Awakened (Paranormal romance, YA fantasy) (The Guardian Legacy) Read online

  Part of me wanted to push him away. After all, his brother had wanted me dead. Another part was so desperate for comfort I clung to his shirt, welcoming the warm and solid planes of his chest. Tears streamed down my cheeks, soaking his shirt.

  I don’t know how long he held me before I calmed down and started noticing little things like his clean pine scent, the gentle way he rubbed my back and murmured into my hair. A feeling I couldn’t explain tightened in my tummy. I leaned back. His arms fell away from my shoulders.

  “Do you want me to contact your Grampa?” he asked.

  I shook my head, stepped away from him. “No, I’ll do it.”

  I closed my eyes, focused and searched for Grampa just like Bran had taught me. None of the thoughts were Grampa’s. I searched some more until frustration blocked my throat. I opened my eyes, shook my head. “I can’t find him.”

  “Allow me.” Within seconds, I heard Bran telepath him. Cardinal Falcon, we have a situation at the pool.

  In a fraction of a second, Grampa appeared beside us in his hiking boots, dark-brown outdoor clothes, a long leather coat and his usual hat. Until now, I’d found it hard to visualize Grampa as a demon hunter. My eyes popped at the sheathed sword dangling on his hip, gleaming serrated Ninja-looking weapons wrapped across his chest. He was a dead ringer for Van Helsing.

  “What’s going…?” His voice trailed off when he saw the frozen crimson energy balls. His eyes changed. Instead of white I’d seen before, they glowed green, the color similar to the light from the core of the jadeite. He whipped around and pointed a finger at Bran, propelling him backward and slamming his body against the wall. “Are you responsible for this, boy?”

  “No, Grampa,” I yelled, running to grip his wrist. “We were attacked.”

  Grampa eyes blazed as he pushed Bran up the wall another inch. I tugged at Grampa’s wrist. “He tried to save me,” I shouted to get past the fury that contorted Grampa’s face.

  He lowered his hand. Bran slid down the wall to the floor and struggled to stand. He looked so scared I was caught between running to his side and staying by Grampa’s. I’d never seen Grampa lose it like that.

  “I’m okay,” I reassured him.

  He pulled me in his arms and hugged me tight, the metal weapons on his chest digging into me through my robe. I sniffed, smelling the briny scent of the sea. Where had he been?

  Then he leaned back to peer at me, his eyes back to normal. “You sure?”

  I nodded.

  He looked over at Bran who stayed by the wall, keeping his distance. “Bran?”

  “I’m fine, sir.” He sounded edgy.

  “Good. Now tell me what happened. You were supposed to bid my granddaughter goodbye and leave. Did you lead them to her?”

  Grampa’s voice rose and I feared he’d turn on Bran, again. “He was saying goodbye when the three demons attacked. We held them off and they left.” Now wasn’t the time to mention that one of them was Bran’s brother.

  Grampa let go of me after a gentle shoulder squeeze and went to examine the frozen energy balls, half of which hovered above the water while the others were over the deck. He turned to us, his expression unreadable. “Who froze the omnis?”

  “I did.”

  He looked at me, eyes narrowed. “You?”

  I nodded, still amazed at doing it but worried about his opinion.

  He grinned. “That’s my girl.” He turned away from me, but I still heard his telepathic message. Rock, tell the others you’ll be back soon and come to Motel 6 pool by the trailer park. We have a few omnis to dispose of. Lil froze them. He glanced at me and Bran, then added louder, “You two, wait in the trailer.”

  The words barely left his lips when a tall woman dressed like him appeared on the deck. One look at the suspended orbs and she laughed. “I knew she had it in her. Where’s my Luminitsa?” she asked.

  I could only gawk at the woman who used to take care of me when I was little. She had disappeared from our lives when I turned ten. “Auntie Janelle?”

  Her hazel eyes lit. “You remember me, my little light. How I’ve missed you.”

  She hugged me, and I was enveloped in familiar scents, cinnamon and citrus with a dash of lavender, her favorite scent. But mixed in was the scent of the sea as well. Shock or maybe it was happiness gripped my throat.

