“Not for you yet,” he said to Jinhai. “Mead is a rite of passage after you reach your majority.”
The boy said nothing, more interested in his food.
While the honey wine was a rite of passage, it did nothing to angelic systems. The taste, however, was a pleasant one familiar from their youth. This dark morn, it threatened to send Aodhan back to a party long ago, when he and Illium had both been lanky young angels finding their feet. It was during that party that he’d had his first sensual experience that had gone beyond kissing; it had been a thing of blushes and delight and exploratory touches of skin on skin in the secret hollow behind a large rock.
Aodhan had recently seen that warrior, for he was now part of one of Caliane’s squadrons, and they’d both smiled at the youthful memory that had aged well. The warrior was now much in love with one of Caliane’s angelic maidens, and had colored with happiness when he spoke of her.
Aodhan had felt a wave of profound joy for the other man, for he’d helped Aodhan in his darkest hour without ever knowing it. The memory of their long-ago shared joy, and others akin to it—of intimate touch that was welcome, of riotous hugs and embraces from Illium, loving pats on the cheek from Eh-ma, even his parents’ absentminded strokes of his hair—he’d repeated them over and over in his mind during his captivity as a reminder that not all touch was unwanted. Not all touch made his skin crawl. Not all touch was a violation.
It hadn’t worked to ward off the psychic scars, not for two centuries. But he’d had the memories with him in that time of pain and horror, and he’d had them as a foundation on which to stand when he began to heal at last.
Jinhai, on the other hand . . .
No fond memories of blushing youthful kisses or fumbled explorations for him, no memories of joy at all. Of course, it was all relative.
It might be that Lijuan’s visits had been the most joyful thing in his existence.
I hate her more each time I look at him.
Illium’s eyes met his. Yes. I knew she was a monster, but this . . .
Jinhai kept on eating.
Every so often, however, he’d glance at the window. Three times, he got up, stuck his hand through the one Illium had left cracked open, then returned to the table. By the time he leaned back in his chair, he’d eaten his way through what was in actuality a small amount of food for an angel of his age—immortal childhood growth required fuel, so young angels tended to eat.
Still, he appeared satiated. He’d just cracked his mouth in a huge yawn when the watch on Illium’s wrist made a noise that had him jerking to attention.
Looking down, Illium tapped a finger on the screen a few times, then took off the device. “Here.” He held it out to Jinhai. “You want it?”
The boy hesitated.
Illium grinned—that wicked, playful grin that charmed the world and made Aodhan shake his head in affection. “Let me show you something.” He tapped the screen once to bring up an image of blocks. When he tapped it again, the blocks fell apart. “Use your fingers to move them back into place.”
From what Aodhan and Illium had discovered in the cavern, Jinhai’d had no exposure to current technology, but he picked up the game within minutes. Illium continued to give him instructions with the warm patience that made him a favorite of children and small creatures, until even this boy raised in the cold dark offered him a small smile.
Another conquest, Aodhan thought with an inward smile as he leaned back and let his friend take over. His sister had asked him once if he ever got jealous of Illium’s way of making friends and charming people wherever he went.
The idea had been such a foreign concept to him that he’d just stared at her. Illium’s heart, his unfettered joy in life, his playfulness, all the things that made him so attractive to others, were the same things that had first drawn Aodhan to him. He could still remember Illium coming up to him, asking if he wanted to go play. Aodhan could’ve never been so brave; he’d been one to stand back, watch the world.
No, he’d never envied Illium’s way with people. He adored that part of him as much as he did all the parts most of the world never saw—even when the blue-winged angel pushed him to the edge of endurance.
In front of him, Jinhai fought heavy eyelids.
“You can play after a rest,” Aodhan murmured. “If you like, we’ll bring in blankets and pillows so you can sleep next to the windows.”
A ragged nod was the answer.
