Out in Blue (20 page)

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Vin spat out.

“We were there for a half hour or so before I blacked out. When I woke, I was in the river.” Lark’s gaze went to Wren. “Thank you, young one.”

The door opened and Gentry appeared. He stepped inside, and Devin filled the doorway.

Ginger covered her mouth with a shaking hand and took a step forward.

“Ginny, honey…” Devin’s throat worked. “I…”

She sprinted across the room and threw her arms around him. He caught her and held her, a slight shake to his arms. “I love you, sweetie.”

“I love you, Dad.”

He held her away, his hands on her shoulders. “I’m going to melt those knives. Are you all right?”

She nodded, and a smile stretched across her face. “My future mate took care of me.”

Devin didn’t appear as surprised at her comment as she’d expected. His gaze lifted to Wren, and understanding seemed to pass between them. After a heavy, resigned sigh, Devin said, “Congratulations.”

She arched an eyebrow at Wren.

“Call me old fashioned.” He lifted his shoulders.

“He was raised right.” Raphael crossed the room and addressed Devin. “May I steal her for a second?”

Devin chuckled and stepped back. Raphael squeezed her and let his wings drape around her for a moment. “I’m delighted for both of you.”

When Raphael released her, Wren stood at her side. He reached a wing across her back.

“Well?” Lark asked from the bed, the first real smile on his face. “Are you two going with tradition or are we going to have to wait to meet the newly mated couple?”

“Huh?” Ginger turned to Wren.

“We can wait if you’d rather,” Wren said, using his wing to pull her closer. “But traditionally, the mating goes ahead the night of the proposal.”

Ginger glanced out the window. The sun, dark gold, sat just above the distant mountains in the beginnings of a brilliant sunset. She leaned in and, audience be damned, kissed his lips. “I’m ready if you are.”

Applause broke out and more hugs and congratulations were exchanged. The joyful mood in the room felt electric, a sharp contrast from minutes before. Even Vin and Lark shook hands and exchanged some banter.

“Well then,” Wren kissed her, pulled away and moved toward the door. “I have some preparations to make. I’ll come back for you soon.”

Raphael went to the door. “I’m coming too, son, if you don’t mind walking. There’s something I need to give you.”

“Ginger and I will get some dinner,” Devin said.

She stepped after Wren, confused. “But, what should I do? What should I wear?”

He paused in the doorway and pressed his lips to hers again. “Dress warm, that’s all. This is a private ceremony, just between us. I’ll pick you up at the house in an hour.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Wren walked with his father back to the house. The wind had died down, but the chill persisted.

“You’re going to want to set up before it gets too dark to see, but I have something to give you for tonight. Something your mother saved for this occasion.”

Once inside, his father led him to the master bedroom. Raphael went to the vanity and pulled a small wooden box, no bigger than the palm of his hand, out of a drawer. But instead of opening it, he went to the closet and extracted an ornate basket. “Of course, you’ll require this.”

Wren took the basket and lifted the lid. A simple silver knife, tarnished from the passage of years, sat on folded white cloth.

Raphael frowned. “You’ll want to polish it. It doesn’t look like much, but every archangel who has ever mated in Sanctuary has used it.”

Wren shut the basket and set it on the vanity. “I’ll take good care of it.”

His father gripped his shoulder and handed over the small wooden box with his free hand. “Congratulations again, son.”

Wren opened the box and let out a low whistled. Then he looked up and arched an eyebrow. “I don’t remember Mother wearing this.”

“She never wore it. It was her mother’s, your human grandmother’s. Kora saved it for you to give to your mate. Rings are a human wedding tradition, but she felt strongly about it.”

Wren shut the box with a heavy sigh. “Thank you, Father.”

Raphael smiled and released Wren’s shoulder. “Go on, before it’s pitch black out there. You can’t keep your mate-to-be waiting. She’s your life now.”

§

Ginger held on tightly to Wren’s neck as he flew them east, out of the colony. The last rays of the setting sun slanted through the clouds, illuminating the forest-covered mountains below with golden light. Wren took them well outside the borders of the colony, nothing but forest and mountains in all directions.

