The little mortal should be grateful to him. But no, the reckless female taunted him instead. She had no comprehension of the danger to her.
The demon he had gone after, who’d prowled outside her home, then vanished into the park, was determined to hunt down his charge. The scourge had escaped him, but he would return. Demons could never let go of a human they fixated on.
He sent a telepathic connection to Michael and waited, frowning at the drifting snowflakes settling on her brow and face.
Michael responded straight away.Yeah?
I need a place to take the female. New Orleans is compromised.
The abbey in Romania. It’s warded, but you have leave to enter. No one’s there except Race. He prefers the mountains, though he might check in.
Lore shifted, reappearing in the snow-crusted courtyard of the Guardians’ other abode in Romania. Night had given way to the early hours of the morning in this part of the world, but darkness still consumed everything.
He strode to the abbey’s entrance. With a thought, the enormous, black-domed door creaked open like an ancient catacomb. The wards shimmered, permitting him entrance, the silence in there deafening.
He stopped in the shadowy, semicircular living room and scanned the many bedrooms on the ground level but sensed they belonged to the warriors. Upstairs, he found a few unused ones, and he flashed there, mentally opening the first door on his left. Musty air enveloped him as he crossed to the bed and settled her on the dark gray cover.
A cell phone rang, the sound emanating from her jacket pocket. He shut it off with his mind before she awakened. A break from her constant need to spout nonsense or spit her ire at him was welcomed.
Lore headed for the door, only to stop and glance back. Even though he’d caught a glimpse of her true appearance from Chamuel’s message and during his brief encounter with her as she ran for a taxi, he skimmed her currently pale features. They conveyed an innocence that would be difficult to maintain while awake.
His first directive resurfaced.Powers unfolding.
He didn’t sense any powerful capabilities, just a faint tingle of her psychic ability. But was she a risk to the Celestial Realm?
You appear harmless enough and were terrified when the demon grabbed you. What is it about you that worries the seraphs so?
Guess he’d know soon enough once he delved further.
He’d slain many demons, angels, and even humans to keep the Celestial Realm secured and to maintain the balance between the divine world and the other realms.
And he would again.
Quietly, he closed the door behind him and headed down the concealed stairwell leading directly to the sunken living room on the ground level. Worn furniture and the several games these Guardians played decked out the place.
Lore scanned the abbey for any weaknesses in the wards. They appeared solid.
Making sure all the exit doors were bolted, he prowled the long, worn corridor with the spidering cracks to the front courtyard, stepped outside, and freed his wings. A rip echoed as his shirt ripped down on either side of his back again.
Twice now, he’d torn his shirts. Human garb was tiresome.
Needing to work off his excess energy, he shot into the air and flew over the abbey, through the dense, roiling mist, surveying the meandering mountains. He coasted over the miles of forest and swooped down to the small village at the foothill, scanning the place.
All appeared calm.
He returned to the abbey, the mist’s dampness clinging to his wings and clothes. With a thought, he dried them and settled on the rooftop, letting his mind connect with the Heavens…
And he came back with a bump, unable to concentrate.
He inhaled the sharp, cold air, removed his cell phone from his pocket, and while he kept watch over the abbey and the sleeping female within, he hit the informative Google app…
Soon, the gray light of dawn lightened the dark sky, chasing away the night, and a familiar presence surrounded the abbey.
Lore rose, wings rustling as he concealed them and slipped the cell into his pants pocket. He shifted into the gloomy kitchen, eyeing the wooden table with unmatched chairs and a few more set against the wall.
A second later, Michael appeared through the kitchen door, sweeping back the loosened strands of his tethered, ebony hair.
“Humans generally prefer lights when it’s dark,” he said, yet he didn’t turn on the orbs.
