Bound Guardian Angel (41 page)

Sam let out a tiny gasp and covered her
mouth. “Oh, Cordray, I’m so sorry.”

She held up her hand, already struggling to
keep her shit together. She didn’t need Sam’s sympathy to send her
totally over the edge. “Just wait, it gets better.” She blinked
against the tears clouding her vision. “I stood on my tiptoes and
peered through the window. It was covered with a film of dirt and
pollen, but I could still see them. On the bed we’d shared so many
nights, he had another female beneath him. He was holding her down
the way he’d held me so many times, his body surging against hers
the way it had surged against mine. And wave after wave of hormonal
heat pulsed through the walls, assaulting me like a bad punchline.”
She stilled and held her breath for a long moment. Then the air
whooshed from her lungs. “He’d mated her. She was his mate, Sam.
His goddamn mate.”

“Omigod.” The rushed exclamation breathed
from Sam’s mouth like a whispery curse. “I’m so sorry.”

“What kind of cruel joke was that?” She
slapped her palm on her chest. “He’d been mine for six years. I’d
been his. I’d had a place in the world. With someone. An
incredible, wonderful someone I’d given my heart to. But in the
blink of an eye”—she snapped her fingers—“biology stole away the
only male I’d ever loved. My first everything. He’d given me so
much pleasure, made me feel desire, lifted me to rapturous heights
with only the touch of his fingertips.” She swiped a tear from her
cheek as she met Sam’s gaze. “Do you realize that I was so
enthralled by him that he was able to send me into rapture with
just a simple brush of his lips?”

Sam shook her head.

“It’s true. He touched me, and it was
euphoria. He kissed me, and it was pure bliss.” Her gaze fell from
Sam’s. “And now I can’t feel a thing.”

Silence stretched for several seconds. Then
Sam asked the inevitable.

“Why? What happened?”

The memories flew through her mind once
more.

“Seeing him come inside her—his mate—was
beyond excruciating. Pain shot through me with such force that I
screamed. Physical pain, Sam. It felt like my heart exploded. Like
my lungs closed in on themselves then ruptured.

“Gideon’s head snapped around, and he saw me
at the window. Guilt fell over his expression, but my heart was
already shredding into pieces.

“I turned and ran. Just ran as fast as my
legs could carry me. But he came after me. He was shouting my name.
Telling me to stop. But I kept running. The only word I could say
was no. Over and over, I just kept screaming no at him as branches
sliced into my arms, my legs, my face.” She lifted her hand to her
cheek, remembering the lashes and the feel of sticky blood cooling
on her skin. “He was faster than I was and caught up to me. He
grabbed my wrist and spun me around, and I screamed, because it
burned. It physically
burned
being touched by him after I’d
just seen him with another female. I loved him. Seeing him with
another destroyed me.”

She sniffled, drawing in a trembling breath
as the rest of the memory unfolded.

“He tried to calm me down. Tried to
apologize. ‘I had no choice,’ he said. ‘My body chose another. I’m
sorry, but I’ve mated someone else.’ I can still hear his voice as
if he’s right here and just spoke those words to me.” She blinked
heavily, and tears dropped from her eyes. “I fell to my knees,
sobbing. Big tough Cordray, brought down by biology’s brutal slap
in the face.” She uttered a bitter laugh. “But I was no match for
life. It had played a cruel joke on me. It had given me a perfect
male then ripped him away, and there was nothing I could do to stop
it. Nothing I could do to get him back. Nothing. It was agony
knowing I’d lost him and had no control.” She shook her head. “Why
couldn’t he have mated
me
? What was wrong with
me
?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Sam said. “He
just wasn’t the right man for you.”

“Tell that to my body.” She swallowed past
the lump in her throat. “Something backfired in me that night, and
I’ve never recovered.”

Sam tilted her head and frowned. “Are you
talking about losing your sense of touch?”

Cordray swiped at the traitorous tears that
wouldn’t stop leaking from her eyes. “He tried to comfort me. Tried
to help me. But when he touched me, what felt like fire blasted
through my body. The pain was indescribable. When I fell to the
ground, screaming in agony, he tried to help me up. But as he
gripped my arms, he only made the pain worse.

