Out in Blue (12 page)

He had to hear his son’s voice once more.

The unremarkable wood door opened with a simple turn of the dead bolt. Cold air, heavy with the bite of frost, rushed in at Raphael. Breathing in the scent of freedom, hot tears ran down his cheeks.

He stumbled outside. Frozen grass crunched underfoot and stars glimmered overhead, dulled slightly by the first hints of a sunrise. He stared at the stars and lifted his good wing, relishing the feel of the icy breeze on feathers.

With the last of his strength, he fumbled with the cell phone. So many saved numbers. Which was Wren’s? It began with an eight…

The phone fell from his numb fingers. “Wren… Kora… I love you…”

Clinging to the last remnants of consciousness, he stumbled forward, away from his prison, toward the open field beyond.

He collapsed in the grass.

Chapter Fifteen

Wren could have clawed his way out through the side of moving van with his fingers. He despised road travel, as most archangels did. The confinement. Even though he could walk around the empty space, the lack of windows made him feel smothered. Wren paced, forcing down the overwhelming urge to throw open the back door and jump.

His father had lived in a cell for eighteen years. Underground. Wren’s muscles tensed, and he flicked his wings to give the nervous energy an outlet. The friction of his feathers brushing across each other sounded loud in the small space. The only other noises were the humming of the tires on pavement and his own pulse hammering in his ears. During the hours of travel, he had not exchanged a single word with Devin, who sat on the floor against the wall.

The platinum-blond demon seemed perfectly at ease, but Wren wasn’t fooled by Devin’s meditative manner. Hands resting on his knees, his body swaying loosely with the movements of the van, Devin betrayed his focused, calculating thoughts with the intensity in his eyes. Weapons hung from every nook of the demon’s body. Throwing knives and fighting blades were strapped to his arms and legs. Guns hugged his hips. His jacket hid even more artillery, and behind his lips were the demon’s venomous fangs.

“Not much further.” Devin turned his head to meet Wren’s stare and tapped his ear where a communication device was hidden. “And good news. Scouts just reported Lark left the property with two of his men. That leaves only three mercenaries on site.”

Lark’s absence was good news for the rescue attempt, yes, but a sinking feeling filled Wren’s stomach. The traitor couldn’t get away!

“Is Lark being followed?”

“Of course. We’re going to take the bastard out if at all possible, but we can’t risk taking a shot yet. We need surprise on our side to get your father out safely. If we moved on Lark now and the mercenaries back at the house got word of trouble…”

Hatred for Lark and raw fear for his father laced Wren’s veins at the reminder of the worst-case scenario they faced. The underground, concrete bunker where Raphael was imprisoned was secured with several sets of reinforced doors. If the mercenaries locked the place down with the security system, Raphael would be sealed in alive.

Don’t think about it,
Wren ordered himself.

The van slowed and lurched over uneven ground before coming to a stop. Wren caught his balance before sweeping his gaze from the doors to his bodyguard.

“Give me a minute to verify the location is secure,” Devin said.

Devin unlocked the doors and jumped down, shutting Wren in behind him and leaving a plume of fresh air in his wake.

Wren often wondered what the world looked like to a demon through their unrivaled senses. As Devin walked around the van, he’d be able to see, hear, and scent everything in their vicinity, from a squirrel to a sniper.

The van’s back door opened and Devin reappeared, the silver light of the moon spilling in over the demon’s shoulders.

“Okay,” Devin said. “Get out here before you go stir crazy.”

Feeling like a plastic bag had been ripped free of his face, Wren dropped down to the pavement. The van sat on a single, paved lane, surrounded by thick trees. Small, evenly spaced clearings blemished the forest on either side of the road, and as Wren’s eyes adjusted to the predawn light, he realized they were in a campground, empty for the winter.

“How far away are we?”

“A few miles,” Devin replied. “Vin and his men are moving into position as we speak. This will be over soon.”

Wren stared at the star-packed sky.

Devin paced about, his head cocked toward the device in his ear, listening as his eyes scanned the trees.

“They’re moving in now,” Devin said. “They—”

Devin stiffened, his hand going to his ear, his eyes narrowing.

