Out in Blue (7 page)

A beat went by before Devin answered. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Wren is a gifted healer like his father, but he was born with an additional ability all his own, a formidable weapon the opposite of his healing skill. With just skin contact, Wren can kill.”

Ginger’s jaw dropped. “But…how do you know that?”

“Psychic talents are dormant when archangels are very young, typically manifesting in their early teens in response to an emotional trigger. Wren’s psychic weapon first manifested during the attack I just mentioned, so all the Guardians know about it.”

Devin stopped there, but Ginger fought to make sense of his words. “What happened? Tell me, please.”

Devin clicked his tongue. “I was in Haven at the time, of course, but this is what I’ve been told. While Lark was dispatching the humans who’d descended on Raphael and Kora, over thirty more assailants attacked the rest of Sanctuary. In the minutes it took for the Guardians to quell the attackers and secure the colony, a dozen demon civilians were killed, and many more injured.

“Wren wasn’t with his parents and Lark that afternoon. He was at the town hall attending school, so it took Lark precious minutes to get to him. When the humans stormed the building, most of the children got away, but Thornton Bailey, the notorious anti-demon, anti-archangel extremist who’d organized the attack, captured Wren and tried to strangle him.

“But the trauma triggered Wren’s latent talent. Lark arrived to find Bailey collapsed on the floor, stiff and cold like he’d been dead for hours, his hands burned to the bone where he’d gripped Wren’s neck.”

Ginger shuddered. “Thank God, Wren wasn’t killed.”

“Yeah. It was a damned close call. Bailey could have crushed the kid’s throat in seconds, but Wren’s talent worked even faster. As I was saying, even that talent isn’t enough to protect you. I want you home. Lark may be pissed as hell that you helped Wren, but I doubt he’ll follow you to Alaska. Wren is his target.”

Horns blared in the background. “I have to go. See you soon, honey.”

Ginger said goodbye and hung up. Pulling a quilt from the back of the couch, she lay back and covered herself, staring at the high ceiling.

Her skin prickled as the memory of Wren’s hands on her skin combined with the new knowledge of what that touch could do. A tiny voice told her to fear that touch, the same instinct that would make her fear a knife to her throat, even if she trusted the wielder.

Sensations left over from Wren’s kiss and his tender caress warmed her and silenced the voice. Yes, Wren’s skin had the potential of a formidable weapon. But Wren hadn’t hurt her. He’d healed her. He’d kissed her with enough warmth to melt her insides. And he was sending her away to keep her safe from his enemies.

She pulled the quilt up to her chin. It didn’t matter if she feared Wren now or not. She’d be leaving in a matter of hours.

Chapter Nine

Wren wanted to keep the conversation with Vin short. He needed the Guardians’ help. His
father
needed their help. But bone-deep exhaustion threatened to drop him, and he still hadn’t gathered his thoughts since kissing Ginger.

That kiss had been a mistake, yes, but one he couldn’t bring himself to truly regret. Having her in his arms had been exactly what he’d needed in that moment. He’d been about to crack, but somehow, he’d found the strength to stay standing just by holding her.

Of course, he was a bastard for touching her without disclosing his macabre psychic talent. He couldn’t tell her about it now and send her off to Haven regretting that she had kissed him, even if that made him a coward. He wanted that little moment untainted, wanted the memory of those few blissful minutes with Ginger for an anchor as he moved forward.

Keeping his churning emotions under his skin, he forced his voice to stay even, his chin high, as he talked to Vin.

In the large office used by the Guardians who governed Sanctuary, Wren and Vin sat on high, backless stools amongst a half-dozen computers, various other electronic equipment, packed shelves, and tidy file cabinets. Large bay windows occupied the back wall. Several cozy leather chairs and a table with a coffee maker filled out the sitting area.

Wren hadn’t realized that Vin was
the
highest-ranking Guardian of Sanctuary, normally a position of privilege, complete with fancy uniform and personal staff. But Vin dressed like any Guardian in the field, and poured his own coffee. Despite his reservations, Wren warmed to the guy. A little.

“If only we knew
where
the bastard is keeping your father.” A string of curses followed Vin’s words. His arms displayed a thin layer of scarlet flames. His eyes seemed a deeper red than normal. “But we’ll find Raphael. I promise you on my life.”

Wren stood and took a step back as the Guardian knelt on the floor, tucking his chin, his brown curly hair falling onto his forehead. Holding up a hand, Wren shook his head as he realized what the Guardian was doing.

“Don’t—”

“Wren, you need the protection of a dedicated bodyguard. As the ranking Guardian of Sanctuary, I humbly offer my services. I’ll take the oath in your name.”

“I…appreciate the offer, Vin. It’s nothing personal, but I’m not taking that step.”

Vin shook his head.

