Bound Guardian Angel (31 page)

That left eleven-year-old Gavin, the loner
and fire lover. Gavin was struggling with math and was nervous
about heading off to human school next year. He’d recently finished
the curriculum she’d put in place to prepare the young for their
vampire lives, and he now understood what he was. Today, Brenna had
broken the news that next year he’d be sent to public school.

A scary step.

Maybe that was why he’d been playing with
Trace’s matches. Stress and anxiety were his triggers.

Chatter hummed around the table as
silverware clanged on plates, and for the first time in days, the
tension in Cordray’s shoulders melted away. These were her
children. They may not have been her flesh and blood, but they were
still hers. She would have legally adopted every single one of them
if it were required for her to provide such care, but Bain kept the
human authorities away and kept the money flowing into her coffers
so she never had to worry.

They held an annual fundraiser and charity
ball, but that was more to keep Asylum and its children in the
minds of their people than to collect funds.

After dinner, all the kids but Aiden and
Null filed out to the dorm with Brenna while Mya started in on the
dishes.

“I’ll get those,” Cordray said, setting the
last of the plates on the overloaded counter.

“You sure?” Mya rinsed her hands.

“Yep.” Actually, Cordray planned on having
Trace clean the kitchen. Might as well put him to good use while
she had him. “You go on out to the dorm with the kids. Help Gavin
with his math. He’s struggling. And watch Leon and Riley. They’re
thinking about sneaking into each other’s rooms after everyone goes
to bed.”

“Good to know.” Mya dried her hands on the
towel hanging from the oven handle and looked up as Trace entered
the kitchen with the last of the dishes and set them on the
counter. “Good night, Trace.” She glanced from him to Cordray, her
eyes narrowing into knowing slits.

Cordray shot her a venomous glare. “Good
night, Mya.”

“Night-night. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t
do.” With that, Mya exited the back door and crossed the yard to
the dorm.

That left her and Trace alone. Aiden and
Null were playing in the living room.

On second thought, maybe she shouldn’t have
been so quick to dismiss Mya.

For a long moment, she just stared at him.
He stared back. With all the commotion and diversions suddenly
gone, as well as the protective shields that came with them, she
felt stripped bare and hung out like an offering to the gods.

Unbidden, her gaze drifted down his body.
After their dream-induced liaison today, she knew firsthand how
solid he was. How hard. How warm.

A dark rumble rolled deep within his throat.
When she pulled her gaze back to his face, he wore an amused
smirk.

“Do you like what you see?”

She frowned and took a step back. “You
wish.” She spun for the dishes, grabbed the first one she saw, and
began scraping the scraps into the trash.

He joined her, standing close enough as he
wiped food off another plate that his body heat warmed her
side.

“I’ll do this,” she said quickly. “You
can . . .” She looked around the kitchen. “Just put
all that away.” She gestured toward a batch of condiments, butter,
and sauces on the counter.

He muttered a disdainful response she
couldn’t make out then set the plate down, wiped his hands on a
paper towel, and began clearing the counter. He opened the fridge
and put the container of butter on the middle shelf.

She set aside the plate she was scraping and
stepped forward. “The butter doesn’t go there. It goes here.” She
opened the plastic drawer and slammed the butter inside with a
huff.

“Well,
excuse
me for not knowing the
butter had a permanent residence.”

“Look,” she said, “there are a lot of people
here and a lot of food. Everything has its place. Got it? You just
don’t start throwing things in the fridge willy-nilly, or it won’t
all fit.”

It felt good to get back to being mean to
him. Being mean kept her out of trouble. Kept her from thinking
about how incredible he had felt between her legs.

Trace rolled his eyes. “Look at you. The
butter police. How fortunate for your condiments.”

He started to put the ketchup away, but she
snagged the bottle from his hand. “And that goes here, not there.”
She dropped the ketchup on one of the shelves in the door.

“Jesus H.” He took a step back. “Are you
always so goddamn controlling? I’ll make sure to memorize where
everything goes for the test I’m sure you’ll give me later.” He
rolled his eyes. “You told me to put this shit away. I’m putting it
away.”