“I pushed him away, screaming at him not to
touch me. ‘Don’t ever touch me again,’ I said. Then I said—and I
still remember the words as clearly as if they’re seared into my
brain—‘You’ve killed me. I’m dead now. Dead!
You’re
dead to
me!’”

Sam gasped.

Cordray pressed on. “He reared away from me.
Pale. So pale. Terrified.
Of
me or
for
me, I don’t
know, but it didn’t matter. The look on his face said it all. We
were over, and he didn’t know me, anymore. Seemingly overnight,
we’d gone from being as close as two people could be to being total
strangers.” She let out a shaky sigh. “He apologized again, told me
I’d never see him again, and left.

“I remained curled on the ground, knees to
my chest, crying until I didn’t think I could cry anymore. He had
someone warm to return to. He had another’s arms to console and
comfort him, another’s lips to kiss away his pain. I had nothing
and no one. After years thinking I’d found the male I would spend
the rest of my life with, he was lost to another, and I was all
alone.”

She sat quietly for a minute. Then she
leaned forward, grabbed the bottle, and filled her glass to the
brim before guzzling half of it down in one swallow.

“Hours later, I finally pushed myself up and
headed back home. But as I trudged numbly along the path, I
realized I couldn’t feel the dewy, damp undergrowth beneath my
slippers. Or the coldness of the cobbled path that led from the
woods to the stable gate.

“Within hours, Gideon and his mate were
gone, but so was my sense of touch. I couldn’t feel anything.
Nothing at all.”

Silence stretched between her and Sam.
Recalling her past had felt both like a purge and a reliving of
events, leaving her mentally worn and bone weary.

“Years later, I heard that Gideon’s mate and
his young son were killed. I never learned what happened to Gideon,
though. He disappeared, lost to his suffering, I’m sure. I don’t
envy him that. That’s got to be a worse hell—or at least an equal
one—than what I’ve gone through.”

“But it doesn’t mean you’ve been hurt any
less,” Sam said, her voice maternal.

“But it doesn’t take away the hurt, either.”
She downed another swallow of whiskey. “But all this time, I’ve
felt nothing. Nothing at all.” Her eyes met Sam’s. “Until now.
Until Trace.”

“What do you mean?”

Cordray chugged the remaining Jack in one
swallow then clunked her glass on the table.

“I can feel him, Sam. He touches me, and I
feel it. Everywhere, I feel it. What does that mean?” Her head
buzzed thickly.

“I can tell you what
I
think it
means, but I’m not sure you want to hear it.”

She thought back to what she had said to
Gideon the last time she saw him. That he had killed her. That she
was dead without him.

She hadn’t actually died, but in a manner of
speaking, she had. Her desire had died. Her ability to feel had
died. Her emotions and nervous system had died, making her an
automaton. An unfeeling ghost.

Until now.

The more time she spent around Trace, the
more her sense of touch revived, along with her emotions. He was
pulling her back to the living. In his own way, he was
resuscitating her. Resurrecting her heart. Isn’t that what she’d
thought a couple of days ago?

Earlier tonight, she’d wanted to be where
Null was, pressed against Trace’s body, her cheek against his
chest, his hands rubbing her back, his warmth pouring into her. Not
since Gideon had desire so strong commanded her thoughts.

I don’t hate you, Trace. Quite the opposite, in
fact.

And then what she’d wanted actually
happened. Trace had held her and pressed all that heat against her
body. He’d kissed her. And it had felt so good. So incredibly
perfect.

But then she had run away. As she had run
from the cottage in the woods, so she had run from Trace. All
because she feared he would do the same thing to her as Gideon
had.

Even so, she couldn’t resist his magnetism.
Even now, she could barely keep herself from jumping on her Ducati
and racing back to Asylum so she could see him, touch him, and be
touched by him. To hear his voice and watch him while he slept. To
share her dreams with him and awaken with him between her legs
again, wanton, hungry, aching with need. To drink from him as he
drank from her. To spend forever with.

Forever.

Had she really just thought that? Yes, she
had. She wanted forever. With him. With Trace.

“Oh, God.” She dropped her face into her
palms.

“What? What’s wrong?” The cushions rustled
as Sam scooted forward.

She peeled her hands away and turned
beseeching eyes on Sam. “You’re right.”

“What do you mean, I’m right? Right about
what?”