Wren added, “I’ve taken care of myself for a long time and intend to continue to do so.”

“Yet if it wasn’t for Ginger, you would have been captured yesterday.” Vin glanced up at last, his dark eyebrows high over his copper irises. “The two of you—”

“There is no two of us.”

Vin stood. “Bullshit. The way you look at her…”

Wren bit back a curse. “Exactly. You know what Lark would do to her. Look me in the eye, Guardian, and tell me you’d put a woman you cared for in that kind of danger.”

Vin stayed silent for a long moment. His shoulders sagged, but his eyes retained a glint of challenge as he spoke. “Expect Devin this evening; he’s made good time on the roads. He’s going to want to collect Ginger and leave right away. I’ll call her cell when he arrives.”

“She’ll be ready to go.” Wren turned for the door.

“I wouldn’t allow harm to come to either of you,” Vin growled.

Wren paused, hand on the brass knob. “Same promise Lark made to my father.”

He left the office and hurried down the hall. Like his family’s home, the town hall had been built with archangel usage in mind, with wide hallways and a large second floor deck. He rushed out into the brisk wind, stretched his wings, and took to the sky.

Wren landed behind Jac’s house on the lakeshore, the late afternoon sun behind him in the western sky. He cocked his head as music reached his ears. Not rock or country or anything out of an electronic device, the melodies came from the stringed instruments and drums the demons made and played themselves. The sounds reminded Wren of a cross between Celtic and Bluegrass.

Though demons only slept once a week, they were nocturnal creatures who were quiet and reclusive during the day. Silence dominated the colony while the sun hung high in the sky, with only the Guardians roaming the forest out of necessity. But by evening, the music started and scents of food filled the air. The demons gathered in large groups to eat, socialize, and generally raise hell until dawn.

Wren rubbed an ache in the middle of his chest. For years, he had woken constantly during the night after leaving this vibrant community, the lack of music and laughter deafening in the dark.

Though not yet evening, a female demon walked the edge of Jac’s property, lighting lanterns that hung from low tree branches. Instead of matches, she utilized the flames from her fingertips, the demon fire as red as the Japanese kimono she wore. Her back to him, her black hair fell to her hips and swayed in the breeze.

“Lexine.”

The demon glanced over her shoulder with an arched eyebrow. She froze, her copper eyes wide. The flame extinguished from her hand. Wren didn’t hear her voice, but her lips formed the words, “I’ll be damned.”

Lexine hurried across the lawn. Wren met her by the back door of the house.

“Wren.” She pulled him into a brief but firm hug. “Jac told me you were here. I’m not sure if I should cry or smack you.”

Wren took a step back, even as it was clear from the tremble in her voice she was going with the former. The door opened, and Jac stuck his head out.

“Lex,” Jac said to his sister, caution in his voice. “Come inside, have some wine. You too, Wren, of course.”

Lexine sniffed and motioned Wren inside. He walked sideways through the door and joined the demons in the spacious post-and-beam living area, thankful for the heat of the wood stove.

“Apple wine. Made it ourselves.” Jac poured from a label-free bottle that stood, already open, on the bar between the living area and the kitchen. “So,” he said, as he passed out the glasses. “Wren. We realize you’re not ten anymore. Hell, you look more like your father’s brother than his son these days. But as your parents’ friends, we must insist you stay. Or settle in another colony, if it is too hard to be here. There are over a dozen archangels living in Eden—”

Wren held up a hand to cut off the demon’s lecture. “I’m going to be staying for a while.”

Jac narrowed his eyes and doubt filled his voice. “Really?”

“Really.” Wren took a large swallow of the wine, then a deep breath. “My father is alive.”

Jac coughed and Lexine sagged against the wall. “What?” they asked in unison.

Wren set his empty glass down. He related what he’d been told by the poachers and the phone call from Lark.

“It’s a trap.” Lexine folded her arms. “That rat bastard is trying to trick you, Wren.”

“There’s no mistaking my father’s voice. I’m certain.”

Lexine sank into an overstuffed chair, running the back of her hand over her damp cheeks. “Eighteen years…”

“Vin—” Jac began.

“I just came from there.”

The demon nodded. “Good. Vin has a good heart to go with his skills. I trust him. You can trust him, too.”

Wren lifted his shoulders. “Has the colony been doing well under his leadership?”

“Thriving.” Jac poured more wine. Wren declined. “No trouble from the outside has reached us in over ten years. Vin lives for this colony’s safety. If anyone can take on Lark, he can.”

Wren paced around the room, the breeze from his wings turning the pages of an open book on the table. “If Vin’s been good for the colony, he has my respect for that.”

Wren stopped at the foot of the stairs, which were finished in maple, worn from over a hundred years of use. Staring up at a door at the top of the staircase, Wren mused over his memories of the hours after Lark’s attack. One event that night had always bothered him.