She huffed and waved him off. “Fine. Go
scrape the dishes then, and I’ll put all this away.” She picked up
bottles of pickles, olives, mustard, and salad dressing.

“Gee, I don’t know. Are you sure I can
handle it?” He grabbed one of the plates and pushed the scraps into
the trash with a fork.

“Don’t test me, Trace. I’m already pissed at
you.”

“Me? For what? Making you come this
afternoon?”

Flames shot up her back, and she dropped the
jar of mayonnaise so it fell over on the shelf. She floundered to
pick it up then stood and glared around the door at him. “How dare
you!” She shoved everything into the fridge, slammed the door, and
heard one of the bottles fall over in the back. “And keep your
voice down.”

“Look in the mirror, sweetheart.” He waved
the dirty plate he’d just scraped toward the fridge. “And you’d
better fix that. Wouldn’t want to crowd the lettuce.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.” She scowled at
him then yanked open the refrigerator door, righted the jar of
spaghetti sauce that had tumbled over, and shut the door more
gingerly this time. “And I’m talking about these.” She pulled the
box of matches from inside her bra and tossed them at him.

He snatched the box of matches in midair
then frowned at them before glancing back at her. “You’ve lost me.
You’re pissed at me because I chew on matches? You already knew
that.” He tucked the box into his back pocket.

She pushed past him to get to the sink and
turned on the water to let it heat. “I found Gavin with those
before dinner. He was behind the dorm lighting paper on fire. I
thought I told you to keep those things away from the kids.”

“Here’s an idea.” He set another scraped
plate on the counter and slid it toward her. “Maybe Gavin got into
my things, and you should be lecturing him on how he shouldn’t go
snooping around in other people’s stuff instead of jumping down my
ass for leaving them out where he could find them, because these,
sweetheart”—he pulled the matches out of his pocket and waved them
in front of her face, making the small wooden sticks rattle
inside—“have either been in my pocket or in my bag upstairs in my
room the entire time I’ve been here. So get your own house in order
before you go barking at me about mine.”

Cordray leaned away from him, because just
having him near was setting her nerve endings on fire. “I told you
not to call me sweetheart.”

Trace pressed toward her, and the sensation
of his shoulder touching hers caused tingles to shower down her
arm. It took all her strength not to close her eyes and relish the
sensual response.

“How about I just call you the Wicked Witch
of the West. It’s fitting, don’t you think?”

She drew away and glared at him. “How about
you grow up and call me Cordray? Do you think your tiny brain can
handle that?”

He tossed more scraps in the trash. “Can
yours?”

“Fuck you, Trace.”

“You’re too frigid to know what to do with
me if you fucked me.”

The retort came out of nowhere and caught
Cordray completely off guard. For a moment, all she could do was
gape at him in disbelief as his words stung her heart. “How dare
you.”

“If the shoe fits.” He pressed seductively
against her, as if he were trying to intimidate her. Or perhaps
challenge her. “Whaddya say? Do you really think you could handle
me?” His gaze blazed into hers as he let out a quiet snort. “I dare
you to prove it.”

She could hardly breathe as her gaze fell to
his full lips. Was he trying rekindle the fire he’d sparked in her
bedroom earlier? If so, it was working. Her fire was definitely
rekindled. But what if he was only toying with her? What if this
was some sick game where he pulled away and laughed in her face the
moment she showed interest in taking another trip with him into the
land of the erotic? She would be so humiliated.

Forcing her shoulders back, she raised her
chin. “I’ve fucked plenty, Trace. I’m just not interested in
fucking freaks of nature who are masochists and criminals.”

His gaze hardened as his mouth pressed into
a thin line, and his eyebrows pressed downward as if she’d caused
him pain. Clearly, her insult had hurt him. But his had hurt her,
so eye for an eye.

He let out a derisive puff of breath and
pushed away from her. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?
You can’t even apologize. You were wrong about the matches. You
know it. I know it. And rather than say you’re sorry, you harass
me. Then you insult me.”

