Nate laughed and hugged her. “I said I would come.”
His mate, Ely, and the first female Guardian, sat on the couch and cast the male an adoring look. Lore could almost see the stars in her eyes.
He didn’t understand this excessive need to form an attachment with another. This group of intractable Guardians, who lived millennia on Earth in solitude, eventually caved to that urge, too.
Even the powerful Watchers had succumbed…
Lore frowned, switching his attention back to the window. Night had deepened. Snow fell, covering the grounds and shrubs in a pristine white layer.
He’d been there during the annihilation of the Watchers, who had broken a fundamental Heavenly decree by surrendering to mortal urges and mating with humans. They’d made their choice, refused to return to the Celestial Realm, and died for it. Now, their descendants were emerging, some displaying immense powers that only affected human females, as per Zarias’ curse?—
“Yo, Lore?”
He recognized the voice and glanced back as Týr strolled into the room with Blaéz, who cast him a contemplative smirk. These Guardians had to be the most stubborn, obnoxious immortals he’d ever had the misfortune to meet.
“Want a drink?” The warrior cocked a brow as he grabbed a slender glass with golden, bubbling liquid from the tray on the sideboard and lifted it.
Instead of reminding him that he was an angel and in service to God, Lore merely cast him a cool stare. Týr snorted, swallowed his drink, and stalked over to a singing Kira. His arm snuck around her waist, and their mouths connected.
Lore watched them for a second before refocusing on the snow-covered gardens. His shoulder blades itched, his wings demanding release. Whatever Michael wanted to talk to him about, he hoped it didn’t take long. He had a job to do for the Supreme Seraph, Chamuel.
A slight vibration of power surrounded the castle, and he pivoted.
The warriors grunted, sensing the sway. Týr snorted and dropped to his seat, dragging his half-giggling, half-protesting mate onto his lap.
“Honey, we’re decorating the tree.”
“No, you’re singing. Sit on my lap and sing.”
She burst out laughing.
Lore dematerialized from the room and reappeared at the study door. He entered to find Michael searching through the scrolls and papers on his desk, the tree pushed to the corner, lights blinking.
“I have a request,” the archangel said as the door shut behind Lore.
“I’m still working on the last one for you,” he reminded him.
Michael looked up from the clutter. His shattered blue irises, as if something horrific had occurred to cause them to fracture, emitted a silvery glow. “It’s been nearly two years. Eshana still needs more time?”
Lore folded his arms over his chest. “Echo,” he replied, using her preferred name. “Is as ready as one of her caliber can be.”
An amused smile quirked Michael’s mouth. His red-rimmed eyes appeared like those of a human in need of slumber, but angels didn’t require sleep.
“She still gives you a hard time?” he asked. “I overheard it mentioned a time or two among the females here.” Michael straightened from his desk, a scroll in his hand. “There’s something about humans you should know. Even if the women here are no longer mortal, emotions rule them. And yes, they still retain free will, so we have to make allowances. Now, about the job. It will necessitate some…er, fortitude.”
“What is it?”
“Protection of a human?—”
“No.”
Michael’s brows drew together, a look that would make most angels cower. But Lore wasn’t most angels.
“I’m no guardian angel, Michael. I am a Power. I have taught Echo at your behest.”
“It is because you’re a Power I ask this of you once more. Your kind of protection is imperative for this particular human.”
Lore studied the formidable angel, dressed like a mortal in worn jeans and a faded black t-shirt with more holes than a net, trying to read him…and got nothing.
