Aodhan dropped his hand, and they both stared into the fire, but they didn’t move apart. And when Illium picked up a protein bar and offered it to Aodhan, the other man took it, and they talked about different things. About the journey to come, about what might be happening with Jinhai, about Suyin.
To occupy his hands and calm the odd sensations in his body, he played unthinkingly with the small metal disk that he carried always. When he yawned a few minutes later, his eyes beginning to close, Aodhan said, “Sleep, Blue.”
He then walked over to grab a bedroll, spread it out by the fire. “Should be warm enough for you—no snow predicted tonight.”
Illium knew he was right, but he fought the grit in his eyes to get to his feet. Shoving the disk that had once been a pendant into his pocket, he said, “Hey, Adi?”
Bedroll set up, Aodhan rose with the blanket in his arms. “No, I’m not going to tell you a bedtime story.”
Illium grinned—because this Aodhan? The funny one with a quiet wit? It was a private aspect of his best friend that he shared with a rare few. And it was a part of him that had been silent for a long and painful eon. “I wanted to say I’m sorry, too.”
It wasn’t hard to do that, to admit his mistake, when he knew his words—his understanding—would matter a great deal to Aodhan. “I did react badly that night in the Enclave.” He brushed his fingers over the heavy warmth of the other man’s wing. “I couldn’t see it then, but I do now, and I’m sorry.”
Aodhan looked at him for a long moment. Then, sliding his free hand around to the back of Illium’s neck, he tugged Illium close for a hug that melted Illium from tip to toe, no more chill in him. He slid his arms around Aodhan’s muscled body, allowed Aodhan to envelop him in his wings.
It felt right. All the way down to his very core.
“Apology accepted.” Soft words against his ear, a warm breath, as Aodhan ran one hand down his back.
Illium should’ve done the same . . . but he turned his face toward Aodhan’s neck, his lips a mere breath away from the stardust of Aodhan’s skin. Aodhan didn’t flinch, and affection, warmth, love, it morphed quietly into a thing that stirred butterflies in Illium’s abdomen and had Aodhan going motionless.
They broke apart, their breathing not quite even.
Aodhan swallowed. “You need sleep.” It came out rough.
“Yeah.” But he wasn’t about to leave this unfinished. If this past year had taught him anything, it was that he had to listen—and he had to speak. “Sh—” He cleared his throat. “Should I apologize again?” He was the one who’d altered the tenor of their embrace by turning his face into Aodhan’s neck in a way that wasn’t a thing of best friends.
A sudden panic had him rubbing his hands on his thighs. “We can make a deal to forget it.” It had nothing to do with the fact they were both male—angels were not like the majority of mortals. Their kind lived far too long to see sexuality as an inflexible construct. Angels knew that growth was infinite.
It might hold linear for some, split off into different dimensions for others.
No, his panic had to do with the fact his friendship with Aodhan was vital to an eternity lived in joy. “If you want, I can bleach my brain, no problem.”
Aodhan was starfire in the light from the flames, his smile a startled sunrise. “No,” he said. “Don’t apologize and don’t forget.” Then he cupped the back of Illium’s neck again in a way that was so familiar and so welcome, and pressed his cheek to Illium’s . . . before bending his head and pressing a kiss to the curve of Illium’s neck.
A shiver rocked Illium’s body, his hands clutching at Aodhan’s hips. Everything inside him felt curled up tight, on the verge of flying apart.
Rubbing his cheek against Illium’s, Aodhan squeezed his nape. “You’re so tired, Blue.” Then he stepped back, brushing his knuckles over the line of Illium’s jaw. “Rest. We’ll figure this out later.”
And because he was tired, and he knew these minutes seated with him might be the only rest Aodhan got that night, Illium lay down on the bedroll with his back to the fire and his wings wrapped around himself. The blanket Aodhan opened out over him was a bonus. He’d slept in far worse places, so it didn’t take him long to fall into a deep sleep, despite the nerves twisting him up.