Leaving Illium with him, Aodhan went to grab the bedding. He returned to find Jinhai tucked into a large window nook that boasted a cushioned seat. This was an old stronghold—the cold had to be coming through the glass, but the boy had turned that way, curling his body inward. The watch sat on his left wrist, his right hand cupped possessively over it even in sleep.
He didn’t stir when Aodhan tucked a pillow under his head and covered him in the blankets. Afterward, he and Illium moved close to the fire, from where the boy had no hope of hearing their conversation. “Can he do anything dangerous with that watch?”
“No,” Illium said. “I blocked everything except the games—and the GPS tracker. We don’t have to keep him in sight as long as he has that on his wrist. I can find him using my phone.”
Clever Bluebell. “He won’t be able to get far in this snow, regardless.” It was coming down in sheets now. “For better or worse, we’re stuck here.” He and Illium were powerful enough to fly through the snow, but not with Jinhai and the staff.
“Li Wei’s people can come into the kitchen if they need to,” Illium began, but Aodhan shook his head.
“I spoke to her when I went to get the bedding. Anyone who needed food ate well before our return, and the vampires fed then as well.” Li Wei had a timetable and her team knew to follow it. “The ones who had the swing shift are all already asleep, while the rest of them intend to continue their work in the east wing—they won’t need breakfast for at least two more hours.”
“How about you?” Illium pushed a hand through his hair. “Up for a proper meal? That tray wasn’t anywhere near enough for me.”
“Yes, and you need a haircut.” He tugged on the strands that had already fallen right back over Illium’s eye.
A lopsided grin. “Remember that time—”
“—when we were little angels and I gave you a haircut?” He shook his head when Illium grinned. “No. Eh-ma would not forgive such a massacre a second time around.”
Wicked laughter in the aged gold. “Come on, scaredy, let’s eat.” His wing brushed Aodhan’s chest as he moved past.
Happy . . . just happy, Aodhan followed him into the kitchen—but made sure to leave the door ajar. He didn’t think Jinhai was in any mood to attempt an escape, but he might panic at waking up alone. At least this way, he’d hear the sounds of their voices, be able to find them.
“Yes, let’s,” he said once he was in the kitchen proper. “I haven’t eaten properly for a few days.”
Illium had moved enough around the counter by then that Aodhan could see him, so he caught the sudden tightness of his jaw.
He narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You look like you’re about to bite your tongue in half.”
A shrug, the fluid ripple of muscle. “Someone keeps biting off my head for daring to care, so zip.” He mimed zipping up his mouth—but those golden eyes were doing plenty of talking.
Provoked, Aodhan muttered, “Missing Kai, are you?”
“What?” Illium scowled. “Since she was up when we got home, she’s probably asleep now.”
Aodhan expected to see yearning on Illium’s face at the reminder of the mortal woman. All he saw was irritation. Aimed squarely at Aodhan. “I am not biting off your head,” he said as they gathered supplies for the huge sandwiches to which they were both partial.
Illium hummed a happy tune—and
ignored him.
“Illium.”
His friend opened up a roll of salami that one of the mortals had prepared from hunted meat. “Do you want a piece of this?” He whacked at the salami like it had done him a personal insult.
Temper igniting, Aodhan clamped his hand around Illium’s wrist. It flexed under his touch, strong and with the tendons taut. But Illium didn’t make any violent gestures. He just said, “I need my hand to chop this.”
It was the second time Illium had rejected contact with him and he hated it as much as the first time. Regardless, he forced his fingers to open. “What is wrong with you?” he ground out as he tore a large loaf of sourdough bread in half. “I thought we were—”
“You’re standing too close.”
Aodhan was not a man inclined to a hot temper. Except with Illium. So fine, Blue wanted to fight? They’d fight until they had this out!
41
“You know what?” he said. “You’ve had a fucking burr up your butt since you landed in China and I’m over it!”
Illium slammed the knife point down in the wooden chopping block and spun to face Aodhan. “I’ve had a burr up my butt?” His eyes glowed in a way that should’ve been impossible for anyone who wasn’t an archangel.
