Out In Blue

by Sarah Gilman

  She set the fork down. “Well, that’s hardly fair.”

  He smiled and ran his fingers through her hair. “It’s not meant to be sexist. A few hundred years ago, when thousands of earthborn archangels lived in North America, more males were born than females, for unknown reasons. Males outnumbered females five to one. Jealous fighting broke out among unmated males all the time, so females safeguarded sacred gestures such as feeding until they’d bonded to a mate.”

  “Kissing isn’t a sacred gesture?”

  “It is. So is intimacy, and both have been reserved for mates in the past. But these traditions have relaxed as the population has dwindled and mating has become less important than producing offspring—”

  “You and Trinity.”

  “Exactly. Feeding, however, has remained a very symbolic gesture. Symbolic of caring for a mate like no other.”

  “You let me preen your wings.”

  A slight blush rose to his face. “I couldn’t resist.”

  Ginger accepted another piece of chocolate. She couldn’t help the flare of jealousy that burned in her gut, even though Wren clearly had no feelings for Trinity. “Did you ever feed Trinity?”

  Wren scoffed. “Never even crossed my mind. Come.” He pulled her to her feet, his eyes bright. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  §

  Ginger followed Wren up to the bedroom across from his father’s. Wren shut the heavy doors behind them and turned the lock. He removed his bloodstained shirt and dropped it in the trash. His gaze intense, he leaned down and brushed her lips with his.

  “I need a shower,” he said, as he walked away. “Will you join me?”

  She followed him and paused in the archway to the bath. The room was simple, rustic even, but bigger than most human living rooms. Granite interior walls. Glass exterior walls. The wall-free shower had multiple heads set into the ceiling in the very center of the space.

  Wren turned on the water using the lever by the archway. With a mischievous curve to his lips, he gave her his back. His wings acted as a wall of feathers down to his ankles as he stepped out of his blood-stained jeans and a pair of boxers. Without turning, he sauntered under the streams of water.

  Ginger tapped her foot.

  Face upturned to the spray, Wren ran his hands over his scalp, pushing his soaked hair back from his forehead as he turned around. The deep gold light from the setting sun angled through the windows, glinting off his wet skin. He opened his eyes and gazed back at her.

  “Come here,” he said, his voice husky.

  Ginger pulled her clothing off, taking her time as he watched, and stepped under the rush of water. She pressed her hands to his chest and leaned in, seeking his mouth. He pulled her close and ran his hands down her back as their lips met.

  “You have no idea how incredible it is to have you walk into my arms. No hesitation, no dread. Your inner strength is damn sexy, Gin.”

  She smoothed her hands over his skin. “I don’t need strength to be with you like this, Wren. I’m in love with you.”

  His embrace tightened and his fingers pressed into her back.

  She rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t care that I’ve only known you a couple days. I feel at home at your side.”

  Wren lifted his hands and held her face. He stared at her for a long moment, less than an inch separating their faces.

  “Let me wash you,” he murmured.

  He turned her around. After rubbing a eucalyptus-scented bar between his fingers, he caressed her with his hands, taking his time as he worked her over. Ginger felt more like she was being worshipped than washed, and fought to retain her composure.

  She failed. As Wren patted warm kisses across her shoulders, so much joy welled up in her chest her breath hitched in a sob.

  “What’s wrong?” Wren asked, his voice thin.

  Ginger silently cursed Trinity. Because of his dark gift, the female archangel had resented Wren’s touch, had cried when they’d been intimate, even though the act had been at her insistence. Trinity had wanted to be with Wren as a means to an end, never caring how deeply her response had hurt him. Selfish bitch.

  Ginger lifted his hand—feeling the resistance in his tense muscles—and pressed his palm over her heart. “I love the feel of your skin against mine. Don’t stop.”

  He stayed still.

  “Please touch me.” She turned to face him and ran her fingers down his chest, around his sides, and up into his feathers. “I want your hands on me.”

  He shook his head. “Why did you cry out?”

