Bound Guardian Angel (60 page)

He bowed his head, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah,
man, I do.”

“So do I.” Micah sat forward, elbows on his
knees, his expression introspective. “By becoming my sub, Trace,
you’ve given something back to me that I hadn’t even realized I’d
been missing. I don’t want to lose it again.”

He shook his head. “I’ve waited too long to
find you, Micah. I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed his lips
together. “But if she wants to be in the dungeon with us, I want
her there.”

Micah stiffened. His nostrils flared as he
inhaled long and deep. Then he exhaled and nodded once. “As long as
she doesn’t interfere, then . . . okay, I’m open to
giving it a try. But she has to understand that’s
my
dungeon
down there, not hers. That she’s your mate, but you’re
my
submissive. Is that going to be a problem?”

Trace shook his head. “I’ll talk to
her.”

Micah nodded thoughtfully, and they stared
at each other for a long while, the air pregnant with anticipation.
“Okay, good,” he finally said, nodding again.

An undercurrent of rising excitement stirred
around them. “It’ll all work out,” Trace said quietly, holding
Micah’s intense gaze. “I want this too much for it not to.”

Micah’s shrewd eyes regarded him for a long
moment. Then he clapped his palms on his thighs as if slapping a
period on the conversation, got up, and strolled to the liquor
cabinet, where he poured two glasses of Lagavulin.

“What’s this for?” Trace eyed the expensive
scotch as Micah handed him a crystal tumbler.

Micah raised his own glass as Trace stood.
“We’re celebrating, Trace. It’s not every day that you take a mate,
and you’ve waited long enough to find yours, haven’t you?”

Trace grinned. “Yeah, man. Too long.”

“Well then, here’s to you and your mate.”
Micah clinked Trace’s glass with his. “Even if you did have to go
and mate Medusa.”

“Hey, that’s my mate you’re talking about,
Mike.” Trace pretended to be insulted, but he knew the score
between Micah and Cordray. He wasn’t expecting them to be best
friends or anything.

“Yeah well, don’t go getting any ideas about
mate-swapping. I might not have a problem with you getting handsy
with Sam, but I am never going to want to reciprocate with Cordray,
just so that’s clear.”

“More for me then.”

Micah chuckled and lifted his glass to his
lips.

As Trace was about to take a drink, the
garage door banged open. Both he and Micah tensed and got ready to
throw down against whatever idiot had decided to break into Micah’s
house in broad daylight. Then Cordray flew around the corner.

Trace’s heart beat harder just seeing
her.

She held something in her hand. Something
small.

“I have his button!” She held it up and
rushed forward.

Micah relaxed, downed his scotch, and shot
Trace a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Speak of the devil.”
He set his empty glass down and said to Cordray, “Thanks for
returning Trace’s button and all, C, but you could have knocked on
the front door like a normal person.”

“No.” She took another step forward and held
the button higher. It was the one she’d found on her bedroom floor
this morning. “It’s his. Skeletor’s.” She looked from Trace to
Micah. “He broke into my house last night. This fell off his
clothes. It belongs to him.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting, as
if she expected them to do the math.

Micah plucked the small piece of plastic
from her hand. “And this is good news why?”

Cordray shook her head. “It’s a good thing
I’m around to explain things to you, big guy.” She turned toward
Trace. “Your brother,” she said to him. “Brak.” Her gaze
brightened. “He can use this to find him.”

The realization hit Trace at the same time
it hit Micah, both of them sucking in their breath in unison.

“Fuck me.” Micah’s fist closed around the
button. “Of course. Brak. He can track him down, and then we’ll
know who he is.”

“Exactly.” Cordray’s excitement was like
soda pop fizz, bubbly and effervescent. She reached for the button.
“Trace and I were going to see him today. We’ll give it to him and
see if he can help us.”

Micah habitually checked the time then
grumbled when he realized it was still morning. “Shit. I’m stuck
here until nightfall.” He huffed in frustrated resignation. “I want
looped in on this. If Brak’s able to find our guy, call me and tell
me what he’s got, but nobody move on him. No vigilantism. I don’t
want anyone blowing our chances by tipping our hand to this guy
until we’re ready to move. I don’t care if Brak tracks him down and
starts feeding us intel immediately. No one moves on this guy until
I say we’re set. I don’t want this prick slipping away again. Got
it?” The last he said to Cordray. “I’ll contact the others and
alert Stryker.” He pulled his mobile from his pocket and tapped his
screen.