It terrified Aodhan—not for himself, but for Illium. He was too young, far too young. And it was crystal clear that the Cascade hadn’t fully reclaimed the gifts it had tried to force on him. Power lingered in his veins—those veins glowed softly against his skin even now.
But Aodhan was too angry to be distracted by the eerily lovely sight. “You’ve been snarling at me since the fucking minute you landed.”
“I. Have. Not.” Illium poked his chest with a pointed finger. “I have been extremely polite, you big, sparkling asshole.” Then he turned back to the board, pulled out the knife and began to slice the salami with such speed that Aodhan didn’t dare interrupt him, lest he injure himself.
He did, however, throw up his hands. “That’s your version of picking a fight with me and you know it!” he pointed out. “The last time you were polite to me like that was when I was with Ylir.”
“That’s because Ylir was a prick who treated you like a shiny trophy.” Illium’s voice caught for a second. “He’s the fucking reason we fought and you flew off alone that day. I was off duty for a week, was supposed to go on that courier run with you.”
Aodhan blinked, having never thought of it that way. “They would’ve just waited till the next time I was alone, you idiot! They were stalkers!” Sachieri and Bathar had told him all their plans, all they’d done to prepare to take him. “Don’t you tell me you’ve been carrying guilt over that or I swear I’ll kick your blue ass!”
“My ass is not blue. Unlike yours, it doesn’t sparkle, either.”
“Oh, very mature. I see how you’re avoiding the subject.” He’d deal with Illium’s misplaced guilt before this was done—because it was all part and parcel of the same thing.
Having finished slicing the salami, Illium now began to chop the defenseless meat into tiny, precise squares. “You were all ‘Oh, Ylir is so handsome,’ ‘Oh, Illium, he only calls me cutie because he loves me.’ ” A roll of the eyes. “You were a fucking blooded warrior and he was calling you cutie and patting you on the head!”
“He did not call me cutie!” Aodhan argued.
“Close enough.”
It was infuriating but Aodhan couldn’t actually argue with that. Because Illium was right. In the language they’d used at the time, it had been a “cute” sounding word. “Stop trying to distract me. We’re talking about you, not Ylir.”
“You’re talking about something. I’m just trying to make my goddamn sandwich.” He finally stopped chopping to stare down at his mass of pulverized salami. “Shit.” Grabbing a pan, he stuck it on the stove. “Guess I’ll have mince now.”
Fighting the urge to shake him, Aodhan stepped to the living area door and glanced out. Jinhai was still fast asleep, his breathing so deep and even that it was clear he was in no danger of waking up.
He returned to Illium’s side at the counter, picking up an onion from a basket along the way. When he threw it without warning, Illium shot out a hand and caught it, began to peel it with ruthless efficiency. The two of them could both cook—it was part of the training for all young angels, regardless of vocation.
“Still eating onions like they’re going extinct, I see,” he said when Illium didn’t speak.
“Maybe my onion breath will make you keep your distance.”
Wanting to scream, Aodhan began to slap together a sandwich. He put on cheese, pickle, whatever else came to hand without really thinking about it.
“Really?” Illium muttered. “You like black olives now? What? Suyin taught you how to appreciate them?”
Aodhan glanced down, saw that he had, indeed, added the hated black olives to his sandwich. Once, he might’ve stood his ground and forced down the olives just to prove to Illium that he didn’t know everything—but he’d grown out of that around the time he got his first wooden sword.
He picked off the seedless olives and put them on Illium’s plate.
Rolling his eyes, Illium ate two, then continued to make his monstrosity of a salami-onion-who-knows-what-else mixture—and not talk.
Aodhan had rarely seen his friend in this kind of a mood, but when it happened, it tended to blow over fast. Today, it showed no signs of fading.
This, Aodhan realized too late, was serious. “Are you going to tell me what I did?”
