Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Race skirted around the other warriors gathered in the minuscule study and propped a shoulder against the jamb. While the others updated Michael on more missing kids, Race’s thoughts shifted to Lemuria’s children, forced to work in those cursed mines.
Same fucking shit everywhere.
He shoved the dark rage deep into his gut, shutting everything out for now so he could focus on what mattered before leaving for his old world, mainly making sure Ash could protect herself.
Just the thought of her, and his mind instinctively tracked her as she headed off with Echo toward the kitchen. A surge of emotion for her flooded through him, and he rubbed his chest.
He lifted his gaze to meet Aethan’s amused one.
We’ve all been there, Aethan mind-linked with him, one of Gaia’s gifts he abhorred. So, I get the disbelief—the feeling it’s all a dream.
Race gave a slight nod in response.
“I want you all spread across the states with the most activities,” Michael said, listing their assignments. “Dagan’s handling Romania. I have my fallen angels on alert in other parts of the world. Something’s stirring in the Dark Realm. We must find out what the hell it is.”
“I imagine some demon lord has a fly stuck up his arse,” Blaéz muttered.
Nik snorted.
“Yo, dragon, you trolling the streets with us tonight?” Tyr asked. “I’m out in New Orleans. Those cursed demons are expanding their trafficking ring, and worse, humans are helping them in this sacrilege.”
“I’ll join you a little later.” Race met Michael’s steady gaze and waited for Gaia’s verdict.
“Later, then.” Tyr walked out, the others following.
Blaéz turned to him, his electric-blue eyes twinkling. “So, all’s good with you and your female?”
“Your fucking adage screwed with my head,” Race growled. “Useless talent.”
The warrior laughed and strode out, the door shutting behind him.
“Ass.” Race met Michael’s gaze and shook his head. “Don’t ask.”
“Not going to,” he muttered, picking up a scroll and studying its contents. “Gaia’s given you leave to oversee what you must.”
“Thanks.” Race pushed away from the jamb.
“Wait.” Michael set the scroll aside, picked up his pewter dagger from the desk, and tossed it on the shelf behind him. Then he looked up, and his fractured blue eyes swirled, making it hard for Race to read him. Hell, no one could anyway, not unless he wanted them to.
“If you need help, send one of your kin to the abbey. Dag can reach me. They have all offered to step in.”
Race looked down at his booted feet, his chest tight at the knowledge that his brethren stood behind him.
Race? Ash mind-linked with him, her soft voice edged with worry.
I’m fine, heart-fire. He rubbed his knuckles over his chest, and Michael’s gaze followed the movement.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” he said. “If I do, it’ll be Koal.” He removed the glittering, gold-speckled blue gem from his pocket and held it out. “You know anyone who can get this stone on a chain—something that won’t break? It’s for Ash. To keep her unnoticed.”
“The morvaen stone?” Michael studied the gem. “Hard to come by these. They remain unseen, unless you’re pure of heart.”
Race nodded. “An old retainer, part of the Resistance, told us so. He gave it to Ash.”
“I’ll see to it.” Michael pocketed the jewel. “When do you leave for Lemuria?”
“I was planning on tomorrow night, after we return from England. But—” Race exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t think only of myself. Ash needs more training before we go. If something happens, and I’m not there, she needs to be able to protect herself.”
“Makes sense,” Michael said as they left the study.
“You know…” Race eyed the leader he’d known for millennia, and still didn’t know beyond the job. Not that he ever tried to. “You’re going to need a bigger place. Your study is like a hive.”
Michael shot him a bland look. “Why would I change things, make life easier for all of you?”
Race snorted. “There’s that. Good thing I’ll be back in Romania when I return from Lemuria.”
Michael cast him a quick look but remained silent.
Race frowned. There was something Michael wasn’t telling him. He could feel it like an itch down his spine.
Before he could ask, Ash’s warm voice coasted through their link, caressing his senses. Are you joining me for the evening meal, or do you plan to hunt down a cow?
A smile tugged at his mouth. The only dinner I want is you, my mate.
Race could almost feel her blush. Then she added, Can’t wait.
He chuckled under his breath.
Michael snorted, a wry smile appearing. “You’re the last to cave to the mating bond—”
“Actually, it was my dragon who took notice of Ash first,” he corrected. “I was slow to catch up.”
“Nothing unusual there,” Michael drawled. “The others were just as bullheaded.”
Race shook his head and slipped his hands into his pockets. “Guess after millennia in solitude, it’s hard to believe something better is out there for the likes of us.” He glanced at Michael as they headed for the kitchen. “Don’t you wish for the same?”