This couldn’t be happening.
Please don’t
let this be happening.

“I’m in love with him. I’ve fallen in love
with Trace.”

Chapter 21

At half past five in the morning, Micah entered the
house through the garage and stuffed his keys in his front
pocket.

And immediately pulled up.

What the fuck?

The air smelled like the fresh scent of Jack
Daniels-infused vomit.

And Cordray.

Now there was a fragrance combination Glade
should definitely look into. Not.

Just . . . blech.

He followed the wet, gagging sound of
someone barfing and found Sam holding the hand-painted, metal waste
can from the guest bathroom under Cordray’s head.

Damn. He liked that trash can. What a waste
of a fabulous floral paint job.

The offending empty Jack Daniels bottle sat
on the coffee table.

“What’s
it
doing here?” He dropped
his duffel on the floor.

Sam gave him a scornful over-the-shoulder
look. “Not now, Micah.”

Cordray stopped puking long enough to say,
“
It’s
puking its guts out, asshole.” To Sam, she said, “And
here I thought your mate was the observant one.”

He rounded the couch and picked up the
bottle as Cordray retched again.

“Ol’ Jack deserves better than this.” He
spun the empty bottle on his palm then caught it by the neck.

“Micah . . .” Sam’s tone held
an unspoken warning to be nice, something he emphatically didn’t
want to be to the female currently redecorating the inside of a
perfectly good trash can.

Cordray dry-heaved so violently she fell to
her knees and thrust her head deeper into the can. “Jesus!” She
gagged again. “Fuck me, but this fucking sucks.”

Micah almost laughed. Seeing Cordray so
miserable was the best thing that had happened to him all week.
“Look at the bright side. You’re getting a week’s worth of ab
workouts in two minutes.”

Sam scowled at him.

“Fuck your bright side.” Cordray flipped him
off then heaved again.

Micah struggled not to chuckle. He really
wanted to tell her she’d gotten what she deserved.

“Jesus,” Cordray said, finally sitting back.
Her face was covered with a sheen of sweat and was the color of
dried concrete. “I can’t feel when a bullet blasts through my
shoulder, but I can feel this? How’s that for irony?”

Was she talking to him, herself, or the
great and powerful Oz?

“Excuse me?” What the hell did she mean, she
couldn’t feel a bullet?

She regarded him as if contemplating whether
or not to explain herself. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“Fine, whatever.” He went to the kitchen
sink, rinsed the bottle, then tossed it in the recycling bin.

Sam steamrolled into the kitchen behind him
and slugged his shoulder.

“Ow.” He rubbed his arm.

“You and I need to talk.” She bobbed her
head toward the back hallway.

Was she pissed at him? When had she become
chummy enough with Satan’s mistress to get all bent at him rather
than her? Oh, that’s right. Two nights ago. If only he could
forget.

Once they were out of earshot, Sam spun
around and shoved him hard enough to hurt. “Stop giving Cordray
shit.”

“What the hell? You know I don’t like
her.”

“Not everything is about you, Micah.”

“I don’t like coming home to find her here.
Throwing up our last bottle of Jack Daniels, no less. Why the hell
is she here, anyway? Shouldn’t she be lording over Trace? She
barged in here for him the other night demanding we turn him over,
and now that we have, she’s back here again? What does she want
this time? To borrow a cup of sugar?”

“Micah—”

“Jesus, I just want her out of our
lives.”

“Micah—”

“Can’t she find someone else to
torture?”

“MICAH!”

“What?”

“She’s in love with him!”

The brakes engaged in his brain, and for a
very long moment, his feet cemented themselves to the floor.

“What? What did you say?” Surely she didn’t
mean Cordray and Trace. No way. That was just absurd. This took the
whole k-i-s-s-i-n-g song Sam teased him with the other day to a
whole other level he’d never seen coming.

Sam sighed and took a step closer. “You
heard me. Cordray is in love with Trace.
Our
Trace. She
loves him.”

He cringed. “Stop saying that.” He glanced
behind him as if he could go back to the kitchen, hit replay, and
create a different outcome to this conversation. Then he turned
back around and searched Sam’s face, as well as her mind. “Does
he . . .? Does Trace . . .?” He
couldn’t even finish that sentence for all the ramifications it
held.