Out In Blue

by Sarah Gilman

  The floor dropped out from under her. “I… A mixed bloodline? But that’s extremely rare, right?”

  Devin lifted his shoulders. “Demons and archangels are incompatible with humans overall, but there have been several halflings over the centuries. Wren, for example, though Raphael’s healing talent had a lot to do with that. Raphael treated his mate with his healing talent every single day of her pregnancy, I’ve heard. Demons have had better success intermixing with humans, but still, the numbers of surviving offspring are low.

  “Your biological father definitely had no such background. As you know, Sebastian worked for the Guardians and we have much information on file about him. Your mother, however… All we know about her is in the brief statement he provided, along with the single photo.”

  Ginger recalled pouring over the file in her teens, memorizing everything. The information on her mother had been thin, a single-page memo written by Sebastian and one photograph. Fearing hate crimes in retaliation for his support of the demons, her human father had kept the family as distant from his job as possible.

  Maybe Sebastian had had more reason to fear for his wife’s safety than just the hazards of his occupation. Maybe she’d had something to hide from the masses. Something she had passed on to Ginger.

  “I…” Ginger found herself at a complete loss for words.

  Devin squeezed her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have brought it up now, sorry.”

  “No, I…it would make me very happy if it were true.”

  His eyebrows shot up and he shook his head. “I love you, daughter mine. Get some rest. We will find some answers when we get home.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Devin stood and left the room. Ginger needed sleep, but there’d be no chance of that happening. She opened the leather-bound volume, displaying the first of the photos.

  Candid snapshots, so old they were shades of brown, filled the opening pages. The Guardians pictured wore clothing similar to civil war uniforms. She leafed ahead. Her Guardian had worn modern clothing. Current century, at least.

  Page after page of faces. Ginger tried not to think about the fate of the demons staring back at her.

  “Gin?”

  Her heart in her throat, she glanced up. A pair of gem-green eyes stared back at her from the partially open door. Wren pushed the mahogany out of the way and stepped into the room.

  Ginger’s heart kicked up a gear. Wren had put on a black, silk, button-down shirt over clean, black pants. His black-marked white wings framed the ensemble; his flight feathers crossed neatly over each other and just brushed the floor as he walked. Caught between the opposing colors, the almond skin of his hands and face glowed.

  His expression gave none of his thoughts away. A perfect mask.

  “Looks like I’ll be here a little longer,” Ginger said.

  Wren stopped halfway across the room. “Vin just finished telling me everything. I’m still processing it all.” He paused. “You may have saved my father’s life.”

  She bit her lip. “I’m just the messenger.”

  Wren closed the remaining distance and caught her face in his hands.

  “Still. Thank you,” he said, his voice earnest.

  She leaned back from the dangerous temptation of his face so close to hers, until the cold from the window glass pressed against her neck. “Wren, I can’t say goodbye to you a second time.”

  He released her, his fingers brushing her jaw. “I know I shouldn’t be here. But I had to thank you in person.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He nodded once, a stiff movement, turned and left the room without another word.

  §

  Wren shut the door to Vin’s office and leaned back against it. Damn, seeing Ginger after being so certain he never would again had been too much of a relief. Now all he wanted to do was beg her to stay. She was right; they couldn’t manage a second goodbye. He had to stay away.

  He glanced inside the conference room across the hall. Despite the late hour, a couple dozen Guardians mingled inside.

  Another group of the field-ready, heavily armed demons filed past him, conversations fading to silence. One couldn’t judge a demon’s age by appearance—they reached their mid twenties and visually stayed there for a couple of centuries—but Wren’s presence drew shocked stares from the young ones, while the older Guardians averted their gazes.

  “Holy shit,” one demon sputtered as he locked eyes on Wren, or rather, Wren’s wings. He was young enough to look like an awkward teenager. Seventeen, eighteen maybe.

  “Show some respect,” a familiar voice chided. Devin emerged from the conference room and smacked the offender upside the head.