Wren seized the demon’s arm. “
What?
”

Devin met Wren’s gaze, his eyebrows high. “Your father just walked out of the house. Hold on…” his expression darkened as he listened to his earpiece and air hissed past his fangs. “Jesus,
fuck
. Wren, you need to go. Now. Three miles, straight that way.” He pointed. “I’ll follow.”

Wren didn’t waste time questioning the sudden change in the Guardians’ nowhere-near-the-house philosophy. Dread heavy in his gut, he beat his wings and got airborne.

While his senses weren’t as sharp a demon’s, Wren could see quite well in the limited light. Even in Vermont’s most-populated area, the landscape was mostly dark at that hour of the morning. So quiet, so still. The opposite of the turmoil of Wren’s emotions and the furious beating of his wings.

He crossed the distance in a minute and flew low, looking for the house. His healing talent lit up the nerves in his skin like an electric current, signaling that someone in his vicinity was seriously injured. Just as he leaned toward the preternatural pull, a demon-fire flare arched into the sky, confirming his destination. Wren adjusted his wings and dove. Hell, the Guardians were sending up flares? To risk drawing human attention like that confirmed every second counted.

The farmhouse sat in a wide clearing, far back from the road. Demons littered the otherwise unmarked landscape, and Wren headed straight toward the cluster of them at the front of the house. Wren saw the white of his father’s wings splayed across the dark grass. The nearly invisible black-clad demons crowded around, their coppery eyes reflecting the sunrise as they looked up at him.

Wren hit the ground and let his momentum carry him the remaining few yards to his father’s side. The scent of blood hit him hard, as did the sight of his father’s condition. He was unconscious and beaten, covered in blood. The broken wing lay at a horrible angle. Two demons—one of them Vin—pressed their wadded up jackets down on Raphael’s bloodied wing, their own faces pale and horror-struck.

Wren didn’t have time for shock, fury or any other emotion. He needed to act.

He dropped to his knees, his wings held high. The demons backed away, taking their blood-soaked jackets with them, revealing sharp points of bone protruding from Raphael’s blood-soaked feathers.

If his father had lost consciousness from the blood loss rather than the beating he’d taken to his face, he’d lost much more blood than Wren had from the gunshot days ago. But as long as his father still had a heartbeat, Wren could fix even the blood loss.

Wren pressed both hands over the break and felt the faint, thready thrum of a pulse. Hope surging anew, he touched the edge of the wound with his fingertips and let just enough healing energy loose to stop the bleeding from the artery. He needed time to fix the break; he’d come back to that.

He pressed both hands to his father’s chest and let the healing energy flow freely, inciting his father’s system to replenish his blood supply. Moving his fingers to Raphael’s throat, Wren waited until his father’s pulse was strong and steady, then, shaking with relief, returned his attention to the broken wing.

He manipulated the bone into place and let the healing energy flow. The damage knit in seconds and Wren lifted his hands to inspect the wing. It appeared straight, but they wouldn’t know for sure until Raphael tried to fly.

Wren cursed. His father’s flight feathers were gone. Cash cow, Lark had said. The sick bastard.

“Wren—” A hand touched his shoulder.

Wren jerked, glanced up, and saw Devin at his side. The van idled a few yards away, the back doors open.

“He’s going to be all right, Wren.”

Wren let out the breath he didn’t realized he’d been holding. Devin’s presence eased him a bit, to his surprise. Maybe he could learn to trust again, after all?

“Help me move him.”

Devin nodded, and together they lifted Raphael onto a hastily made pile of blankets in the van. Of course, Wren had never lifted his father before, but no way should an adult have been so light. Or frail. Every one of his father’s ribs showed, and his wing muscles, once powerful, were withered from lack of use.

Nearby, the demons talked about the house in low voices. Three dead mercenaries littered the interior. The door to Raphael’s holding cell stood wide open. No explanations forthcoming.

“What about Lark?” Wren turned to them before climbing into the van.

“He’s headed north. The scouts are still shadowing him,” a bald Guardian replied. “Vin has taken a team to hunt the bastard into the ground.”