  “Because I love you so much, I can’t hold it all in.” Ginger pressed her body against his. “Look into my eyes. What do you see?”

  His emerald gaze smoldered, and he finally relaxed against her. “I see the woman I love. A real angel in my life.”

  Ginger melted against him, and he picked her up. He switched off the shower, flicked water from his wings, and carried her into the bedroom. She had made the bed earlier with the fresh supplies, but he paused next to it, still holding her against his chest. He dipped his head and whispered in her ear.

  “I want you.” His breath warmed her skin. “This won’t be the casual sex you’ve had before. I want to make love to you, Gin.”

  She turned her head and captured his mouth.

  His eyes open as he kissed her, he lowered her still-moist body onto the cotton blankets. He broke away and lingered above her, hands on either side of her shoulders, his wings forming a canopy over them.

  “Beautiful angel,” he murmured.

  “Come here,” she echoed his earlier words.

  Wren obliged, his warmth replacing the chill from the air. Their lips met again and the contact sent an electric current all the way to her toes.

  Ginger nibbled from his ear to his shoulder. The faint fragrance of the eucalyptus soap mingled with the ever-present, frosty scent of his skin. She smoothed her hands down his neck to his feathers, over the chiseled muscles at the base of his wings and down to his hips, caressing all of him within her reach.

  Wren leaned back and held her in place when she tried to follow. With aching slowness, he ran his fingertips across her skin, starting on her cheek and working his way down. His lips followed his touch down her chest to her stomach, where he proceeded to kiss every square inch of her middle.

  “That feels incredible,” she murmured. “I’m so glad I waited for you.”

  He paused at her navel. “Your ex never kissed you anywhere?”

  “Not even on the back my hand.”

  Smoldering green eyes met her gaze and his kisses traveled lower. At the intimate contact, she arched her back and gasped. He ran his hands up her sides and entwined his fingers in hers.

  “So warm,” she whispered, squeezing his hands.

  Wren lifted his face and kissed his way back up to her neck, then pushed himself deep into her core. She gripped his shoulders and dug her fingers into his skin as every nerve in her body fired. He stilled, hands on either side of her face, and touched his nose to hers.

  “Gin-love.” He wrapped his arms around her body. “I want to hold you just like this for a moment.”

  “Hold me for as long as you want. It won’t be long enough.” She held his gaze to underscore how seriously she meant those words.

  His eyes flared, twin emeralds set ablaze. He dropped his head and kissed her throat. When he started to move, her head fell back and the world beyond the bed disappeared.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In the light of morning, Wren watched Ginger sleep, his wing blanketing her body, her cheeks rosy and her lips kiss-swollen. One of his down feathers lay tangled in her hair.

  The lake outside the windows glistened deep blue under the onslaught of light. Wren regarded the silent cell phone on the bedside table, his frustration growing. The night had passed with no word from the Guardians, leaving him suspended in a bittersweet purgatory. Until the phone rang with news, Lark’s fate remained up in the air, and so, too, did Wren’
s future with Ginger.

  He ran his hand over her skin, entranced by the smooth warmth. His fingers traveled down her arm, to her side, to her thigh, then up her stomach, to her throat. The scar from the gunshot marred her otherwise perfect skin just above her left breast.

  Her hand covered his, startling him. She’d given no hint of waking. Eyes still closed, her mouth curved at the corners.

  “Taking advantage of me in my sleep, archangel?”

  He grinned. “Awake, asleep, I never want to take my hands off you again. Look at me.”

  She opened her eyes.

  “I love you.” He ran a finger from her temple to her chin. “I neglected to say it enough earlier.”

  She chuckled. “You showed it just fine.”

  He gazed at her from under lowered eyelids. Sunshine lit her face, shrinking her pupils to tiny dots and bringing out a hint of violet in her light blue eyes.

  He sighed. “I was so certain this would never happen to me. I was born isolated from most of the world, thanks to my wings, but I’ve been completely alone since the moment I killed that human when I was ten. Lark’s betrayal was my excuse for leaving Sanctuary, but in reality, I ran away from the stares. The whispers. The friends I lost because their parents didn’t want them near me anymore. I went to the safe house because I wanted to be alone. It was better than being shunned.