  “Sorry,” the young demon murmured as the older Guardian shoved him through the doors with the others.

  “Wren.” Vin’s voice broke through from the conference room and he joined Devin. The hall emptied of stragglers.

  Wren didn’t mince words. “I’m going with you to Burlington.”

  Vin’s expression of resignation said he’d expected this. “Wren—”

  “I’m not staying behind.”

  “I can’t jeopardize your safety,” Vin said, his voice flat.

  Wren locked eyes with the demon. “My father’s wing is broken. If you move him while the bone is knitting, you’ll cripple him. I’ll need to heal him before you can get him out of there.”

  Vin raked a hand through his hair. “When we return your father to Sanctuary, the wing can be re-broken and set properly.”

  Wren shook his head. While the feathers themselves had no nerve endings, the flesh of an archangel’s wing was so sensitive they could feel the weight of an insect sitting on a feather tip. No other creature could imagine the pain of an archangel wing injury.

  A phantom ache still throbbed along Wren’s wing from the gunshot. The bullet had missed the bone: a blessing. Hollow like the bones of typical birds, archangel wing bones shattered and splintered when broken. All those tiny fragments then dug into the surrounding flesh, especially if the wing moved. A broken wing was the single most painful injury an archangel could suffer, short of the amputations inflicted by the poachers.

  What Vin suggested was unnecessary torture, and unlikely to work. Thanks to all those tiny bone fragments, it wasn’t one break to reset; it was dozens.

  Wren shuddered and took a deep breath. “Similar attempts in the past to fix improperly healed wings have had a fifty-fifty rate of success. Unacceptable.”

  Vin exchanged a loaded glance with Devin, then cursed. “All right, but I have conditions. First and foremost, we’ll be taking a large van to bring Raphael back in. You’ll stay in the van while we raid the house. You’re not going anywhere near—”

  “I just told you, you can’t move him until I—”

  Vin paced. “I intend to return here with two living archangels. Moving him from the house to the van is a risk we’ll have to take. Period. And another non-negotiable: Devin will stay with you for your protection.”

  “Devin?”

  “Sanctuary’s resources are stretched to their limit to pull off this mission and protect the colonists. Devin is one of Haven’s best and I trust him. I’ve asked for his assistance and he has generously agreed.”

  Devin nodded in confirmation.

  “Those are my conditions,” Vin continued. “You’ll stay in the van and you’ll be under Devin’s protection. Or you’ll stay here. Agreed?”

  Wren clamped down on the fury that came from being given orders by a Guardian. His pride wasn’t what was important here.

  “Agreed,” he ground out. “But what about Ginger? I thought Devin was taking her back to Haven.”

  Devin tilted his head to the side, his eyes assessing Wren in a way that said he knew Wren’s interest was not just practical. Wren met that stare steadily.

  To Wren’s great surprise he saw a glint of approval in the demon’s gaze.

  A moment ticked by, and Vin cleared his throat. “My men are sp
read too thin to provide Ginger with an escort. She’ll stay here until Devin returns.”

  “But—”

  Devin interrupted Wren’s protest. “I’d rather her be on the road, too, but no one wants to leave the forty-three families in the colony without adequate protection.”

  Wren clenched his teeth, unable to argue that point.

  Devin folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “I realize you aren’t comfortable with bodyguards, Wren, and I don’t blame you. But I need to know you’re going to trust me. I can’t effectively keep you safe if you don’t.”

  “I have to be there for my father. I’ll do what I must.”

  Devin shook his head. “Tolerating me and listening to my instructions without hesitation if we come under fire are two different things.”

  Wren made a point of meeting Devin’s gaze and Vin’s in turn. “When Lark attacked my family I learned you can never truly tell a friend from an enemy. I’ll listen to you, Devin, but I will not relax my guard around you. If you give me any reason not to trust you—”

  “I won’t,” Devin said evenly.