* * *
* * *
Illium’s shoulders knotted at the quiet question. He’d been ready to keep up their fighting as long as it took—it was easier to keep Aodhan at a distance with snark and bite than it was to face how much the other angel had hurt him.
He’d thought he was over it, that—given their renewed comfort with one another—they could just slide back into their previous relationship, but then he’d had to bite his tongue against his natural tendency to look after the people who mattered to him—as Aodhan mattered so deeply to him. And he’d realized that nothing was the same. He and Aodhan, they couldn’t just ignore the past year and more.
But the words stuck in his throat, too big to say.
He focused on his culinary creation with an attention that was all but blinding. Like most warriors, he could eat anything. Aodhan would eat even olives if he needed to do so to survive. So he wasn’t really thinking about what he was throwing into what he’d decided to call a stew.
Sounded better than “screw-it-all-salami.”
An echo of Ellie’s laughter in his mind, how she would’ve grinned and told him he should stick to that name for his mess of a creation. But the thought was a fleeting distraction, his skin burning from the force of Aodhan’s attention. “Stop staring at me.”
“I can’t even look at you now?” Aodhan was the one with a knife this time, and he whacked a giant hunk off the sourdough he’d broken in half. “What’s next, you’re going to banish me to my room? Won’t work. I banished myself for two hundred years and I’m not going back there.”
Illium’s hand squeezed the handle of the pan before he turned to pin Aodhan with a disbelieving gaze. “You’re making bad jokes about something you refused to talk about for fucking centuries? What’s changed? Let me guess. You and Suyin opened up to each other, had long heart-to-hearts.”
“If we did, what business of yours would it be?”
Illium threw something else into his angry stew. Chili peppers? Cinnamon? Who the hell knew? Who the hell cared? “None,” he said, even as his breathing accelerated. “It’s none of my business at all. I’ve only been your friend for five hundred fucking years.”
“Enough!” A tone in Aodhan’s voice that Illium had heard very, very rarely over their many years of friendship.
Then he turned off the stove
with a decisive hand, and shifted so that they stood face-to-face, toe-to-toe. With Aodhan’s slight height advantage, they weren’t exactly eye to eye, and the fact he had to tip his head back a fraction to meet the blue-green translucence of Aodhan’s gaze infuriated Illium even more.
“What is wrong with you?” Aodhan bit out, all bright light ablaze with emotion. “Why are you so angry? You’ve been angry since the moment you landed, and we both know it, so don’t you try to deny it.”
Illium wasn’t about to beg for attention, not from anyone—and especially not from Aodhan, at whose side he’d stood through thick and thin, pain and hope. But neither was he about to allow his friend to pin the current fucked-up state of their relationship on him.
“You’re interested in how I’m doing all of a sudden? Funny, when you were fine ignoring me for an entire year. Guess you forgot how to write letters or make phone calls.” He slapped his forehead. “Oh, my bad, you didn’t forget. I just didn’t make your list.” Then, despite his urge to touch Aodhan, even if it was to shove him away, he stepped back. “I’m giving it to you—the distance you made it clear you wanted. Now get the hell out of my face so I can finish making my food.”
* * *
* * *
Excuses flittered through Aodhan’s mind, some of them even believable, but he brushed them all aside, his skin hot. He had frozen Illium out over the past months. It had been a self-protective act driven by angry desperation—and it had been a cowardly thing that shamed him.
“You don’t let go, Blue,” he found himself admitting, anguish in his voice. “You hold on so tight that I couldn’t breathe.”
Illium’s face went pale, the spark fading from his eyes as he dropped the red pepper he’d been holding onto the chopping board. “You really do see me as a cage.”
The whispered words hit Aodhan like a blow to the solar plexus. “No! No!” He went to grab Illium’s shoulders, but the other man stumbled back, his legendary grace nowhere in evidence and his hand clutching at the counter to his left to maintain balance.
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