Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
EAMON
The rumble of engines grew louder, closer, until I could distinguish individual vehicles climbing the winding mountain road. Two cars, maybe three. Coming fast but cautiously, the way professionals moved when they were hunting.
Every instinct I’d developed over three centuries of guardian work snapped into sharp focus.
The playful, affectionate man who’d made love to Charles in this very cabin mere hours ago was gone, replaced by something harder, deadlier.
Something that had been forged in celestial fire and tempered by centuries of protecting the innocent.
“Charles, I need you to go to the back bedroom. Now.”
“What? But—”
“Now,” I repeated, drawing my gun and already moving toward the window to get a better view of our approaching visitors. “Get in that room and stay away from the windows. Don’t come out until I tell you to. If I tell you to lock the door, do it, and barricade it with the dresser.”
“I’m not leaving you to face this alone—”
“Yes, you are.” I turned to face him, and whatever he saw in my expression made him take a step back. “This is not a discussion, Charles. This is me keeping you alive. Go.”
For a moment, I thought he might argue further. But then the sound of car doors slamming echoed across the snow, and his face went pale with understanding.
“Be careful,” he whispered, then disappeared down the hallway.
The bedroom door closed just as two black SUVs pulled into view through the trees.
Six men emerged—five muscle guys and Carlo Ricotta himself.
Even at this distance, I could see the expensive cut of his coat, the way he moved with the casual arrogance of a man who’d never faced a threat he couldn’t buy or intimidate his way out of.
They moved with military precision, spreading out to surround the cabin while staying low and using the vehicles for cover. Professional, but not supernatural. I could track their every movement with enhanced senses they couldn’t even comprehend.
The first man reached the front door, testing the handle with gloved fingers. When it didn’t give, he moved to the kitchen entrance. Another tried the windows, looking for an easy point of entry. They found all the doors locked, all the windows secured. Good. Let them work for it.
When the man at the living room window produced a small crowbar and started working on the frame, I’d had enough of their stealth approach. I put a bullet through the glass and straight through his shoulder.
The effect was immediate and satisfying.
He howled in pain, and the others dove behind their vehicles.
The wounded guy crawled back to them through the snow, so I fired a bullet through his leg for good measure.
He did make it back behind one of the cars, leaving a bright red trail in the snow, but he wouldn’t be walking anywhere anytime soon.
One down, five to go.
For a few moments, there was blessed silence except for the ringing echo of gunfire across the mountains. Would someone hear? Was it too much to hope that a neighbor would notice and call the cops? Hell, did they even have cops anywhere nearby?
Then Carlo’s voice cut through the night air, smooth and reasonable despite the circumstances. “Detective O’Rourke, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
I positioned myself at the now-broken window, where I could see his position behind the lead SUV. “Did we now?”
“You’re a professional man. I respect that. And I’m willing to compensate you very generously for your time and discretion.”
“How generous?” I called back, playing along while I assessed their positions and counted ammunition.
“Two hundred thousand dollars. Cash. Tonight.” Carlo’s voice carried the confidence of a man who’d bought his way out of problems before. “All you have to do is walk away. Leave the baker, drive down this mountain, and forget you were ever here.”
“Tempting offer.” I shifted to get a better angle on the man trying to flank us through the trees. “But I’m gonna have to pass.”
“Detective, be reasonable. No one ever has to know about our arrangement. You go back to New York, tell your superiors the witness was killed in the crossfire. These things happen. I can even give you a superficial bullet wound to make it believable.”
The casual way he discussed murdering Charles made something cold and vicious unfurl in my chest. When I spoke again, my voice carried three centuries of barely contained violence.
“Carlo, you miserable piece of shite, here’s a counter-offer: you and your boys fuck off back to whatever sewer you crawled out of, and maybe I’ll let you live long enough to see a courtroom. ”
The silence that followed was different—colder, more dangerous. When Carlo spoke again, all pretense of civility was gone. “Kill them both.”
The assault began immediately. Muzzle flashes lit up the darkness as they opened fire from multiple positions, bullets shattering windows and punching through the cabin’s log walls.
The wounded guy still had to be behind one of the cars because he never showed. That left five for me to deal with. I dropped low, returning fire through the broken front window while trying to track their movements.
They were good—coordinated, professional, using covering fire and movement like they’d done this before. But I was better. Three centuries better. Every shot I fired found its mark, though their Kevlar vests kept them in the fight longer than I’d have liked.
One of the guys hid behind the stack of firewood, only popping up to fire at me and then quickly ducking again.
His mistake? He was doing it in set intervals.
Five seconds. He’d stand up, shoot, then duck back down and wait five seconds before repeating it.