Sparkles of light fluttered over his irises, followed him into the welcome dark. He was on the precipice of dreams when he thought he heard Aodhan murmur, “Does she walk in your dreams, Blue? Is she our phantom third?”
49
There wasn’t much time to talk in the grueling days that followed, but Aodhan was always aware of Illium—and he worried constantly about him. “Don’t go so far out of range,” he snapped one day. “We can’t help you if you’ve flown so far ahead that none of the other scouts can keep you in sight.”
“What’s crawled up your butt?” Illium muttered, shoving back his hair.
“I’m serious, Illium.” He wanted to shake the other man. “Stay within range of the others.” As protective as Illium was of others, he had the tendency to take risks when it came to his own safety.
A quick—irritated—salute before Illium took off, but when night fell and they made camp, it was beside Aodhan that he landed. And when Aodhan finally had to sleep, it was Illium who watched over him. When Aodhan snapped at Illium for shoving food into his hand, Illium snapped back, pointing out that Aodhan couldn’t do his job if he was “falling flat on his face.”
Tired and worried about the increasing eruptions of black fog in their way, along with several toxic patches that had formed in the short time since Vetra overflew the route, Aodhan muttered something under his breath about “Bluebells with a savior complex.”
Illium’s eyes narrowed, but rather than snapping back, he said, “You’re exhausted.” He pointed to the bedrolls he’d already spread out under the thick branches of a tree that had sheltered the ground from a build-up of snow. That this tree and its brethren had taken root in the stony ground they’d chosen for their campsite was a testament to the power of nature.
“Sleep, or you’ll be useless,” Illium added. “Then I’ll have to take over, and the next thing you know, we’ll all be wearing glittering capes and dancing to Elvis songs.” A sigh. “Man, I really wish he’d been compatible for vampirism.”
Aodhan was still irritated, but now he was irritated at how well Illium was handling his haywire emotions. “Stop managing me.”
Literally throwing up his hands, Illium said, “Fine. I’m going over there.” He pointed to the far side of the site. “Nowhere near your sparklehole vicinity.”
But as Illium went to walk away, Aodhan found himself saying, “Don’t go.” He slumped down with his back to the tree and closed his eyes right afterward, so he wouldn’t have to meet Illium’s gaze—he knew he was behaving atrociously.
A sigh, then the rustle of a familiar pair of wings nearby, Illium’s shoulder brushing his as he sat on the bedroll beside his. Maybe others couldn’t tell wing sounds apart, but Aodhan had long ago learned to pinpoint several of the most important people in his life. Illium was at the top of the list.
“I’m doing it again,” Aodhan said, angry with himself. “Using you as a target.”
“No, you’re not. You always get short-tempered when you’re critically low on sleep. You mutter and you stomp and you’re kind of adorable—and weird as it is, I’m glad to see that part of you return.”
Aodhan scowled without opening his eyes, his mind rolling back to a past where . . . yes, Illium was right. He’d been this way before the torture and the trauma; this wasn’t a result of Sachieri and Bathar’s evil. This was him and his “one bad trait” according to his own mother.
“He’s the sweetest boy, but he needs his sleep,” he’d overheard her saying to a friend while he was sulking in the corner one day. “It’s the only time he ever acts up—when he’s missed the hou
rs he needs.”
“Sleep, you grump.” Illium’s voice wasn’t hard or angry.
It was worried.
Aodhan could feel his shoulders bunching up again, his muscles tensing. He knew he was being unreasonable—especially since he’d been ragging on Illium to be careful. But the things inside Aodhan that had broken a long time ago, though they’d finally begun to heal, the scars were hard and rigid and without flexibility.
“I don’t know how to bend on this,” he said, his voice sleep-blurred. “I can’t . . .”
“It’s okay, Adi. I can bend until you’re ready.”
“What if . . . the scars are so unyielding.”
“It takes a long time for them to soften?” Illium chuckled. “I waited two hundred years for your first waking. What’s another couple of centuries?”
The last thing Aodhan felt before sleep sucked him under were Illium’s fingers stroking through his hair, a tender caress that was wanted, was beloved.
