Out in Blue (10 page)

Wren clenched his teeth, unable to argue that point.

Devin folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “I realize you aren’t comfortable with bodyguards, Wren, and I don’t blame you. But I need to know you’re going to trust me. I can’t effectively keep you safe if you don’t.”

“I have to be there for my father. I’ll do what I must.”

Devin shook his head. “Tolerating me and listening to my instructions without hesitation if we come under fire are two different things.”

Wren made a point of meeting Devin’s gaze and Vin’s in turn. “When Lark attacked my family I learned you can never truly tell a friend from an enemy. I’ll listen to you, Devin, but I will not relax my guard around you. If you give me any reason not to trust you—”

“I won’t,” Devin said evenly.

Wren held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded and extended his hand. As they shook on it, the demon leaned forward and spoke with a deadly seriousness.

“Duty aside, I’ll never betray or allow harm to come to the recipient of my daughter’s affections.” With that, Devin turned toward the conference room.

“Feel free to listen in,” Vin said.

“I will, but from out here. I want to be able to hear Ginger as well, in case she needs anything.”

The demons nodded and disappeared into the conference room. Wren rolled his shoulders and flicked his wings. Then he paced the hall, praying they’d get to his father before it was too late.

Chapter Thirteen

Ginger hunted through the photo album twice. Many of the deceased resembled her messenger somewhat; red dominated demon hair color. After looking through the modern section of the book twice, and once through the older photos for good measure, she felt certain her ghostly messenger was not among Sanctuary’s deceased Guardians.

Head pounding, she pushed her blanket back and got to her feet with the heavy leather volume. The spirit had never claimed to be a Guardian, but the custom-made black uniform was distinctive, as was his manner. The
hatred had thickened the air as he’d described the prison and the advanced security that held Raphael.

But something was off.

She replaced the album on the shelf and scanned the other books, folders, and binders. A wood picture frame crammed between dusty binders on a high shelf caught her eye and she stood on her toes to reach it. Her fingers just brushed the polished edge when the oppressive chill slammed into her. She pivoted in place and came face to face with the ghost.

He stood mere inches from her and stared with a taunt, pained expression, his forehead furrowed and his lips parted. Though incorporeal, the intensity of the Guardian’s presence trapped her between him and the shelves.

Overcome with instant fatigue, she leaned back against the shelves for support, not yet recovered from their previous encounter.

“I can’t talk to you right now, but I have to know who you are.”

He didn’t respond.

“We can’t trust you if you act like you’re hiding something.” She held his gaze, though so much pain filled his eyes it was hard to look at him. This was the face of someone who had been through something horrible, but not the face of a liar. “I trust you. Please tell me your name.”

“No.” He shook his head, a hand to his hair.

“Are you in that photo?” She reached up again for the frame.

“Leave it!” The spirit’s hand shot out to grab her wrist, but passed through her instead. She didn’t even feel a breeze. Drawing her hand back, she shook violently.

“You need to go,” she said.

“Please, leave it alone. Just trust me.” The spirit stepped back.

The door burst open and Wren appeared, his eyes wide in concern. He glanced around the room and moved toward her.

“Who are you talking to? Is the spirit here?”

Ginger didn’t have the stamina to answer. Cold gripped her and invisible hands squeezed her chest. She nodded and sunk toward the chair behind Vin’s desk, but Wren caught her in his arms.

“Get away from her!” Wren spat out at what to him must have appeared to be an empty room.

A tear ran down the spirit’s cheek as he looked at Wren. Dropping his head into his hands, the Guardian faded and vanished.

“He’s gone,” she whispered.

Ginger’s vision swam as Wren carried her over to the window seat. He set her back against the pillows and turned to the nearby coffee maker. She rubbed her eyes and watched him pour an avalanche of sugar into a mug, followed by a splash of hours-old coffee.

She wrinkled her nose as he brought the mixture over to her.

“Gin,” he said, forcing the cup into her hands. “The sugar will help you recover. You’ve expended too much energy to recover with rest alone.”

She brought the syrupy mixture to her lips and managed to conquer her gag reflex. “Ugh.”

