Bound Guardian Angel (61 page)

Trace had never known. Then again, he had
never fully learned the extent of his mother’s voodoo powers. He’d
missed out on so much.

Brak rubbed his palms over his thighs. “We
didn’t have long to find shelter before Dad fell completely
unconscious, so we traveled to Louisiana, where Mother had family.
The day after we arrived, Father fell asleep and never woke up. For
all intents and purposes, he was in hibernation. Mom’s relatives
tucked him away in an underground room and tended to him every day.
We were safe there for a while, but one of our cousins was an
opportunist. He betrayed us, making a deal with a pair of vampires
to get rid of us.”

“Jacob and Haslet.” Trace spoke quietly,
nodding, putting the pieces together from what Brak had told him
during lunch.

Brak’s pale eyes somberly met his. “They
killed everyone and took our father and me away.” His eyes narrowed
bitterly. “By then, my phantom abilities were no secret, and they
saw an opportunity. They used me to do their dirty work. I had to
kill for them. Over and over and over again. They threatened to
kill our father if I didn’t. They held his life over my head.” He
paused and glanced outside as if he were looking at some faraway
place. “And I missed everything.” His brow furrowed as a note of
sadness and hidden pain fell over his face. “They made me use my
power in a way it was never intended, and I missed the world
growing up around me.” He hung his head. “I missed it all. And
maybe I missed my chance.”

Trace didn’t know what Brak meant by that,
and he felt like he shouldn’t ask. As if Brak had intended it as a
rhetorical statement.

Moving slowly, Trace leaned forward and
quietly propped his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers
together. After giving Brak a few seconds to work through whatever
was tugging at his mind, he said softly, “I found our dad in a
dreck laboratory in Arizona. How did he get there if Jacob and
Haslet were holding him prisoner?”

Brak took a fortifying breath and
straightened, apparently pushing aside whatever was bothering him.
“I guess Father had begun to awaken, and they didn’t know what to
do with him except drug him and keep him in an induced coma. Then
Bishop came along, and they struck a deal with him and sold our dad
to him. Like he was a piece of property that could be bartered
away.” He made a disgusted face then looked out the patio doors at
Cynthia. His expression instantly softened. “Cyn took care of me
while I was out of my body, as well as afterward, when I returned
and couldn’t function on my own. One day while I was out doing
their bidding, she helped me find them.” His gaze flicked to
Trace’s. “It was the same day I found you in that cell.” Trace
nodded in understanding. “Anyway, she helped me find them, and when
she did, I ghosted into the home where they were holding me
prisoner in the basement. That’s how I learned what had
happened—that they no longer had our father, which meant they no
longer had leverage over me, either. So I killed them. And then I
escaped to come and find you. Now, here I am.”

“And our father? Have you seen him?”

“I’ve visited him once, but I’ve been too
exhausted to go back. He’s not very coherent, anyway. One minute he
seemed to recognize me and the next he didn’t.”

“Is that normal?”

Brak shrugged. “I don’t know how our
mother’s spell was supposed to work, except that he wasn’t supposed
to awaken until it was time for him to meet his next mate. I don’t
know how long the awakening process takes or what we can expect
once he’s fully lucid, but if he’s waking up, I’d say he’s going to
meet his next mate any day if he hasn’t already. Or, who knows, it
could be another year. Like I said, I don’t know exactly how the
spell was supposed to work.”

Trace rubbed his hands up and down his face
then over his scalp as he settled back in the chair again. “Jesus,
everything’s happening at once.”

“What do you mean?”

It seemed like Trace’s life had been a
whirlwind for weeks. Up, down, around. He’d been tossed more than a
salad and longed for a reprieve so he could enjoy being newly mated
for a few days.

“There’s just a lot going on. I’ll tell you
about it later, when we have more time.” He thought about Skeletor
and the button Cordray had brought with her. “Right now, I’m hoping
you can help us.”

“Sure. How?”

Trace went to the patio door and tapped on
it to get Cordray’s attention. Then he motioned for her to join
them. Cynthia trailed behind as they re-entered the house.