  Wren held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded and extended his hand. As they shook on it, the demon leaned forward and spoke with a deadly seriousness.

  “Duty aside, I’ll never betray or allow harm to come to the recipient of my daughter’s affections.” With that, Devin turned toward the conference room.

  “Feel free to listen in,” Vin said.

  “I will, but from out here. I want to be able to hear Ginger as well, in case she needs anything.”

  The demons nodded and disappeared into the conference room. Wren rolled his shoulders and flicked his wings. Then he paced the hall, praying they’d get to his father before it was too late.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ginger hunted through the photo album twice. Many of the deceased resembled her messenger somewhat; red dominated demon hair color. After looking through the modern section of the book twice, and once through the older photos for good measure, she felt certain her ghostly messenger was not among Sanctuary’s deceased Guardians.

  Head pounding, she pushed her blanket back and got to her feet with the heavy leather volume. The spirit had never claimed to be a Guardian, but the custom-made black uniform was distinctive, as was his manner. The hatred had thickened the air as he’d described the prison and the advanced security that held Raphael.

  But something was off.

  She replaced the album on the shelf and scanned the other books, folders, and binders. A wood picture frame crammed between dusty binders on a high shelf caught her eye and she stood on her toes to reach it. Her fingers just brushed the polished edge when the oppressive chill slammed into her. She pivoted in place and came face to face with the ghost.

  He stood mere inches from her and stared with a taunt, pained expression, his forehead furrowed and his lips parted. Though incorporeal, the intensity of the Guardian’s presence trapped her between him and the shelves.

  Overcome with instant fatigue, she leaned back against the shelves for support, not yet recovered from their previous encounter.

  “I can’t talk to you right now, but I have to know who you are.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “We can’t trust you if you act like you’re hiding something.” She held his gaze, though so much pain filled his eyes it was hard to look at him. This was the face of someone who had been through something horrible, but not the face of a liar. “I trust you. Please tell me your name.”

  “No.” He shook his head, a hand to his hair.

  “Are you in that photo?” She reached up again for the frame.

  “Leave it!” The spirit’s hand shot out to grab her wrist, but passed through her instead. She didn’t even feel a breeze. Drawing her hand back, she shook violently.

  “You need to go,” she said.

  “Please, leave it alone. Just trust me.” The spirit stepped back.

  The door burst open and Wren appeared, his eyes wide in concern. He glanced around the room and moved toward her.

  “Who are you talking to? Is the spirit here?”

  Ginger didn’t have the stamina to answer. Cold gripped her and invisible hands squeezed her chest. She nodded and sunk toward the chair behind Vin’s desk, but Wren caught her in his arms.

  “Get away from her!” Wren spat out at what to him must have appeared to be an empty room.

  A tear ran down the spirit’s cheek as he looked at Wren. Dropping his head into his hands, the Guardian faded and vanished.

  “He’s gone,” she whispered.

  Ginger’s vision swam as Wren carried her over to the window seat. He set her back against the pillows and turned to the nearby coffee maker. She rubbed her eyes and watched him pour an avalanche of sugar into a mug, followed by a splash of hours-old coffee.

  She wrinkled her nose as he brought the mixture over to her.

  “Gin,” he said, forcing the cup into her hands. “The sugar will help you recover. You’ve expended too much energy to recover with rest alone.”

  She brought the syrupy mixture to her lips and managed to conquer her gag reflex. “Ugh.”

  “Vin says you have a little demon in you,” Wren said, his voice thoughtful.

  She braced herself and took another swallow. “It looks that way.”

  “I should be surprised, considering the statistics, but I’m not. You have their unconquerable spirit.”

  She set the empty cup down.

  He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, a slight shake to his fingers, his voice a whisper. “You’ll have to be more careful with this gift. It’s possible to die, expending too much energy at one time on a psychic talent.”

  Ginger shivered at the thought and drew the blanket up to her waist. “I still didn’t find out the spirit’s name. He refused to tell me, and his photo isn’t in that book. I don’t get it.”