“Vin says you have a little demon in you,” Wren said, his voice thoughtful.

She braced herself and took another swallow. “It looks that way.”

“I should be surprised, considering the statistics, but I’m not. You have their unconquerable spirit.”

She set the empty cup down.

He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, a slight shake to his fingers, his voice a whisper. “You’ll have to be more careful with this gift. It’s possible to die, expending too much energy at one time on a psychic talent.”

Ginger shivered at the thought and drew the blanket up to her waist. “I still didn’t find out the spirit’s name. He refused to tell me, and his photo isn’t in that book. I don’t get it.”

She glanced beyond Wren’s wings to the bookshelves. She couldn’t imagine what would make the Guardian want to hide his identity, but there was no denying his distress on the subject and his genuine concern for Raphael. “That large frame on the top shelf. The spirit stopped me from taking it down.”

Wren stood and crossed to the room to the shelves. He pulled the frame down, cursed, and turned it to face her. The frame held no photo.

“Damn,” she said.

“I’ll ask Vin about it.” Wren frowned, returning to her side. “I won’t turn away from the only chance to save my father, no matter how suspicious the source of the information.”

A wave of fresh fatigue washed over her body, and she shut her eyes. She curled up on her side and pulled Wren close, seeking the warmth and comfort of his arms. He obliged and leaned over her, the warmth of his body trapped under his wings soothing her to the bone.

His lips brushed her cheek. She turned her head and kissed him fully. Goodbyes be damned, she needed him.

The kiss seemed to rejuvenate her more than the sugar and coffee. A heady energy filled her veins and gave her strength. Her imagination, had to be. But suddenly Wren broke away, pain and shock in his wide eyes, his fingers over his mouth. He staggered backwards.

“What is it?” She knew kissing him hadn’t been a smart choice, but why was he staring at her like she’d bit him?

Wren didn’t move for a moment, then knelt back at her side, his expression softening.

“I don’t believe it,” he murmured.

“What?” she repeated, surprised she no longer felt out of breath. How…?

“Gin.” He traced her lips with a fingertip. “You don’t have a demon heritage.”

She blinked, confused. “Pardon?”

“Do you know what just happened?”

“Please, enlighten me.”

He leaned down, staring into her eyes, and lightly brushed her lips with his. That wonderful sensation returned and she eagerly leaned into the kiss, only to have Wren pull away again, a curve to the corners of his mouth.

“You’re drawing the energy you need directly from me,” Wren said. “That’s another way to replenish when you’ve pushed yourself too far.”

“Much better than your coffee,” she said, intoxicated by the idea, frustrated that he hovered just out of her reach, and still confused. “But why does that disprove my heritage?”

His eyebrows quirked. “It disproves, without a doubt, a demon heritage for you, because the ability to exchange energy is unique to archangels.” He leaned in again. “This can only work if you have archangel blood in you.”

Any reply she might have made to those statements drowned as Wren kissed her, this time deeply and without restraint. He clutched her and pulled her close. The warm, intoxicating sensation of the energy nourishing her exhausted body overwhelmed her senses. But she didn’t miss the tension in his shoulders.

“This isn’t hurting you, is it?” she asked when she managed to steal some air.

“Not much.”

“Not
much?
”

“It’s a good hurt.”

She didn’t protest further; all thought became impossible as Wren’s hands traveled down her body. A tingling rush that had nothing to do with energy exchange bled into her as he reached under her sweater and caressed her skin. As seductive as his touch felt, she didn’t miss the way he explored her back, pressing his fingers into her skin below her shoulders and along her spine.

All too soon the unusual, nourishing warmth began to fade, not that Wren’s touch paled without it.

“Feel better?” Satisfaction glinted in Wren’s eyes.

“Fantastic.” However, she yawned.

“It’s a deceptive sensation. You’re not back to one hundred percent yet,” Wren cautioned. “My energy has been split between us, so now we’re both half full, so to speak. Some good sleep will finish the job.”

As he spoke, he smoothed her sweater and pulled the blanket up to her shoulders.