“Everything good in here?” Cordray glanced
from Brak to him.

“Yeah, it’s all good.” He held out his hand.
“I want to show Brak the button.”

Her eyes lit hopefully as she pulled the
button from her pocket and set it in his palm.

Trace handed it to Brak. “We need to find
the person who belongs to this button. Can you help us?”

Brak wrapped his large hand around the small
piece of round plastic and exchanged glances with Cynthia. Then he
nodded as he lifted his eyes toward Trace again. “Trace, my
brother, my gift is your gift. I was born to help you.”

Chapter 38

Cordray pulled her gaze away from the fight in the
center of the crowd and checked her watch. Heavy metal roared
through the small but powerful speakers set up inside the South
Side parking garage playing host to Grudge Match for the night.
There was just something about head-banging music and fighting that
went together like chocolate and peanut better. Thrash metal
brought out the primal in a person.

As one bout ended, and the battered and
bruised opponents hobbled into the crowd to nurse their well-earned
wounds, another pair of fighters—a scrappy little vampire who
looked like he couldn’t lift a potato and a scrawny dreck with
spaghetti arms—made their way to the center of the fray. They
looked more like pencil pushing accountants than brawlers, but
maybe that was why they were there. Maybe they had gotten tired of
people underestimating them. Grudge Match was their ticket to
glory, at least for one or two nights a week.

Whether they actually possessed fighting
skills or Digon simply respected their courage for facing the
gauntlet and surviving, the fact they were there was a bit
heart-warming. Everyone deserved to feel like somebody once in a
while, and even the most innocuous of geek wannabes deserved to
feel like a hero . . . like he mattered in the big
picture and made a difference.

Cordray could get down with that.

Despite the cage, as the fight got underway
everyone pushed back from the center action like dancers at a disco
giving John Travolta room to go all Night Fever.

Blood splattered from the dreck’s nose as he
took a fist to the face, which sent up a roar from the crowd.
Cordray was quickly learning this bunch liked seeing blood. As if
drawing blood stamped a badge of honor on the person who drew it
and proved that the one whose blood was drawn had just completed a
rite of passage.

Cordray stood in the shadows, behind the
surging, fist-pumping mass, and checked her phone.

Not only was she waiting for more intel on
Skeletor, but Micah had texted her as she and Trace had been
leaving Brak’s place to let her know he’d been invited to run the
gauntlet tonight. According to the time, he should have been
finished by now. So where was he?

She scanned the area beyond the cage again,
but there was still no sign of him.

Brak had found Skeletor easily enough by
using the button to track him down, and from the description he
provided after coming back into his body, the guy sounded like a
New York fashion model. Lean build, black hair, Grecian nose,
strong jaw, nicely trimmed beard and mustache. His hair was longer
on top and shaved in a tight fade on the sides. Brak said the bangs
hung in a loose arc around his eyes, and that while he didn’t part
it, it swept from right to left. He also had a small scar above his
right eyebrow.

Vampires and scars didn’t usually go hand in
hand, so this tidbit was helpful.

They still didn’t have a name, but at least
Cordray had more of a description to go with those bluish,
slate-grey eyes. They also had an address, which was the pot of
gold at the end of the rainbow, as far as Micah was concerned. With
an address, not only could they get to him, but Io could track down
Skeletor’s real name, which he was supposedly doing this very
minute.

She checked her phone again. Still no
messages.

A cheer roared up from the crowd as the
skinny dreck landed a brutal punch on the side of the scrawny
vampire’s face. He flew sideways and landed on the oil-stained,
concrete floor and raised his hand in Grudge Match’s sign of
surrender.

Fight over.

The group cheered again, thumping their
fists over their heads. The music changed to a song rich in heavy
drum and bass. It was like a modern-day Woodstock for supernatural
UFC fighters. All they needed was some Jimi Hendrix, a few peace
signs, and a whole lot of flowers, and they’d be back in the Age of
Aquarius. Peace, love, and happiness, man. And a good-spirited
fight.