After the attack, Wren had stayed in the bedroom at the top of this staircase, unconscious more often than not as the fever raged and his injury healed. Guardians had hovered everywhere. Each time Wren had wakened, there’d been no less than three standing over him, plus Jac and Lexine. At one point, he’d opened his eyes to find a Guardian leaning only inches away, triggering a violent flashback of the attack. Wren had lashed out and careened off the bed, the powerful adrenaline rush overriding his painful injury.

“Wren…” The Guardian, his hand lifted to a bleeding scratch on his cheek, had stepped around the bed.

“Stay away!” Wren had shouted, backing against the wall.

“That’s enough,” Jac had said to the Guardian. “Give him some space!”

The Guardian had hastily retreated out to the hall, Jac on his heels. Wren had rushed over to the window. He’d shoved against the screen until it had broken free and fallen to the lawn below. Staring out into the night, his hands braced on the windowsill, Wren had spread his wings, ignoring the pain from his wound. He’d never flown and had no flight feathers, only thick, adolescent down. Still, could he slow his fall to the ground, then run? Run away from the Guardians…

Raised voices had reached Wren’s ears as he’d climbed to his knees on the sill. He’d paused and listened.

The Guardian had sounded disturbed, agitated. “There’s no mistaking Lark’s scent, but you’re right, there’s something…else. Something different.”

“Different?” Jac had growled. “I scented a human male. The stench is all over Wren! I’m telling you, something isn’t right here.”

“Of course, something isn’t right.” The Guardian’s voice had grown more strained. “Raphael and Kora have been murdered—”

“Would you keep your voice down! Wren doesn’t need to hear this right now!”

“—and a Guardian is at fault.”

Wren hadn’t listened to any more of the conversation. He’d jumped out the window.

“Wren?” Jac’s concerned inquiry jolted Wren back into the present.

Wren flicked his wings and turned away from the stairs. “There was a human scent on me after Lark’s attack. Was it ever identified?”

Jac’s eyes widened. “You knew about that?”

“I overheard you and the Guardian that night. I was wide awake at that point, after all.”

Jac flushed. “Sorry, that was my fault. I noticed the scent and asked him to double check. I thought you were still out cold.” His eyes narrowed. “I still can’t believe you jumped out that fucking window.”

Wren shoved his fingers through his hair and paced. “About the scent. There was no human that night other than my mother.”

Jac shook his head. “The scent was distinctly human male and all over you and the clearing…and your mother’s body.” Jac paled and ran a hand over his face before he continued. “Lark did have a human accomplice. It was surprising as fuck at the time, but it wasn’t long before Lark became publicly associated with the poachers. A poacher must have been there, helping Lark. We assume you passed out at some point—”

“
I didn’t
.” Wren stretched to relieve the tense knot in his gut.

Jac scratched his chin. “Lark is the poacher leader now. Why is it so hard to accept he acted with their help that night?”

“It’s just bothered me, all these years. And now, if Lark isn’t found, my father…” Wren couldn’t finish the sentence. “If there’s any clue that was overlooked, now’s the time to find it.”

Jac reached a hand out and paused. When Wren didn’t move away, Jac rested his hand on Wren’s shoulder. Neither spoke for a long moment.

Finally, Wren sighed. “I need to go. Ginger is alone at the house, and she hasn’t eaten since…hell, I don’t even know when she ate last.”

Lexine unfolded herself from the chair. “I have plenty of food you can take.”

“Thanks.”

Five minutes later, Wren left Jac and Lexine’s house with a large cardboard box in his arms. He took off and flew low across the lake, letting his wings skim the water on the down stroke, appreciating the meditative rhythm.

The sun sank behind him in a golden display as he dropped to his feet on the deck of his family’s home. He paused and stared through the window. Ginger lay on the couch, covered in a quilt, her eyes shut.

He disarmed the security system and eased inside, careful to make no noise. He set the box on the kitchen island. Ginger didn’t stir.

Wren lifted his wings to kneel at her side and watched her sleep for a long moment. Tension and worry absent from her features in her slumber, she looked even more lovely than usual. She must be starving, but he couldn’t bring himself to wake her.

He stood and settled on one of the tall, backless chairs that allowed him to sit without having to lift his wings. Sitting cross-legged on the cushion, he couldn’t peel his eyes away from Ginger, and didn’t want to. He memorized the curves of her body under the quilt, the movement from her soft breathing, the way her light brown hair fell forward over her shoulder, and the reddish color and gentle curl of her eyelashes.

He recalled her face when she’d told him he couldn’t turn himself over to Lark. The determined set to her jaw, the apprehension in her eyes. The other day with the poachers, she had been a Guardian’s daughter helping an archangel when no one else could. Nothing personal about it.