* * *
* * *
Suyin returned when they were an estimated three days of ground-travel out from the location of the new stronghold. That estimate was predicated on a number of eruptions, the detour required by a new toxic patch that Illium had scouted up ahead, and the heavy snow buildup on the road.
Remove all that and they could’ve reached the citadel within the day.
“He’s as well as can be expected,” she told them when they asked about Jinhai. “At present, he’s basking at being inside a large stronghold where he has the freedom to move as he wishes. I also told him that he can think about how he wants to decorate his room and—once we are settled in the new citadel—I will get him the paints, wallpapers, and carpets.”
It was an architect’s thought, that last, and Aodhan was thankful for it. It’d mean a great deal to the youth to have ownership of his private surroundings, to actually be able to influence how he lived. It might even redirect a little of his manipulative tendencies in a healthy direction.
“He’s also cooperating with Keir’s attempts at counseling,” Suyin added.
“The healer got here fast.”
Suyin nodded at Illium’s interjection. “He flew on one of the mortal machines all the way to Caliane’s territory, then she had a combat squadron escort him across to the stronghold.”
“Does Keir have any thoughts on Jinhai’s future mind health?” Aodhan knew the boy’s journey would be a long one, yet still he hoped for an answer that would spare Lijuan’s son centuries of mental anguish.
But Suyin shook her head. “Not yet. He says he must assess first—at present, he says a lot of Jinhai’s cooperation is an act, a scheme to show himself as he believes Keir wants to see him. Keir is not discouraged, for he says it is the merest beginning.” She spoke those words as if they were a talisman.
“His wings?” The question came from Illium.
“Keir and Fana recommended a medical amputation, to which he agreed.” Lines around Suyin’s mouth. “Arza helped him make that decision by locating images of you after you lost your wings, Illium.”
Illium nodded, his hands braced on his hips and his hair damp at the temples from his most recent scouting run. “Smart.”
“Jinhai stared at the images for hours. He’s seen your wings with his own eyes, so he believed me when I told him they would grow back—and grow back stronger. And . . . they were useless appendages to him. He wasn’t emotionally attached and actually seemed excited to lose them.”
A strand of white hair that had escaped her braid danced across the thin and unsmiling lines of her face. “Keir and Fana agree that we’ll have to maintain a careful watch to ensure he doesn’t attempt to destroy his wings when they begin to grow. Given his age, it’ll take considerable time for him to achieve full growth, then flight strength—until then, they’ll once more be dead weight to him.”
Aodhan couldn’t imagine any winged being feeling relief at such a loss, but then no other winged being had lived Jinhai’s life.
“I’ll be returning to see him on a regular basis,” Suyin added, “but first, let’s get my people home.” Dark eyes met Aodhan’s. “I would speak alone to you, my second.”
Illium stepped back. “I’ll grab Vetra and Xan, and we’ll catch the general up on our current situation.”
Once they were alone, Suyin asked Aodhan to walk with her along the river, on the rocky shore of which the caravan had stopped for a break. “Arza has accepted my offer that she stand at my side as my second.”
Aodhan waited to be stabbed by a sense of loss, of jealousy, of the panic of having made the wrong call—but inside him bloomed only a warm surge of happiness. For both of them. She needed a permanent second and he wanted to go home. To New York. To the city where a certain blue-winged angel might drop by at any moment. “She’s who I hoped you’d choose.”
“You did well to conceal your partiality.” A faint smile. “I’m glad I took her with me to settle Jinhai. It allowed us time alone, and I saw how she is in difficult situations.” Stopping, she turned toward him and held out a hand, palm up.
When Aodhan enclosed it in his own, she said, “You are extraordinary, Aodhan, and I will never forget you and all you did to help me take these first steps into my reign. I hope you will not be a stranger to my lands.”
“I promise you I will honor our bond in the eons to come, sire.” With that, Aodhan went down on one knee, his wings spread in a bow of respect to his archangel.
When he rose, he was no longer her second—though she asked him to maintain the appearance of it until they reached the location of the new citadel. “We need to minimize disruption on this last leg of the journey. Arza is in agreement. My people love you, too.”