Cordray rolled her eyes. “Jesus, you’re
bossy.”

Trace took her hand as Micah ignored her and
pressed his phone to his ear. “Mike”—he glanced over his
shoulder—“we’re out. Stay close to your phone. We’ll call as soon
as we know something.”

Micah gave him a thumbs-up then turned his
attention to his call. “Stryker, hey, it’s Micah. I need your
help.”

Trace ushered Cordray through the garage to
the Denali sitting in the driveway.

Cordray stepped toward the driver’s side and
held out her hand. “Keys.”

He flipped the keys and caught them in his
palm as he nudged her aside. “I’m driving. You ride shotgun.”

She nudged him back. “Just because you’re
the big bad male in this relationship doesn’t mean you get to
drive. This is my vehicle. I’m driving.”

He shook his head, his blood accelerating to
a welcome simmer. Arguing with her was an aphrodisiac. One he hoped
she never stopped indulging him with. “No. I’m driving.” He pushed
her aside and opened the door, letting his hand brush across her
breast. He might even have given her a little grope.

She sucked in her breath and rocked
backward.

“Trouble?” he said, smirking.

Her tongue peeked out and wet her lips as
she smoothed her palms down her shirt. “No. No trouble.” She
narrowed her eyes at him but marched dutifully, if not a little
haughtily, around to the passenger side. “Fine. You drive.”

Less than twenty minutes later, they were
parked in the driveway of a tan and brick cookie-cutter home in a
neighborhood where all the houses looked more or less alike. It was
a nice home—nicer than the small box Trace had called home for the
last few years—with a two-car garage, a chimney, and a covered
porch, but it paled in comparison to Micah’s house.

But all this mental chatter was only
procrastination. Brak was inside that house. The brother he hadn’t
seen in almost two hundred years was less than a ten-yard walk
away.

“You okay?” Cordray touched his arm.

He startled to life and looked at her.
“Yeah. I’m just . . .” He turned back toward the
house as the door opened, and he was robbed of both words and
breath.

Brak stood in the doorway. His long brown
hair fell well past his shoulders and lifted on a breeze as he took
a cautious step onto the porch, staring at the Denali. He was
wearing a white linen pullover and tan drawstring pants. He wasn’t
wearing any shoes. Looked like some things never changed. Brak had
hated wearing shoes when they were kids.

Trace opened the driver’s side door and
slowly got out, never taking his eyes off his brother, whose chest
rose and fell heavily as a pained line pushed his heavy brow
downward, pinching a tiny crease over the bridge of his nose.

Brak dropped his weight onto the first step
of the porch.

Cordray came around the SUV and brushed her
hand reassuringly down his arm.

“Trace?” Brak said, lowering himself another
step.

A cinnamon-skinned female appeared in the
doorway, her eyes pinched with emotion.

Trace’s feet, which had briefly felt
cemented to the driveway, began moving. Slowly at first, then more
quickly. By the time he reached the walkway to the porch, he was
practically running.

He met Brak at the bottom step in a crushing
embrace as tears flooded his eyes. All the guilt he’d carried for
so long vaporized the instant Brak’s arms pulled him in. Love
flooded him, chasing away his shame, filling him with unspoken
understanding and forgiveness.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Brak said a moment
later, gripping the back of Trace’s head and pressing their cheeks
together as he gave voice to the feelings flowing over him like a
refreshing rainstorm. “I know you think Mother’s death was your
fault, but it wasn’t. Father and I never blamed you.” Brak’s voice
broke as his own emotions overcame him. “It was her choice to die.
She always knew she would. She knew her fate, Trace, and she
refused to stop it.”

Trace’s fingers curled against Brak’s back
as he squeezed his eyes shut. Tears soaked his lashes and fell to
his cheeks. “I’m sorry.” Even as Brak absolved him of guilt, he
still felt the need to apologize.