The dreck helped the vampire up, and they
locked hands and bumped shoulders like bros, man-hugging it out.
Then they made their way back into the crowd, gesturing in such a
way that made it obvious the dreck was explaining how he’d taken
the vampire down. Now, that was sportsmanship, telling your
opponent how you beat him.

Cordray grinned as she watched them limp
away from the crowd, talking animatedly, replaying their fight, the
vampire hanging on every word like an eager student trying to learn
how to be as good as his mentor. And maybe that’s what they were to
one another. Mentor and student.

She’d gotten the impression that several of
the members mentored some of the others. In both meetings she’d
attended, smaller groups had broken out like they were teaching
workshops, and from bits of conversations she had picked up from
the others, Digon held teaching sessions where he illustrated
fighting techniques from different disciplines about once a
month.

Which meant Grudge Match wasn’t just a place
to fight, but a place to learn
how
to fight. Kind of like a
self-defense class with a twist.

She checked her watch again then glanced
around the large, open space as another fight got underway.

Except for Micah getting his ass there,
everyone was ready to fulfill their role in the great Skeletor
hunt. Trace was at AKM with Brak. While Brak ghosted after
Skeletor, Trace would connect with his mind and relay everything in
real time to dispatch, who was in constant contact with the teams
in the field. Cynthia was at AKM, too, and as Trace revealed where
Skeletor was, she would text Cordray and Micah to keep them in the
loop. Everything was set. They just needed Skeletor to make the
first move, and it was game on.

Cordray’s phone vibrated at the same moment
she saw Micah round the corner with Digon. Another male Cordray
hadn’t seen before strolled behind them. This new guy was tall and
angular, confidently powerful, with dark eyes and dark-brown hair
that hung almost to his shoulders. He was built similarly to Micah.
Hell, except for the difference in hair color, they could have been
brothers.

The threesome stopped on the other side of
room, and Digon leaned toward Micah and said something. Then he and
the mysterious newcomer slipped away as Micah entered the crowd.
His gaze met Cordray’s almost immediately.

While Micah made his way toward her, she
read her text, which was from Cynthia.

Brak has Skeletor. He’s on the move. South Side.

“Did you see the message?” Cordray said when
Micah joined her.

“Mm-hm.” Micah pretended to be interested in
the fight going on in the cage, but Cordray sensed he was strung
tighter than a power line in a hurricane.

“Who was that with you and Digon?” She
glanced toward the opposite side of the garage, where Digon stood
with the other male and that female with the long red hair she’d
fought on her first night. Sonia, she thought her name was.

“Some guy named Rule,” Micah said. “Real
asshole. He wouldn’t stop staring at me the entire time I was in
Digon’s office signing my life away to the club.”

Digon, Sonia, and Rule turned in unison and
glanced at her and Micah.

“Do you think they’re on to us?”

“Who the fuck knows?” Micah crossed his arms
and glared back at them as if laying down a challenge.

“Calm down. You don’t want to get yourself
kicked out in the first five minutes.” Jesus, but Micah could be a
hothead.

“I don’t like him.” Micah tugged his gaze
away and glanced down at his phone. “Something about him rubs me
the wrong fucking way.”

“Everybody rubs you the wrong fucking way,”
she said dismissively.

“Some more than others.” He scowled
pointedly at her.

“Well, look inside his head,” she hissed
quietly. “See if you can figure out what his issue is.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?” She glared at
him.

“Do I need to spell it out for you?” He
huffed. “I can’t see his thoughts. His
or
Digon’s.”

“You can’t be serious.” The whole point of
bringing Micah into Grudge Match was so he could see inside Digon’s
head without being detected. Now Micah was telling her he couldn’t
see his thoughts? Talk about a major fail. This op had just become
a way for them to spend more time with one another. As if either of
them wanted or needed that.

“Digon and Rule are like you.” Micah shot
her an angry look. “Well, not exactly like you. With you, I feel
your mental block. With them, I see nothing but black. Just”—his
gaze slid toward the trio on the other side of the room—“empty
darkness.”

“Well, great. Now what do we do?”