“You all have hearts for brains,” Michael rumbled. “You find a mate, then look at me as if I’m lacking? I might have lost my wings, but I’m still an archangel, with too much shit to oversee.”
But Race didn’t miss the tension that settled over him.
Was it the weight of command…or the loss of his wings?
The portal hissed shut behind them, and Ash shivered. Being back in Thornbury, Hertfordshire—a place of endless gossip—only reminded her of why she was happy to have left.
“This way,” she said, leading Race through the thicket behind the Co-op and past the burbling stream half-hidden beneath brambles. The midday sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled light over the trail.
Ash stopped and peered through the branches at the bustling High Street beyond. “Wonderful. I’d forgotten how busy it gets at lunchtime. Mrs. Peterson from the post office will spot us in no time, and the whole town will know I’ve returned with a new fellow before we even reach Mum and Dad’s.”
Race’s lips twitched. “That would be the old woman in the purple coat who just did a double-take at these trees, like she’s seen something odd?”
“Oh, dear Lord,” Ash groaned, then she grasped his hand. “This way. There’s a back path that goes past the train station. Though knowing my luck, we’ll probably run into every nosy, well-meaning old biddy before we get to the house.”
Soft amusement flowed through their bond.
Naturally, he found her panic entertaining. But then no one who looked like Race—like he’d walked right out of a fantasy film with those chiseled features, wine-colored eyes, and silver hair—ever wandered into her small-town neighborhood for anything.
Even in simple black jeans and a leather jacket, he would keep the local gossip going for weeks.
At his low laugh, Ash huffed. “If you lived here, you’d understand.”
“Wait.” Race tugged her hand before she braved the wilds.
Curious, she watched as he retrieved something from his jeans pocket. In his palm lay the deep-blue, gold-streaked morvaen stone, suspended on a fine gold chain. “Leather or suede can burn or snap. This is unbreakable. Michael sourced it.”
“It’s so pretty,” she murmured as he turned her around and fastened it around her neck. “Thank you.”
Ash smoothed the warm stone and tucked it beneath her shirt before they continued toward her home.
Ten minutes later, they rounded the corner, and her childhood home came into view.
The red-brick semi-detached looked just as she’d left it—Mum’s roses climbing the trellis, Dad’s weather vane spinning lazily atop the garage. The faded blue front door could use a touch-up, and the gate probably still squeaked. A smile curved her mouth.
A yellow mini stopped two houses away, and Mrs. Porter, getting out of her car, stopped and stared. “Hullo, dear,” she called out.
Blast. Ash quickly waved, opened the weathered gate, the expected squeal announcing their arrival, and hurried for the front door.
“She seems polite,” Race said.
“And before you know it, you’ve shared your whole life story,” Ash grumbled. “This way’s much easier than dodging questions. Trust me.”
She opened the door and stepped into welcoming warmth. The familiar aroma of baking wafted to her as she entered the narrow front hall, the radiator’s heat seeping through their clothes.
“Mum?”
“In the kitchen, darling. Be there in a minute.”
Ash slipped off her parka and took Race’s leather jacket, aware of how his tall, broad frame seemed to shrink the already tight hallway, filling it with quiet peril.
Oh, boy. She hung up both their outerwear, then smoothed her hands over her jeans.
Through the archway, she caught a glimpse of the open-plan living area and the dining table covered in white linen and set for tea. Sunlight spilled over Mum’s bookshelf—crammed with her much-loved romance novels and her porcelain figurines standing guard on top.
Beyond that, the kitchen sparkled. Mum had clearly been stress-cleaning again.
“Right then,” she murmured, giving Race’s hand a small, nervous squeeze. “Ready to meet my parents?”
“You make it sound as if I’m about to face execution,” he teased.
“Fear not,” she whispered back, her lips twitching. “I’ll rescue you.”
Amusement warmed his eyes.
She took a deep breath, which did nothing to ease her nerves. After all, how did one explain to perfectly ordinary parents that their daughter was mated to an immortal warrior who could shift into a dragon?
Then her parents appeared at the archway, their welcoming smiles faltering for a second as their gazes settled on Race.
“Mum!” She hurried forward.
Her mother—radiant at sixty, with her bobbed sable-brown hair and warm hazel eyes—pulled her into a fierce embrace. “We’ve missed you, darling.”
“I missed you both, too.” Ash clung to her for a heartbeat before turning to her father. “Dad—”
“Good to have you home, sweet pea.” He hugged her, then eased back, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the light, gray eyes crinkling with relief.