  “Trinity didn’t truly hurt me. She just tore open all the old wounds.” He scrubbed his face, searching for words to describe feelings he barely comprehended. “You accept me as I am, Gin-love, but I love you for more than that. The short time we’ve known each other is meaningless compared to how deeply you’ve touched me. You healed all of me. Being with you makes all the old pain go away.”

  Ginger’s lips parted, but no words came out. She gripped his hands and pressed her face into his chest. He tightened his arms around her and kissed her hair.

  The electric panel on the wall, part of the new security system, voiced a series of chimes.

  Wren leaned down and kissed her, lingering, before lifting his wings and standing. He crossed the room and squinted at the small LCD screen of the security monitor. Text indicated the first floor entry had been opened from the inside.

  “Father let someone in,” Wren said. “I’m going to see what’s going on.”

  As he found a pair of black jeans, Ginger rolled out of bed and reached for the pile of fresh clothes. She picked out blue jeans and a burgundy alpaca sweater.

  “I’m coming, too,” she said.

  As they descended the stairs, Wren’s father’s voice reached his ears.

  “You’re certain? There’s no mistake?”

  “None,” Vin’s weary voice replied. “You all need to stay inside. Don’t go near the windows—”

  Wren reached the living area and saw his father, dressed in navy-blue pants and an archangel-tailored sweater, his feathers blood-free but ragged from a thorough soap and water washing. Vin stood, facing Raphael. Seeing Sanctuary’s leader and his tense posture, Wren froze in place and pulled Ginger close under his wing.

  “What’s happening—”

  Wren didn’t finish the question before Raphael glanced up, his face as pale as his wings.

  “Lark,” Raphael said, his voice thin. “Lark is here.”

  “What?” Wren flicked his wings. At his side, Ginger sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed his hand.

  “We tracked Lark’s scent to the northern border of Sanctuary,” Vin said. “And he’s not alone. At least one of the human mercenaries is with him. We haven’t been able to get close enough to get a visual on the bastards, let alone take a shot, and the trail disappeared at the river. I’m locking the colony down. I have a dozen men outside this house, and everyone else is combing the woods. We’ll get him, I promise you.”

  Raphael paced and flicked his wings.

  Vin paused, the muscles of his face working as he clenched and unclench his teeth. “Ginger, any more sightings?”

  “No,” she replied. Wren sensed the tension in her muscles and lifted his hands to rub her shoulders.

  Raphael raised his eyebrows. “Sightings?”

  Ginger’s throat worked. She explained her encounter with the incorporeal spirit, and how she’d finally identified the ghost from the family photos.

  “Incorporeal?” Raphael pressed in disbelief.

  “Yeah. I could see right through him, and his hand passed through my arm at one point. Wren looked right at him and saw nothing at all.”

  “Well, the fucker definitely isn’t dead, but he has no known psychic talent.” Vin paced, rubbing a clenched fist with his free hand. “How could he have achieved such a thing?”

  Raphael scoffed. “A psychic talent would explain why he’s so damn good at what he does. Being able to ghost around, unseen? I’m only surprised he kept such a thing secret from the Guardianship.”

  “I’m not.” Vin paced. “I doubt we ever had Lark’s full loyalty. Traitors are not made of Guardians overnight.”

  Raphael’s mouth hardened into a thin line and his silver eyes darkened to a stormy gray. “I don’t understand what happened to Lark, and I have no love left for the traitor. But he was loyal. He saved our lives more times than I can count. He was part of this family, and I resent any suggestion to the contrary.”

  Vin took a step back. “My apologies, Raphael.” He moved toward the stairs that led to the first floor exit. “Please excuse me. I’ll call when I have news.”

  When Vin had left, Wren arched a questioning eyebrow in his father’s direction.

