Out in Blue (16 page)

“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. Pulling 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.

“How did you know that?” He sounded more amused than surprised. He leaned forward, inhaled near her hair and coughed. “You
reek
of that creature. I’d rather fuck a sewer rat, myself. To each their own.”

Ginger screamed as loud as she could.

Thornton hoisted her off her feet and ran into the dense woods. Wren’s voice shouted in the distance, but only thick vegetation filled her vision as the forest whipped by. She kept screaming and kicking and thrashing, but Thornton, in the command of a demon’s body, was ridiculously stronger than she.

Trees and underbrush blurred. Branches clawed at her, snagging her sweater. A broken branch swept her thigh and pain shot along her leg. Ravens exploded from branches overhead, their angry screeches mingling with Ginger’s yells.

She twisted and elbowed Thornton in the ribs, aiming for the sight of an old injury that still pained Devin from time to time. Thornton cursed, halted and shoved her against a tree. He pressed Devin’s body against hers to hold her in place and wrenched one of her arms over her head. Faster than she could suck in a breath, he skewered her palm to the tree with a knife.

Pain exploded down her arm. Ginger screamed and tears spilled over her cheeks. Thornton fastened her other hand above her head in the same fashion. Agony robbed her of air and her heart pounded in her ears.

“You…bastard…” She spat in her assailant’s face.

Grinning, Thornton dried his skin with his sleeve, reached up and twisted one of the knives. He kept his leering face close to hers as the cry of pain escaped her lips. She retched, dry heaves wracking her body.

Yellow and orange leaves rained down on them from the canopy, accompanied by rustling noises. Thornton stepped back, his gaze on the thick foliage overhead as he pulled out one of Devin’s guns. He took a deep inhale through his nose and smiled.

“Vermin,” he sang. “Come out, come out—”

More leaves filled the air, and Wren dropped down behind Thornton. He lifted his wings high, nearly straight over his head, a posture that smoldered with aggression.

“Devin,” Wren said, his voice thick with anger. “What the fuck are you—”

“That’s not Devin!” Ginger yelled.

Thornton aimed the gun and fired, but Wren moved with the speed of a striking snake. Ginger couldn’t tell if Wren had been hit. He connected with Thornton and pinned him to the ground. Wings still held up at predatory angles, Wren gripped the bare skin of Thornton’s throat.