So the next time he ducked, I counted with him, ready when he rose.
My bullet hit him straight through the head.
He never even made a sound as he crumpled.
Four left.
Glass exploded inward as they focused their fire on the windows, trying to clear shooting lines into the cabin. I moved constantly, using the furniture for cover while picking my shots carefully. My ammunition was limited, and they seemed to have brought enough firepower to level a small building.
A flash-bang grenade rolled through the shattered living room window, and I barely had time to shield my eyes before it detonated. Even with supernatural resilience, the blast left me disoriented, my ears ringing and my vision blurred.
That was when they made their move.
The front door exploded inward, and two guys came through the opening while Carlo and the other man entered through the kitchen window.
I emptied my clip into the first man through the door, watching him spin and fall, but that left three, who kept firing at me.
I retreated down the hallway, firing as I went, trying to buy time I didn’t have.
With one last shot, I hit the front guy in the kneecap, and he went down with a howl, but I had nowhere to go, and two guys left to deal with. The bedroom door was solid wood, but it wouldn’t stop bullets for long.
“Open up!” I called out, and Charles unlocked the door for me.
I slammed it shut and threw the lock, knowing it was a pathetic barrier against what was coming.
I could’ve tried to lead them to the second bedroom, but if they split up, one could go after Charles.
No, I’d make my last stand here, and I would die defending him. My love. My life.
Charles was pale and tight with terror, but his jaw was set with determination. When he looked at me, his eyes held trust that I didn’t deserve—trust that I would somehow pull off another miracle, save us both through superior skill or clever tactics.
But I was out of miracles. Out of bullets. Out of conventional options.
The dresser. That would hold them back for a while longer. But when I reached for it, Charles shook his head. “It’s falling apart. I tried to move it, position it next to the door, but the whole back came off.”
Fuck.
I frantically looked around the room, but there was nothing else. The bed was far too heavy to move, the wooden chair wouldn’t make a difference, and we had no other options.
Something heavy slammed into the bedroom door. The frame shook, wood splintering around the lock. Another impact, and I heard the distinctive crack of breaking timber.
“Eamon,” Charles whispered, and the fear in his voice nearly broke my heart.
The door burst inward in an explosion of wood fragments and twisted metal. Carlo and his remaining man burst into the room, weapons trained on us. I fired, but the gun clicked. I was out of bullets, out of options, out of time.
For a second, we stared at each other across a few feet of space that might as well have been an ocean. Carlo smiled, cold and satisfied, the expression of a predator that had finally cornered its prey, triumph gleaming in his eyes.
“Charles Garrity,” he said conversationally, like we were meeting at a dinner party instead of the scene of an imminent execution. “You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble.”
I stepped in front of Charles, shielding him with my body even though I knew it was useless against multiple gunmen. But Charles deserved better than to die looking into the face of his killer. If these were our last moments, at least I could give him that much.
“Any last words, Detective?” Carlo asked, raising his pistol.
I had plenty of words. Three centuries’ worth of rage and protective fury and desperate love for the man behind me. But there was only one thing that mattered now, only one choice left to make.
It was forbidden, the one thing we were never allowed to do, no matter the circumstances. That had been drilled into me from the very first moment I became a guardian. But I had no other choice. I wasn’t going to let Charles die.
So I took a deep breath and set myself free, letting my true nature surge forth.
Light blazed from my skin, brilliant and all-consuming, filling the small room with radiance that had nothing to do with electricity or fire.
The temperature spiked as celestial energy coursed through me, and my human disguise burned away like tissue paper in a furnace.
Carlo and his companion stumbled backward, their weapons forgotten as they stared at something their minds couldn’t process.
Because I wasn’t human anymore. I wasn’t the rough-edged detective they’d been hunting or the mysterious boyfriend who’d been protecting their target.
I was a guardian angel, forged in divine fire and tasked with protecting the innocent.
Massive wings unfurled from my shoulders—not the soft, white feathers of greeting card angels, but something far more primal and powerful.
They were dark as midnight and shot through with veins of silver light, beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
When I spread them wide, they filled the room, creating a living barrier between Charles and the men who would kill him.
I wrapped those wings around Charles, pulling him against my chest as celestial energy crackled through the air like contained lightning.
The room hummed with otherworldly power, and I felt Charles’s sharp intake of breath as he pressed against me, his face turned up to stare at wings that shouldn’t exist.
My wings closed completely around him and I focused on Carlo’s face—white with shock and dawning terror as he understood that he wasn’t hunting a cop and a baker. He was facing something divine. Something that would burn down the world before it let harm come to the man in my arms.
And there was nowhere left for him to run.