He set them down near the summit of a mountain on a treeless, rocky outcrop. When she turned her head away from the view to look behind them, ruins of several stone structures loomed amongst thick balsam trees. The distinctive evergreen scent filled her lungs as she breathed in. Out of sight, a stream lent a pleasant background noise to the spot.

“What am I looking at?” Ginger moved out of Wren’s grasp, toward the nearest set of crumbling stone walls. A wide archway dominated the front of the old structure, decorative vines and Celtic-like symbols carved into the stone. She stepped through and glanced up. No roof connected the exterior walls. Birch trees arched overhead, glowing with yellow November foliage, backlit by the setting sun. “It’s beautiful.”

Wren joined her. “When the government first provided the land for the demons to build Sanctuary and the other colonies in the early 1800s, the partnership between the archangels and demons was young. While the demons built Sanctuary around the lake, the archangels settled this mountaintop. The archangels trusted the demons, but not as much as they trusted a location that required wings to reach. For most of that century, Sanctuary’s archangels lived up here. But as the population declined and technology gave the poachers more effective tools to hunt with, the remaining archangels moved down to the main colony and accepted the demons as bodyguards.”

Ginger sighed. “And this village fell to ruins? Such a shame.”

“Shall we?” Wren hooked an arm around her waist.

He led her into the open space. A fire pit built of fallen granite slabs sat, ready to go, with split wood and kindling. Layers of thick blankets lay on the ground and candles rested in recesses in the wall. Two large baskets and a ceramic bowl filled with water sat below the candles. Wren pulled a box of matches from his pocket and lit the fire and the candles. As the flames grew and the comforting heat filled the ruins, Ginger removed her coat.

She noticed a slight shake to Wren’s hands as he spread his wings and pulled her down to sit on the blankets. He lifted the lid of one of the baskets and took out four white, cloth strips. He laid them out flat on the blanket next to them.

“What are those for?”

“They are for after,” he replied. “It’s customary to wear white on our hands for three days. Bandages for now, silk later.”

She raised a questioning eyebrow. “Bandages?”

Wren pulled a silver knife from the basket and set it down in between them. The engraved handle and sharp edge reflected the firelight.

“Ouch,” Ginger whispered.

He shook his head. “That will be the easy part. The actual bonding, I’ve been told, is excruciating.”

“Why? What happens?”

He cocked his head. “You don’t know?”

“I was taught that an irreversible bond is forged between mated archangels. I wasn’t given any specifics.”

“Sorry. I thought you knew.” He pulled her into a long, deep kiss. She focused on his warmth rather than worry of the pain to come. Holding her and speaking in a hushed voice near her ear, he continued, “The bond is created with the energy that gives us our psychic talents. It’s the very energy of life itself, so even humans, like my mother, can enter into a mating bond with an archangel. The bond will permanently connect us. We’ll have command of each other’s psychic skills. You’ll be able to sense if I’m in the next room or twenty miles away. If you’re hurt, I’ll feel your pain. And if the bond is broken by one of our deaths, the survivor will experience a lasting sensation similar to how amputees describe feeling their fingers when they no longer have arms.”

She sucked in a long, shaky breath. “I had no idea.”

Wren leaned back and met her gaze. “If you have any hesitation at all, we shouldn’t do this. Couples have separated, but there is no undoing the mating bond. This is forever, Gin.”

She touched his cheek, warm from the nearby fire. “I’m not hesitating. I had no idea the bond was so extraordinary. I want this with you, Wren.”

“And I with you.” Wren kissed her again, hard, demanding. “I want you so much. Are you ready, Gin-love?”

“Yes.”

Wren sat back and picked up the small silver knife. He traced the curve of his life line across his left palm with the tip of the knife, then repeated the cut on his right palm. Holding the blade out to her, he said, “Now you do the same. Cutting along the life line of the palms opens a vein of energy.”

Ginger accepted the knife, took a deep breath and made the first cut. She winced as the blade stung and blood dripped down her hand.

“I love you,” Wren whispered.

“And I love you.” Ginger cut her second palm.