  She leaned back and peered into my face. “Oh, now see what I’ve done. I’ve made you cry.” She wiped a tear from my cheek. “She-warriors—”

  “—don’t cry,” I finished, and we grinned. She used to tell me that when I was little. “Are you a Guardian, too?”

  “Earth, sweetheart. How about we catch up later, huh? Right now, your grandfather and I need to take care of the omnis.” She glanced at Bran, pursed her lips. “Is this what your goodbyes led to, son?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said.

  “Now off with you two,” Grampa added.

  Bran and I hurried toward the side entrance. Before I left the building, I glanced back at my free-spirited Auntie Janelle. She had to be as old as Grampa and had the body of a twenty-something dancer. She hadn’t changed much except her hair was now shorter and her voice had grown huskier. I couldn’t believe she was a Guardian, yet it made perfect sense. She was the only one Grampa ever trusted to watch over me. She often visited us at odd hours, coming and going as she pleased. And she never ever told me where she lived. “The whole world is my home,” she’d say whenever I asked. She was Cardinal Earth Guardian. How appropriate.

  Neither Bran nor I spoke as we moved away from the building. I walked fast, my mind replaying the whole poolside scene. The feral look in Bran’s eyes when Gavyn had suggested taking my powers by draining my energy bugged me. I glanced at Bran. The sunset highlighted his brooding expression. Was he a danger to me despite what he said about not wanting my powers?

  “What did he mean by our energy matched?”

  Bran frowned but didn’t answer.

  “Bran?”

  “It’s nothing.” His tone didn’t welcome any more questions.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s not important, Lil,” he snapped.

  I stopped walking, glared at him. “You asked me to trust you, Bran. Hiding things from me is not how you build trust.”

  He stopped, too, pushed his hands in the front pockets of his slacks and rocked on his heels, his face dark with pent up anger. “Are you generally this inquisitive, or is it only with me?”

  He was trying to intimidate me again. I stood up straight, crossed my arms over my chest. “Do you usually evade answering questions, or is it only with me?”

  His eyes narrowed even more. “Are you sure you’re ready for my answer?”

  I swallowed, hesitated.

  “I didn’t think so.” He started to walk.

  I grabbed his arm. “Wait.” He glanced at my face then at my hand on his arm. I let him go. “Tell me. I need to know.”

  He shook his head. “This discussion is pointless. I’m leaving anyway, so you don’t need to worry your pretty head about it.”

  I growled, frustration zipping through me. The thought that I’d never see him again made my chest hurt, but his refusal to answer my questions pissed me off.

  “You’re so annoying and arrogant, and think you know everything.” My voice shook, which only fueled my anger.

  “Lil—”

  I jabbed a finger at his chest. “I saved you back there, pal. If it weren’t for me, you’d be toast. You owe me some answers!”

  He laughed, his perfect teeth sparkling against his perfect face.

  “Jerk!” I sucker punched him straight in the gut, but I might as well have hit a brick wall. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, his expression gentled. He pulled his hands from his pockets and reached out as though to touch my cheek.

  “Don’t!” I stepped back, pivoted on my heel and stomped to the trailer, tears burning my eyes. I took my anger on our poor door, slammi
ng it hard behind me. I kicked off my sandals, paced up and down the carpeted floor.

  Conceited jackass! Who did he think he was? Let him leave. See if I care.

  I looked around for something to do, anything to calm down. The mugs by the sink came to my rescue. I needed a drink. I kept myself busy microwaving water, removing the hot chocolate mix, trying hard not to think about Bran and the fact that he was leaving. How much of what Gavyn said was true? Was Bran looking for redemption? I hoped so. No matter how annoying he was, I’d rather he was good than evil like his brother.

  As I stirred the drinks, I realized I’d made two cups—for me and Bran. Much calmer, I looked out the window and searched for him. He was leaning against Grampa’s truck, hands in his front pockets. He looked so sad and alone and my heart pinched with worry. Did he have anywhere to go? Anyone else to protect him? I sighed. I was wrong to take out my frustrations on him. It wasn’t his fault I couldn’t accept his leaving, or his lack of answers. I picked up the two mugs, pushed the door with my leg and stepped down from the trailer.