  Raphael lifted his shoulders. “I’m rather fond of the memories of when you were young, and I want to believe there wasn’t evil lurking in the shadows. That demon watched over us every night while we slept. If I believe we were at his mercy that whole time, that he was just playing with us, I will lose the sanity I have managed to retain these last eighteen years.”

  Wren took a deep breath. “I don’t believe he was double crossing us the entire time. I honestly don’t.”

  Raphael nodded. “Thank you, son. That’s good to hear.”

  Wren partially extended his wings. “Remember when he tried to teach me to fish?”

  Raphael stared for a moment, then his lips twitched, then like ice breaking from his body, he laughed, leaning forward on the backless chair.

  “Fishing?” Ginger cocked her head.

  Wren grinned. “Wings and fishing line don’t mix. I proved it.”

  “Nine-year-old boys panicking, refusing to hold still, certainly don’t help,” Raphael added, wiping away a tear and catching his breath.

  “I wasn’t panicking!”

  Raphael laughed some more. “The more you panicked, the more entangled you became! Hell, the stuff was wrapped around me by the time you’d calmed down enough for Lark to cut us lose.”

  “He lies,” Wren said, grinning as Ginger tried to hold back the smile that peaked from behind her hand. “And I did catch a fish that day.”

  “Yes, you did,” Raphael said. His face had regained some color. “Sorry, son. I haven’t laughed in…well, eighteen years.”

  Wren grinned. “I know. That was the point.”

  §

  Despite the light atmosphere in the living room as Wren and Raphael reminisced over various misadventures, Ginger felt tension stiffening Wren’s wing where it draped over her shoulders. Raphael tapped his fingers on his knee and repeatedly glanced out the windows. Ginger scanned their immediate surroundings, her stomach in knots, expecting Lark to materialize anywhere, anytime.

  When the security system chimed to announce someone at the door, she started so hard she had to rub a painful muscle in her neck.

  “It’s just Devin.” Wren glanced at the nearest security monitor.

  “He’s back? I’ll let him in.” Ginger extracted herself from Wren’s wing and let her hand linger before she stepped away. She descended the stairs, crossed the empty first floor, and used the security panel to release the locks. Pulli
ng the door open, she saw her father glowering, his arms tightly folded.

  “Ginger,” Devin said, an edge to his voice. A light sheen of sweat covered his too pale skin, and he stared at her as harshly as he had said her name.

  “Dev, what’s wrong?”

  “Walk with me for a minute.” He stepped back and motioned for her to join him outside.

  Ginger stepped out into the cold air, thankful for the warm sun on her face. She walked next to her father, down the path and away from the house, past the other demons on guard. He didn’t talk, only picked up the pace, and she struggled to keep up without jogging.

  “Dev?” She stopped when the house disappeared from view and braced her hands on her hips. It wasn’t like Devin not to be up front and blunt. Her gaze landed on his neck, which was red and bruised all the way around.

  “What happened to you? Talk to me. What’s going on?”

  Devin grabbed her arm and she gasped.

  “Keep walking,” he snapped.

  “Hey!” She stared up at him, her mouth dry. She cried out as his grip tightened and he dragged her down the path. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Shut up and walk.”

  “Dev—”

  He hit her with the back of his hand so hard, her ears rung.

  For a brief moment, Ginger’s mind blanked in horror. This was Devin, her father and her best friend—

  “Ginny!”

  She lifted her gaze. Standing next to Devin was…a second Devin. A transparent Devin.

  “Run, honey!” the incorporeal version of her father shouted. “That’s Thornton fucking Bailey! Run!”

  Ginger pivoted but the corporeal Devin seized her arms. He spun her around to face him. Bailey? Her mind tried to place the name, and realization hit her like another smack to the face. Bailey, the poacher Wren had killed eighteen years ago with his psychic talent, just months before Lark’s betrayal.

  “Thornton Bailey?” she demanded, anger competing with her fear.

  His mouth curled into a smile, a cold grin that looked nothing like Devin’s endearing, uneven smirk. Sunlight glinted off the tips of his fangs. She thrashed. Pain shot up her arms as she struggled, but his grip didn’t loosen.