Brak rocked him, crushing their bodies
together. “It’s. Not. Your. Fault. Father and I love you, Trace. We
never stopped loving you.” A harsh, raspy sob cut through Brak’s
vocal chords. “God, I’ve missed you.”

And just like that, the fissure in Trace’s
heart healed. He’d spent almost two centuries carrying a mountain
of guilt and remorse, and in less than sixty seconds, Brak had
taken it from him. He actually felt the stigmatic weight lift off
his shoulders, leaving him lighter than he’d felt in decades.

The final piece of his life fell into place.
He’d found where he belonged as an enforcer for AKM. He’d found
where he fit as a submissive with Micah. The lifelong search to
find his mate was over. And now he’d come full circle with his
brother, finding absolution at his hand.

Nodding against Brak’s shoulder, he thumped
his fist against his brother’s back.

Yes. God yes. The suffering was finally
over.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

Chapter 37

After introductions, a quick lunch of chicken paninis
and coleslaw, and a lot of awe-struck gawking between brothers who
hadn’t seen each other in almost three human lifetimes, Cynthia
took Cordray out back so Trace and Brak could talk privately.

Trace had seen the love bites on Cynthia’s
neck and wondered just what the relationship was between her and
his brother, especially given the platonic way Brak had introduced
her.

“Is she your mate?” Trace bobbed his head
toward Cynthia, who was showing Cordray around an array of potted
flowers on the deck’s banister.

Brak cleared his throat and sipped from the
glass of water he was holding. “No.”

Something about Brak’s no-nonsense answer
sent Trace’s hackles up. “Does she know that?”

Brak shook his head and changed the subject
as he gestured toward Cordray. “You’re newly mated.
Congratulations.” He bobbed his head and briefly glanced down at
his hands before squinting toward the sliding glass door again.
“She seems like a strong female. Perfect for you. I always knew
you’d mate someone strong.”

Brak obviously didn’t want to discuss his
mated status or what was going on between him and Cynthia, so Trace
wouldn’t push it.

“She’s tough as nails.” His adoring gaze
turned toward Cordray. Inked up, pierced, TNT-with-a-short-fuse,
big-hearted Cordray. “Our bond became official just yesterday, but
I think my body knew weeks ago.” He smiled to himself as he
recalled the way he’d gotten hard around Cordray right from the
moment he met her. She had awakened him in every way imaginable,
and now they were bound together for life.

“Why? What happened?” Curiosity—genuine and
demanding—brightened Brak’s face.

Trace preferred not to get too specific
about the details. After all, he and Brak were still strangers in a
lot of ways, so talking hard-ons and sex wasn’t exactly
comfortable. As they got to know one another again, maybe such
conversations wouldn’t be so hard.

“I just felt alive around her, that’s all.
My blood warmed.” He placed his hand on his chest. “And my heart
hurt when she wasn’t around. It was like I was addicted to her.” He
glanced toward his striking mate again as she tucked her long hair
behind her ear and bent to sniff a flower. Something in the gesture
seemed so out of character for her, yet so perfect. He fell in love
with her just a little bit more. “I still am.” His heart skipped as
she straightened and offered Cynthia a smile as pure as Rocky
Mountain snow, completely transforming the character of her face.
He hadn’t seen Cordray smile half as much as she had in the last
twelve hours, and never as genuine. It made him feel like a hero,
because he knew he was the reason for her newfound happiness. She
certainly was for his. “I think I’ll always be addicted to her in
one way or another.”

Brak nodded and looked away. He seemed
troubled, and Trace suspected Cynthia was the reason why.

“You sure everything’s okay?” Trace said,
frowning.

“Yeah.” Brak fiddled with his glass then
agitatedly set it on the coffee table. “I’m just trying to get
acclimated to being back in the real world.”

He’d mentioned he’d been held prisoner by a
pair of unscrupulous vampires almost as long as Trace had carried
around a lifetime of guilt, but he hadn’t given him many
details.

“What happened, anyway? How did they get to
you?”

Brak sighed and rubbed his palms over his
face. “After Mom died, Father began falling into a trance-like
state. It began immediately, but the transition was gradual. He
told me that our mother had cast a spell on him. One that would
make him fall into hibernation when she died to keep him from
succumbing to mated-male suffering.”