  8. STAND BACK

  Bran studied me with a dark, unreadable expression as I approached him. I gave him a tentative smile, which he didn’t return. My throat closed with regret. I shouldn’t have hit him. He was still pissed off at me. I offered him a cup.

  He hesitated, his gaze quizzical.

  “Please, take it.”

  He did, but he continued to watch me as I leaned against the truck beside him and sipped my drink. My unease increased. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “No, you’re not.”

  I scrunched my face, trying hard not to let his attitude get to me again. I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Fine. I’m not sorry for what I said. I have questions but you choose not to answer them. That’s not fair. Still, I shouldn’t have punched you. Not that you didn’t deserved it for laughing at me.”

  He sighed. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Lil. What you said was absurd. My brother could never hurt me.” He frowned then added, “But I owe you an apology for what happened by the pool.”

  I shrugged. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Actually, it was. If I hadn’t asked your grandfather to allow me to come and say goodbye to you, the mess with Gavyn might not have happened.”

  He had a point there. “Is he always so…mean?” I wanted to say “evil,” but the vulnerability in Bran’s eyes made me lighten it.

  “Yeah. He feels he has to prove himself.”

  “To whom?”

  Bran cradled his cup between his hands, blew out a breath. “Mom. The Brotherhood. Coronis. He wants them to think he’s just like Mom, so he rejects Dad’s genes, tries to show the world they don’t matter.”

  “While you think they do,” I added.

  Bran shrugged, went back to his hot chocolate as though the discussion was over.

  I left him alone for about five seconds. “Who are the Outcasts?”

  He scowled. “Where did you hear that term?”

  “Your brother said you tried to join them,” I reminded him.

  A cheerless smile tugged the corners of Bran’s mouth. “Demons who don’t want human souls are treated as outcasts. Calling them Outcasts is an insult. Most consider themselves Guardians, though they’re not affiliated to the Cardinals.” He took a long sip of his drink, then shook his head, his expression darkening. His voice grew sadder. “The ones I met in L.A. are decent people, but they are a little lost. They don’t belong with the demons or the Cardinals, yet their leader took me in when I needed a friend. He’s the one who told me how to find you guys.”

  Why did he need a friend? I had so many questions to ask him, but they’d wait for later. Except one. “Do you know why your brother’s men reacted to my hair the way they did and what they meant by ‘the one’?”

  Bran shot me a wary look then stared into his drink as though debating how to answer me. He shook his head. “It’s nothing, just an old legend we were taught as children.”

  I shifted sideways, my gaze not leaving his face. “Tell me.”

  His gaze touched my hair. “It doesn’t matter, Lil.”

  “It does to me.” I gave him a beatific smile.

  He hemmed, pursed his lips then shrugged. “Hermonites believe in the coming of a red-headed leader, someone with the powers of Azazel. They say he’ll be unstoppable, have the ability to control all the elements—water, air, time, earth and much more. He will unite all the demons and help Hermonites rule the world.”

  I shivered. Whoever he was, he sounded scary. I hoped he was only a myth. “Uh, who’s Azazel?”

  He cocked his right eyebrow. “You don’t know who Azazel is?”

  I made a face at his incredulous tone. “Everything is new to me.”

  He grinned, the smile so breathtaking I found myself grinning, too. “He was one of the leaders of the Watchers who led the rebellion on the summit of Mount Hermon and started our race, the Nephilim. Why do you think Coronis picked the name Hermonites for her followers?”

  “So are there red-headed Hermonites?”

  “Too many, all hoping they are the one.”

  Hearing his explanation didn’t ease my concerns at all. Now more than ever, I wished I hadn’t inherited red hair from my father, whoever he was. I pushed the nagging thought aside. “Is it true what your brother said? That you seek redemption?”

  Bran scoffed under his breath. “Not really. All I want is my family out from under Coronis’ thumb, for us to live anywhere we want without being hunted down like animals by the Cardinals.”