“Hey, jackass, you insulted me first.” She
reached behind her and slammed off the faucet. “I’ll admit, you
behave admirably around the kids. I appreciate that. And yes, I’m
sorry for blaming you for the matches. But let me make it clear. I
own your ass for the next three months. Got it? You’re mine. You do
as I say. And if you want to go back to your precious AKM job and
beat off with your pal, Micah, then you’ll get that through your
thick skull.” She paused and bore her eyes into the angered,
pale-green depths of his, trying to ignore the warm tingles flowing
through her veins. “And there won’t be any more repeats of what
happened today, nor will I tolerate you trying to humiliate me by
toying with my emotions, so don’t ever bring it up again. Do you
understand?”

“Damn straight it won’t happen again.”

“Then we agree.” A stab of disappointment
pierced her heart as she took a step back and crossed her arms.
“You and I don’t have to like each other, Trace, but when it comes
to these kids, nothing interferes. Asylum runs like a well-oiled
machine because the children’s needs come first, before all else.
That includes our dislike for each other. When you’re here, you
leave your personal hatred of me at the door and I’ll do likewise.”
She gave him a shove as she turned toward the sink again, when all
she wanted was to keep touching him so she could feel something
beyond her normal nothingness. “You do that,” she said, picking up
a dirty plate and rinsing it, “and give me more than your required
two days a week, and I’ll see what I can do about getting you back
to work before your three months are up. Deal?” She glanced
sideways at him. “I’ll only make that offer once.”

She wasn’t sure why she had just offered to
cut his sentence short, or even why she suggested he put in more
days than what Bain had sentenced him to. Maybe a part of her just
wanted to get him out of there as fast as possible. Then again,
maybe she subconsciously wanted him to be around more, which was a
scary thought.

Having Trace around more was dangerous,
because despite her protests, she was drawn to him. He was
magnetic. Even now, she yearned to touch him again. To stroke her
fingers down the ridges in his abdomen, kiss him, press her body
against his. Trace was excitement incarnate. What female wouldn’t
be drawn to him?

“Fine.” Trace returned to scraping the
dishes. “You’ve got a deal, because the sooner I get out of here,
the better.” He paused and poked her in the arm, making her suck in
her breath as she jerked her head around to face him. “But let
me
make one thing clear.” He drew closer, his voice deathly
quiet. “You do
not
own me.”

She forced herself to hold his gaze. “That’s
right.
Micah
owns you now, doesn’t he? How
lucky
for
you both.”

Trace’s eyes narrowed. A moment later, he
went back to cleaning dishes. “Jealous much?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

For the next thirty minutes, the two worked
in inharmonious silence. Cordray knew she had come off sounding
like a jealous girlfriend with her Micah comment, but there wasn’t
anything she could do about it now. She really needed to be more
careful what she said and how she said it from now on. The last
thing she wanted was for Trace to pick up on her attraction to
him.

Or maybe she was simply attracted to her
ability to
feel
him when she couldn’t feel a damn thing the
rest of the time.

If only she could figure out why.

There had to be a logical explanation.

Maybe it had to do with that bizarre power
of his? Maybe his energy existed at a different frequency from
everyone else’s or some shit, which made him more tactile. Or maybe
it was something deeper, more meaningful. She didn’t want to think
about that possibility. The last thing she needed to consider was
that he might be—however unlikely—her mate.

She just needed to stay away from him as
much as possible. Letting him touch her in any way, shape, or form
was to be avoided at all costs.

After setting the last dish in the rack and
starting the dishwasher, she wiped down the counter then rinsed her
hands.

“What now?” Trace said behind her.

She grabbed a kitchen towel and dried her
hands. “You can do whatever you want. I’m going to spend time with
Aiden and Null before I head out. This is their time.”

Trace’s strong brow wrinkled. “Head
out?”

She tossed the towel on the counter. “Yes. I
have work to do.”

“But I thought . . .” He
almost sounded disappointed.

“Unlike someone I know, I still have
my
job.” She switched off the light and walked away, toward
the large, open living room where Aiden and Null were sitting at
the coffee table, coloring.