Aodhan agreed, and they separated to take care of their own tasks.
His first one was to find Arzaleya. She was seated on a rock cleaning her sword but stood at once when she spotted Aodhan. “Aodhan, I hope this won’t impact our friendship?” Pale eyes searched his face. “Suyin was adamant you didn’t wish for the position.”
“I’m not the right second for her, Arza,” Aodhan confirmed. “I’m one of Raphael’s Seven and I have no wish to change that.”
Her smile held unhidden relief, her body relaxing from its at-attention stance. “I’ll be contacting you often for advice,” she said with a wry look. “I’ve long been a general, but being second, that is another thing altogether.”
“Contact me as often as you need,” Aodhan said. “If I have one piece of advice, it is that you must walk into the future. Don’t fight progress. Nudge Suyin if you have to, but if China is to heal, it can’t stay stuck in the past.”
Arzaleya’s expression turned solemn. “Yes, we think the same there.” She held out her arm.
Aodhan had never before touched her, but today, he grasped the other angel’s forearm in the way of warriors. It was the beginning of his good-bye to China, but there was still much to do until his departure, and he got on with it.
“Why are you planning on leaving right after we reach the coast?” Illium demanded when he shared his plans that night, while they stood in the privacy afforded by the dark—and by the wall of trees behind which they’d stopped to speak. “Suyin will need help with building, everything else.”
“Because you can’t have two seconds.” Neither Suyin nor Arzaleya had made any demand of him, but that was because they trusted in his heart and in his intellect. “Right now, I’m the one everyone turns to instinctively. Only once I’m not here will Arza have a chance to grow into her position.”
Illium gave a grudging nod. “Yeah, I can see that. What about me? Raphael sent me to assist Suyin.”
Aodhan gripped the arch of Illium’s left wing, ran his hand down the curve in a touch of stunning intimacy between angels. Illium flushed, ducked his head a little, and when he looked up, his eyes were wild gold. “Aodhan.”
>
“I don’t want to be apart from you.” Aodhan’s journey was far from over, but one thing he knew: he wanted to do it with Illium by his side. “But we can’t be selfish. China has borne so much, needs help. I believe Suyin will want you to stay behind, help with the build.”
Jaw tense, Illium nonetheless nodded. Because he was a warrior. Because he had honor. Because he was Aodhan’s Blue, the most unselfish angel Aodhan had ever known.
“What am I going to do with you?” Aodhan murmured, overwhelmed by tenderness. “You and that heart of yours really need a damn keeper.”
A playful smile that did nothing to hide the depth of Illium’s emotions. “Do I hear you volunteering?”
Aodhan thought of the metal disk in Illium’s pocket, of the way Kai watched him, of the centuries Illium had carried that particular torch. Then he thought: Fuck it, Kaia and her damn doe-eyed descendant can fuck right off. What he felt for Illium? It was a thing of eternity and forever, and he wasn’t about to step back and be self-sacrificing.
If Kai wanted him, she’d have to fight Aodhan.
Shifting until their boots touched and their body heat warmed the winter air, he cupped the side of Illium’s face and said, “No, I’m not volunteering,” in a voice gritty with need and hard with confidence. “The position is already mine.”
Then he kissed Illium.
Kissed him hard and deep, his hand fisted in the silken blue-tipped black of his hair and his wings wrapped around him. Kissed him until Illium groaned and grabbed fistfuls of the back of his shirt.
Pushing his back up against a tree, Aodhan braced one arm over Illium’s head while spreading his wings to block out the night, and he kept on kissing him. It should’ve been awkward, new, but it wasn’t. It was the most perfect kiss in all his existence. Because it was Illium.
His body was all sleek muscle and strength, his lips softer than Aodhan could’ve guessed, the taste of him as familiar as his laughter. Aodhan swore he could taste Illium’s joy in his kiss and it filled him up and made him voracious at the same time. He gave back as much as he took, wanting Illium to remember this, remember them.
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