  “But wouldn’t she find out you’re not scouting for, uh, souls?”

  “She’s not all knowing, even though she’d like to think she is.” His voice was bitter and his mouth twisted as if he tasted something awful. “And her minions are not that organized. Valafar is the only methodical one, but he never leaves the island. As long as we’re off his radar, we can disappear.”

  Valafar. The name echoed in my mind like a memory, but I pushed it aside. “But your brother doesn’t seem to—”

  “Know what’s good for him,” he interjected. “He’ll come around. Once he’s away from his den, Gavyn will see there’s more to life than collecting souls.”

  He wore blinders where his brother was concerned. The Gavyn I saw tonight was evil, pure and simple. But from the fierce look on Bran’s face, pointing that out now wouldn’t be wise. I let the subject drop, went back to my drink as Bran drained his.

  “I’m sorry for snapping at you again,” he said after a while, studying me from under his long lashes. “My brother and I don’t see eye to eye, but I made a promise that I’d get him out.”

  “A promise to whom?”

  “Our father. He died trying to get us out of the island three years ago, just before I got my powers.” His voice was low, laced with pain. “My sister wanted to leave, and so did I. Gavyn wasn’t sure.”

  “And your mother?”

  “Mom….” His voice trailed off. He forked his fingers through his hair. I waited for him to continue but instead, he shook his head. “I’ve got to go.”

  “You can’t. Grampa said to wait for him.” I moved to stand in front of him as though to stop him then realized how ridiculous my action was. If he wanted to leave, he’d just teleport, not walk away. I looked at my watch. It was after seven. How long before Grampa returned? They couldn’t still be by the pool. I squinted at Motel 6 as if I could see through its walls, sighed and shifted my focus to Bran. “Let’s go inside.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I’m going to warm some roast and potatoes, Grampa’s specialty. Come inside and have some.” I didn’t give him a chance to finish objecting, just turned and hurried back into the trailer. By the time he followed me inside, I’d prepared our plates, the spicy aroma of warmed food in the air. I placed the two plates on the kitchenette table.

  “Orange juice or milk?” I asked in a chipper voice, very much aware of his narrowed gaze on me.

&
nbsp; He hesitated.

  “Okay, milk it is,” I said.

  He chuckled. “Orange juice, Commander Falcon.”

  I ignored the dig and placed a glass of juice next to his plate, added a folded piece of paper towel then sat across from him, our knees almost touching.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled and dug into his food like a starving man, his fork scraping the plate with every bite. Silence filled the trailer as I watched him put away half the meal in seconds.

  He glanced up, met my gaze, then stared at my plate. A blush tinged his cheeks as he set his fork down, patted his lips with his napkin and sipped his drink. He finished the meal, matching his pace with mine, though I could tell it was killing him.

  “Do you want some more?” I asked him when he’d scraped his plate clean.

  “No. That was just enough, thank you.” He continued to sip his drink and studied me. “You can be a real tigress when you want to be,” he teased, dimples flashing.

  My cheeks warmed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yeah, right. Would you have force-fed me if I refused?”

  “N-no. I just hate eating alone.”

  One eyebrow shot up. “Really? I had this weird feeling that you were feeling sorry for me.”

  I chuckled, shook my head though he was right. “Sorry to disappoint, but if I want to feel sorry for anyone, it would be for me. So much is happening so fast, and I’m not ready.”

  He shrugged. “Then train. Train as often and as hard as you can. It’s always better to be prepared than sorry. When do you start?”

  “I meant to start next week, but after tonight, I think I’ll start tomorrow.” A heavy silence filled the room and I searched my brain for something to say. “Did you train much after you got your powers?”

  He nodded, frowning. “Even before. On the island, we train as though preparing for war. Everything is very intense.”

  I guess even demons had to learn how to survive. It was surreal having this discussion with Bran. After all, he was part demon, and I’d be training to kill beings like him. Some might be people he grew up with, his friends. Feeling uneasy with the direction of my thoughts, I said, “I saw what you did with the water. That was so cool.”