She narrowed her eyes and sat up. “You expect me to sleep now? One, I could kiss you for hours and not get enough, and two, did you just say I… I’m…”

He arched an eyebrow. “Part archangel?”

“That
can’t
be!”

“It must be,” he countered. “Odds aside, what we just did is only physically possible between two archangels. I wouldn’t be able to lend energy to a demon with a psychic talent, no matter how desperately they needed it or how hard I tried.”

As his words sunk in, Ginger clung to what was and what wasn’t possible. “But human-archangel children are so rare. Most such pregnancies end in miscarriage—”

“I survived.”

“You had help.”

He grinned, though sadness filled the expression. “My father used his healing talent to ensure my survival, yes, but like demons, archangels have mixed successfully with humans a few times in the past. But those children took after their human parents, retaining little physical evidence of their archangel heritage—the key to their survival in utero and in the world. It’s been kept very quiet.”

She began to shake, not from being drained of energy this time, but from a flood of emotion. The only picture of her mother in Haven’s records showed a young woman who certainly didn’t have wings.

“Who was my mother? One of those wingless archangel children?”

Wren touched her cheek. “Try to get some rest. I’m sure you and Devin will find those answers in Haven, but for now, you need to recover.”

He dropped his hand and turned away.

She couldn’t hold back another yawn, but she seized his wrist before he could move out of reach. “Please stay.”

“Gin…nothing has changed. Actually, your safety is even more important now, if that’s possible.”

“I know,” she said, though she had been hoping otherwise. “Just…please stay with me for a little while longer. I want to be near you.”

He stood there, unmoving, for a small eternity. Finally he reached out for her arms and pulled her up from the window seat. He released her and shoved the leather chairs away, then spread her blanket out on the floor.

Lifting his wings straight back behind him, he settled on the blanket on his side and held his arms out. When she curled up next to him, he spooned against her body and covered them with a wing.

“Rest now,” he said.

She dutifully shut her eyes, but she refused to sleep, wanting instead to savor the feel of his body against hers, the rise and fall of his chest against her back, his strong wing draped over her. No way would she let sleep rob her of a moment of this.

But despite her efforts, she drifted…

§

Wren marveled as Ginger slept in his arms. True, he’d held her before. First, when he’d been in the grip of the healing fever, and again, when she’d been unconscious after he’d healed her mortal gunshot wound. But this was different from both of those times. She lay next to him now because she asked it of him. Because she wanted him near.

Being wanted and trusted by a woman: a first for him. Even flight didn’t compare to this elation.

But he couldn’t stand it. This wasn’t real. Her trust stood on a foundation of his deception. He couldn’t continue to betray her like this.

He gently shifted away from her, but she opened and rubbed her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

He didn’t realize a tear had escaped until her fingers brushed his cheek. He jerked away and hastily brushed away the moisture. Extending his wings to the side, he righted himself and sat on his knees.

“Gin, I need to tell you something.”

She rested her head on her palm as she lay on her side, watching him, her brow knit.

He stared at his hands, turning them over to inspect both sides. So normal in appearance. Skin just a little too rough. A scar across his knuckles from one of his many falls while learning to fly. Smooth palms that would never bear the marks of a mated archangel. He pressed his fingers together.

“I’ve kept a horrible secret from you. I should have told you earlier—”

She reached out and touched his hands. “Is this about your psychic talent?”

Wren stared at her, words and thoughts abandoning him, aware for a long moment only of a shrill ringing in his ears. Finally, he managed, “What?”

“You can heal, and you can kill.” Her throat worked. “Right? Devin told me. He called while you were gone this afternoon.”

Wren’s mind went into playback mode. She knew…since he’d first gone to speak to Vin. So while she’d preened his wings, kissed him after dinner and here in the office, and slept in his arms…s
he’d known?

“Devin told you this afternoon. That’s…”

“What?” she asked after a moment, her brow furrowed.

Every muscle in his body tense, he reached up and ran his fingertips down her cheek. She leaned into his touch. No hesitation. Not one flinch. No shaking, trembling, or tears. Was that even possible?

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he whispered. “I promise, there is no way I could have hurt you.”