  She glanced beyond Wren’s wings to the bookshelves. She couldn’t imagine what would make the Guardian want to hide his identity, but there was no denying his distress on the subject and his genuine concern for Raphael. “That large frame on the top shelf. The spirit stopped me from taking it down.”

  Wren stood and crossed to the room to the shelves. He pulled the frame down, cursed, and turned it to face her. The frame held no photo.

  “Damn,” she said.

  “I’ll ask Vin about it.” Wren frowned, returning to her side. “I won’t turn away from the only chance to save my father, no matter how suspicious the source of the information.”

  A wave of fresh fatigue washed over her body, and she shut her eyes. She curled up on her side and pulled Wren close, seeking the warmth and comfort of his arms. He obliged and leaned over her, the warmth of his body trapped under his wings soothing her to the bone.

  His lips brushed her cheek. She turned her head and kissed him fully. Goodbyes be damned, she needed him.

  The kiss seemed to rejuvenate her more than the sugar and coffee. A heady energy filled her veins and gave her strength. Her imagination, had to be. But suddenly Wren broke away, pain and shock in his wide eyes, his fingers over his mouth. He staggered backwards.

  “What is it?” She knew kissing him hadn’t been a smart choice, but why was he staring at her like she’d bit him?

  Wren didn’t move for a moment, then knelt back at her side, his expression softening.

  “I don’t believe it,” he murmured.

  “What?” she repeated, surprised she no longer felt out of breath. How…?

  “Gin.” He traced her lips with a fingertip. “You don’t have a demon heritage.”

  She blinked, confused. “Pardon?”

  “Do you know what just happened?”

  “Please, enlighten me.”

  He leaned down, staring into her eyes, and lightly brushed her lips with his. That wonderful sensation returned and she eagerly leaned into the kiss, only to have Wren pull away again, a curve to the corners of his mouth.

 
“You’re drawing the energy you need directly from me,” Wren said. “That’s another way to replenish when you’ve pushed yourself too far.”

  “Much better than your coffee,” she said, intoxicated by the idea, frustrated that he hovered just out of her reach, and still confused. “But why does that disprove my heritage?”

  His eyebrows quirked. “It disproves, without a doubt, a demon heritage for you, because the ability to exchange energy is unique to archangels.” He leaned in again. “This can only work if you have archangel blood in you.”

  Any reply she might have made to those statements drowned as Wren kissed her, this time deeply and without restraint. He clutched her and pulled her close. The warm, intoxicating sensation of the energy nourishing her exhausted body overwhelmed her senses. But she didn’t miss the tension in his shoulders.

  “This isn’t hurting you, is it?” she asked when she managed to steal some air.

  “Not much.”

  “Not much?”

  “It’s a good hurt.”

  She didn’t protest further; all thought became impossible as Wren’s hands traveled down her body. A tingling rush that had nothing to do with energy exchange bled into her as he reached under her sweater and caressed her skin. As seductive as his touch felt, she didn’t miss the way he explored her back, pressing his fingers into her skin below her shoulders and along her spine.

  All too soon the unusual, nourishing warmth began to fade, not that Wren’s touch paled without it.

  “Feel better?” Satisfaction glinted in Wren’s eyes.

  “Fantastic.” However, she yawned.

  “It’s a deceptive sensation. You’re not back to one hundred percent yet,” Wren cautioned. “My energy has been split between us, so now we’re both half full, so to speak. Some good sleep will finish the job.”

  As he spoke, he smoothed her sweater and pulled the blanket up to her shoulders.

  She narrowed her eyes and sat up. “You expect me to sleep now? One, I could kiss you for hours and not get enough, and two, did you just say I… I’m…”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Part archangel?”

  “That can’t be!”

  “It must be,” he countered. “Odds aside, what we just did is only physically possible between two archangels. I wouldn’t be able to lend energy to a demon with a psychic talent, no matter how desperately they needed it or how hard I tried.”