Wren leaned forward and held out his hands. “Be my mate, Gin. Take my hands.”

Ginger reached out and grasped his hands. Warmth tingled on contact and escalated to searing pain in an instant. The agony washed over her skin until she felt every nerve ending from her scalp to her toes. She tried not to, but she cried out.

Wren tightened his grip and leaned forward, the shared pain evident on his face. She dropped her head onto his shoulder.

“Open your eyes, Gin.”

She didn’t want to show her tears, but she lifted her head and met his gaze.

“Oh…” she whispered, the sight amazing enough to distract from the agony.

Color flooded the air around them. A green haze wavered around Wren, the same shade as his eyes, and ice blue emanated from her own body. The display reminded her of the northern lights, a common sight in the sky above her childhood home. As she watched, the colors shifted and mingled until both shades wrapped around Wren and herself like ribbons.

The pain intensified. But just when Ginger thought her flesh would rip free of her bones, the entwined colors sank into her and Wren’s skin, vanishing from sight and taking the agony with them. In the sudden calm, her breath sounded loud in her own ears.

Wren still gripped her hands, the stinging cuts the only remaining discomfort. Ginger shuddered in relief. Wren’s posture relaxed as he exhaled.

“My mate.” He pulled one hand free of hers and touched her face. “Your eyes…they have green flecks in them.”

She sucked in a breath, studying his irises. “Your green fades to blue around the edges now.”

Wren pulled her into a tight embrace, kissing her face, her neck, her shoulders. He buried his face in her hair and wrapped his wings around them.

She wove her fingers into his feathers as she returned his feverish kisses. In her peripheral vision, she saw the blood she’d smeared on his wings.

Wren followed her gaze, grinned and took her fingers again. He dipped her hands into the bowl of water and reached for the white strips of cloth.

“I could heal you,” he said with a thick voice as he bandaged her hands. “And you could heal me. You have my psychic talents now. But sleep is not what I want. I don’t want this moment interrupted.”

Ginger took his hands and washed them. As she tied his bandages in place, a peculiar tingle traveled along her arms. The sensation felt similar to her body’s reaction to a spirit, but without the chill. She rubbed her skin.

Wren watched her, a grin widening across his face. “You feel that way because I’m hurt. You’ll sense injuries in your vicinity, up to five miles away.”

Ginger bit her lip, a different sort of chill snaking its way into her chest. “Your psychic talents… I have
both
of them?”

He nodded and his grin faded. “Even my human mother gained my father’s ability to heal.”

“There’s no way I can hurt you, is there?” Sweat broke out on the back of her neck.

He touched her cheek. “No, of course not. We’ll practice later, if you don’t mind killing some plants. You’ll find
that
psychic talent takes a lot of deliberate effort to wield.”

She bit her lower lip. Wren leaned back and reached again for the basket. He extracted a small wooden box and opened it.

“This was my grandmother’s.” He slid a delicate diamond and ruby ring onto her left hand. “My mother intended it for my mate.”

She stared at the ring, astonished at the intricate, tiny rose carved out of the ruby. Diamonds formed leaves and reflected the firelight. At loss for words, she reached out for Wren—for her mate—and kissed him, trying to pour all the love she felt into the caress of her lips against his.

He moaned and, without breaking the kiss, eased her down to the blankets.

“My mate.” She came up for air and echoed his previous words.

No moon lit the sky overhead, leaving them bathed in the light of the fire and wall candles. He efficiently freed them of their clothing, then covered her in kisses from head to toe. They made love slowly, prolonging every touch, every movement. Every sensation felt heightened. Was it the moment, or the mating bonds? Both? When Ginger couldn’t hold back any longer and shattered inside, Wren flushed and trembled. Ginger understood why when, a minute later, he finished and her body peaked a second time.

He’d said they’d share pain and hunger. Apparently, the mating bond extended to orgasms, too.

The fire began to dwindle, and Wren rose just long enough to feed it more wood. He settled again and pulled Ginger into a spooning position, enclosing her within his feathers. Warm and content, Ginger shut her eyes and fell asleep, listening to the crackle of the fire and her mate’s breath near her ear.