes
on him in Bain’s court, she allowed herself to see him clearly. He
was like a giant starburst of light, more awe inspiring than
ever.

He bent forward and eyed Null’s artwork and
cleared the emotional turmoil from his throat. “What did you draw
there, little man?”

Null’s tiny finger pointed to a figure of a
bald male with a gun. “That’s you.” Then he pointed to the blond
male standing next to him, also holding a gun. “And that’s me.”

Trace picked up the picture. “You’re all
grown up,” he said, examining the crayon and marker drawing.

Null nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“And what are we doing in this picture?”
Trace said.

Null got up off the floor and climbed onto
Trace’s lap as he sat back in the chair again, still looking at the
picture.

“We’we killing bad guys.” Null pointed
briefly at the picture, and then settled against Trace’s body.

“Bad guys?”

“Uh-huh.” Null nodded and yawned. “I’m an
enforcer like you.” Enforcer came out sounding like enfowcew. Poor
little Null. Someday his R’s would sound like R’s, but until they
did, she would delight in how his little-boy voice mangled them
into W’s.

“You are, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

Trace wrapped a thick arm around Null’s
waist, holding his tiny body against his bigger, stronger one.

Cordray’s heart melted just a little bit at
the picture they created. So much like a father and son. Like a
parent spending time with his child.

Normal.

Peaceful.

Simple.

All of which Cordray’s life had never
been.

Maybe Trace wasn’t such a bad guy. After
all, he was terrific with kids, which was something she never would
have imagined two days ago. If someone had asked her then if she
thought Trace would make a good father, she would have laughed in
their face. Trace? A father? But now, seeing how he was with Null
and Aiden, but especially Null, Cordray had to admit that she would
have lost any bets where Trace’s paternal instincts were concerned.
The guy was big-time daddy material.

Cordray became faintly aware of Aiden
quietly braiding her hair, her little fingers dancing with the
sureness of an adult’s as she absently and swiftly twisted strands
of her hair into tiny braids.

If Aiden didn’t grow up to be the world’s
most famous hairdresser, she would be surprised.

Null snuggled against Trace’s body, his
chubby cheeks rosy, his blue eyes twinkling.

“So, you like my pictuwe, Twace?”

Trace handed it back to him. “I think it’s
awesome.”

Null’s smile widened to show his perfect
baby teeth. “I’m gonna be just like you when I gwow up. Big and
stwong and cool . . .”

Trace chuckled. “I’m sure you will, little
man.” He met Cordray’s gaze again. “Did you hear that? I’m
cool.”

“Poor kid just doesn’t know you, yet.” She
couldn’t keep from smiling, but she didn’t care. Trace had earned a
little kindness.

He smiled back at her, and for the moment,
she and Trace found a middle ground . . . a field of
grey between the black and white where they usually existed with
one another.

“Oh, I think Null’s assessment is pretty
accurate.” He hugged the little boy more tightly, squeezing the
side of his tummy. “Isn’t it, little man?”

Null giggled and nodded.

“See?” Trace said to her. “It’s final. I’m
cool.”

She sighed and lost herself for several long
moments in the idea that Trace might actually be a good guy. A
great guy. The perfect guy.

“Thank you,” she mouthed at him.

One of his eyebrows arched as a soft smile
touched his lips, and he lifted his hand to his chest, gently
jerked back, and made an expression as if she’d shot him.

With an exasperated roll of her eyes, she
grinned and shook her head as she grabbed the remote off the coffee
table and clicked through the channels, stopping when she found
The Lord of the Rings.

Aiden and Null loved
The Lord of the
Rings
, and they settled in, fascinated with the quest for the
one true ring.

Aiden’s fingers still worked through
Cordray’s hair, building a nice collection of braids, but before
long, her hands grew limp and fell to Cordray’s chest.

When Cordray looked down, Aiden’s eyes were
closed, her pink lips open, her body draped against the curves of
Cordray’s. She looked over to find Null passed out on Trace, face
up, arms hanging at his sides. Trace had one arm still wrapped
around Null’s waist, and he was looking at the picture Null had
drawn.

“He sees you as a father figure,” Cordray
said softly.

Trace looked up at her. “Huh?”

She gestured gently toward Null. “He never
knew his father, so he sees you as a father figure.”

Trace set the drawing on the table and
glanced down at Null. “Oh.” After a short hesitation, he said,
“What happened to their parents?”

Cordray smoothed her palm over Aiden’s
golden, silky hair. “Their father was a full-blood who worked on
the wrong side of the law more often than not. He was killed in a
deal gone bad before they were born. Their mother was a human. She
was diagnosed with breast cancer when they were only a few months
old. She died six months later. I found them in an orphanage within
a month of her death.”