Wren closed his eyes and nodded. He climbed into the van and knelt at his father’s side. A violent urge to join Vin flooded his system, but he needed to be here more than he needed revenge.

He healed his father’s face with his fingertips and accepted a cloth from Devin to wipe the excess blood away.

As soon as the demon shut and locked the doors, the van started to move. Devin crouched on his toes, the movement of the vehicle not affecting his balance at all. “He got the prick who beat him.”

Wren tossed the used cloth aside and cocked his head.

“The mercenary with bloodied knuckles died of a feather quill through the jugular. Looks like Raphael got the means to open the security door from him. We still don’t know how your father got out of his cell, however.”

“A feather quill.” Wren shook his head, and a short, dry laugh escaped his throat. His eyes stung. He rubbed his face and stretched out on the blankets. Even tightly folded, their combined wings spanned the cargo area. Wren extended a wing over his father to provide extra warmth in the unheated space.

Exhaustion took over. Healing all of his father’s injuries had drained him, and he’d been at less than max capacity after lending energy to Ginger only hours before. Adrenaline deserting him now, he felt groggy and weak, a feeling he loathed. The vulnerability, the reliance on the Guardians.

He wished Ginger were there with him. Despite the mere hours since he’d last seen her, he missed her. He wanted to hold her close and whisper his relief and his joy in her ear. Wanted to rest with her warm at his side, as part of the family.

Wren shivered. He rested his head on his arm and tucked his face under his wing. Listening to his father breathe next to him, he felt crushed under the weight of all he had gained and lost in the last fifteen minutes, if Lark escaped Vin. His father, after God knew what kind of scene inside that house, was safe for now. But if Lark vanished, he’d take with him Wren’s hope of safety for his father and any chance of Ginger staying in Sanctuary. Staying at his side.

You can’t have everything
, or so they said.

But something inside Wren rebelled from the ultimatum.
Fuck that
, a voice in his mind said.
You’d really let her go?

No.

He pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Ginger’s new number.

“Wren?” Halfway through the first ring, her voice smoothed over him like a balm.

“Gin, my father is safe. He’s going to be okay.”

“Thank God!”

“I want to see you as soon as we get back. Meet us at the house?”

“I’ll be there,” she said, “but don’t you need time with your father?”

“Yes, but I need you, too.”

He needed her. He couldn’t wait to see her, to hold her in his arms and tell her just how much he cared for her.

She cleared her throat. “And Lark?”

Wren’s chest constricted. “Vin is tracking him now. If anything changes, I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” Her voice shook. She recovered with a deep breath. “See you soon.”

Wren disconnected the call and noticed Devin watching him out of the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable.

Wren held the demon’s gaze. “Devin?”

“Yeah?”

Wren fought the fatigue and sat up. He hoped that he didn’t look as weak as he felt, that he looked worthy. “When Lark no longer soils the face of the earth, I’m going to ask Ginger to be my mate. I’d like to have your blessing.”

Devin’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. A silent moment passed. And another. The demon’s eyes narrowed and he tapped his fingers on his knee.

“Devin?”

The corners of the Guardian’s mouth twitched and he finally spoke, his voice thick. “She’s all I have, so I have to make you sweat for a minute.” Devin leaned forward, the grin still in place but his eyes serious. “You know the drill: you make her cry, I make you cry. Guardian or no, I’ll string you up by your pinfeathers if you break her heart.”

“I don’t want a fling, I want her as my bonded mate. The only one I’ll ever have. You know how it works.”

“Yes, I’m aware of how the bonding process works.” Devin paused again and lost the bemused smirk. After another long moment he held out his hand. “Of course you have my blessing, Wren.”

“Thank you.”

“You may not realize it, but you wear your entire heart on your sleeve. She does, too. Separating you at the house was like pulling my own fangs out. Even before Ginger saw the ghost, I had gone up to Vin’s office to plot an alternative to leaving.”

Wren cursed. “She is not safe around me as long as Lark lives. If Vin fails today, you must take her back to Haven. I need her safe.”